Swordpoint (2011) Read Free Page A

their place,’ Reis said.
    ‘Indians or Poles?’ Lieutenant Maximilian Thiergartner peered through his binoculars alongside him, watching the land opposite. ‘I hope it’s not the Poles. The Poles have a special reason for being unpleasant.’
    ‘You scared, Thiergartner?’ Reis asked.
    ‘Yes, Herr Hauptmann, I am.’
    Reis glanced quickly at the younger officer. He was only twenty, blond, blue-eyed, innocent-looking, and Captain Reis often thought that after his years in the Hitler Youth he ought to have been a lot more dedicated. He had a violin which he played well and sometimes used to entertain them in the evenings. Once, further south, some humorist, opposite had heard it and yelled, ‘How about Mother Machree, mate?’ It had seemed to please Thiergartner.
    ‘You damned well shouldn’t be scared,’ Reis growled.
    Thiergartner remained unruffled. ‘Aren’t you scared, Herr Hauptmann?’ he asked. ‘When you think of what’s in store for Germany? They’ll accept nothing but unconditional surrender and they’ll not even talk to anyone who’s been a National Socialist.’
    There was a lot of truth in what the boy said and Reis was thankful he’d resisted the temptation to join the Party in 1940 when it might have helped a career which seemed to have been marching a long time without getting anywhere.
    ‘Shut up,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘We don’t talk like that.’
    The boy was probably a bit of a weak number, he felt. Though not a harsh man, Reis took his job seriously and didn’t enjoy having someone in his unit who was likely to give at the first real shove. Which was why he’d posted Thiergartner on this knoll just to the east of San Eusebio. The position faced a stretch of rough ground where even a couple of good sergeants could hold back an enemy.
    ‘Your people all right?’ he asked.
    ‘Most of them,’ Thiergartner said.
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘Like the poor, Private Pulovski’s always with us?’
    Pulovski was a gentle soul, a country man from Thuringia, whose hands were all thumbs.
    Thiergartner smiled. ‘However, we also have some sound men, all under the good Obergefreiter Seidle.’
    Reis grunted. ‘Does Pulovski bother you?’
    Thiergartner smiled. ‘Not at all, Herr Hauptmann. I just feel sorry for him.’
    ‘You’re not here to feel sorry,’ Reis growled. ‘Can you handle him?’
    ‘Oh, of course, Herr Hauptmann.’ Thiergartner’s smile widened. ‘I make him laugh and then he eats out of my hand.’
    ‘Who’s down by the river?’
    ‘Gefreiter Pramstrangl.’
    Captain Reis grunted again. He didn’t think much of Gefreiter Pramstrangl either. He was slow and cautious and an Austrian into the bargain, and Reis didn’t trust him.
    He put down his binoculars and glanced about him. The countryside was silent, and across the river the land seemed deserted again. It was the weirdest sensation, as though they were in an empty landscape. Yet he knew there were thousands of enemy troops just across the strip of grey metallic water, staring towards him, probably all thinking exactly as he was thinking.
    ‘Well,’ he said, ‘they’ve gone. All we have to do now is sit back and let the war look after itself for a bit.’

    As it happened, however, there was more to it than that. Because somebody had produced a plan.
    And, as one of the New Zealanders had once said, there was nothing like having a plan – even if it was a poor one.

Three
    ‘Object,’ the plan said: ‘The crossing of the Liri and the occupying of the north bank near San Eusebio; to consolidate and expand the bridgehead, with the ultimate objective of by-passing the enemy position at Cassino.
    ‘Reasons: The key to this sector is San Eusebio. With San Eusebio in our hands, all the land to right and left would be under observation. Within the past few days there have been increasing indications that, due to recent Allied pressure, enemy strength in this area is ebbing through