The Cross of Iron (27 page)

‘When it starts!’ Maag laughed cynically. ‘When it starts our wires will be cut and the batteries blown up. There’s something going on back there right now, and it’s not a little show either.’ He gestured toward the south where constant flashes lit the sky and a low rumble hung steadily in the air.

‘Where would that be?’ Krüger asked Steiner.

Steiner shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe near Novorosisk. Won’t matter to us, anyway.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Schnurrbart commented. He shivered and drew his groundsheet closer around his shoulders. ‘If the Russians break through over that way, we’re sunk. They’ll reach the sea and we’ll be right in the trap.’

Krüger nodded. ‘If we lose the war then, do you think you’ll ever get home again?’

Schnurrbart did not answer. He thought of Erika. She would marry someone else and he would spend the rest of his life pounding stone or working in a mine. His head drooped and he stared down at the ground between his legs.

‘Its horrible which ever way you look at it,’ Maag said gloomily. ‘Whether we win the war or lose it, we’re left holding the bag anyway. Do you think we’ll get back into civvies, even if we do win the war? Don’t you believe it!’

‘Rot,’ Krüger said irritably. ‘What the hell would they do with all us soldiers when the war is over. They’ll be glad when they don’t have to pay us any longer.’

‘They certainly will,’ Maag replied excitedly. ‘To win the war we’ll first have to beat half the world, and if we do beat half the world we’ll have to keep it occupied afterwards. Who do you think is going to do that job? The Party, maybe? They’ll have enough to do celebrating the victory.’

‘Don’t talk to me about the Party,’ Krüger growled. ‘When the war is over they can do what they like with their Party and their army.’ 

Maag grinned cynically at him. ‘You don’t believe that yourself. What are you going to do when the war is over? Raise radishes?’ 

‘None of your business whether I raise radishes or herring. The main thing is to get out of this stinking uniform and be a free man again.’

The other men had been only half listening to the conversation. The artillery fire in the south was dying down, and they saw a row of red flares mount into the air. ‘Now they’re attacking,’ Anselm said excitedly. ‘I hope they get a bellyful.’ They gazed toward the south, where the sky was slowly beginning to redden as though dipped in blood. ‘Something’s burning there,’ Anselm commented. ‘What a show’s going on down there. Attacking in this weather— just like the damned Ivans.’

Krüger turned to Schnurrbart and whispered: ‘It’s getting late. What the devil is he waiting for?’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll have it coming soon enough,’ Schnurrbart said indifferently.

‘We’ll see about that. Before they get me I’ll knock off a few dozen of them, as sure as my name is Krüger. What do you think about the idea?’

‘What idea?’

‘The bunkers. We don’t even know how many there are. And maybe the wire leads right up to the trench.’

‘So much the better. We’ll make it all the faster.’

Krüger shook himself. ‘Damn this rain. I’m soaked to the skin. And on top of it all this darkness.’

‘You’ll be glad it’s dark in a few minutes. I think we’re starting now.’

Steiner had slowly got to his feet.

‘Are we going?’ Maag asked.

‘Yes,’ Steiner said.

The men rolled up their groundsheets. Then the platoon started off. Krüger stayed close beside Steiner, who went over his plan again. ‘And when you know where you stand,’ he went on, ‘shake hands with him. I’ll take care of the rest.’

The men stared tensely into the darkness and moved forward crouching. Everything would depend on the next few minutes, they realized. The rain spraying their faces with fine droplets made seeing difficult. Steiner began to be anxious. Had he mistaken the direction? He paused and peered uncertainly into the darkness. Suddenly a voice called to them. They were prepared for it and did not start. Steiner dug his fingers into Krüger’s arm and whispered: ‘Go on, answer him.’

Krüger took a deep breath. Then he shouted:
‘Potselui menya
v
shopu—iddi zudda
.’ Nothing moved. He took a step forward and said sharply:
‘Biuda! '
Nervously, Steiner gnawed his lips. The men, breathing hard, held their guns ready to fire. Somewhere nearby a Russian machine-gun chattered; the noise plucked at their nerves, seemed to go on for ever. ‘Damn,’ Maag whispered, and took two steps back. Krüger, too, turned his head uneasily and looked at Steiner, who was already making up his mind to resort to force.

At this critical moment a figure emerged out of the darkness and slowly approached. Steiner swallowed; his relief was so intense that for a second he felt as if his body were no longer subject to the law of gravity. He lowered his gun and stared at the Russian, who had stopped a few paces away and was regarding them with curiosity. He was a lean fellow; his head protruded from the long Russian coat as though he had been stuck into a sack which was tied under the chin. He was carrying his tommy-gun loosely under his right arm, the muzzle pointed at the ground.
‘Kuda?'
he asked. His voice was high-pitched and a little hoarse; it was evident from his tone that he was so far without suspicions.

