by Sven Hassel
The truck rattled into Rome. A couple of mangy dogs ran barking after us for quite a long way. We stopped outside a barracks, a stinking place with peeling walls. You could see that it was not occupied by its rightful owners. They, in fact, were far away, buried in the African sand or rotting in POW camps in Libya.
A feldwebel began bawling at us.
"Bugger off," shouted one of the sailors, as he jumped down. Close together, their kitbags on their shoulders, the two sailors rolled out through Sie barrack gates. I ran after them deaf to the feldwebel's shouts. They stank of oil and salt water. We walked on and on. When we got to the Spanish Steps, we stopped for a rest. Then we came to Via Mario de' Fiori and dived into a bar, a narrow gut of a place with a long counter. A traffic policeman, goggles hanging round his neck, cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth, was talking big. His uniform was all spattered. He stopped talking as he caught sight of us.
A couple of whores were lounging across the bar looking as if they had their apprenticeship well behind them.
The bartender, a tall, fat giant of a man wearing a short sleeved pullover, a sweat rag round his neck, was lazily polishing a glass. The policeman said in a loud whisper:
"Attenzione! Rotten Germans!"
The smaller of the two sailors went straight towards him, one hand resting on his bayonet.
"Comrade," he began. "You are a Roman. We are Germans. We are decent chaps, we won't harm anyone, if we aren't provoked. I believe our friend behind the bar takes things the same way. He only wants what he is entitled to receive. These two ladies are nice ladies, as long as they get what they are entitled to have." He paused briefly, drew his bayonet and picked his teeth with the point of it, then bent right over to the policeman, in doing which his neck stretched forward revealing red, scalded skin, such as you see on survivors, those who have got out of a steam-filled room at the last moment. "But, and please remember this, policeman, none of us is rotten. You know your streets and roads, I my sea. I have been lying out submerged waiting for the big convoys, as you have been hiding behind a stone waiting for a drunken sot to come along." He let go of his bayonet and slammed the flat of his hand down on the bar. "Here with some beer. Three quarters beer and the rest slibowitz. Followed by poor man's champagne," (half beer, half champagne).
The barman grinned understandingly. Wiped his belly with his sweat cloth.
"You're in a hurry to get tight, eh?" He scratched his behind and bit the cork out of a champagne bottle.
We studied the pictures on the wall behind the barman. Fly-spotted pictures of naked girls, which only new customers even noticed.
We three had not yet said a word to each other. We couldn't until we had drunk our first glass, a ritual that had to be scrupulously followed. They did not concern me, nor I them, until we had drunk a glass of slibowitz and beer together. The barman took a lot of trouble over our beer. It took him a quarter of an hour.
"Do you want sticks?" he asked.
Our silence told him that we did.
He shoved a litre mug in front of each of us and put a semi-clean stick in each, the dirty black end up. He took some juniper berries from a big earthenware pot and put some into each mug. Then he pushed a bowl of olives and anchovies across to us. They had no sticks in them as they do in smart places. We just used our fingers.
We clinked mugs and drank in long thirsty gulps. The taller of the sailors, a long thin beanpole, offered us cigarettes. Camel. He scratched his crutch and stared at the two whores, weighing them up.
"We're on the way to hospital," he explained. "Carl burst something inside, when a torpedo fell on him. And my old syph's playing me up, and we both have burns to be anointed." By way of amplification he opened his fall so that I could see the red, burned flesh. "That's the result of a hammering we got off Cyprus. We had been lying on the bottom for 48 hours, then the skipper lost patience. He wouldn't listen to our No. 2, but went up to periscope depth. He was young and inexperienced. Only 21. No. 2 was 47 and had plenty of experience. He had been in a tramp before coming to U boats. When we dragged him out of the command room, his flesh was smouldering on his bones. Boiling oil. We never found the CO. He had vanished. He was after a knight's cross, had been all the time. Thirty-seven of the crew went with them. But we got the old tub home. We had the first engineer to thank for that."
"Fancy bothering to tell him all that," said the smaller of the two, who was called Carl. "Let's whet our whistles."
