Monte Cassino by Sven Hassel

Author:Sven Hassel
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: World War, 1939-1945
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 1970-01-14T13:00:00+00:00

IX

Porta drew the bow. The long arrow sped on its way, bored into the neck and appeared out on the other side. The tall, lanky American captain swayed, fell forward and the arrow broke.

Porta was proud.

"They'll make me an honorary chief. If this goes on, I'll adopt the name of 'Red Flame'."

During the next two days he had eight similar hits. The Americans called across to us wanting to know who our bowman was. One of their negroes who was a good shot with a bow had deserted and they thought it was he. They offered us God knows what if we would hand him over.

"We've no niggers here," Heide called. "Nor any damned Schmauses either."

Then we waved a white cloth on the end of a bayonet and Porta climbed up onto the parapet.

"Keep your officers away," Heide shouted. "Red Flame only shoots officers."

Porta swung his yellow hat over his head. His red hair flamed in the sunlight.

"Salutation Pale Faces," he shouted.

The Americans tossed their helmets in the air and jubilated. A gigantic sergeant with battle dress flapping round him clambered up onto the Americans' parapet.

"Here's Grey Bear from Alaska. How many years' service have you, Red Flame?"

"Eight."

"Child, you are. I've done 24. I shot your lousy father at Verdun."

"That's a lie, you filthy Yankee," Porta yelled. "My old man's doing his third year in Moabit, cell 840. An A-prisoner, one of the tough ones."

The American put a forage cap on top of his helmet.

"You miserable kraut, you have appropriated an Indian name. I represent my tribe here. Shoot this cap off my helmet and we will bow to you. There are three of us Indians here. If you miss, you'll be fetched tonight and we'll cut your prick off."

Porta pulled an arrow from the quiver he had on his back, drew the bow and took careful aim.

"Don't try it," the Old Man advised. "If you kill him, they'll avenge it."

"The Holy Virgin guide your hand," muttered Padre Emanuel, crossing himself.

Hundreds of pairs of field glasses were trained on the American's cap. There was a deathly silence. Then with a whine the arrow sped, transfixed the cap and swept it away. A great roar of enthusiastic applause rose from both lines. Helmets and rifles were tossed into the air. We chaired Porta along the parapet. The American sergeant raised his hands in homage to the victor, and at that moment One-Eye appeared.

"What the bloody hell is this? Have you all been bitten by mad monkeys! You deserve to be court martialled!"

The war continued.

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