Court Martial by Sven Hassel Page B

'or I'll knock your teeth down your throat!' He lifts the muzzle of his Mpi, as if he were ready to carry out his threat on the spot.
    The lorry bumps and shakes its way over the uneven paving. Burned-out ruins grin up at the rain-filled clouds. Several are still smoking from the night's fires. Everywhere bodies are being dug from the caved-in cellars.
    Heavily-armed SS patrols sneak through the smoke-blackened streets on the watch for looters. If they catch any they are given short shrift. They carry ropes with them and there are plenty of lamp-posts in Berlin.
    A group of women outside a butcher's shop gaze inquisitively after the lorry, which has to take to the pavement to avoid a bomb crater in the middle of the road.
    The watchdogs on the tailboard seem to enjoy the trip. Escorting prisoners is considered a light job. It is a duty like any other duty, like training recruits, delivering ammunition, or clothing and equipment. Some get guard duty for years outside GHQs, barracks, depots and airfields. Countless soldiers fight at the front as infantrymen, artillerymen, tankmen. Shoot, kill, execute in one way or another.
    The MPs escort prisoners. A much pleasanter job than slogging around in mud-filled trenches.
    Oberleutnant Wisling watches them through half-closed eyes. He is thinking again of escaping. It would be easy enough to tip those fat, self-satisfied policemen over the tailboard and run for it, but the problem was to get to the tailboard. He would have to get over three benches. The prisoners were closely packed and the watchdogs would have shot him down without compunction before he got past the first of these. He thinks of crawling under the benches between the legs of the other prisoners, and begins to slide down to the floor of the lorry. His neighbour understands immediately what he is trying to do and covers him, but it is harder than he expected to crawl with his hands handcuffed behind his back. He has only reached the second row when the lorry swings through the barred gates of the Gross Deutschland Infantry Regiments' barracks. This has been converted to a military prison because all the regular prisons are packed. Even though Germany is second only to Russia as the country in the world which has the most prisons, there is now a shortage of them. But since there is also a catastrophic shortage of recruits the authorities are able to use the empty barracks for the purpose. Nothing is impossible to God and the German nation.
    The lorry stops with a jerk, and the prisoners fall from their benches. This saves Wisling from being discovered. He is almost weeping with disappointment when fellow-prisoners help him to his feet.
    'Out of it, you villains,' scream the MPs swinging their Mpi butts, brutally. 'Double up, you bastards! Think you're in a rest-home, do you?'
    Everywhere, screams and shouts, threats and oaths. Above everything the guards must be tough with prisoners. Otherwise the pleasant life in barracks may soon be over. It's only prisoners who're getting the rough end of the stick, anyway, and they're the scum of the Third Reich.
    They rush, chains jangling, across the parade ground. The dust whirls up around their hurrying feet.
    'Double up, double up, one-two, one-two!' screams the MP Feldwebel, swinging his long wooden stick at the nearest of the prisoners.
    A few old infantrymen peer inquisitively from the open windows. Not because there is anything new in this sight, but something out of the way just might happen.
    Oberst Frick falls forward and smashes his face into the parade ground dirt, unable to break his fall with arms chained behind his back, but kicks and butt-strokes soon bring him to his feet again. A prisoner in a military gaol in Germany learns amazingly quickly the way to get to his feet again without using his hands. With shouts and screams they are chased round the parade ground. Yet another prisoner falls on his face and smashes his head into a sharp rock. He receives a deep