only idea you've got in that thick head of yours," Porta said. "I was looking for defeat."
"Was it supposed to be found round the Black Sea?" the Old Man asked, amazed.
"I had just heard that morning on the Tommy radio that defeat was imminent. The fighting in the Struma valley was going to be decisive. So I was searching with my magnifying glass behind every stone. All at once, I heard women screaming. Aha, I thought, there are some who have found defeat. But judging by the sounds it was knickers rather than flags that were being hauled down. The screams came from a nunnery. I swung myself up onto the wall and stuck my tomato inside. Imagine what I saw. Our faithful allies were busy helping the nuns. I can't remember what I said to them, but they withdrew at some considerable speed. I landed in a bed of tulips and received an excellent reception."
Porta's absorbing tale was here interrupted by Leutnant Frick ordering us to fall in.
An Oberleutnant with the white collar tabs of the Hermann Goring Panzerdivision, looked us over.
An observer 'plane was circling over the monastery.
"Artillery observer," Heide said. "If he catches sight of us ..."
Some monks brought us hot tea. We tipped half of it away and filled the cups up with rum. We still did not know what we were there for. We could hear hammering and sawing inside the monastery and in the distance the gunfire was unceasing.
"They're hard at it beyond the hills there," said the Old Man thoughtfully. "There's something brewing. I can feel it in my bones."
Whenever the Old Man said that, it was so. He was an old sweat and as such could smell dirty work a mile away.
"What are we here for?" Heide asked, addressing himself to no one in particular, and gave himself a shake.
"No idea," muttered the Old Man, giving his nose a tug. "I don't like all these people with the white tabs and the SS uniforms in the trucks. It stinks of hanky-panky.
They've threatened us a hundred times with God knows what, if we go near the monastery, and now here we are at it, and armed to the teeth. I wonder if the Catholic hunt hasn't perhaps started?"
"God preserve us, if that's the case," Barcelona said. "We'll be wading up to our chins in blood, if it is."
The Old Man slowly lit his pipe.
When night sank over the mountains hiding them, we backed the trucks to the monastery door. No lights were to be used in any circumstances. An elderly Luftwaffe leutnant ordered us to put our weapons in the driver's cab. No one was to enter the monastery armed. Somewhat reluctant, we chucked our automatic pistols into the cab. We felt naked without our arms.
"Take off your equipment and arms," the strange leutnant ordered heatedly.
Tiny tried to dart inside with a P. 3 8 sticking out of his trousers pocket. The leutnant called to him hectoringly:
"War without shooting irons is crazy," Tiny could not help saying.
"Shut that mouth of yours, obergefreiter," the leutnant fumed.
The Legionnaire came gliding up with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He laughed openly at the leutnant. He had his heavy Russian pistol hanging provocatively on his chest.
"Court martial, Herr Leutnant? Merde dors! You must be joking."
"What's this behaviour, man," the leutnant exclaimed indignantly.
"That's what I would ask you, Herr Leutnant. I would be most interested to know what a court martial would say to these goings-on." Casually, the Legionnaire lit a fresh cigarette and puffed the smoke into the Luftwaffe officer's face. "We refuse to hand over our arms, Herr Leutnant, and we will not take part in sabotaging orders. You and your colleagues have more reason to fear a court martial than we."
"Have you gone off your head," the leutnant cried in a voice that had a nervous quaver in it. "What's this nonsense of yours?"
The Legionnaire grinned impertinently. He turned to the rest of us, who were listening with intense interest.
" Il nouse casse les couilles!"
"I understand French, you lout." The
"Was it supposed to be found round the Black Sea?" the Old Man asked, amazed.
"I had just heard that morning on the Tommy radio that defeat was imminent. The fighting in the Struma valley was going to be decisive. So I was searching with my magnifying glass behind every stone. All at once, I heard women screaming. Aha, I thought, there are some who have found defeat. But judging by the sounds it was knickers rather than flags that were being hauled down. The screams came from a nunnery. I swung myself up onto the wall and stuck my tomato inside. Imagine what I saw. Our faithful allies were busy helping the nuns. I can't remember what I said to them, but they withdrew at some considerable speed. I landed in a bed of tulips and received an excellent reception."
Porta's absorbing tale was here interrupted by Leutnant Frick ordering us to fall in.
An Oberleutnant with the white collar tabs of the Hermann Goring Panzerdivision, looked us over.
An observer 'plane was circling over the monastery.
"Artillery observer," Heide said. "If he catches sight of us ..."
Some monks brought us hot tea. We tipped half of it away and filled the cups up with rum. We still did not know what we were there for. We could hear hammering and sawing inside the monastery and in the distance the gunfire was unceasing.
"They're hard at it beyond the hills there," said the Old Man thoughtfully. "There's something brewing. I can feel it in my bones."
Whenever the Old Man said that, it was so. He was an old sweat and as such could smell dirty work a mile away.
"What are we here for?" Heide asked, addressing himself to no one in particular, and gave himself a shake.
"No idea," muttered the Old Man, giving his nose a tug. "I don't like all these people with the white tabs and the SS uniforms in the trucks. It stinks of hanky-panky.
They've threatened us a hundred times with God knows what, if we go near the monastery, and now here we are at it, and armed to the teeth. I wonder if the Catholic hunt hasn't perhaps started?"
"God preserve us, if that's the case," Barcelona said. "We'll be wading up to our chins in blood, if it is."
The Old Man slowly lit his pipe.
When night sank over the mountains hiding them, we backed the trucks to the monastery door. No lights were to be used in any circumstances. An elderly Luftwaffe leutnant ordered us to put our weapons in the driver's cab. No one was to enter the monastery armed. Somewhat reluctant, we chucked our automatic pistols into the cab. We felt naked without our arms.
"Take off your equipment and arms," the strange leutnant ordered heatedly.
Tiny tried to dart inside with a P. 3 8 sticking out of his trousers pocket. The leutnant called to him hectoringly:
"War without shooting irons is crazy," Tiny could not help saying.
"Shut that mouth of yours, obergefreiter," the leutnant fumed.
The Legionnaire came gliding up with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He laughed openly at the leutnant. He had his heavy Russian pistol hanging provocatively on his chest.
"Court martial, Herr Leutnant? Merde dors! You must be joking."
"What's this behaviour, man," the leutnant exclaimed indignantly.
"That's what I would ask you, Herr Leutnant. I would be most interested to know what a court martial would say to these goings-on." Casually, the Legionnaire lit a fresh cigarette and puffed the smoke into the Luftwaffe officer's face. "We refuse to hand over our arms, Herr Leutnant, and we will not take part in sabotaging orders. You and your colleagues have more reason to fear a court martial than we."
"Have you gone off your head," the leutnant cried in a voice that had a nervous quaver in it. "What's this nonsense of yours?"
The Legionnaire grinned impertinently. He turned to the rest of us, who were listening with intense interest.
" Il nouse casse les couilles!"
"I understand French, you lout." The
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