(1982) O.G.P.U. Prison by Sven Hassel

Author:Sven Hassel
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical, War & Military
ISBN: 9780297864219
Publisher: Orion
Published: 1983-10-25T04:00:00+00:00

sings Porta, as we rest for a moment behind a storm-battered hedge.

‘What in the name of hell, man, is the highly praised German infantry doing?’ curses Albert.

‘Lying in holes, letting their arses get a look at the Russian full moon,’ answers Porta, sending a long burst out into the curtain of snow.

‘Let’s get on!’ says Heide.

‘By the seven devils, man, but it’s shit-cold,’ grumbles Albert, his teeth chattering like an entire orchestra.

‘Plop!.Plop!’ mortar bombs drop around us.

Bending forward we run on down a winding track.

Suddenly I get caught in a blast of wind, which spins me round and sends me over the edge. Icy storm winds hit me like fists. Desperately I catch at a ledge, but my gloved hands slip on the ice-clad surface. I go on down, in a raging storm of snow and ice crystals, which whip at me, stinging like scorpions. It feels as if I am moving at terrific speed through a maelstrom. Everything spins around me in a crazy whirl. A flare goes off close to me, blinding me completely. Tracer tracks speed by, both above and below me. I feel as if I am falling endlessly, down, down through the icy-cold air. Crystals of ice fill my mouth, threatening to choke me. Suddenly I realise I am falling head downwards. Trees and rocks projecting from the snow come rushing towards me with express speed. Desperately I try to remember what they taught us at the guerilla warfare school. ‘When falling from a great height, spread out your arms, glide like a bird!’ I kick out with my legs and strike out with my arms, but cannot change my direction of fall. Helplessly I rush on down to be crushed on the great rocks, which seem as if they were coming up at me. I scream, am stiff with terror, hope only that it will be all over quickly.

With a long, gliding movement I land softly as if on a giant sack of feathers. A whole mountain races past me. A row of trees follows. These too I pass at high speed. All the wind is knocked out of my lungs. I feel a burning pain lance up through my right side. My sight dims, but I come to myself again, surrounded by snow, snow and more snow. I realise I have landed in an enormous snowdrift. Above me tower huge cliffs. In some way I must have turned in the air, landed feet first, and then tobogganed for many yards on my back through the soft snow.

My Mpi is gone. My P-38 too. All I have to defend myself with is my combat knife and two plastic grenades.

The storm howls deafeningly above me. A machine-gun chatters viciously from somewhere in the forest.

I shout desperately, but shouting is hopeless while the storm continues. Even someone standing next to me would not be able to hear me. Now, I suddenly feel the cold. A merciless, killing cold. I must move. It is not possible to stay alive for long in this inhuman frost.

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