it to all of you, you . . ."
"Drop it," Hals insisted. "Shit."
He didn't say anything more. A blow from Hal's fist caught him on the chin. He spun round and fell onto his backside in the snow. By now Lensen had come up too.
"You bunch of kid shits," shouted my driver. He tried to get up to return to the attack.
Lensen, short and thick-set, kicked him in the face with his metaled boot before he'd regained his balance. He fell onto his knees with a cry of pain, lifting his hands to his bloody face.
"Savage," somebody shouted.
We didn't persist further, and rejoined the group, swearing under our breath. The others looked at us blackly, and two of them helped my driver to his feet. He was still groaning.
"We'll have to look out for that one," Hals warned.
"He might very well shoot one of us in the back the next time we're attacked."
Reveille the next day was later than usual. We went out for company roll call and were greeted by a whirlwind of snow. With our heads muffled in our upturned collars to escape the stinging ice fragments in the wind, we heard some good news. Feldwebel Laus, whom we hadn't seen in an eternity, was standing in front of us holding a piece of paper with both hands. He too was having trouble with the wind.
"Soldiers!" he read, in the lull between two gusts.
"The High Command, aware of your condition, grants you a leave of twenty-four hours. Nevertheless, given the present situation, a counter order could come at any time. You will, therefore, present yourselves at your billets every two hours. Needless to say, this will not give you time to call on lady friends or visit your families," he added, laughing. "But at least you'll be able to write to them."
Laus sent two men to fetch the mail, which was then distributed. There were four letters and a package for me. We would have liked to look at Kharkov, but the appalling weather kept us indoors. We spent a restful day, preparing for the return journey. We were therefore astonished to be told next day that we would re-supply with food and weapons a unit stationed in the combat zone. We were even given more or less precisely the location of our new destination. We were to proceed to a sector somewhere to the south of Voronezh. We received this news without enthusiasm.
"Bah!" said Hals. "Whether we tramp through the snow to Kiev or to Voronezh, it's all the same thing."
"Yes," said Olensheim somewhat cautiously. "But Voronezh is at the front."
"I know," said Hals. "But we'll have to see it sometime."
As for me, I didn't know what to think. What really happened on a battlefield? I felt torn by curiosity and fear.
THE FRONT
South of Voronezh - The Don
Winter seemed endless. It snowed every day, almost without a break.
At the end of February or beginning of March-1 no longer remember which-we were taken by rail to a town used as a major supply center, some fifty miles from Kharkov. Food, blankets, medicines, and other supplies were stored in big sheds, and every cellar and hole in the ground was jammed with munitions. There were also repair shops some indoors, others in the open air. Soldiers perching on tanks blew on their fingers when they grew too numb to hold a wrench. A system of trenches and strongpoints had been organized on the outskirts of the town. This part of the country suffered from frequent partisan attacks, often by large groups of men. Whenever this happened, every mechanic and warehouseman abandoned his tools and inventories for a machine gun, to protect the supplies and himself.
"The only advantage we have here," one of the soldiers said to me, "is that we're very well fed. There's an awful lot of work. We have to organize our own defense-we take turns standing guard-and things can get pretty tough with the partisans. They've given us some hard times, even with all of us fighting, and they've already destroyed a lot. Several times the C.O. has asked for an infantry unit to help him out-but it's only happened once. An
"Drop it," Hals insisted. "Shit."
He didn't say anything more. A blow from Hal's fist caught him on the chin. He spun round and fell onto his backside in the snow. By now Lensen had come up too.
"You bunch of kid shits," shouted my driver. He tried to get up to return to the attack.
Lensen, short and thick-set, kicked him in the face with his metaled boot before he'd regained his balance. He fell onto his knees with a cry of pain, lifting his hands to his bloody face.
"Savage," somebody shouted.
We didn't persist further, and rejoined the group, swearing under our breath. The others looked at us blackly, and two of them helped my driver to his feet. He was still groaning.
"We'll have to look out for that one," Hals warned.
"He might very well shoot one of us in the back the next time we're attacked."
Reveille the next day was later than usual. We went out for company roll call and were greeted by a whirlwind of snow. With our heads muffled in our upturned collars to escape the stinging ice fragments in the wind, we heard some good news. Feldwebel Laus, whom we hadn't seen in an eternity, was standing in front of us holding a piece of paper with both hands. He too was having trouble with the wind.
"Soldiers!" he read, in the lull between two gusts.
"The High Command, aware of your condition, grants you a leave of twenty-four hours. Nevertheless, given the present situation, a counter order could come at any time. You will, therefore, present yourselves at your billets every two hours. Needless to say, this will not give you time to call on lady friends or visit your families," he added, laughing. "But at least you'll be able to write to them."
Laus sent two men to fetch the mail, which was then distributed. There were four letters and a package for me. We would have liked to look at Kharkov, but the appalling weather kept us indoors. We spent a restful day, preparing for the return journey. We were therefore astonished to be told next day that we would re-supply with food and weapons a unit stationed in the combat zone. We were even given more or less precisely the location of our new destination. We were to proceed to a sector somewhere to the south of Voronezh. We received this news without enthusiasm.
"Bah!" said Hals. "Whether we tramp through the snow to Kiev or to Voronezh, it's all the same thing."
"Yes," said Olensheim somewhat cautiously. "But Voronezh is at the front."
"I know," said Hals. "But we'll have to see it sometime."
As for me, I didn't know what to think. What really happened on a battlefield? I felt torn by curiosity and fear.
THE FRONT
South of Voronezh - The Don
Winter seemed endless. It snowed every day, almost without a break.
At the end of February or beginning of March-1 no longer remember which-we were taken by rail to a town used as a major supply center, some fifty miles from Kharkov. Food, blankets, medicines, and other supplies were stored in big sheds, and every cellar and hole in the ground was jammed with munitions. There were also repair shops some indoors, others in the open air. Soldiers perching on tanks blew on their fingers when they grew too numb to hold a wrench. A system of trenches and strongpoints had been organized on the outskirts of the town. This part of the country suffered from frequent partisan attacks, often by large groups of men. Whenever this happened, every mechanic and warehouseman abandoned his tools and inventories for a machine gun, to protect the supplies and himself.
"The only advantage we have here," one of the soldiers said to me, "is that we're very well fed. There's an awful lot of work. We have to organize our own defense-we take turns standing guard-and things can get pretty tough with the partisans. They've given us some hard times, even with all of us fighting, and they've already destroyed a lot. Several times the C.O. has asked for an infantry unit to help him out-but it's only happened once. An
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