Krüger went up to him. Reaching into his pocket he took out a single cigarette and held it out.
‘Papirossa? '
The Russian nodded gratefully. The others could see only a little of his face. He put the cigarette carefully into his coat pocket and said: ‘
Spasiba. '
He was looking hard at Steiner, who began to wonder whether their caps were arousing his mistrust. But he turned to Krüger again and repeated:
‘Kuda?'

Krüger waved his hand vaguely and replied that they were going on a patrol up to the front. ‘Where do you belong?’ he asked.

The Russian began to speak freely, with the volubility of a person who is pleased to find something to break the monotony and wants to keep his visitor in good humour. By interjecting a few adroit questions Krüger learned that the man was guarding a Russian battalion combat HQ located in a bunker about a hundred feet away. But when the Russian went on to indicate that there were four bunkers, Krüger began to feel anxious. He looked at Steiner, who was standing beside him, half listening to the noises from the front. Their glances met and Krüger blinked. He exchanged a few more words with the Russian, then held out his hand, saying: ‘
Dosvidanya. '

That was Steiner’s cue. As the Russian shifted the tommy-gun to his left hand and held out his right, Steiner took a rapid step to the side and raised his own gun high. The Russian caught the movement. Terrified, he twisted his head round and tried to escape the steely grip in which Krüger held his hand. He opened his mouth to shout, but before he could utter a sound the heavy barrel of the tommy-gun struck him in the back of the neck. It had all Steiner’s weight behind it. There was a horrible, cracking noise. Krüger caught the lifeless body and carefully lowered it to the ground. ‘He’s done for,’ he said to Steiner.

‘Move back,’ Steiner said.

‘He’s done for, I tell you,’ Krüger said as he stepped back.

‘Better to make sure,’ Steiner said coldly. He picked up the Russian’s gun and swung it twice. Then he hurled it far away. The men approached, their faces white. ‘Horrible,’ Dorn whispered.

‘You’ll see things a lot more horrible in the next few minutes,’ Steiner said. He turned to Krüger. ‘What did he say?’

‘This business isn’t so easy,’ Krüger replied hesitantly. ‘There are four bunkers. A battalion HQ’—he detailed hastily everything he had learned.

Steiner shrugged. ‘We’ll have to do it anyway. Two men to each bunker. One will stay outside and stand guard.’ He turned to Dorn. ‘That’s a job for you.’ Dorn nodded, relieved. ‘Let’s start,’ Steiner said. He assigned each man a bunker. ‘Remember, no prisoners,’ he whispered. ‘And don’t spare ammunition. Let’s go.’ 

They moved forward again. After a few yards they saw dark mounds of earth rising above the ground, and a feeble gleam of light. The bunkers were scattered, not in a straight row as he had assumed. They were connected by a deep trench that led, with many windings, toward the front. The gleam of light came from the crack under a door. In spite of the darkness they could see telephone lines leading from all directions to one of the bunkers and disappearing into a rectangular opening near the door. ‘Communications centre,’ Krüger whispered.

Steiner scrutinized the bunkers. They were covered with freshly dug earth and seemed massively built. He turned to the men. ‘I’ll open fire. As soon as you hear the first shot, go in and close the doors behind you. Are your flashlights working?’

They nodded. ‘Good. Depending on how many Russians are inside, one of you can hold the light and the other fire. Clear?’ He turned to Dorn. ‘You stay outside. If anybody comes along, fire at once, even if it’s Stalin in person.’

They divided up in pairs and began climbing down into the trench. As Krüger stepped to the edge of the trench his foot slipped on the wet earth. He tried to throw himself backward, but the weight of the machine-gun hindered him. Anselm, close at his heels, reached out to grab him, but it was already too late. The bunker was directly opposite and Krüger fell heavily against the door. It yielded and he tumbled headlong into the interior of the bunker. For a few seconds he lay dazed. When he started to get up, a glaring beam of light fell upon his face and an incisive voice rang in his ear. Anselm, who had jumped down into the trench after him, stared over Krüger’s body at the half-dressed figure of a Russian who was holding a battery lantern and shouting in fury at Krüger. At that moment the muted but fully audible hammering of tommy-guns began. The Russian flashed his light toward the trench. Krüger, who had recovered from his first shock, instinctively reached out and grasped the Russian’s high leather boots.

‘An officer,’ he thought. With a powerful jerk he pulled the man off his feet. He saw Anselm raising his gun. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he panted. ‘Hit him on the head, on the head.’

Anselm hesitated. There might be other Russians in the bunker. Across the two men grappling on the floor he peered into the room. There was a candle burning on the table, a cot in the background, and blankets scattered around the floor.

