Wednesday, 2 September 2015

War Stories With Old Knudsen

I don't like to talk about the war, mostly because unless you've felt the fear and the adrenaline of losing bladder control during a firefight with Nazi cyborgs from the future you won't have a clue what I'm talking about .... that and the fact I tend to get me wars mixed up, ach so many good times and drunken blackouts.

Old Knudsen once captured one of those Napoleon French Imperial Eagle thingys when he served in the 105th Foot and Mouth Regiment in 1815 which means it was just after dinner for you civvies who can't tell the 25 hour clock time. 
The English Major in charge was well chuffed and thought he was taking it for the regimental museum or something so I says, "away an fuck ya Sassenach cunt" .... according to eye witnesses that is as I was so blootered that day I don't even remember killing yon 38 men with my belt bucket to get the eagle, I doubt the account is true as I'd never use a racial slur like Sassenach to some English cunt.   

I woke 8 days later in a French hoor hoose with just the beak and the wing tip left of the eagle. I used the tip to pay for some wine and a fat syphilitic hoor who was most grateful if you know what I mean. That is why there is a gold eagle beak in the 105th museum at the Catterick Garrison in North Yorkshire in case you were wondering. 

In 1945 I found myself in France again. I had come over in a HORSA glider with 24 other men of the 47th Surplus Brigade. Once the glider was detached from the plane the only thing you could hear was the rushing of air and the squeaking of farts .... it wasn't me I swear, ok It may have been a little. That silence was broken with explosive flak, well they shouldn't have served curry before the op. We landed in a field and rushed out to secure our position. It was a warm spring moonless night, I scanned the horizon for landmarks and pulled a tarp over my head to shine a light on my map .... fuck it smelled like rotten curried eggs in there and I didn't get a fucken medal for doing it either. 

We had to take the Belgium town of Bremon as it overlooked the main river crossings and from what I hear had some very nice Gothic architecture, well it did have the year before now the only architecture that was left was Emo and that sucks dead donkey balls. 

After giving up on the map reading I asked the Sergeant which way to go. We met up with C and D company but A company's glider had been destroyed by anti-aircraft fire and now we were a company short, we would have to put a lot more effort in if we wanted to fill the A hole.... So we had a cup of tea and thought about it a little. 

We advanced on Bremon along the hedge rows in staggered formation, the main reason for the staggering was that I insisted the men drink the case of celebratory brandy I had brought for when we won cos you don't want to have to carry all those bottles into battle, they might get broken. 

When the anti-aircraft guns stopped firing nearby we could hear the Germans talking, "I keel alz die Englisch schweinehund" we were made up from the fodder regiments and were mostly Scottish, Irish, Welsh and a few Poles and even one Lapp ... dancer from Lapland, his name was Sami, amazingly hypnotic hips. We took being called pig dogs no problem but English???? Thems fightin werds. 

We set up the Bren machine guns to give us covering fire as we drunkenly charged forward firing our Sten  guns with scant regard for health and safety. The Germans that survived our initial onslaught hurriedly surrendered. 
We didn't have enough men to be able to hold a large amount of prisoners (my troops kept running in front of me gun, they should have known better) without fear of a rear attack so we did the unthinkable, something I ain't too proud of, we said fuck the Geneva convention and dressed them like pretty French ladies and married them in rushed ceremonies, now they were our wives instead of enemy combatants, one young lad swore that one day he'd be Pope and he'd take his revenge out on our children ... German dirty talk is weird. 

We pressed on as dawn was approaching and we had started to sober up, any Krauts left Bremon rather fast and surrendered to the advancing Russians when they heard all the honeymoon action. I killed 24 men on that horrible night but on the bright side 3 of them were the enemy ..... but I don't want to talk about it.                                



Вячеслав said...

Hallo again Soren I am apologize to enter column of comment many time but again enjoy powerful story giving light of war history event. All men of village now amaze to learning true war history as different from oral verse of Bogdan Kuzmich village story teller. I have say many years Bogdan lie for village glory and easy cat of Nadia Babanin now have true in history thank you and Google Translate. Best tip now when next have many prisoner is shoot in head than have marry. this old Russian way and effecting. “No Bags” is say in mother land. Good marriage advise also for wives. Yours in blog appreciate, Vas.

Old Knudsen said...

If it wasn't for me you'd be speaking German .... yer welcome. A saying we have in the British army, 'An alive prisoner can warm yer bed longer than a dead one' we built an empire on such words.