especially as Ripper’s face was a picture of earnestness, and was mirrored by the silent Wilson’s.
‘You’ll have to put off your departure, at least for an hour.’ Lieutenant Hogg stuck his beaming face round the side of the truck. ‘Seems like there’s a Russian column coming who don’t have access to such interesting inside information, and we might just have to restrain them. That OK
‘Fine by me, Lieutenant. Like I was telling this fella here, before I got sidetracked, me and Wilson we wanted to get in on the action and get ourselves a medal or two before it was all over. We’d have felt a mite foolish if we’d stepped off the plane, been told it’d ended and that we were going back on the next flight.’
‘I see your point.’ Hogg turned to Libby. ‘Don’t open up until you hear the Dragons go into action. And if you’re forced to shift position, don’t park anywhere near the big building two blocks down. The combat engineers brought a few kilos of explosive with them and we’ve mined the place. Good luck.’ ‘Hey, now don’t he seem a nice fella.’ Ripper watched the lieutenant depart. ‘Boot camp would have been a touch more pleasant if a handful of our drill sergeants had been like him.’
Wilson didn’t say anything, but his slow nod signalled agreement. Libby rubbed his brow, he had one hell of a headache coming on. He could only pray that the Russians would oblige him by removing its cause. The two southerners were sharing a bar of chocolate, blissfully unaware of the prayer being aimed at them. Wincing at a sharp and painful twinge in his left temple, Libby added a rider to the supplication; he uttered it out loud, though under his breath, to give it added force and weight. ‘And please, make it soon.’
‘He’s chasing about like a blue-arsed fly out there.’ Burke watched the lieutenant dashing from one building to another, checking his men were in place. ‘He sure is a worker, just the sort we don’t want in this outfit.’
‘Fuck him, what we need is a chef.’ Loud rumblings were coming from Dooley’s large gut. ‘At the moment I’d even settle for the crummiest short order cook in the States, even an army cook, third class.’
‘Christ, you must be bloody hungry to wish that on yourself. I’d hesitate before wishing that on a shitty commissar.’ Nibbling at the corner of a block of K-rations, Burke attempted to figure out precisely what it was, or was supposed to be. He didn’t succeed.
‘What makes it all the fucking worse,’ Dooley paused to listen to a particularly angry burst of sound from beneath his belt. ‘Will you listen to that, it’s fucking tearing itself apart… What’s making it all the worse, is that a couple of hours drive from here is some of the most incredible fucking food you ever tasted. You like German dishes?’
‘Only the ones with skirts on.’
‘No, you shit; the food.’ Checking his food pack for the tenth time, and shaking out and licking the last imagined crumb from his grubby palm, Dooley hurled it away in disgust. ‘What I need is one of the sausages like they do at the Alt Nurnberg, washed down with a gallon of beer, or a Zepplinwurst, or,’ he licked his lips and slurped appreciatively, ‘pickled pork ribs or breaded pork chops...’ ‘You’ve eaten so many pigs you’re starting to turn into one.’
‘Shut up, Burke, you old misery. I tell you, I can see why the West German army is so fucking fanatical. Any country that can produce beer, wine and food like this does has got to be worth fighting for. When this lot is over I’m staying. I’ll get a little farm, somewhere round here maybe, and keep pigs. I’ll grow pork, old and fat.’
‘And shack up with some fat-arsed old frau.’ ‘And why not? I like my women big, like to feel a good pair of haunches grinding into my lap when I take them from behind, and plenty of udder up front to give good hand holds.’
‘Big is one thing. I saw that piece you
‘You’ll have to put off your departure, at least for an hour.’ Lieutenant Hogg stuck his beaming face round the side of the truck. ‘Seems like there’s a Russian column coming who don’t have access to such interesting inside information, and we might just have to restrain them. That OK
‘Fine by me, Lieutenant. Like I was telling this fella here, before I got sidetracked, me and Wilson we wanted to get in on the action and get ourselves a medal or two before it was all over. We’d have felt a mite foolish if we’d stepped off the plane, been told it’d ended and that we were going back on the next flight.’
‘I see your point.’ Hogg turned to Libby. ‘Don’t open up until you hear the Dragons go into action. And if you’re forced to shift position, don’t park anywhere near the big building two blocks down. The combat engineers brought a few kilos of explosive with them and we’ve mined the place. Good luck.’ ‘Hey, now don’t he seem a nice fella.’ Ripper watched the lieutenant depart. ‘Boot camp would have been a touch more pleasant if a handful of our drill sergeants had been like him.’
Wilson didn’t say anything, but his slow nod signalled agreement. Libby rubbed his brow, he had one hell of a headache coming on. He could only pray that the Russians would oblige him by removing its cause. The two southerners were sharing a bar of chocolate, blissfully unaware of the prayer being aimed at them. Wincing at a sharp and painful twinge in his left temple, Libby added a rider to the supplication; he uttered it out loud, though under his breath, to give it added force and weight. ‘And please, make it soon.’
‘He’s chasing about like a blue-arsed fly out there.’ Burke watched the lieutenant dashing from one building to another, checking his men were in place. ‘He sure is a worker, just the sort we don’t want in this outfit.’
‘Fuck him, what we need is a chef.’ Loud rumblings were coming from Dooley’s large gut. ‘At the moment I’d even settle for the crummiest short order cook in the States, even an army cook, third class.’
‘Christ, you must be bloody hungry to wish that on yourself. I’d hesitate before wishing that on a shitty commissar.’ Nibbling at the corner of a block of K-rations, Burke attempted to figure out precisely what it was, or was supposed to be. He didn’t succeed.
‘What makes it all the fucking worse,’ Dooley paused to listen to a particularly angry burst of sound from beneath his belt. ‘Will you listen to that, it’s fucking tearing itself apart… What’s making it all the worse, is that a couple of hours drive from here is some of the most incredible fucking food you ever tasted. You like German dishes?’
‘Only the ones with skirts on.’
‘No, you shit; the food.’ Checking his food pack for the tenth time, and shaking out and licking the last imagined crumb from his grubby palm, Dooley hurled it away in disgust. ‘What I need is one of the sausages like they do at the Alt Nurnberg, washed down with a gallon of beer, or a Zepplinwurst, or,’ he licked his lips and slurped appreciatively, ‘pickled pork ribs or breaded pork chops...’ ‘You’ve eaten so many pigs you’re starting to turn into one.’
‘Shut up, Burke, you old misery. I tell you, I can see why the West German army is so fucking fanatical. Any country that can produce beer, wine and food like this does has got to be worth fighting for. When this lot is over I’m staying. I’ll get a little farm, somewhere round here maybe, and keep pigs. I’ll grow pork, old and fat.’
‘And shack up with some fat-arsed old frau.’ ‘And why not? I like my women big, like to feel a good pair of haunches grinding into my lap when I take them from behind, and plenty of udder up front to give good hand holds.’
‘Big is one thing. I saw that piece you
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