We each stood a round. Then the barman did. The policeman was taken into favour and had one. We poured the dregs into the v's of the girls' dresses.
Another girl came in.
"Oho," growled Carl sticking a long finger into the tall sailor's ribs, "I want to fuck that one. Wonder what she costs? I'd give 500 for a night." He discussed the price with the girl and they agreed on 500 marks and 10 packets of Lucky Strike. She lived on the second floor over the bar. Otto and I went up with them. The barman stuck a few bottles under our arms as we left.
"I'll look up in half an hour, when I close here," he called.
We clambered up a steep flight of stairs. The girl led the way and we could see far up her legs. She wore red knickers and black lace. Her stockings were long and exciting and had dark-coloured tops.
Carl sniggered hungrily and took hold of her thigh:
"Lovely rigging you've got!"
We followed the girl down a long, pitch dark corridor, stumbling into things, and laughing sillily and taking it in turns to strike matches. Every now and again we stopped for a mouthful of beer.
A woman was groaning behind one of the doors. From another room came a man's lewd laugh. A bed creaked protestingly. Something fell. It must have been a bottle, because it went rolling on across the floor.
Otto bent down to look through the keyhole.
"Sbrigatevi!" the girl whispered impatiently. "What the hell are you hanging about there for?"
"Take it easy," Otto said. "We're on our way into dock. There's no hurry."
"If you don't come, I'll get myself another lout. The night's short. I'm busy." She tossed her head, jerking her long blue-black hair behind her. "What's the idea? Do you want a fuck or don't you?"
"We're coming," Otto growled. "We're just having a glass of beer. Have you ever wondered, Carl, why whores are always in a hurry? They are the most industrious business people in the world. Do you remember that tall thin one at Saloniki, who took two clients at a time? She was so busy, she didn't keep an eye on Obermaat Grant. He went off with four night's earnings, and when she went after him, she fell into the water, cutting her forehead on a bollard."
"Don't you call me a whore," exclaimed the girl, who understood a little German, "For you, sailor, I'm a girl, hag, witch, wench, what you like, but not whore."
"That's all right," said Otto soothingly. "Let's go in and adjust compasses. What were you called by the way, when you were still with mum?"
"Lolita."
"Lolita," Otto savoured the name, "Lolita. Have you ever been under the clothes with a girl called Lolita before, Carl?"
"Can't remember, if I have. Come on, Lolita, show us your bunk."
A bottle of beer slipped from Otto's grasp, rolled along the corridor and down the steps. He made a dive for it, dropping the other bottles he had under his arm, lost his balance and went slithering down the stairs making the most appalling racket.
Carl and I hurried to help, thundering down the quiet stairs. Doors were flung open. Men and women cursed us, as only Italians can. A titch standing beside an enormous girl promised to box our ears, but when he caught sight of Otto he withdrew hurriedly and barricaded the door with a commode and a bidet.
The barman appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his body glistening with sweat, a cudgel in his hand.
"Per Bacco! Accidenti! If there's anyone after you boys, I'll deal with him."
"It's just that I dropped my beer," Otto explained.
"Did it break?" the fat barman asked anxiously.
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br /> "No, praise be. But what bloody awful stairs you have. They remind me of Nagasaki. I went on my arse there too. That was the night I scrouged my syph. A Japanese she was, and only had three toes on her right foot."
"Syph," shouted Lolita. "Then there's nothing doing with me!" She darted off down the passage, and a door slammed.
Carl began to grumble.
"You flaming idiot! What the devil did you want to open your big mouth about your syph for? Don't you understand, Otto, that sort of thing is Top Secret. Have you ever heard me blabbing about the clap I got when we bunkered in Piraeus. And that was your fault, Otto. You insisted on going into that darned cafe. If we had gone to the girls in the telephone exchange, as I suggested, it wouldn't have happened."
"Who says the telephone girls were immaculate?" Otto said, defensively. "If you've got it coming to you, you'll get it even if you stalk into the royal palace and hop into bed with a princess."
We sat down on the stairs and opened a couple of bottles; then slowly we toiled back up again, pausing for beer on every landing.
