The Cross of Iron (17 page)

He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and began smoking. While he sat staring with narrowed eyes at the dirt road, he reconsidered his relationship with Dietz. He recalled the many times he had favoured Dietz in ways the others would not notice. Had they really never noticed? Anything was possible. Now and then Schnurrbart had made a few remarks. But those might have been sheer chance. In any case, who cared what Schnurrbart said!

In a sudden flash of rage Steiner snapped the half-smoked cigarette into the bushes. The conversation on the bridge, momentarily forgotten, came back to him. From anyone else he could have taken that, but not from Schnurrbart. In the course of his talk with Pasternack and Dietz he had come to feel a certain detachment toward his own injured pride, but that didn’t mean he was going to pardon Schnurrbart. If Schnurrbart had taken him aside to make the same point, he would not have taken offence. But the public insult could not be borne. The more he thought about it, the more determined he felt to leave the platoon to its fate.

He continued to sit for a few moments, frowning bleakly. Finally he moved; with an impatient jerk of his head he looked at his watch. It was half-past nine; there was no more time to lose. The rest of the platoon would be coming any moment. As he stood up he thought about Dietz once more and felt annoyed with himself for not having given any explanation. You’re an idiot, he told himself; the way you carry on, you might be an aging spinster who feels the last stirrings of maternal feelings and goes to bed with a doll between her withered breasts. The idea amused him; for a few seconds he shook with soundless laughter and doubled over like a caterpillar. Then he jumped to his feet. As he stooped for his gun, he caught a glimpse of a large moving shadow.

All the men with the exception of Zoll were sitting in the kitchen, To gain time Schnurrbart had recalled the sentries from the bridge so that they could eat with the others before setting out. The wagons were at the bottom of the stream and the men were now armed with Russian tommy-guns. They were sipping the hot tea Dorn had brewed and eating directly out of the American tin cans. The Russian bread was moist and heavy, but they devoured it hungrily. Schnurrbart alone was scarcely eating. Until he had spoken with Dietz and Pasternack he had gone on hoping Steiner would return. But now there could be no doubt. Steiner had left the platoon. Now it was up to him to decide the next steps to be taken. For a while Schnurrbart regarded Krüger’s grim face. Then he suddenly remembered the man guarding the prisoners. He turned to Maag and said: ‘Hurry up; you have to relieve Zoll so that he can eat. We’re leaving right away.’

Maag nodded as he gobbled a huge hunk of corned beef. Schnurrbart watched with disgust. He looked toward Krüger again, and their eyes met. Something in his face troubled Schnurrbart. He felt that they were both thinking about the same thing. What was to be done with the prisoners? Now that Steiner was gone the responsibility no longer lay in one man’s hands. He knew quite well that he could not carry out the execution against Krüger’s opposition. Thoughtfully, his eyes drifted over the faces of the men. Dorn, Dietz, Pasternack and Hollerbach would also undoubtedly raise a fuss. What Kern’s and Anselm’s attitude would be he could not decide. Zoll and Maag, he felt fairly sure, were the only ones who would mow the women down without a qualm. In any case it would not strengthen his position as leader of the platoon if he insisted on shooting the women. Left to himself, he would not have thought of it for a moment.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Krüger asked.

Schnurrbart hesitated a moment. He glanced quickly at the door before he spoke: ‘What are we going to do with the women?’

The men stopped chewing and stared at him. Although they knew this problem remained, they were nevertheless taken by surprise. They avoided each other’s eyes. Dorn was the first to shake off the paralysis. He laid his fork on the table, removed his glasses and studied the lenses as he asked: ‘What do you propose?’ Schnurrbart did not reply. Dorn turned to the others. ‘I don’t see that our situation will be either better or worse if we shoot them, gut in any case I am unalterably opposed.’

His downright tone aroused in Schnurrbart a spirit of contradiction. ‘So,’ he said irritably, ‘you’re unalterably opposed. May I ask why the devil you’re so opposed?’

Dorn regarded him coolly. ‘You certainly may ask. I am opposed because we are soldiers and not murderers. Anyway, I think we are facing a far more urgent problem. Do any of you know where the battalion is posted at present?’

No one answered. Schnurrbart shrugged. ‘It’s marked on the map,’ he growled.

