Monte Cassino Read Online Free PDF

this sort of war, Porta, is dangerous. You can get your prick and balls shot off. You can be most horribly maimed, Porta, but war can also lead to undreamed of wealth. Have you got your dental forceps, Porta?"
    "You bet," Porta grinned and produced the ghastly instrument from the leg of his boot. Then he bent over his instrument panel, tested petrol and oil gauges, tried the clutch, checked the brakes, swung the heavy tank round in a circle.
    Major Mike climbed into the command tank and swinging his right hand above his head as a signal to start engines, he called to the Old Man: "Beier, you stick to my tail. Legionnaire and Barcelona follow him. The rest in arrowhead formation P-a-n-z-ers March!" He pumped his fist up and down several times: the signal for full speed ahead.
    The many thousands of horsepower roared. The ground quivered. The whole wood shook with the tremendous vibration, as tank after tank swung out. A tree that was in the way fell with a crash. The Major waved encouragingly from the turret of 005. He took another bite of his rope of tobacco. The Legionnaire waved back from his turret, lit a cigarette and tied his blue-red-white scarf round his neck. Barcelona moved his dried-up talisman orange from Valencia from his right to his left pocket. Porta bent over and spat on the accelerator, and with his finger drew a cross in the dust on the instrument panel. I tied a garter round the rangefinder. Tiny placed Luisa Broad-bum's lipstick firmly above the fuse lamp. Heide, our super-soldier, checked to see that the feed pipe to the flamethrower was in order, undid the safety catch of his forward machine gun, arranged its long cartridge belt. Then he tied a small blue cloth elephant round his neck.
    All our radios were checked. They were important and had to be working perfectly, for much depended on them. The loaders climbed out to remove the muzzle-covers of the cannon as we drove along and tank after tank reported itself ready for action.
    "Rhinoceros ready for action," Mike's voice said on the wireless.
    Then we were out of the wood that until then had hidden us safely and we could see the Americans who were guarding the northern exit from the village with three tanks.
    As we tore across the open telltale stretch as fast as we could make the tracks turn, Porta sang in a carefree voice:
    "Eine kleine Reise im Fruhling mit Dir, Sag'mir, bitte, leise, Was gibst du dafur ..."
    He was standing on the accelerator and we expected any moment that the pistons would jump from their bearings. None of the others could keep up with us. On the radio we could hear Barcelona's stream of curses:
    "Caramba, crucifix, sacramento! How the hell does he get it to go like that?"
    "That only Allah knows," answered the little Legionnaire, cursing his own driver to the uttermost pit of hell.
    Everything now depended on speed. At first, the three Shermans on the fringe of the village failed to react at all. God knows what they thought, but they were certainly inexperienced. Not one shot was fired.
    We made the centre of the village first, closely followed by Major Mike. The Legionnaire who was a hundred yards behind us saw that the Sherman's turrets were beginning to swing, stopped, swung his cannon round like lightning and in ten seconds it was all over. The three Shermans in flames.
    The rest all happened as quickly. We tore round in the narrow streets shooting at anything with a cockade or a white star on it, the range point blank so we couldn't miss.
    An M.5. mounted flamethrower came round the corner of a house, spitting out a flame many yards long, but a shell drilled into it and it splintered into a thousand pieces.
    A 42-ton T.I4. came waddling out from an orange grove, its turret swinging wildly.
    "Fire," the Old Man shouted.
    I pressed the trigger and in the next instant the enemy tank was on fire, oily black smoke welling out from its hatches brightened by the sharp tongues of red flames. An officer tried desperately to get out