"Beer isn't what it was," Otto said querulously. "It smells like beer, it's called beer, and they charge for it as if it was beer, but the muck tastes like water. Once beer starts getting bad, it's time to stop the war. Nobody can stand a war without decent beer."
"Are you two regulars," I asked.
"Yes, what else?" Carl snapped. He spat on the wall. "We went to school together, Otto and I. We got fed up together and we joined the navy together in '24. That was the only permanent job they could offer us. We signed on for twelve years straightaway. What the hell's the use of dividing life into little bits? And we've stayed in ever since."
"And you're still only mates?" I asked surprised.
"We could have been Stabsfeldwebels long ago," Otto grinned. "We've been reduced five times now. Too much cunt and beer. And too many idiotic officers. But it was fun, until this filthy war started. Now, we're the only ones left out of 375 from the old U boat school in Kiel."
"What'll you do, when we've lost the war and they do away with the navy?"
"You talk about things you know, son," Carl said with a disapproving shake of his head. "The navy can't be abolished just like that. They'll send you others to hell. They may take the sharks away from us for a bit, but we'll be put on sweeping mines."
Otto had now got as far as Lolita's door and was threatening to shoot the lock, if she didn't open up. He rattled his rifle so that she could hear he meant business.
"Move away from the door. I'm going to shoot," he bellowed.
Two bolts were shot into place on the far side and a stream of oaths and curses poured through. She threatened to send Mussolini, Badaglio, Churchill and the Pope after him, if he didn't go away.
A door opened at the end of the corridor and a hospitable girl invited us in. Otto shouldered his kitbag and carbine, Lolita forgotten.
We shook hands and introduced ourselves. She was called Isabella. She had a whole keg of beer standing beside the washbasin and mugs dangled on strings from the ceiling.
Otto shed his clothes at once. He had big holes in his socks and mould on his trousers. He pointed to his boots.
"Can't get those damned dice-boxes dry," he said. "We had to wade the last bit. The duty boat couldn't get right in. It's a dog's life being a sailor."
Isabella stepped out of her skirt. She had a short black petticoat, which we admired. Carl and I seated ourselves on the edge of the bed, each with a mug of beer. Otto and Isabella squabbled amiably about which position to use. In the end she gave in and knelt on the bed. Carl and I were a bit in the way and had to move over. That was soon done. Then it was the f.l. which was wrong and I had to get another from a packet in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers. Isabella saw to it that it was put on properly.
"Now we're ready," she said.
"Fine," growled Otto, "Let's get to work then."
Carl gave me a description of life in the depot ships to which they delivered the prisoners they took.
"It was on one of them I had the best fuck of my life," he said. "A black girl, she was, and wild as the devil. The African jungle in person. She moved her undercarriage like the flywheel on a steam roller."
Otto sat up, a satisfied expression on his face. Then it was Carl's turn. He went on with his story about the African girl, while taking his trousers off.
Isabella swung her legs round his thighs.
"And while I was on her," Carl went on, "I ate caviar out of a tin with a spoon. I'll give you a hundred extra if you do it French," he said to Isabella.
"As you like. Here with the dough."
"I tried to smuggle her back aboard our shark, but the Old Man saw her just as we were diving into the stern fo'c'sle. I got twelve days, but she was worth it ten times over. You've got a lovely bum," he said with a sigh, pinching Isabella's broad backside.
Otto flung his used f.l. out of the window and put his boots by the radiator to dry.
"You, Sven, what would you say to joining forces with us for a couple of days? The hospital can wait. I think we three ought to have a look at this hole all the fine people seem to want to see. It's part of your education to know Rome."
I agreed, though it meant sacrificing a couple of precious days.
"Our first officer told me of a good hostelry. I have the address. He told me all about it, when we were in a lifeboat in Biscay."
"Were you torpedoed?"
"No, it was a bloody plane. We were up charging our batteries. It came right out of the sun and hammered away at us with its machine cannon. The CO and chief engineer who were sitting smoking forward were killed with the first burst. The next swept the entire gun crew away. They did a crash-dive, of course. The first officer and I were on deck aft. We tugged at the hatch but it was already locked from inside. The first officer just managed to get a life belt loose and in we went with boots, pistols and the lot. We had to get away from the ruddy thing, before we were sucked down. The buggers swung her and darned nearly made pulp of us with the conning tower. A T-boat picked us up two days later. You should have seen Carl's face, when we ran into each other in No. 3 Flotilla's canteen in Bordeaux."
