Mila 18 - Leon Uris [256]
Andrei unhooked the hand grenade from his belt placed the handle in his teeth, and with his free hands slipped his clip of ammunition into the machine pistol. Now, Gaby, don’t you be a naughty girl and jam on me.
He calculated his moves. I’ll have to hit them very fast. Unfortunately my grenade will ruin their machine gun. I must throw at the fat one and go for the three on the right with my machine pistol. Remember, Andrei ... first I go for their pistols and the privates with the rifles. Then I yank off their ammunition belts, then their water. One, two, three, four; pistols, rifles, ammo, water. He looked back over his shoulder to the air-raid shelter. A twenty-five-yard dash back. Won’t have more than a half minute to do the job. Okay ... ready ...
He pulled the pin from the grenade, steadied the machine pistol, and counted ... one ... two ... three ... and lobbed the pineapple down on the fat soldier on the left.
Startled shrieks! A flash! Men held ripped faces!
Andrei counted ... one ... two ... three ... four ... while the bits of the grenade spent their wrath, and he leaped.
Straight down, fifteen feet, into the writhing Germans. Gaby spit a blue flame at the three soldiers on the right side of the machine gun, and they were still. The gun jammed before he could turn it on the other three.
One lay groaning under the gun, and a second leaped wounded into Mila Street, screaming, “Jews! Jews! Help! Help!”
The last soldier was knocked against the wall. He crawled to his feet. Andrei pulled the trigger of his weapon. It was jammed. He hit it with his fist, but it was stuck tight. The soldier jerked his pistol out of his holster. Andrei flung his weapon at the helmetless redheaded enemy, and the barrel cracked against his skull and caused him to fire wild. Andrei’s fist smashed the German’s mouth and shattered his jaw. A kick in the groin, and he sank to his knees, and Andrei brought the flat of his hand on the German’s neck and it broke with a loud pop.
He was dead.
The wounded soldier crawled for a pistol. Andrei’s boot smashed into his jaw and he too was still. Half a minute gone. Hurry! Pistols, rifles, ammo, water ... Where’s that goddamned rifle? Can’t find it.
The sounds of boots converging from both ends of Mila Street. Andrei tried to turn the machine gun on them, but the grenade had wrecked it.
He leaped out of the wrecked emplacement and scampered into the air-raid shelter and into the secret entrance to Mila 18.
“Where in the hell have you been?” Simon Eden greeted him with relief and anger.
Andrei shrugged, “It’s slow moving up there.”
Then Simon saw the guns and belts and water canteens draped over Andrei. “What happened?”
“Nothing much. Just routine.” Andrei treated himself to a couple of swallows of water, took enough ammunition to fill three clips, and turned the rest over to Simon, grumbling that he wished he could find some oil to lubricate the Schmeisser.
After seeing Deborah to tell her Rachael was all right, he saw Alex to report that Wolf was fine, then went upstairs with Simon to a small closetlike room which they felt was safe during the night hours, and there they rehashed their diminishing position. Over three hundred Fighters remained, but the circle of bunkers was shrinking. There was enough food and water to hold out for another five or six days. Ammo? One sharp encounter and they would be depleted. What to do when the ammo was gone? Dig deeper and hide? Suicide? No thought of surrender. Attempt escape or fight bare-handed.
“Maybe Moritz Katz will come in with ammunition,” Simon said, hoping beyond hope.
Andrei yawned. “Moritz will do it if anyone can.”
“If he brings in a couple hundred rounds, I want you to make a raid on the Przebieg Gate. There’s a field kitchen and some loose arms supplying the troops in Muranowski Place.”
Andrei stretched out on the floor. “Przebieg Gate ... good idea. Holy Mother, I’ve got to get some sleep. Tomorrow you have to clip my beard. I’m a mess. Wake me up