Showing results by author "Sven Hassel" in All Categories

Bloody partisan fights rage in the Balkans. Grenades rain down over the streets. From the rooftops, a heavy machinegun fire strikes down on the hunting battalion. Moaning, the injured soldiers crawl for cover. Molotov cocktails explode with hollow roars, and the burning liquid splash up on humans and materiel. - Partisan, the major stutters terrified and jumps off the vehicle. Porta salutes him with an idiotic smile. - Reporting to the Major that they will probably make it hot for us!

We hear the crawlers closing in. A T-34. They must have seen us, Tiny whispers. - Stay low until it is right here, then we run! The horrible clattering of the crawler comes closer and closer. I know this fear, creeping up the spine. It will mean certain death if they run just one second too soon. How we get up, I don't know, the legs move automatically. The tank wiggles over the hole and crushes everything in it. Then it rumbles on.

Stationed on the Russian Front and now equipped with armoured vehicles, Sven Hassel and his comrades from the 27th Penal Regiment fight on remorselessly... All of them should be dead: Life expectancy on the Russian Front is measured in weeks. But Sven, Porta, Tiny and The Legionnaire fight to the end, not for Germany, not for Hitler, but for survival. Wheels of Terror is a sobering depiction of war's brutalities, and the violence and inhumanity that the history books leave out.

Porta struggles to keep the heavy tank between the marching soldiers. One moment of inattention, and he will bulldoze an entire company. An enormous fireball strikes the bushes in front of the vehicle. The panzer soldiers jump head first from the tanks for cover. With frightened eyes and beating hearts they lay in the sun, waiting for death. A great wall of fire rises towards the sky. - Stalin organ, Heide mumbles terrified. Porta speeds up the engine. The tank plows through sun and water. They are near Moscow, 1941.

A special command from the convict regiment, wearing Russian uniforms, take over four Russian T-34 tanks. Remote reconnaissance far behind the Russian lines in Caucasus. The year is 1942. Hour for hour, the tanks roll eastward. Several times, Russian departments challenge them. We follow the soldiers in their desperate struggle to find their way back to the German lines. The distances are great, the friends are few and death is always right behind them.

Heide wails, jumps up and lands on the other side of the trench, where he slides through the mud like a bulldozer. Our tank starts backing up in full speed. Porta has clearly also spotted the madness lying ahead in wait of spreading death and mutilation. Nothing travels as fast as the rumor that the front troops have hit the dreaded mines. Suddenly everything goes quiet. Even the heavy Maxim gun stops. Everyone holds their breath and waits for the mine to go off.

It is freezing 38 degrees. Stalingrad, the winter of 1942-1943. A chilling wind sweeps over the plains, slinging ice crystals into our faces. We are marching past thousands of frozen bodies. The SS-general is marching in front of the convoy, silently and withdrawn. He is angry. We realized that a while back. A fanatic who wishes to die in battle. And the SS-general wants to take as many to die with him as possible. "MOVING STUDY IN THE STALINGRAD CAMPAIGN...

The Legionnaire swings the MG-muzzle. The smoke eats its way into the officers’ stomachs. They drop to the snow-covered ground, coloring it red. Bestial shrieks sound from the woods as a wave of fur clad soldiers storm out. They are near the Finish-Russian frontline. The machine guns snarl till the magazines are emptied. Old Man’s platoon, with Tiny the giant and Porta in the lead, fights a rough battle behind Russian lines.

It feels as if the entire area is blown up. A long rumbling explosion shakes the German position. Then an infernal scream sounds. Through flashes of fire, they see Tiny's huge silhouette with the light grey bowler on his head. He is standing by the end of the enemy trench with his machine gun resting on his hip. The tracer streak projectiles shoot out of the muzzle. Bewildered shapes flee in panic. - What a bunch of devils, the Russian lieutenant exclaims in admiration.

At least one battalion of flame-throwers is swinging around like a pack of crazy wild boars. Long, flaming red tongues of fire are hissing from the towers, charring every living thing. From the GPU-prison stream shoals of red prisoners. A barrage of incredible dimensions is hammering down behind the Germans. It seems like the Russians have guessed that they are pondering an escape and want to stop it with an impenetrable wall of fire, spreading as far as the eye can see.

