The Devil's Shield (Dogs of War)

by Leo Kessler

  Gerhardt glanced at the one-legged sergeant-major. ‘I shouldn’t be so nasty if I were you, Sergeant-Major,’ he croaked. ‘I just might take it into my noddle to leave you down here – and then where would you be?’ He chuckled throatily. ‘Besides,’ he added, running a filthy gnarled hand through the liquid, ‘this stuff’s liquid gold, if you would but know. Makes things grow better than all the horseshit in the world.’

  ‘Why don’t you rub it into your scalp then, you bald-headed old coot?’ Matz growled. ‘Might make yer shitty locks grow a bit more.’

  Von Dodenburg grinned thinly and waded through the stinking mire. Time passed leadenly. Once they were startled by a gigantic shadow which blocked out the side of the sewer, flickering slightly in the white light of the old man’s carbide lamp.

  ‘What in the name of Jesus-Mary is that?’ Trees, the Bavarian farmboy, asked fearfully.

  The civilian clapped his dripping hands loudly together. The shadow slipped away with the soft patter of clawed feet. ‘A rat,’ he croaked, ‘There’s a lot of ’em down here. They were skinnier before the war though. But now there’s plenty of grub for them down here. You’d be surprised at the kind of eats they can find in the sewers in wartime.’ His worn old voice echoed hollowly along the length of the dark, stinking tunnel.

  ‘Colonel,’ Matz moaned. ‘Can’t you order the nutty old arse-hole to knock it off, please? He gets on my tits with that laugh of his! Drives me up the wall.’

  Von Dodenburg ignored the plea. He was too concerned with keeping his footing in the slippery mire. They plodded on. Then when it seemed that they would never escape the waist-high, hideously bubbling liquid, it started to give way to cold water which drove away the overpowering stench within a matter of seconds.

  ‘We’re getting there,’ the old man informed them. ‘The main square isn’t much farther now.’

  He wasn’t wrong. Two minutes later they plodded round a bend, splashing hastily through the clear water in their mired boots to emerge into a large cavelike area, illuminated by the thin grey light falling from half-a-dozen gratings.

  ‘The main square,’ Gerhardt announced proudly, as if he were showing them Aachen’s noble Cathedral Square. ‘Over there exit to the Bahnhofstrasse. That one there is the Lager-hausstrasse. Before the war I used to spend many a happy hour looking up that one. The whores didn’t use to wear any knickers in those days. Surprising what you saw if you looked long enough. I remember one time—’

  ‘Shut up,’ von Dodenburg hissed, ‘and put that shitty lantern out, will you?’

  They could hear the stumbling progress, interrupted by the whispered curses and grunts, of the other sections. In dripping silence, they waited till they emerged around the bend, gasping with relief as they breathed the fresher air coming through the gratings above their heads, the section leaders snapping off their flashlights automatically.

  Von Dodenburg waited till the last section had recovered its breath, and the one man who had been unlucky enough to slip and fall full length in the mire had managed to get the worst of the mess off his face with the help of the underground stream. ‘All right,’ he said softly, ‘we’re all here now. Check your weapons first. But keep it quiet!’

  There was the muted sound of the men drawing back their bolts carefully, checking whether the long trek through the mire of the tunnel had not affected their weapons. Here and there a man who had discovered a blockage of some sort worked his bolt a few times rapidly to ease it away. But finally they were all satisfied that their weapons would fire.

  ‘Good,’ von Dodenburg breathed, looking round their pale, tense faces. ‘Everything seems all right. Take up your positions as the old man here calls out the street names.’

  One by one the civilian, proud of his knowledge, called out the names of the individual streets, and the sections positioned themselves behind their leaders, chalk at the ready, eager to move off and leave the tunnel.

  Von Dodenburg licked his dry lips. ‘Happy landings, lads,’ he called softly.

  ‘Happy landings, sir,’ they answered.

  ‘All right, off we go – and give them hell!’

  Splashing swiftly through the shallower water of the side drain, von Dodenburg led his little party, consisting of Matz, Trees and a young Hamburger named Frank, down towards the sewer opening behind the main station, drawing a broad green chalk line on the rough wall as he went. The light from the opening came closer and closer. He hissed a warning for them to be quieter. Behind him Matz gripped his Schmeisser more firmly. Then they were directly beneath the grating. Von Dodenburg stuck his pistol in his belt at the ready.

