Wolf Kruger - Blood and Honour

From above there was an earsplitting explosion followed by a shriek and, a second later, Ganz plummeted to the ground, arms flailing. He hit the ground with a sickening thud and lay still.

Synovski, barely able to move, pulled the wire on a stick grenade and held it as four Russians drove forward with their bayonets. There was a bang and a confetti of torn limbs and all five had disappeared.

Herzog lifted the heavy MG and turned it towards the pulpit where three Russians were sheltering. The heavy grain bullets ploughed through wood and flesh alike but one of the Russians managed to get off two shots before his head was torn away.

Herzog dropped the weapon and clutched at his chest. The bullet struck him in the side and erupted from his back punching an exit hole the size of a fist. Gobbets of grey and red lung-tissue sprayed out and spattered onto Kahn. The corporal sucked in breath and heard it hiss through the wound. He winced; it was what doctors called a sucking wound. Every time he drew breath he could feel it rushing coldly into the hole in his lung. He staggered but remained upright, drawing his P-38 in time to shoot down a Russian private. Kahn stepped across to help him, noticing that the Russians were, once again, pulling out of the church. He was about to say something when an officer shot him in the back. Herzog spun round and shot the man in the face. Kahn slumped at his feet, his eyes glazed. The sword had fallen from his grasp and Herzog could see that he was trying to reach it. He dropped to one knee and handed the blade to the Jap, watching as he painfully crawled upright. He took the sword in agonised hands, turned the blade inwards and, with a last tortured smile, fell on it.

Herzog sat down heavily, his back to the altar. Once more the church was in silence. A ghastly stench of blood and smoke filled it and he felt sick as he inhaled. The air rasped in the lung-wound and he gasped for breath. He coughed and blood dribbled over his lips, he closed his eyes for a second until the pain subsided.

Slowly, he reached into his top pocket and took out the Iron Cross, regarding the medal on the palm of his hand. Carefully, he pinned it onto his jacket, beside the close-combat clasp. Then, using the altar to support him, he got up. The movement made him cough again and this time he vomited. Bright, blood-flecked lumps of sputum splashed down his jacket and he nearly passed out but, gripping the pieces of wreckage to support him, he picked his way across the body-strewn floor until he reached the far wall. Here he stopped and picked up one of the discarded MP 40s. He cocked it and peered out through the smoke.

No more than fifty yards away, hundreds of Russians were waiting for the next attack.

Herzog smiled and looked down at the medal on his chest.

For Bravery.

He stood silently for a second, then stepped out into the street.

A hundred machine-guns opened fire simultaneously.

© Wolf Kruger 1981

Wolf Kruger has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

First published in 1981 by Robert Hale Limited.

This edition published in 2019 by Endeavour Media Ltd.