vehicle’s 37mm cracked into action once more. A sudden brown hole appeared in the surface of the snow to their right like the work of some gigantic mole.
The gun fired again. To their left the firs were sheared away and went crashing down in a flurry of snow like matchsticks. They reached another steep slope. To their right the mountainside fell steeply. Now the armoured car’s massive horse power began to tell, and it started to gain on them again, its machine guns chattering furiously. Schulze’s eyes strained through the flying snow, trying to make out the top of the ascent. If they did not make it soon and swing round the cover of some bend, they would be finished. The armoured car would overtake them. The snow cleared for a moment and Schulze saw with an overwhelming sense of defeat that there was perhaps a quarter of a kilometre of straight road ahead of them to the next bend. They could not make it!
But he had not reckoned with the old Jew. Suddenly he seemed to forget his fear. He thrust his skinny hand through the flap at his side and began undoing the strap which held the spare jerrican of petrol fixed to the side of the VW. Supporting himself in the wildly swaying VW as best he could, he managed it and ripped open the filler cap. The VW was suddenly full of the stink of petrol. He let go of the can. It fell behind them, bouncing and tumbling on the hard-packed snow of their tracks, right into the path of the armoured car. The driver had no time to manoeuvre. Next instant, there was the hollow clang of steel striking steel. What was left of the petrol – perhaps ten or so litres – washed up and covered the whole front of the armoured car’s glacis plate.
Abruptly Chink realized what the old man was up to. He did not hesitate, but, plunged his clenched fist through the thin plastic of the rear window, and pulled out a stick grenade. Schulze watched fascinated in the rear view mirror, at the armoured car, dripping petrol, looming ever larger. Then the Russians were close enough. ‘ Urrah! ’ Chink yelled and flung the grenade.
It exploded exactly where he wanted – on the link between the turret and the petrol-soaked glacis plate. The grenade itself did no harm to the hardened steel of the car, but the heat of its explosion ignited the petrol.
In a flash, the whole front of the armoured car was alive with bright red flame, completely blinding the driver. Instinctively he hit the brakes. It was a deadly thing to do on that slope and in that snow. The armoured car skidded crazily to the right. For one long moment it teetered on the edge of the cliff. But there was no holding it now.
As Schulze pressed the brakes gently and brought the VW to a stop, the flaming armoured car went over the side and then tumbled from view. He heard the outcome far below: the long jarring crunch as it hit the first rocks, followed by the brittle shattering of steel as it struck outcrop after outcrop until it came to rest in one great echoing crash at the bottom.
Schulze wiped the mixture of sweat and snow from his broad, scarlet face gratefully and looked down at the little Jew, who was beaming at him. ‘You know, Ikey, you saved our bacon just then.’
‘We survived,’ the little man said easily.
‘Here,’ Schulze said spontaneously, ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He reached inside the Russian greatcoat and tugged out his Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross. ‘Stick that round yer skinny Yiddish neck,’ Schulze said.
Janosz the Pedlar looked down incredulously at the gleaming black and white decoration now hanging from his neck. Then shaking his old head, he followed the other two back to the bullet-holed jeep.
‘ Oi,oi ,’ he muttered to himself as he clambered inside again, ‘a Yid with the Iron Cross. Meschugge! ’
Moments later they were on their way towards Budapest.
Note
1. Imperial and Royal. Title applied to the old Anglo-Hungarian Army, prior to 1918.
FOUR
‘Otto, we request Otto?’
The gun fired again. To their left the firs were sheared away and went crashing down in a flurry of snow like matchsticks. They reached another steep slope. To their right the mountainside fell steeply. Now the armoured car’s massive horse power began to tell, and it started to gain on them again, its machine guns chattering furiously. Schulze’s eyes strained through the flying snow, trying to make out the top of the ascent. If they did not make it soon and swing round the cover of some bend, they would be finished. The armoured car would overtake them. The snow cleared for a moment and Schulze saw with an overwhelming sense of defeat that there was perhaps a quarter of a kilometre of straight road ahead of them to the next bend. They could not make it!
But he had not reckoned with the old Jew. Suddenly he seemed to forget his fear. He thrust his skinny hand through the flap at his side and began undoing the strap which held the spare jerrican of petrol fixed to the side of the VW. Supporting himself in the wildly swaying VW as best he could, he managed it and ripped open the filler cap. The VW was suddenly full of the stink of petrol. He let go of the can. It fell behind them, bouncing and tumbling on the hard-packed snow of their tracks, right into the path of the armoured car. The driver had no time to manoeuvre. Next instant, there was the hollow clang of steel striking steel. What was left of the petrol – perhaps ten or so litres – washed up and covered the whole front of the armoured car’s glacis plate.
Abruptly Chink realized what the old man was up to. He did not hesitate, but, plunged his clenched fist through the thin plastic of the rear window, and pulled out a stick grenade. Schulze watched fascinated in the rear view mirror, at the armoured car, dripping petrol, looming ever larger. Then the Russians were close enough. ‘ Urrah! ’ Chink yelled and flung the grenade.
It exploded exactly where he wanted – on the link between the turret and the petrol-soaked glacis plate. The grenade itself did no harm to the hardened steel of the car, but the heat of its explosion ignited the petrol.
In a flash, the whole front of the armoured car was alive with bright red flame, completely blinding the driver. Instinctively he hit the brakes. It was a deadly thing to do on that slope and in that snow. The armoured car skidded crazily to the right. For one long moment it teetered on the edge of the cliff. But there was no holding it now.
As Schulze pressed the brakes gently and brought the VW to a stop, the flaming armoured car went over the side and then tumbled from view. He heard the outcome far below: the long jarring crunch as it hit the first rocks, followed by the brittle shattering of steel as it struck outcrop after outcrop until it came to rest in one great echoing crash at the bottom.
Schulze wiped the mixture of sweat and snow from his broad, scarlet face gratefully and looked down at the little Jew, who was beaming at him. ‘You know, Ikey, you saved our bacon just then.’
‘We survived,’ the little man said easily.
‘Here,’ Schulze said spontaneously, ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He reached inside the Russian greatcoat and tugged out his Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross. ‘Stick that round yer skinny Yiddish neck,’ Schulze said.
Janosz the Pedlar looked down incredulously at the gleaming black and white decoration now hanging from his neck. Then shaking his old head, he followed the other two back to the bullet-holed jeep.
‘ Oi,oi ,’ he muttered to himself as he clambered inside again, ‘a Yid with the Iron Cross. Meschugge! ’
Moments later they were on their way towards Budapest.
Note
1. Imperial and Royal. Title applied to the old Anglo-Hungarian Army, prior to 1918.
FOUR
‘Otto, we request Otto?’
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