  ‘Matz, bend down,’ he whispered.

  Von Dodenburg sprang lightly on his back. There was no sound from above. It was really getting dark outside now. He knew that the Amis had instituted a five o’clock curfew in their part of the city. The only people abroad now, therefore, would be enemy soldiers.

  ‘All right, take the strain,’ he ordered softly.

  Matz tensed. With all his strength, von Dodenburg levered up the heavy iron grating. It came away with difficulty. He lowered it as gently as he could on to the cobbles and poked his head above the surface. No one! He heaved himself out and lay full length in the wet cold street, pistol in hand, surveying the ruins. There was no sign of the Americans, save for a burned-out White scout car at the corner next to a pile of dull brown C-ration cans. Ration cans, thrown away with their usual careless prodigality, were always a clue to the enemy’s presence.

  ‘Good, you can come up,’ he called down, not taking his eyes off the end of the street.

  ‘They would never have done this in the old Army,’ Matz grumbled as Trees stepped forward and used his broad back to lever himself out into the open, ‘using a senior NCO as a sodding doorstep. What flaming well next?’

  Cautiously they moved down the deserted street. To their right, they could see the chaos of the main station’s shunting yard, filled with useless locomotives mocking the proud boast that had been painted on their sides in the good days. ‘THESE WHEELS ROLL FOR VICTORY!’ Everywhere dirty white flags made from towels and torn sheets hung from the ruins, but there was no sign of any civilians. They came to a corner and halted.

  Suddenly they heard the soft shuffle of what could only be an American combat boot. Von Dodenburg tensed. ‘Trees – the knife!’ he hissed.

  The farmboy drew his combat knife and tensed, the gleaming blade gripped in his red-knuckled hand. The Ami came round the corner. A big Negro sergeant, pistol at his hip, a bag in his big fist.

  ‘Hands up,’ von Dodenburg hissed.

  For what seemed an age, the black soldier did not react. Then he muttered: ‘Aah, go and shit in ya hat!’ and dived for his pistol with swift determination.

  Trees was quicker. His hand shot out. The Ami’s voice ended in a thick-blooded gurgle as the knife penetrated his neck. Trees stabbed him again. The blood gushed out and splashed his knuckles. The Negro’s yellow eyes rolled upwards. Just as he was about to fall, Matz caught him.

  ‘Come to mother, you black bastard,’ he said.

  ‘Lower him carefully,’ von Dodenburg urged, as the Ami drowned in his own blood. ‘Not a sound.’

  But they were unlucky. In that very same instant the chatter of a Schmeisser started up close by, followed by angry shouts and the slower noise of an Ami machine-pistol. Matz let the Negro drop to the ground with the thud. ‘They’re on to us, sir!’ he yelled and unslung his Schmeisser.

  ‘You’re right, Matz. Come on, lads.’ Von Dodenburg started to run forward towards their objective. The operation, he told himself as the three men pelted after him, looked as if it might turn out to be a big ballsup after all.

  Notes

  1. See Hauptbahnhof on the map.

  2. German term for hotels where prostitutes hired rooms by the hour.

  THREE

  Major Schwarz had been the first to spot the girl as his group doubled towards their objective. She was swaying ba
ck and forth on the kitchen table in a drunken parody of a dance; and her nubile teenage body was completely naked. He came to such an abrupt halt that the trooper behind him nearly crashed into him.

  ‘Look,’ he yelled hysterically, pointing at the window behind which the dark-haired naked girl danced to the delighted calls of the Ami soldiers and the music of a scratchy old gramophone record, ‘a German girl dancing for those enemy pigs!’

  ‘Sir,’ the trooper protested, ‘that’s not our objective. If we open up—’

  Schwarz had not let him finish. Face contorted with hate, he pressed the trigger of his machine-pistol. The glass shattered. A line of red holes appeared across the girl’s breasts. Her mouth sagged open. Her knees began to buckle beneath her. Schwarz fired again. Her face became a welter of blood and bone. She dropped to the floor.

  A moment later all was confusion and the Amis were firing wild bursts everywhere.

