by Tony Roberts
“Gus, into that farmhouse – run the bastards over!”
The tank shot forward, crunching over broken tiles and shattered bricks, then they bumped over something and crashed into the farmhouse wall which fell inwards, bringing down the remains of the roof. The tank shook to the impact and it sounded like a demented drummer had leapt onto their vehicle with two iron bars and was conducting a ferocious military tattoo for a moment, then it ceased.
The periscope cleared and Langer checked the environment. The tank was half buried but they had cut out the resistance from that part of the defenses. Tanks were rolling round to the rear of the building and bulldozing into the farmyard, machine guns cutting down fleeing Poles. Gus slammed the pedal onto the floor and the tank groaned as it shed its new coat of bricks, beams and detritus, shedding it like water from a beaver emerging from a lake.
They crashed through the inner wall and out into the farmyard. Gus had to brake hurriedly to avoid colliding with a Panzer III that shot past their line of vision. “Get out of this place, this is madness,” Langer snapped.
Somewhere to their right a machine gun pattered their hull briefly and Gus turned towards the gun. A machine gun nest along the road had opened up on them. Langer snapped his fingers to Steffan. “Clip.”
Another was placed into its slot and Langer drew a bead on the three Poles crouched behind their RKM wz.28, sending 7.92mm rounds all over the tank to no effect. The 20mm spat out ten rounds that blasted into the ground around the gunners, and then into the soldiers, blowing an arm off one and smashing a hole the size of a fist into the chest of a second. He was sent cart-wheeling backwards into the roadside ditch on the far side. The third and last stood up, hands high. “Leave him,” Langer snapped, “schutzen will take care of that poor bastard.”
“They’ve had enough,” Langer heard Heidemann’s tinny voice through the earphones, “onto the town. Move!”
“Gus, down the road, now! Let’s beat the others into Zambrow!”
“First claim on the skirt and booze,” Gus answered and sent the Panzer II skidding on one track and onto the road. He roared down the road, sending up a cloud of dust in their wake.
“Langer, watch out for anti-tank positions!” Heidemann barked in warning.
“Sir, Gus has smelt vodka; there’s no stopping him.”
He swore he heard laughter from the others, and he grinned behind his microphone. The panzer carried on down the road, smashing into and flattening the town sign. The first houses were reached and a few shots rattled out from the street corners as Polish soldiers tried to set up road blocks, but Gus wasn’t having any of it. With the destruction of the 37s at the farmhouse there were no anti-tank guns left, and all the defenders had were grenades or the anti-tank rifles.
One was hurriedly slapped down onto the road ahead of the advancing tank and two men rushed the loading of the long-barreled weapon. It was shaped just like an ordinary rifle up to the end of the wooden hand grip, but beyond that the long barrel gave away what it was. The wz. 35 had been issued just as the war had begun, and the Poles had developed some high-tech ammunition using tungsten. It was still supposed to be top secret and only a few had been distributed in time to meet the attacking German army.
Langer saw the crew loading up and swung the machine gun. He squeezed the trigger and the bullets spat out, showering the road and buildings. He steadied himself, sending a line of deadly shots into the crew. They shuddered with the impact of the rounds, flopping inertly onto the road surface. Gus advanced the tank and it rolled over gun and crew, ending their part in the fight.
A shot bounced off their turret and Langer swung the guns round, seeking out the man who’d fired. Steffan rammed the next clip of 20mm into the breech and Langer sent slugs exploding down the side street, smashing windows, wooden signs and three Polish troops who were shooting at the panzer. They were swept aside in a hail of shells, blood and guts being sent everywhere.
They charged on, entering the town center, the other panzers close behind, and the garrison decided enough was enough. They hadn’t the arms to stop the Germans, and laid down their weapons en masse.
Langer unfastened the hatch and climbed up, glad to breathe in cooler air. The warmth in the turret had made him sweat, and he gulped down a few lungfuls of welcome fresh air. Gus opened his hatch, too and lit up a cigar. “Hey, Gus, where the hell did you get hold of those?” Langer demanded.
