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Willi Heinrich Richard - The Cross Of Iron

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THE CROSS OF IRON BY WILLI HEINRICH Translated from the German by - photo 1
THE CROSS OF IRON
BY
WILLI HEINRICH
Translated from the German by
Richard and Clara Winston
This edition is published by PICKLE PARTNERS - photo 2
This edition is published by PICKLE PARTNERS PUBLISHINGwww.picklepartnerspublishing.com
To join our mailing list for new titles or for issues with our books picklepublishing@gmail.com
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Text originally published in 1956 under the same title.
Pickle Partners Publishing 2015, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Publishers Note
Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.
We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contents
TABLE OF CONTENTS
REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WILLI HEINRICH is a German novelist whose specialty is the look, smell and sound of military defeat. He came by his competence honestly and bitterly as an infantry officer in a fearfully mauled German division that bit deep into Russia and withdrew its remnants in broken retreat. He was born in Heidelberg and received his education in German grade and trade schools. He is also the author of Crack of Doom. His hobbies are chess and fast cars. He lives in Karlsruhe.
BOOK ONE
I
WHILE the Russian artillery was savagely blasting away, the sun went down behind the enormous woods. It had been the same yesterday and the day before yesterday, and it would be the same tomorrow and forever. The men sat around the bunker. Schnurrbart pried at the tar in the bowl of his pipe. Corporal Steiner felt for a cigarette in his pocket. The shrilling of the field telephone cut the silence. Steiner attended to it. He listened at length, then slammed the receiver down with a curse. Startled, the other men looked up, their peaked, unshaven faces all anxiety.
What did he say? Kruger called from the table.
Steiner did not answer. His haggard face was glum; when he set his lips the deep creases at the corners of his mouth brought out the hardness of that face.
The silence persisted. The two candles burning on the table cast huge shadows of the men on the wooden walls. Outside, a German machine gun hammered out a short burst. Kruger cleared his throat and repeated his question: What did he say?
He said the whole war was senseless.
The others stared at him. Lieutenant Meyer said that? Steiner nodded. Why not? After all, a company commander is entitled to a private opinion about the war, too.
Why, yes... Dorn, whom they called the Professor, rubbed his slender hand over his bristly chin. But I think...
Dont think so much, Steiner said.
Ah, let him think. Schnurrbart put his feet on the table and grinned. You cant order him not to think. Once he has that Russian bullet in his brain hell stop of his own accord.
The men chuckled, their shadows jerking on the walls.
The regiment is puffing out, Steiner remarked indifferently.
Kruger was the first to react. Why dont you say so right off? he cried, springing to his feet. With one swift movement he pulled the blanket off his cot and began to bundle it up. One after another the men of the platoon followed his example. The lethargy in the bunker gave way to the furious bustle that comes before sudden departures.
Steiner had remained in his seat, his cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. He turned his head and looked at Schnurrbart, who was still sitting, pipe in mouth and feet on table, making no move to join in the packing. Steiner grinned. Schnurrbart was the only man who saw through him. Actually Schnurrbarts name was Karl Reisenauer; the heavy black stubble on his face, a vigorous growth that withstood the strongest razor blades, had earned him the nickname of MustacheSchnurrbart.
Steiner studied the men. They were deeply absorbed in their work. Zoll and red-haired little Maag bumped into each other but for once forgot to curse in their eagerness to get ready. Hollerbach quietly helped Kern fold up his shelter-half, which the latter in his customary clumsy manner had packed into a messy lump. Kneeling on the floor, Dorn was neatly rolling up his blanket while the three youngsters, Dietz, Pasternack and Anselm, were already hoisting their packs.
Idiots! Steiner muttered.
Why? Schnurrbart grinned. If I didnt know you so well, Id be packing, too.
Theyre idiots all the same, Steiner replied moodily.
The men, their gear packed, became aware that Schnurrbart and Steiner had not moved. Dorn looked at each of them in turn, an uncomprehending expression on a thin face to which glasses gave an air of insignificance.
Dorns thinking again, Schnurrbart said.
Now the other men became attentive. They stared uneasily at Steiner. An uncanny silence fell. From somewhere came the blasts of another heavy battery and the staccato chattering of a machine gun.
At last Kruger stirred. He approached Steiner slowly. What sort of a game is this? he asked through his teeth.
Steiner regarded him with amusement. Its your own game, he said. I didnt tell you to pack your stuff.
You said the companies were pulling out, Dorn said reproachfully.
No, I didnt, Steiner said.
You sure did, Kruger shouted. We have ears!
Pigs ears, Steiner said. I said the other companies were pulling out.
Of all the crap! Kruger said heatedly. Suddenly he wrenched the pack from his back, smashing it to the ground and strode off to the bunks along the wall of the dugout. With a crash he let himself drop on the lowest and stretched out, clasping his hands under his head. Steiner grinned and turned to the others.
Battalion is pulling out in twenty minutes. Wethat is, our platoonare to stay here as a rear guard.
All the color drained out of the mens faces. Unsteadily.
Kern dropped into a chair, mumbling, What a mess. Dietz clasped his hand to his throat. Those idiots are crazy, he said in a trembling voice.
Idiots are always crazy, Steiner stated. He rose, took a map from his pocket and spread it out on the table. The men crowded around him. His finger traced the route which led west. Not far beyond Krimskaya lay the Crimea and the northern reaches of the Black Sea.
Here is the situation, he explained. Tonight the division is moving into new positions east of Krimskaya. Tomorrow night it will move on into permanent positions west of the city. Every battalion has left one platoon behind as a rear guard. The plan was for us to stay here until five oclock tomorrow morning. Now theyve found out that the Russians have smelled a rat and have at some point advanced beyond the evacuated positions....
You mean theyll get to Krimskaya ahead of us? Kruger asked.
Steiner shrugged. Very likely. But orders are orders
You dont mean to stay here until tomorrow morning, do you? Dorn asked in a shocked voice.
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