Carl raised himself on his elbows off Isabella's chest and paused long enough to say:
"Jesus is my witness. I had the fright of my life. When that flying bastard had gone, we surfaced to look for you. We searched all night. We even used a searchlight though it's forbidden. The next day, we gathered all your gear together and had a funeral. So, when I saw you in Bordeaux, I nearly peed my bags with fright."
Isabella and he resumed operations.
There was a wild hammering on the door.
"Who is it now," Isabella called in a voice of irritation. "Via di qua!"
"Don't shout so. It's me, Mario," came the beery voice of the barman.
Otto opened the door and Mario staggered in, a case of beer on his shoulders.
"I've brought you a few bottles, in case you get thirsty," he explained, dumping the beer down in the middle of the floor. He patted Isabella's turned-up backside. "You're busy," he said and laughed. Then he put his head back and emptied a bottle at one draught.
Carl had finished. Otto said he would like another turn and took up position between Isabella's strong thighs.
"This is what keeps a tired hero going," he said. He set the girl's heels on his shoulders. "We get it seldom enough at sea."
"Not without a f.l.," said Isabella freeing herself. I had to rummage in the bottom drawer again.
"Your papers are all in order, I suppose," Mario said. "The MPs will be here in an hour."
"I've nothing to fear," I said and laughed happily.
"Your leave's for Rome is it?"
"No, Hamburg."
"They'll have you then. Don't let them find you here. But, shit take it, you've time enough. There's a blind old thing lives in the basement. She's got ears like a weasel and as soon as she hears anything, she'll smash a bottle against the wall in
the courtyard."
Otto was tired out, and Isabella was sitting straddled over the bidet. The sight of her made Mario lust. They couldn't be bothered to get into bed, but did it on the floor like a couple of dogs. Mario had his beer within reach and did not even stop while he was drinking. None of us took exception to them. Why should we? Isabella was in business and we were her clients. It was just the same as going to the stores and having a beer in the back of the shop. Mario was sweating.
"Poof, ugh," he groaned. "I've got out of training. I really must do this more often."
"You can do it here as often as you like," Isabella said, "as long as you pay. Otherwise, the shop's shut." "Haven't you got a fellow?" Otto asked. "Not now. They took him a week ago. Sent him away with the Jews."
"Wonder what they are doing with all the beaks," Carl said.
"Snuffing them out," Otto said. "I've heard they try out chemical warfare stuff on them."
"People say they're gassed in big camps in Poland," Mario put in.
"Aren't you coming too?" Isabella asked, pointing to me. "If you are, let's do it now, while I'm in form."
I tried to get out of it, but the others thought it was just being embarrassed and helped me. Why describe it? Anyway, we were interrupted in the middle of it all by Carl suddenly saying:
"Let me see your armpit. You haven't a blood group marking have you?"
I was so surprised that without thinking, I raised my upper arm, then I lost my temper.
"You two moth-eaten salt-herring sailors have no right to try and throw your weight about here!" I seized a pot that was half full, and heaved it at Carl. He ducked like lightning and it sailed on to hit Mario as he was draining a bottle of beer.
He wiped the stinking stuff from his face at the same time letting out a flow of sulphurous oaths. The next moment Isabella and I were flung apart.
"You lousy German petrol-yokel," he shouted. "Here you're getting Italian cunt at sale price and you fling piss at decent people!" He tried to jump on my belly, but I managed to roll away in time.
Carl and Otto leaped at him and managed to get him down. Tall Otto seated himself astride his chest, while Isabella supplied first aid in the shape of beer and schnaps which she poured down his throat in vast quantities to quieten him. Slowly his equanimity returned, but before he would agree to be sensible Isabella had to promise him a sympathetic fuck, and while he had it we sang "Oh, Tannenbaum!" as a part song.