“Oh, won them off a leutnant in a game of cards last night,” Gus mumbled through the butt of the cigar. “Want one?”
“No – but keep them out of sight of the officers. They may decide to appropriate them!”
Langer jumped down and stretched his legs. Heidemann met him, glaring at the puffing Gus who was seemingly relaxed without a care in the world. “Sir.”
The captain grunted. “You’re mad, all of you,” he said. “But well done all the same. Your charge convinced the enemy of the futility of resisting any further. I have more orders from Guderian. We’re to pull out south-east after a short rest and head for Brest. We’ve got to take the fortress before the enemy can organize themselves any further.”
“What about Zambrow, sir?”
“The infantry will have it. Our division is to make for the fortress. They think the reds will invade any day and we’ve got to stop the Poles offering any resistance. Brest is just about the only place they can put up any.”
They set off in the afternoon. The Polish forces had collapsed outside of Warsaw and they were now busy defending their capital, leaving the road open to the ancient fortress of Brest. Langer and his crew rolled into the smoking ruins after Guderian’s advance units had fought hard to break in. The 6th regiment hadn’t been involved in the attack and there were worries about the reliability of the Panzer Is and IIs. They were clearly under-gunned and under-armored and were far too vulnerable to any kind of anti-tank weapon or enemy tank. They broke down far too frequently and the mechanics were overworked, repairing or replacing parts frantically.
Leaving their Panzer II in a tree-lined park, Langer led Gus and Steffan into the old town. The fortress dominated the skyline, a dark, brooding construction now scarred and marred with shell holes, bomb damage and bullet marks.
The garrison had been led into captivity and the civilians were keeping indoors, fearful of the German soldiers walking round the city. Gus sniffed the air. “I smell skirt,” he announced and suddenly swung right and plunged into a narrow side street.
Steffan looked at Langer in perplexity. “I can’t smell anything, Feldwebel.”
“Neither can I, Steffan, but Gus has his own olfactory senses which differ from the rest of humanity. If he can smell women, then you can bet he’s right.” Langer led Steffan in Gus’s wake, along the cobbled street, passing tall wooden and brick buildings. Gus was hammering at one particular door, shouting loudly to be let in or else.
The door opened reluctantly just as Langer and Steffan arrived, to reveal a frightened looking woman. “Please, not so much noise,” she said in Polish. “Come in.”
Langer, who could speak fluent Polish, waved the others in. “Is this your place?” he asked.
“Yes,” the woman said, leading the three into a hallway. Up the staircase were ten other women.
“Ah,” Gus said in satisfaction. “Uncle Gus sniffs them out yet again.”
“We have shut our doors because of the fighting,” the first woman explained in broken German, standing before the three panzer soldiers. “It was terrible, all those bombs and bullets; we thought we were going to be killed!”
“Worry not,” Gus exclaimed, “Gus is here now and is eager to sample the best that your establishment can offer!”
“Well, I don’t know….” The Madam said and could get no further as Gus ran up the staircase, roaring out his intentions. The women up the stairs scattered in fright, running in every direction, but two weren’t fast enough and were scooped up and the trio vanished out of sight, the women squealing in terror.
“I apologize for his behavior, madam, but he’s usually like this,” Langer said, peeling off a few marks and handing them to the Madam.
The woman took them and sighed. “Very well, you may enjoy yourselves with any woman of your choice.”
Langer nudged Steffan. “Go on, lad, you may not get another chance for quite some time. We’re off later this afternoon so hurry up.”
As Steffan hesitantly approached the bottom of the staircase, the Madam looked quizzically at the scarred black-clad man. “And you, soldier? Aren’t you interested in good Polish women?”
“Oh yes I am,” Langer said, his mind absently drifting back to 1812 and the delights of Marianka, a Polish noblewoman he’d known in that terrible war of Napoleon’s into Russia. He shook his head to dispel the memory. “I have to make sure these two are out before mid-afternoon. I’m told the Soviets are coming to take the city and fortress over.”
“Oh!” the woman gasped, a hand to her mouth. “You would hand us over to them?”
