sometimes we send ’em back to a camp like good little boys, the way we would have in the West.”
We would have most of the time in the West, anyway
, he thought. The French and English weren’t perfect about sticking to the Geneva Convention, either. Aloud, he went on, “Sometimes, though …” He shrugged. “It’s a rough old war.I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“If we catch commissars or Jews, we do for them right away,” Awful Arno said. “Pigdogs like that don’t deserve to live.”
Not every commissar or Jewish Red Army man died right away. The
Wehrmacht
kept some alive for questioning. The ones who did live for a while probably wound up envying their comrades who perished on the spot. German interrogators weren’tlikely to be gentler than their Soviet opposite numbers.
The kid chewed on that for a few seconds. Then he asked, “If we treat them rough, doesn’t that give them an excuse to do the same to us?”
Arno Baatz laughed at him. “You want to spout the Golden Rule, sonny, you should put on a chaplain’s frock coat before you start.”
He waited for the other men who’d been through the mill to laugh withhim. Sigi Herzog did, but he was the only one. Awful Arno scowled at the others. Willi stonily stared back at him. The kid had a point of sorts.
But only of sorts. “Look, when this fight is over, either we’ll be left standing or the damn Russians will,” Willi said. “You fight a war like that, and who has room to be a gentleman?”
“Isn’t that what the Geneva Convention’s for?” the new fish asked.“To keep things clean on both sides, I mean?”
Awful Arno laughed some more—a mean, nasty laugh. “Didn’t they tell you anything before they shipped your sorry ass up here? Yeah, that’s what the Geneva Convention’s all about. When we fought the Tommies and the frogs, we played by the rules, and so did they. But you know what?
The fucking Bolsheviks never signed the fucking Convention!
”
“Oh,” thekid said in a small voice. And that was about the size of it. There were no formal rules in the fight between the Third
Reich
and the Soviet Union. They could go at it however they pleased. They could, and they did. The kid made one more try: “If we told Stalin we’d followthe Convention whether we have to or not, wouldn’t he almost have to do the same?”
Baatz laughed one more time. However littleWilli wanted to, he found himself laughing along. It was either laugh or weep, and laughing hurt—a little—less. “Stalin doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” Awful Arno said. “What he wants to do now is kill all the Germans he can.”
He was right about that. Of course, Hitler didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, either, and what he wanted to do was kill carload lots of Russians.Which left the soldiers in
Feldgrau
or khaki stuck in the middle between them in one hell of a rough spot.
Like I didn’t know that already
, Willi thought. His bayonet got most of its use as a belt knife. He hacked off another hunk of horsemeat with it. Then he skewered the meat and held it over the fire. At least his belly would be full, anyhow.
CHAIM WEINBERG LIKED having the Czech holdoutsaround. They might not be Marxist-Leninists the way he and most of the Internationals were, but they were good, solid men. The American Jew had nothing against Spaniards. He wouldn’t have come to Spain to fight for the Republic if he had.
Spaniards—Spaniards on both sides, dammit—were extravagantly brave. They put up with shortages and fuckups with good humor he could only admire, because hesure couldn’t imitate it. But they were flighty. They were temperamental. They could be cruel for the fun of it (he’d never got used to bullfighting). And they liked to talk. Jesus H. Christ, did they ever!
It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy the sound of his own voice. He did. He argued and converted and preached the Red faith with as much zeal as any friar
We would have most of the time in the West, anyway
, he thought. The French and English weren’t perfect about sticking to the Geneva Convention, either. Aloud, he went on, “Sometimes, though …” He shrugged. “It’s a rough old war.I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“If we catch commissars or Jews, we do for them right away,” Awful Arno said. “Pigdogs like that don’t deserve to live.”
Not every commissar or Jewish Red Army man died right away. The
Wehrmacht
kept some alive for questioning. The ones who did live for a while probably wound up envying their comrades who perished on the spot. German interrogators weren’tlikely to be gentler than their Soviet opposite numbers.
The kid chewed on that for a few seconds. Then he asked, “If we treat them rough, doesn’t that give them an excuse to do the same to us?”
Arno Baatz laughed at him. “You want to spout the Golden Rule, sonny, you should put on a chaplain’s frock coat before you start.”
He waited for the other men who’d been through the mill to laugh withhim. Sigi Herzog did, but he was the only one. Awful Arno scowled at the others. Willi stonily stared back at him. The kid had a point of sorts.
But only of sorts. “Look, when this fight is over, either we’ll be left standing or the damn Russians will,” Willi said. “You fight a war like that, and who has room to be a gentleman?”
“Isn’t that what the Geneva Convention’s for?” the new fish asked.“To keep things clean on both sides, I mean?”
Awful Arno laughed some more—a mean, nasty laugh. “Didn’t they tell you anything before they shipped your sorry ass up here? Yeah, that’s what the Geneva Convention’s all about. When we fought the Tommies and the frogs, we played by the rules, and so did they. But you know what?
The fucking Bolsheviks never signed the fucking Convention!
”
“Oh,” thekid said in a small voice. And that was about the size of it. There were no formal rules in the fight between the Third
Reich
and the Soviet Union. They could go at it however they pleased. They could, and they did. The kid made one more try: “If we told Stalin we’d followthe Convention whether we have to or not, wouldn’t he almost have to do the same?”
Baatz laughed one more time. However littleWilli wanted to, he found himself laughing along. It was either laugh or weep, and laughing hurt—a little—less. “Stalin doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” Awful Arno said. “What he wants to do now is kill all the Germans he can.”
He was right about that. Of course, Hitler didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, either, and what he wanted to do was kill carload lots of Russians.Which left the soldiers in
Feldgrau
or khaki stuck in the middle between them in one hell of a rough spot.
Like I didn’t know that already
, Willi thought. His bayonet got most of its use as a belt knife. He hacked off another hunk of horsemeat with it. Then he skewered the meat and held it over the fire. At least his belly would be full, anyhow.
CHAIM WEINBERG LIKED having the Czech holdoutsaround. They might not be Marxist-Leninists the way he and most of the Internationals were, but they were good, solid men. The American Jew had nothing against Spaniards. He wouldn’t have come to Spain to fight for the Republic if he had.
Spaniards—Spaniards on both sides, dammit—were extravagantly brave. They put up with shortages and fuckups with good humor he could only admire, because hesure couldn’t imitate it. But they were flighty. They were temperamental. They could be cruel for the fun of it (he’d never got used to bullfighting). And they liked to talk. Jesus H. Christ, did they ever!
It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy the sound of his own voice. He did. He argued and converted and preached the Red faith with as much zeal as any friar
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