  Panting heavily, von Dodenburg’s section clattered past the shattered, bullet-pocked door into the hallway of the run-down hotel. Matz skidded on the stone-tiled floor and went full length with a wild curse. Somewhere beyond in the gloom, heavy boots clattered downstairs. An angry voice called something. Von Dodenburg lobbed his stick grenade upwards. There was a thick muffled crump, a flash of purple flame and an agonising scream. A door flung open. Von Dodenburg spun round. Von Dodenburg caught a glimpse of an Ami helmet.

  Before he could react, Matz fired a burst from the floor. The Ami fell back screaming, his face a red pulpy mass without recognisable features. Trees sprang over the NCO and thrust open the door of the nearest room. It was filled with ashen-faced unarmed Amis sprawled out on makeshift beds on the floor in their khaki-coloured underwear. He tossed in the stick grenade and closed the door hurriedly. Hanging on to the handle tightly, his lips moved soundlessly as he counted the seconds.

  Crump. The door jerked wildly in his grasp like a live thing. Thick smoke poured from beneath it.

  ‘Open!’ Matz yelled above the screams.

  Tress flung it open and sprang back. From his position on the floor, Matz sprayed the room’s interior from side to side. Black-faced, bloody men staggered blindly out of the yellow smoke and were flung aside by the murderous fire.

  Von Dodenburg pelted up the stairs. A naked man, khaki-coloured towel over his shooulder, was standing in an enamel bowl, washing himself. Von Dodenburg fired once. A red hole tore his white stomach. The Ami fell to his knees in the bowl, clutching his belly. Von Dodenburg kicked him in the face and ran on. The bowl slid across the floor, scattering bloody soap suds everywhere.

  A white face peered down at him from the stair-rail, eyes wide with fear. Von Dodenburg reacted instinctively. Reaching up, he hooked his two front fingers in the man’s nostrils, and heaved. The next moment Trees had plunged his knife into his throat and slit it as neatly as he might have done one of the pigs back on the farm.

  An Ami grenade came rolling towards them from somewhere. Matz kicked it on down the stairs and yelled, ‘Duck!’ The four of them dropped to the floor. Sharpnel and a hot blast that threatened to burst their lungs was zinging off the walls. Frank yelped as a piece tore off his little finger. They ran down the stairs again. Just as they reached the door, Matz flung a phosphorus grenade behind them into the hall. A soft plop. White steaming pellets of phosporus everywhere. The hallway bright with angry red flame. Somewhere a piteous voice called: ‘Say, buddy, won’t you help me? … I can’t see … Say, buddy …’

  But the von Dodenburg section had no time for blinded Amis. They doubled into the crazy confusion of the street. Everywhere there were cries of rage, anguish and fear. Someone opened up with .5 inch Ami machine-gun until a harsh voice cried: ‘Will you stop that goddam firing, man! You’re firing into our own guys!’

  Screaming like wild men, the four SS soldiers clattered down both sides of the street, lobbing grenades into each house that looked occupied, lashing the façades with wild bursts of machine-pistol fire to keep the occupants down. A bare-headed soldier appeared at an upper window. Von Dodenburg shot him through the neck.

  Suddenly an accurate burst of fire stitched a line of bullets across the road only five metres in front of them, blue sparks flying up as the lead struck the cobbles. They flopped to the ground, panting wildly. Sucking his bloody hand still, Frank lobbed a grenade in the direction of the pile of firewood from which the firing had come. It fell short. The next moment the machine-gunner opened up again. Lead struck the road all around them, as they hugged the wet cobbles, careening off with a dying whine.

  ‘The pineapple-shitter’s well placed,’ Matz gasped. ‘Do we go back, sir?’

  Von Dodenburg flung a glance behind him. The darkening sky at the end of the road was lit up by the brilliant fireworks of small-arms fire. ‘No, it’s as bad there as here. We’ve got to get through the bastard!’

  ‘Sir?’ Trees yelled. ‘There’s a can of gas over there. We could burn him out.’

  Von Dodenburg nodded. ‘Get it,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll get a bucket on the opposite side of the road. Matz and Frank cover us! NOW!’ Madly the two of them doubled off in opposite directions, followed by an angry burst of fire, which switched from side to side, but just continued to miss them. Von Dodenburg clambered frantically through the chaotic rubble of the abandoned house, looking in vain for a bucket. Outside Matz and Frank kept up a desultory fire, breaking off every time the unseen Ami gunner sprayed the cobbles at their feet. In the end von Dodenburg compromised with an ancient enamel chamber pot, its bottom covered with a chipped and faded Imperial eagle.

