A long one
My grandad always told me about his time in the war, and this one particular time strikes me as particularly relevant.... Well, sort of, but stick with me. It's rather long, and possibly not worth it, but here we go.

When he was a Desert Rat in Egypt, him and a few others from his battalion had managed to get themselves well and truly lost in the desert. They had been split up by an earlier 'altercation' with Jerry, and had made a dash for it rather than get caught by the Nazi scourge, forcing them to get completely and utterly lost and without much ammo.

Being the enterprising young things that they were, they puckered up all their pre-Ray Mears knowledge of navigation that they could and attempted to make their way back to the allied front line, and hope they didn't get shot in the process. Simple.

Simple that is, except that fairly soon after they'd crossed a particular set of dunes they looked up, there before them was a whole battalion of the Duetsche Afrika Corps. Hitlers own sandy bastards standing there right in front of them, guns pointed and from what my grandfather says, looking particularly likely to win, given the numbers.

What could they do? any attempt to run would surely mean certain death. Any attempt to fight would mean certain death. All options led to certain death at this point, so they just stood. They just stood standing there, waiting for the inevitable, staring at their own deaths with an eery tranquility that lasted an age.

'WARTEN!'

Came a cry from behind a line of would be killers.

'warten....'

This time quieter. A thick German accent made it's way through the air, and it's owner finally appeared on horseback between two of the wielded guns.

'Vat do vee haf here zen? Four little piggies all on zeir own, how sad.'

What appeared to be clearly a German officer stepped down from his horse and looked my grandfather and his bedraggled fellows up and down for a while, he turned to whisper something at one of his compatriots, and they both laughed for a second, before he ran off into the crowd.

'You know, I haf had enough of ze killing we are so often seeing zese days, perhaps we could help you out a bit no?'

There was more snickering from a few soldiers, and all of a sudden the first soldier reappeared with a camera on a stand. By this time, my grandad and co were getting a bit anxious, and were all starting to think of home.

'I vill make you a deal. You must entertain us enough, and ve vill let you go. You can run along home to your mothers now ya?'

My grandad was having none of it. He suggested to the officer that they would die anyway, no matter what they did.

'Please. My name is Erwin, and there is no man higher than me here. If I say you go, you can go. All I require is a little picture, a postcard if you vill, to send to my dear comrades back in ze Fatherland. Won't one of you provide ziss to save your friends?'

Quick as a flash, the youngest of the four stepped up. Visibly shaking, he offered that he would do it. He didn't care, he wanted an end to this and the sooner the better. After a bit of banter between the four, with all but the young man saying they would be killed no matter plus they didn't know what evil little concoctions they had in store for him, they gave in. The young man was going to do whatever they wanted to get them out of there.

'How very brave of you. Come here'

The young man stepped toward the officer.

'Now. Kiss my horse!'

my grandfather and co were stunned. He wanted this man to kiss his horse, passionately on the lips whilst they took picture after picture and laughed incessantly at the poor young lad. He said it was the most bizarre moment of the war, or anything for that matter, thinking they'd gone mad in the heat. To his credit the young lad didn't think twice about it, and passionately embraced the horse, it what even my grandad said was quite a comedic outing, then once finished turned to the officer to demand that he uphold his end of the bargain. The officer could hardly speak as he was bent double trying to stammer out a sentence through his tears of laughter.

'Go. Go get out of here! Horse fucker!' Came the reply from the German.

With that they set, quick as lightning, without looking back. Eventually making it back to their camp after hourse of weary travel, with much merriment from their battalion. After explaining their bizarre experience to the rest of their friends and, with the help of a few American allies, deciding on the loving future name of 'Seabiscuit' for the young lad who'd bravely got them out of the brown stuff, one Lancashire fellow piped up.

'Fu' fooks sake. What you say that off'cers name were?'

'Erwin' was the reply. 'He said he was called Erwin'

'Christ Almighty' he exclaimed. You know what he's gone an' done don't ye?'

........

'That's right. He Kissed a Mare fu' Rommel'........



I am so, so sorry.....
(Scrumpy does not negotiate with terrorists,, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:10, 3 replies)

Damn
Thought that was an excellent Story until I realised that you had done at the end... :(
(paulwoody, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 16:28, closed)

I didn't even bother reading that.
Just scrolled to the bottom.
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 17:41, closed)

I'm left with a puzzled expression...
... and had to conciously un-furly my brow. Don't get it.
(horrgakx, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 11:51, closed)