‘Right.’ Dorn smiled briefly. With unwonted forcefulness he asked: ‘And who has the map?’

Schnurrbart felt a physical pang run through his body. Turning his head, he caught Krüger’s look of alarm as Hollerbach sprang to his feet, exclaiming: ‘Steiner has the map with him.’ The men stared at one another in consternation. Dorn alone remained calm; it surprised him, how calm he was. He was as composed as a person who has long ago understood that feeling is only a passing intoxication of the soul which must not be taken seriously lest it introduce needless disruption into life. Turning to Pasternack who sat in a slump at his side, he asked: ‘Didn’t Steiner say anything about the map when he talked to you and Dietz?’

Pasternack shook his head silently.

‘Then we haven’t got a chance,’ Dorn commented tranquilly. 

Krüger’s repressed fury erupted all at once. He brought his fist down upon the table with a crash and bellowed: ‘To hell! To the devil with the map. What do I need a map for? I’ll show you my map. Here it is!’ He stooped quickly, picked up his Russian tommy-gun and slammed it down on the table with all his might. Several of the mess-kits were knocked over, spilling the hot tea in all directions. The men jumped back out of the way and Kern, his trousers soaked, called out angrily: ‘You damned half Russian!’ Krüger whirled around, stared at him for a second, then threw himself upon Kern with an inarticulate cry. His body hit Kern’s so hard that Kern was hurled backward across the table.

Cursing, the men jumped aside once more. ‘Stop that!’ Schnurrbart roared. His words were drowned in the tumult.

Kern swung over to the other side of the table, dropped to the floor for a moment, then rose in a flash and received Krüger with a rain of furious blows. They were evenly matched. Their arms moved like windmills; they seemed to be pulling each punch from out of the air. Most of the others formed an enthusiastic ring around the fighters and cheered them on. Dietz backed trembling against the wall and watched the brawl with horror. Each time a fist landed with a dull thud in one of the men’s faces, he closed his eyes and noiselessly moved his lips. When Krüger charged Kern and the two began rolling in a tangle on the floor, he found his voice again. He shouted to Schnurrbart who was standing by watching the fight with a set expression: ‘They’ve got to stop, tell them to stop.’ Schnurrbart nodded. He communicated with Hollerbach by a rapid glance and they cautiously approached the grappling men from both sides. Kern had just heaved himself up off the ground, rolled over on top of Krüger, and was closing his hairy hands around the East Prussian’s neck. Hollerbach and Schnurrbart desperately tried to separate the two, but they could not get a good hold. Finally Schnurrbart attempted to seize one of the thrashing legs, but received such a violent kick in the groin from Kern that he reeled back and crumpled heavily to the ground. As he sat up, face twisted with pain, a hail of bullets from a rat-tatting tommy-gun lashed above their heads.

After Schnurrbart had called out Maag to help unload the wagons, Zoll had been left alone with the prisoners. All the while the men were at work outside, Zoll stood with his back against the door, alertly watching the women. Since there were now nearly thirty people in the relatively small room, it was closely packed. In order to simplify the problem of guarding them, Schnurrbart had ordered the prisoners to sit in rows one behind the other, legs apart and hands on the shoulders of the one in front. They had meanwhile made themselves somewhat more comfortable by using each other as supports for their backs. In the farther comer, her head upon one of the women’s laps, lay the wounded woman. She was still unconscious. Although the prisoners did not yet know what was going to be done with them, their initial fear seemed to have somewhat abated. They talked in whispers, and Zoll was bothered by the feeling that they were making fun of him. He could think of no other explanation for their occasional burst of giggling. Several times he had tried to intimidate them by cursing viciously, but after looking up in curiosity and astonishment they had resumed their whispering. Finally he had given up trying to appear tough.