“What choice do we have? Our governments have agreed to a partition and Brest is in the Soviet region.” Langer pulled a face. He hated the thought of the Reds taking anything, and knew of the hostility between them and the Poles. After all, this very city had been a tug of war between the two nations back in 1921 when the Russians had tried to drag Poland into the arms of Leninism, but the Poles had kicked them out. Now it seemed the Soviets were going to get their way after all. “I don’t want to be here when they do arrive. I have no love for them, either.”
“Then I must ask a favor of you, German. We have one of our girls here, a young Jewish woman. Her family have been persecuted for ages under the Russians, first the Tsarists, then Lenin’s bullies. She fled here during the war with Russia and hoped she was safe. Now it seems she’ll be in danger once more.”
Langer stared at the woman. “You can’t seriously think that she’ll be any safer under German occupation than Russian? Have you not heard of Hitler’s anti-Semitic speeches and policies? Jews are nobodies under him.”
“All I ask is for you to take her away from here and deliver her to safety. You do not have to hand her over to anyone! She would not wish to stay under the Russians, I know how she feels about them. Please.”
Langer scratched his head. “Oh, very well, let me talk to her.”
He was taken to a room at the rear and in a short time a small, petite, dark haired girl turned up, having been spoken to by the Madam. She looked frightened. “Are you the German who has promised to help me?” she asked in Polish.
“I am – the name’s Carl.”
“Natalia.” She smiled widely. “I hate the Russians. You must help me escape them. Are you certain they are to take this city?”
“I am. Well Natalia, I can’t promise you safety under Hitler. The Nazi government is very anti-Jewish.”
“That’s not a problem,” Natalia said with a shrug. “I have relatives in Romania. Could you take me south? I need to get back to Polish lines and then cross the border south. If you could take me away from the Russian armies I’d be grateful.”
“Oh, dammit I’ll see what I can do. We’ll be leaving in an hour. Pack your belongings, but it’s going to be a tight fit in the tank.”
“Is there room for a cat?”
“A cat?” Langer echoed with disbelief. “What in the name of…..?”
“My cat, Tobias. Goes with me everywhere! I can’t leave him behind. Please?”
Langer shook his head in disbelief. This was getting more and more insane. “Well I hope it doesn’t freak out in the tank – the last thing I need is a spitting maniac in the panzer. It’ll be noisy and dirty.”
“Oh, Tobias is used to that; this is a brothel after all!”
Langer opened his mouth, then shut it. Fair point.
An hour later four people and a cat left the brothel and made their way back to the panzer. A crowd of boys had gathered by it and were crawling all over the hull. “Oy, get off!” Langer shouted as they crossed the park. The boys scattered, shouting obscenities and insults, and vanished down side streets.
Langer looked round to make sure no soldier was in sight. With the imminent handover to Soviet forces, Guderian hadn’t bothered to send in soldiers to police the streets; that would be down to the Russians to do. Gus climbed into his compartment, a smile of satisfaction on his face. Steffan opened the hatch in the turret and slipped into the panzer first, then turned to accept Natalia. She handed Langer Tobias who began squirming, claws digging into his shoulders and forearm. “Hold still you dumb moggy,” he growled.
Tobias meowed and strained to leap out of Langer’s arms but he gripped the cat tightly. Natalia threw her small bundle of belongings in and followed Steffan into the tank. Langer gripped Tobias with one arm and clambered up, passing an unhappy cat to Natalia through the hatch. As he did so he caught sight of a squad of buff colored troops marching down the main street. Russians!
“Come on, get that damned cat under control. The Russians are here.”
He slipped his feet in and stood on the plate at the rear of the turret. It was the only place he could be. Natalia stood in his position by the gun and Tobias was prowling round the bottom of the tank, his tail and body low, clearly unhappy.
“I hope that damned mog doesn’t decide to shit; that’s the last thing we need! Gus, get us out of here. South-west. Go!”
“Jawohl, Herr Feldwebel!” Gus declared and started the engine. Tobias went all eyes and ears and tried to burrow through the metal floor. Terrified, it began mewling, its tail bottled, ears flat.
