This Week's Story
PANZERS IN PERIL(in the style of Sven Hassel and similar authors)
Four hundred and twelve destroyed Russian tanks lay in front of us, spewing black smoke from their socialist turret hatches. Twelve thousand dead Russian soldiers sprawled themselves across the frozen tundra in our killing radius. Our lone Tiger tank commanded the hilltop, the entire Soviet army halted before us.
"They're getting closer, and we're running low on ammunition!" exclaimed Klein.
"Keep firing!" I ordered.
Bruno rammed an armour-piercing round, the projectile of which weighed 22.5 pounds and had a muzzle velocity of 2600 feet per second, into the breach of the 88mm 56-calibre gun. The Frenchman squeezed the trigger as he would have squeezed a woman, and the flame of molten death shot from the muzzle of our Tiger. The shell pierced the front turret of a Russian T-34/85 and came out the other side, hit the commander's position of a nearby Stalin heavy tank, glanced off to strike a Red 76.2mm field artillery piece, and finally exploded in the midst of an enemy infantry squad. A splinter from the shell flew off and hit the pilot of a Sturmovik bomber flying several miles away.
"I'm hungry," said Doc.
"I'm cold," said Frank.
"I'm wounded," said Stanislaw.
"I'm confused," said Nietzsce.
"I wish to go back to the homeland," said Mueller.
"I'm struggling with my identity," said each of the three Tillson brothers in unison.
I looked about myself. "Wait a moment," I asked, "a Tiger tank is only designed to hold five crewmen, no?"
"Yes," replied Herbie, the radio operator.
"Then how did we get eighteen people in here?"
Klaus stared blankly at the Schmeisser 9mm submachinegun, with 32-round magazine, clipped to the bulkhead next to his position.
"The Fuehrer made us do it," he replied solemnly.
(All proceeds from this story of the week will be forwarded to the local chapter of SFISG (Sysops For Improved Spelling and Grammar).
(Written sometime in 1985?)
The content on this page was written in 1985
Last updated: June 11, 2016