  ‘Here,’ he yelled through the window. ‘Matz, catch this.’ With all his strength he flung it towards the NCO.

  ‘Oh, my aching back,’ Matz cried. ‘Now we’re down to fighting the flaming war with pisspots!’

  Trees had skidded across the road in a shower of sparks, followed by a frustrated burst of machine-gun fire. Von Dodenburg took the opportunity offered him. Body crouched low, he doubled back to the others. A slug tore off an epaulette. Another struck the heel of his boot. But he made it, chest heaving frantically.

  ‘Put some of that gas … into the peepot,’ he gasped. ‘Quick.’

  Fumbling frantically, Matz unscrewed the cap and poured the gas into the strange container.

  ‘Trees, stand by with the grenades!’

  The farmboy tugged the last two stick grenades out of his belt and curled his finger round the china ring of one of them. ‘Ready, sir.’

  ‘All right. When I throw this stuff, fling a grenade and drop – quick! Clear?’

  ‘Clear!’

  ‘Right then. NOW!’

  Von Dodenburg sprang to his feet. The Ami reacted a little too late. With all his strength von Dodenburg flung the contents of the pot towards the pile of wood. It fell short. But that didn’t matter. It was near enough. As he ducked, Trees’ grenade exploded. There was a burst of flame. A piteous scream. A second later, the Ami came staggering towards them, hands clawing the air, his uniform alive with flames. Matz shot him neatly in the stomach. He dropped without a sound, his head in a puddle of burning gas.

  ‘Come on,’ von Dodenburg yelled. ‘Let’s get on!’

  They needed no urging; the firing behind them was getting closer and closer.

  In the next five minutes, they destroyed a line of Ami supply trucks with their remaining grenades, slaughtered a group of white-helmeted military policemen busy polishing their boots prior to going out on night patrol – ‘well, that’s one piece of bullshit they’ll never have bothering them again’, had been Matz’s cynical comment – and shot up a large dormitory bedroom which, judging by the female underwear lying around, looked as if it had been used as an Ami brothel.

  ‘I always said the Amis wore lace knickers,’ Matz yelled, as they backed out, leaving the khaki-blanket-covered cots filled with dead and dying Amis and their whores.

  But time was running out now. Von Dodenburg glanced hastily at his watch. They had been ten minutes ab
ove ground.

  ‘Start moving back to the sewer,’ he yelled above the confused snap and crackle of small-arms fire. Swiftly he pulled out his Very pistol and fired the violet flare, the signal for withdrawal. It soared high above the houses and bathed the chaotic scene of death and destruction below in its gaudy light.

  They backed down the street, pausing and firing every few seconds, crouching close to the wall, spraying the street from side to side. A man loomed up from a doorway. His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips drawn back in a wolfish desire to kill. A speck of foam hung from the corners of his mouth. There was a gleam of metal. But Trees was quicker with his knife. In one and the same instant, his big boot kicked the Ami in the crotch and, as he doubled up, gasping in agony, his knife thrust home into the man’s back.

  The American fire was becoming more organised. Officers were shouting everywhere, trying to bring back order to their confused troops. NCOs were setting up block positions, cursing and kicking their men into the hastily erected barricades.

  The escapers ran into one. Hastily they turned and doubled down an alley. A high wall blocked their way. Von Dodenburg ran at it madly, followed by a shower of lead, and sprang upwards. His eager fingers clutched the top and missed. He screamed as the rough brick ripped away his fingernails.

  ‘They went down there, Sarge – I saw them!’ a youthful voice cried behind them.

  Von Dodenburg charged furiously at the wall once again. This time his bleeding fingers caught a projecting brick. It was enough. With all his strength he pulled himself upwards and swung himself on top. They heard boots running in their direction. ‘Trees,’ he cried, reaching down.

  Trees caught his fingers. Red-hot pain shot up his arms. Von Dodenburg bit his lip till the blood came. ‘Quick, you bastard,’ he muttered through gritted teeth, his arms feeling as if they were being pulled out of their sockets. Trees swung himself on top of the wall just in time and fired a wild but effective burst at the advancing Amis. They came to a hurried stop.