Convicted of deserting the German army, Sven Hassel is sent to a penal regiment on the Russian Front. He and his comrades are regarded as expendable, cannon fodder in the battle against the implacable Red Army. Outnumbered and outgunned, they fight their way across the frozen steppe.... This iconic anti-war novel is a testament to the atrocities suffered by the lone soldier in the fight for survival. Sven Hassel's unflinching narrative is based on his own experiences in the German Army.

Rumor has it; they are being moved to Warsaw. Heide, who is always informed, claims that all hell is loose over there. There is talk of a German pullback from the eastern frontline. Thousands of British paratroops have landed and Polish soldiers converge on from the woods. But the Polish army is already doomed. Not only by the Reichsführer Himmler in Berlin, but also by Marshal Stalin. The Polish nationalists vainly beg the Red Army for help. But it has already been decided that the Polish communists are to take over Poland.

Det går rykten om att vi ska till Warszawa. Där lär fan vara lös. Heide, som alltid vet besked, påstår att tusentals engelska fallskärmsjägare har kastats ner där och att polska soldater strömmar dit från skogarna. Hela Himmlers SS-Dirlewangerdivision skall ha slaktats på en enda natt. Det sista tror vi gärna på, för det stämmer med våra önskningar. SS-Brigadeführer doktor Dirlewanger är nog den mest hatade mannen i hela Östeuropa.

Monte Cassino, das heilige Kloster nordwestlich von Neapel. Die Deutschen haben riesige Verteidigungspositionen aufgebaut. Die Schlacht von Monte Cassino im Winter und Frühjahr 1944 wird zu einer unbeschreiblichen Hölle, sowohl für die Verteidiger als auch für die Angreifer. Auf der Seite der Alliierten stehen Flugzeuge, Artillerie, Panzer und Infanterie von vielen Nationen auf dem Spiel.

Mot östfronten rullar ständigt nya kolonner med vapen, ammunition och manskap. I motsatt riktning transporteras oupphörligen totalförstörda stridsfordon, artilleri och sjuktransporter med soldater som inte är mycket mer än vid liv. Sven och de andra soldaterna i det 27:e straffregementet lever i konstant fruktan för de ryska stridsvagnarna, som kommer närmre för varje dag. Ett felaktigt beslut innebär en säker död. Sven, Lillebror och Legionären befinner sig svårt sårade i en iskall godsvagn på en farlig resa västerut mot sjukhuset i Hamburg.

Es scheint, als ob der ganze Boden in die Luft fliegt. Eine lange dröhnende Explosion erschüttert die deutschen Linien. Dann hört man einen höllischen Schrei. Durch die Feuerblitze ist die enorme Silhouette von Wolfgang Creutzfeldt mit der grauen Melone auf dem Kopf zu sehen. Er steht am Ende des feindlichen Grabens mit dem Maschinengewehr gegen die Hüfte gepresst. Aus dem Gewehrlauf werden die Lichtwege der Projektile gespuckt. Verwirrte Schattenbilder fliehen in Panik. - "Die sind ja wie der Teufel selbst!", ruft der russische Leutnant bewundernd aus.

Na de ontberingen in Rusland belandt het regiment in Italië, waar de kou misschien minder op de loer ligt, maar de verschrikkingen van de oorlog niet minder zijn. Op een heuvel ligt het oeroude klooster van Monte Cassino, vol met de meest kostbare schatten en documenten. Er omheen woedt een vurige veldslag, en de soldaten van het 27e pantserregiment proberen uit alle macht stand te houden op de heuvel.

Monte Cassino, det heliga berget norr om Neapel, var en naturlig observationspunkt. Sluttningarna, mindre höjder och dalen framför hade av tyskarna byggts ut till en av världens mest respektingivande försvarsställningar. Slaget om Monte Cassino vintern och våren 1944 var ett obeskrivligt helvete for både anfallare och försvarare. De allierade satte in allt vad de hade av flyg, artilleri, pansar och infanteri från många nationer och bland de tyska styrkorna stred de främsta elitförbanden.

FEAT DESC

"È come se il suolo saltasse per aria. Il boato di una lunga esplosione scuote le linee tedesche. Si sente un grido infernale. Attraverso le scintille infuocate si vede l'enorme sagoma di Fratellino con la bombetta grigia in testa. Si trova in fondo alla trincea nemica con il mitragliatore premuto contro il fianco. La canna sputa proiettili che formano scie luminose. Sagome si muovono disordinatamente in preda al panico. -Sembrano diavoli! esclama il tenente russo ammirato." Sven Hassel fu reclutato in una compagnia di disciplina come soldato semplice dell’esercito tedesco.