‘Hit him!’ Krüger groaned.

The Russian fought desperately. His lantern had rolled into the trench and illuminated the scene. At last Anselm grasped his hair and slugged him on the head with the butt of the tommy-gun.

Krüger quickly got to his feet and shook himself like a dog emerging from the water. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked quickly, stooping for the machine-gun.

‘I don’t know,’ Anselm gasped excitedly. ‘It’s so quiet.’ He looked down at the Russian, who lay motionless. ‘What should we do with him?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe we can use him.’

He looked around the bunker. The Russian’s tunic and coat were hanging from a nail. Krüger nodded with satisfaction. ‘A captain. Must be the commander. We’re sure in luck.’

‘If he isn’t dead already,’ Anselm said. ‘But Steiner said no prisoners.’

‘We can always kill him later,’ Krüger replied brusquely. He stooped over the Russian and took his wrist. ‘There’s still a pulse-beat.’ He listened. The firing had stopped. No more than two minutes had passed since his tumble into the trench. He dropped the Russian’s arm. ‘We’ll have to see what’s going on. It’s--’He broke off. Someone came running down the trench. They crouched then recognized Schnurrbart and Kern. ‘All right?’ Schnurrbart asked, glancing at the Russian.

‘How about your bunker?’ Krüger returned the question.

‘Four men.’

‘Dead?’

‘Yes. They were asleep. Nothing to it.’

‘What about Hollerbach and Steiner?’ Krüger asked nervously, mopping his damp face with his sleeve.

‘I don’t know,’ Schnurrbart replied. ‘We’ll have to go and see.’

Krüger turned to Anselm. ‘Watch the Russian.’

‘Is he still alive?’ Kern whispered.

‘Yes,’ Krüger said. The three of them hurried down the trench.

Steiner had picked the communications bunker for himself. Maag at his side, he pressed the door open inch by inch. The first thing he saw was the back of a man sitting on a chair, head drooping, dozing. Then he heard loud snoring and thrust his head in so that he could see the whole of the spacious bunker. There were six bunks in two tiers, each tier at right angles to the other. They filled the rear long wall and the right side wall of the bunker. On each of them lay a Russian wrapped in a brown woollen blanket, sound asleep. Most of them had their backs to the door. The man sitting on the left had in front of him a box containing a switchboard. Guns hung from a wooden pole driven into the earthen wall. The room was lit by two candles. Steiner closed the door again and turned to Maag. ‘You take the beds on the right-’ he started to say.

A low thud in the trench interrupted him. Aghast, they looked to the left where a loud voice suddenly bellowed incomprehensible phrases. ‘Russians,’ Maag gasped. For the fraction of a second Steiner hesitated. Then he swung round, kicked open the door, and stepped in. The Russian at the switchboard had jumped to his feet and was staring at him in surprise. Steiner forced himself to smile. He kept smiling and waited until Maag had slipped into the bunker. Then he slowly closed the door behind him. Out of the corners of his eyes he detected movement in the bunks. But his attention was wholly taken up by the Russian standing before him. He was a tall man with a mournful face under a shaved head. As he opened his mouth, Steiner shot from the hip. He saw the pupils of the man’s eyes start to widen with horror, but his face did not have a chance to express the sudden emotion. The astonishment remained suspended in his eyes as he turned from the force of the bullets and toppled forward. Steiner whirled round. The beds had come to life. He saw jerking limbs, eyes goggling with the terror of death, heavy boots swinging through the air, blankets fluttering to the floor. Then there came a loud bellow of fear that was silenced at once by the hammering of his gun. Maag fired also. He stood crouching slightly, his back against the door, his face contorted. They braced the butts of their tommy-guns against their chests, took their stand with legs wide apart and squinted over the shaking barrels of their guns at the beds. The rapid succession of bullets tore scraps of wood from the bunks, caught leaping bodies and dropped them to the floor like sandbags, transformed open-mouthed, frightened faces into shapeless, bloody clods of flesh. Steiner acted in a fever. Objects swam before his eyes. The insane roar of the two sub-machine-guns in the confined space almost robbed him of the remnants of consciousness. When from one of the upper bunks a dark shadow moved and came flying toward him in a gigantic leap, he instinctively crouched and thrust the barrel of his gun into a face of which he saw only the bloodshot eyes and gaping mouth. Then the Russian’s heavy body threw him to the floor and knocked the wind out of him. Abruptly, there was silence. From somewhere came the alarmed voice of Maag, calling him by name. Groaning, he tried to free himself from the weight on his chest. Then the Russian’s body was pulled to one side, and turning his head he recognized Maag’s smoke-blackened face. Pushing with both arms, he managed to sit up.