“Natalia, sort that cat out!” Langer said, worried that the noise would bring the Russians over. They were slowing down, uncertain as to what to do with a panzer in front of them. The problem was that Gus needed to drive through them to get to the road that led to the south-west. The Soviets were blocking the road.
The Russians, uncertain as to what to do without orders, stopped. A captain came up roaring orders to the stupid whoresons to get moving, then stopped as he caught sight of the halted panzer across the road. This wasn’t in the rehearsals they’d planned the other day to march in and conquer yet another capitalist town in the glorious name of world socialism. What was this fascist tank doing here?
“Captain, please allow us to leave,” Langer said, biting back the bile in his throat. The sight of the hated communist uniform brought sweat to his pores. Memories of being in their hands during the civil war came back to him all too vividly. “We hand this park over to your command.”
“Ah,” the captain responded. The fact the fascist spoke reasonably good Russian surprised him, even if he did speak like a Kulak from Siberia. “What is that sound coming from your tank?”
“Forgive me, captain, but we have developed a squeak in the turret ring. We intend having it seen to once we get to our mechanics.”
Inside the tank Langer had a brief glimpse of Natalia bending over, trying to coax Tobias out of a locker that had sprung open, spilling two clips of ammunition over the floor. The cat was not coming out of the nice dark cave for anyone, not even the woman who fed him. Steffan had bravely offered to help but had received a swipe across the wrist and was sucking the blood from the wound, glaring balefully at the pair of eyes that peered out at him.
Natalia was close to panic. She could hear the Russian talking outside, his voice floating to her ears and she gripped Langer’s legs tightly, giving up on trying to get Tobias. She hoped the German didn’t give her away; spending the rest of her life in a Gulag in the snowy wastes of Kamchatka did not appeal to her in the slightest. What could she do? Persuade the German to remain on her side! How? Her mind whirled, then suddenly something came to her, born out of sheer desperation.
Langer was leaning over the edge of the turret. “Captain, we do not wish to remain here any longer, and we’re disrupting your soldiers’ neat lines. Allow us passage and……” he stopped, as he felt his buttons on his trousers part and Natalia’s hand pull his me
mber free. His eyes bulged and he went still for a moment.
“Yes, sergeant?” the Soviet captain demanded, waiting for the rest.
Langer’s mind was distracted. The warm, wet, delicious feeling of Natalia’s mouth closing around his rapidly swelling organ was enough to stop a saint in mid-sentence. “Uhhh…..”
“Sergeant! What is wrong? Do you need assistance?”
As Natalia began to suck vigorously, Langer’s mouth opened and then shut. “Ahhh…Captain, I have cramp… stiffening muscles. Nothing you can help with.”
The pressure was becoming quite severe and Langer didn’t know whether he could hold on, given the fact he’d not enjoyed a woman for quite some time. He wished the fucking Soviets would get the fuck out of his way, now!
Steffan goggled at the sight of the diminutive Jewish whore giving his commander a blow job, then looked away, not knowing what to say or where to look. Gus twisted in his seat and began chuckling. “Oh ho, my little darling, would you like to switch from his pathetic thirty-seven to my rampaging eighty-eight? You get more bang for your time with me!”
Natalia grinned briefly and then carried on concentrating on giving Langer the best oral experience she could possibly give. Langer gritted his teeth and sucked a deep breath through them. “Captain,” he gasped, “we’re going to move whether your men are there or not!”
The captain scowled. Socialists did not move aside for fascists, even if they were temporary allies.
Langer couldn’t care what happened now. He was past caring about anything. With both hands clenched around the turret lid, he released with a feeling of euphoria into Natalia’s mouth, shaking, eyes shut.
Gus puffed out both cheeks; maybe he could get her as his hull gunner should they progress to the bigger Pz III. That would help pass the time trundling down boring roads. The Soviet captain glared balefully up at the tank. As far as he was concerned the fascists could move out of the way until his parade had passed. He swung about and faced his soldiers who were still waiting for his command.