大象传媒

鈥淧础搁罢滨厂础狈滨鈥�

By Mostyn Harris

Moving back up to the front line after a rest in Rome had been hell; the blazing sun burned our backs through our thin, sweat-soaked, khaki-drill shirts. There was a layer of white, clogging dust everywhere, churned up from the roads by innumerable wheels incessantly moving towards the front.
What had remained of the road surface had long since disintegrated underneath the flailing tracks of the tanks.

We stopped and gratefully lay down on the dust covered grass verges of the road. There was a scrape of metal as mess tins were opened. Haversack rations consumed greedily. Strong tea in mugs with globules of grease floating on the top. Not enough sugar.

鈥淕ot a fag,?鈥�

A belch and the sound of cigarette smoke being exhaled through the nostrils. 鈥淧oor old Jock copped a blighty one.鈥� 鈥淚 wouldn鈥檛 want a blighty one if it were in the bloody. guts!鈥�

鈥淕et fell in!鈥�

Groans and grunts as mess tins were packed away and straps adjusted. Heat and dust.

Presently, we left the road and drove cautiously through a vineyard. Through a gap in the vines we saw a church, bathed in the warm red glow of a dying sun.

鈥淪ee that bloody tower? That is going to be our Observation Post.鈥�

We unloaded the jeep and left the leafy cover of the vineyard. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Explosion after explosion vibrated deafeningly in my eardrums, flashes of light seared my brain. Realisation dawned; Jerry had our range! With a reflex action I hit the warm red soil. I felt by back exposed and expected at any second to feel the jagged lumps of hot metal ripping and tearing into my soft flesh. I dug my fingers into the soil in an agony of apprehension... 鈥淧lease God, don鈥檛 let me die鈥� Events of my past life flashed before my eyes like a newsreel; the valley, mother, father, chapel, rugby.

Through a haze of sweat and dust I saw the church...
鈥淚 must get inside.鈥�
I got to my feet and ran. Pounding feet, pounding heart, gulping air... 鈥淧lease God let me make it!鈥� I reached the shelter of the church doorway, ripped open the door and leapt in. There was a sound of organ music. My eyes searched the gloom. Matt! He way playing a Fats Waller tune, his swarthy face spotlighted by a dying ray of sunlight which had groped its way in through the shell-torn roof. Suddenly, I felt more confident and relaxed.

鈥淚s that the only bloody tune you can play, Matt?鈥� Matt, a smile of pleasure and recognition lighting his face, his anxiety less, said, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know any bleeding hymns.鈥�

鈥淧lay Lili Marlene鈥�, I said.
So we sang,
鈥淲e are the D Day Dodgers out in Italy
Always on the Vino
Always on the spree
We landed at Salerno a holiday with pay Jerry brought the band out
To cheer us on our way...鈥�

Soon the shelling stopped. We went to the door. Apart from the small of cordite in our nostrils and the shrapnel-pocked walls, it was a very peaceful scene. The blood-red sun had disappeared behind the church tower, the tower black and gaunt, pointing like an accusing finger at the sky. I thought of home and tried to bring back the vividness of the scenes of the purple dusk creeping up the valley, the row after row of rain swept houses, the steep windy streets. I felt a nostalgic longing, a desperate yearning for home. I tried to picture my mother鈥檚 face, the lines of loving care. Finally, I gave up the struggle and went back into the church.

The following morning at first light we mounted the narrow, winding stone stairs of the bell tower. I placed the wireless set on the floor near to the parapet and peeped out over the plain. Everything was so peaceful, the violet mist gradually lifting as the orange-coloured sky changed to a luminous blue-red. Such beauty, such peace; and yet without warning could come the blast of high explosive to shatter the living flesh. Oh, the foolishness of war, the waste, the futility!

鈥淐up of char?", I gulped down the thick warm liquid.

鈥淎ny sign of the bastards?鈥� Said Matt patches of sweat already staining his shirt underneath the armpits as he lifted his binoculars to his eyes. The day wore on. I could see the clear blue sky as I peeped over the parapet. I wanted to stand up to get a better view over the plain, but I knew that any movement might bring the screaming agony of a sniper鈥檚 bullet or the blast of an 88 m/m shell.

As dusk was falling we started to pack out kit, stretching our cramped muscles and looking forward to returning to the straw of the church. Suddenly, we heard footsteps mounting the stairs. Jackboots! 鈥淭he bastards are coming!鈥� Said Dave, the muscles of his face taut and pale beneath his tan. I watched his lover lip tremble and droplets of sweat gather in the fair, silky down on his top lip. I looked at Don. He was hugging the wall near the door. I could see the whiteness of his knuckles as he grasped his Tommy gun. "Soon as they open the door we鈥檒l let 鈥榚m have it!鈥� He snarled, from the corner of his mouth, his youthful face contorted into the semblance of a movie tough guy.

Nearer and nearer came the steps...
鈥淧erhaps they will stop and go away.鈥� I thought, but cold reason dashed hope. 鈥淲hy should they?鈥�

The footsteps continued with a ponderous certainty... How long had we been waiting in frozen immobility? Seconds? A lifetime? Eternity? Was it all to end like this? This was the moment of truth we must now do this thing, this thing we had been trained to do, to slaughter, to destroy. One squeeze of the trigger and the uniform of the first Jerry through the door would disintegrate into shreds of grey material mixed with bits of bloody flesh or would it be one of us, or all of us? I suddenly thought of my mother, of one of the few occasions I saw her cry, when she had seen my bruised face after a schoolboy fight. 鈥淥h! Mother, if you could only see me now!鈥� The footsteps stopped. I watched a fly land on the rough wood of the door. 鈥淕o away little fly; you will get hurt鈥�. I thought.

I was never more relieved than when a voice shouted 鈥淧artisani!鈥�

In walked the Italians, looking incongruous in an odd mixture of civilian clothing and German uniform, with the tricolour of Italy knotted in bands around their arms. These were the underground movement fighters who had been playing havoc with the Germans.

鈥淪igaretti?鈥� Said the leading Italian.

鈥淒o you know where we can scrounge some Vino?鈥� Said Matt.

THE END

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.