Liquidate Paris by Sven Hassel

'If you'd been up to what he's been up to----'
    A loud and ribald cheer burst from the ranks of assembled men. I assumed a Don Juan smile and the Major turned in a fury upon everyone in general.
    'Stop that bloody racket! What d'you think this is, a bloody pantomime? A bloody magic lantern show?'
    You----' He swung back to me again. 'You're under arrest! Get back in the ranks and don't let me catch sight of your stupid face again until I call for it... Oberleutnant! Get them out of here, at the double!'
    The Major ducked into his car, the door slammed, and he disappeared in a whirling cloud of dust. Oberleutnant Lowe pushed his helmet back and nodded to me.
    'Get fell in, you filthy whoring son of a bitch... Company! 'Ten shun! Company... right... turn!'
    For a moment he stood critically surveying us as we stood stiff and correct in our ranks. Next second he was hard put to keep his feet as one hundred and eighty men in wild disorder threw themselves towards the waiting tanks. We had quite a fight luring the drunken Little John inside with us. He showed a sportive inclination to climb up the side of the tank and crawl about the top of it shouting, and it took three of us to cram him head-first down the hatch. Once inside, he fortunately passed out and we were able to kick him into a corner and forget about him.
    With a roar as of approaching thunder, twenty-five Tigers moved out of the village.
    'Straight ahead,' said the Old Man. 'Just keep going till we pick up the main road. Get the cannons loaded. Check all systems.'
    With startling suddenness, I found myself overcome with a sharp pang of nostalgia for that dream world I had been so rudely dragged away from. Apathetically, I began, carrying out the Old Man's orders, pressing buttons, checking' equipment. My thoughts were full of civilization. Of women and houses and hot baths and real coffee. Bed and gardens and bath salts and; sugar. Soft pink flesh and the scent of roses----
    'That's my eye, you stupid sodding bastard!'
    'Sorry,' I said, and I removed my finger from Porta's eye and placed it firmly on the button it had been searching for.
    I stared down at the dark interior of the tank. It stank of oil, of hot metal, of human sweat and bad breath. This was reality. Like it or not, this was reality. Sweet dreams of any other way of life would surely drive you mad.
    Little John opened an inflamed eye, caught sight of me and leaned confidentially towards me. He belched, and fumes of stale drink rose up and stifled me.
    'Hey, Sven! ' He grinned and poked a lewd finger into my groin. 'I heard what you were up to! What's she like, eh?'
    I stuck my face close to his.
    'Fuck off!' I said.
    When we reached the point where the village street went straight on and the slope leading to the house branched off to the left, I made no attempt to stop myself looking out of the observation slit. I was glad I took that last glance. Jacqueline was there, standing by the hedge, waving as we went by.
    The village was still in sight when an enemy tank was reported as being 700 metres away at two o'clock. We swept into action and I was jerked back with a sickening thud into the midst of reality. It was, as it happened, a false alarm--a burnt-out wreckage at the side of the road, with two charred bodies beneath it--but once and for all it put a stop to my day-dreams.
    Soon it was night, the sky lighted fitfully by a pale phantom moon. The tanks ploughed onwards, shaking houses to their very foundations. All along the route people were woken by the noise, curtains were twitched back, nervous eyes appeared, glinting in the moonlight, to watch our passage, find out who we were--because from this stage on, who knew? It could be friend or foe; American or German.
    Three battalions of heavy tanks ploughing through the darkness to take the British by surprise. The lumbering Tigers stretched across the whole width of the road. Bright flames, a metre long, flickered from the exhausts. The reverberations