Towards the front, close to him, sat the solitary male prisoner. In contrast to the others his expression was worried, and Zoll observed him talking steadily to the woman beside him. What the devil was all the chatter about? Zoll wished he could pound him over the head with his machine-pistol. But after all they would be killing the man very soon now. This thought made him feel generous. Let the fellow jabber while he still had the chance. For a while Zoll listened to the flow of the unfamiliar language, feeling irritated with himself for not having learned Russian. He recalled all the tutoring his parents had forced upon him when he came home with poor marks in English and French. Where did all the cramming get you? Half of what you learned you never used, and the other half you forgot. He watched the woman the Russian was talking to. He had noticed her before. Couldn’t be more than twenty, he would guess. Her thin face was rather pretty, and every time she looked up at him with her grey eyes he became restless. Sex-appeal, he thought. Too bad he was not alone with her. His eyes glided searchingly over her figure, which looked promising in spite of the shapeless uniform. Her blouse was stretched tight over high breasts, and Zoll tried to imagine how it would be if he were to unbutton that blouse. What a racket, he thought; here they had all the women they could wish for and weren’t getting anything out of them. To distract himself, he glanced out of the window. The men were still slaving away at the wagons. He saw them dumping ammunition boxes and mortars into the water. They pushed the empty wagon on to the bridge, rammed it into the railing several times until the wood splintered, and the heavy wagon pitched over the side of the bridge. The water splashed high all around it. He grinned with satisfaction. That was one cart the Ivans wouldn’t be using any more. He watched with interest as the men turned to the next wagon. Pleased, he saw Maag wiping the sweat from his brow. Good that Schnurrbart hadn’t sent for him. He could do without an extra detail right now. He felt, to his own surprise, a touch of gratitude toward Schnurrbart. Until now he had always thought of superiors as automatically stinkers. He might as well try to get along with Schnurrbart from now on— wouldn’t do any harm. If Steiner had really gone off, Schnurrbart would be platoon leader. What luck that would be. He had felt enormously relieved a few minutes ago when Schnurrbart came into the room and told them about Steiner. He had hated Steiner from the first day he met the fellow, he reflected. Maybe because Steiner was the only man he feared.

He suddenly recalled with a surge of rage and shame their arrival that morning. That game he had played with the patches of sunlight had been ridiculously childish. But all the friction with Steiner had been to blame for that. Their nerves were shot, that was all. That bastard had been the last straw.

He had been so deep in thought as he stared out of the window that he had paid no attention to the prisoners. Now he suddenly heard a groan behind him. Whirling around, he scrutinized them suspiciously. They were sitting as still as before. Only in the farther corner, where the wounded woman lay moaning softly, had any of them turned their heads. ‘Quiet!’ Zoll yelled. From somewhere in the room there was a brief burst of giggles. Zoll bit his lips. Damned bitches, he thought; I ought to.... His hand tightened on his gun. Angrily, he looked over the rows of faces. Suddenly he stared. The woman sitting in front of him—the woman the man had been talking to so urgently—was moving ever so slightly. Head bowed, she was fingering at her blouse. The two top buttons were already open, revealing the base of her breasts. Zoll gulped and looked at the man, who sat with eyes closed, apparently dozing. The other women had stopped whispering. Most of them seemed to be asleep, or were sitting with heads drooping, staring at the floor. It was so quiet in the room now that he could distinctly hear Schnurrbart outside issuing orders. Zoll felt a peculiar sensation in the pit of his stomach. He glanced at his gun, making sure the safety catch was off. When he looked up again, his eyes met the Russian woman’s. She was gazing steadily at him, and had opened another button on her blouse. As he watched her in fascination, she closed one eye in a slow wink, and smiled at him. Zoll held his breath. The thought crossed his mind that there might be some danger for him concealed behind this behaviour, only to be immediately routed by the heady rush of vanity. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and tried to look at the woman impassively. Her thin, rather dirty fingers were busy opening the last button.

Zoll threw a glance out of the window. The men were just shoving the last of the wagons over the edge of the bridge. They stared at the water for a few seconds and then turned toward the house. He heard the heavy tread of their nailed boots mounting the stairs and thumping across the hallway. Then the door was wrenched open and Schnurrbart thrust his head in. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

Zoll nodded. Out of the corners of his eyes he observed that the Russian woman was holding her blouse closed and staring vacantly at the floor.

‘I’ll relieve you in a few minutes,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘As soon as Maag has eaten he’ll take over so you can eat.’ His eyes roved over the rows of prisoners. ‘They dozing?’

‘Seem to be,’ Zoll answered curtly. He was furious at the interruption; there was no room in his mind for anything but the wish that Schnurrbart would leave as quickly as possible. But Schnurrbart still delayed. Something about the women’s attitude aroused his suspicions. Queer that they should be dozing, he thought, coming all the way into the room.