The Cross of Iron (29 page)

Steiner twisted his mouth in a thin smile. ‘I think we had better dispense with that,’ he said. ‘It might be too much of a good thing.’ The smile vanished. ‘You’ve got to realize that if the Russian says one wrong word he can bring the whole company down on our necks. Keep tabs on him.’

‘You can depend on that,’ Krüger said fiercely.

Krüger told the Russian what was expected of him. If he were sensible, he said, they would take him with them as a prisoner and he would be a lot better off than if he lay here mutilated and slowly bleeding to death. Intimidated, the Russian nodded.

Schnurrbart hooked up the second telephone and blew into the receiver several times. ‘It works,’ he said to Steiner. ‘We can try it.’

He placed the receiver in the Russian’s hand. Kern stepped up behind the man and almost tenderly placed his hands around his throat. The Russian hunched his head between his shoulders and pressed the receiver to his ear. Steiner exchanged a glance with Krüger. Then he pressed one of the black buttons and turned the crank. There was a dead silence. Steiner drummed his fingertips on the wooden case that housed the switchboard. In a moment they would see whether he was risking too much. All at once the plan seemed to him crazy and impossible. He wished he could stop the call, but it was already too late. The prisoner began to speak. He spoke slowly; only a very attentive listener would have detected the excitement in his voice. The men kept their eyes on his face; their fists were clenched and they held their breath. Anselm stood with eyes closed. It can’t work, it just can’t, he kept thinking. He was so convinced that the telephone call would end badly that he still held his eyes closed when the prisoner’s voice had stopped and Krüger sighed with relief and replaced the receiver on the hook. ‘It worked,’ he said. Anselm opened his eyes in astonishment and saw around him the men’s white faces.

‘Nobody will believe us when we get back,’ Pasternack whispered. ‘If only Dietz had lived to see this.’

Steiner turned slowly toward him, his mouth twitching. Suddenly Schnurrbart laid his hand on Steiner’s shoulder. ‘If it hadn’t been for you,’ he said impulsively, ‘we never would have got out of here. Never, believe me.’

‘No laurels in advance,’ Steiner said roughly. ‘We aren’t out yet. Besides’—he looked at Krüger—‘without you there would have been no way to pull this off.’

‘Right,’ Anselm exclaimed. He stepped up to Krüger and shook his hand vigorously. ‘You really handled that swell. We were lucky to have you with us.’

Krüger was taken aback. He tried to conceal his pleasure and play modest. ‘Oh, hell,’ he said. ‘What good would my Russian do me if Steiner didn’t have the ideas.’

‘Do your back-slapping later on,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘It seems to me high time we got out of here.’

They looked at Steiner for further orders. ‘We’ll take the Russian with us,’ Steiner said. ‘Better put him in one of the dead men’s uniforms so he doesn’t attract attention. He’ll march between Krüger and Kern. If he attempts to escape, hammer him. Don’t shoot. Krüger, tell him that if he opens his mouth on the way he’s done for. He can make trouble for us, but it won’t do him any good.’

While Krüger translated, the men stripped one of the bodies. Steiner tucked the Russian maps carefully into his coat pocket. He watched as the prisoner donned the bloodstained uniform. Before they left the bunker they dropped the switchboard and telephones to the floor and trampled on them. Then each of the men took a souvenir—the Russian officer’s uniform on the floor was almost torn to pieces. Maag, Hollerbach and Dorn joined them at once, and Steiner explained in a whisper what had been happening. Then they set out along the trench leading toward the front line.

It was still raining, a thin, even drizzle. The front had quieted down all along the line. But flares still rose, hung trembling against the clouded sky, fluttered noiselessly down to the ground and went out. Schnurrbart followed Kern. He had slung his tommy-gun over his right shoulder, buried both hands in his trousers pockets, and walked with head drooping in thought. Soon the trench became shallower, and ended in a grassless plain that sloped slightly upward. ‘Quite a bit of construction for two nights,’ Maag, walking behind him, whispered.

Schnurrbart nodded. The Russians must have worked like moles, he thought. But undoubtedly they had mobilized the entire civilian population of Krymskaya; were it not for the rain the platoon probably would have run into a construction crew by now. That would have meant more trouble. As it was there were dangers enough to pass through before they reached the German trenches. Suddenly something occurred to him. He hurried past the file of men until he came up with Steiner. ‘Do you think all the Ivans have been warned we’re coming?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Steiner said. ‘Look up ahead. Don’t you notice anything?’ 

The other men had caught up with them, and all looked, but they saw nothing in particular. It was impossible to see more than a dozen paces ahead anyhow, and the occasional glow of flares above the trenches was swallowed up in the darkness before it reached them. ‘Dark as the inside of a black cow’s belly,’ Kern whispered.

Steiner raised his hand impatiently. ‘Don’t you see anything?’ ‘Sure,’ Schnurrbart nodded, ‘if you mean the flares.’

‘I do mean them,’ Steiner replied with a scornful undertone. ‘Not the ones you see but the ones you don’t see.’

Schnurrbart shook his head. ‘That’s too much for me.’

‘Not for me,’ Dorn said.

The men looked at him. ‘We know you’re smart,’ Schnurrbart growled.

‘You don’t have to be particularly smart to see this,’ Dorn replied evenly. ‘If you look close you’ll notice that the Russians directly in front of us are not firing any flares; all of the flares are coming from the other side.’

‘Right,’ Steiner said approvingly. ‘So the Russians are just waiting until we come through. Stay close together from now on. In case we’re spoken to, Krüger knows what to do.’ He slipped the gun from his shoulder and went up to the Russian. ‘One word from you, you bastard,’ he said threateningly, ‘and we’ll tear you to pieces!’

‘He can’t understand,’ Kern said.

‘He understood that, don’t worry.’ Steiner turned away and moved forward, taking long resolute strides. According to the map, the distance between the battalion command post and the positions of the 3rd Company was about a mile. They must have covered at least half that distance by now. The men moved in a knot. Kern was walking so close behind the prisoner that their bodies touched. He was acutely conscious of the responsibility resting upon him, and he wanted Steiner to be satisfied with him. At the first suspicious movement on the Russian’s part he was determined to kill him, even if he himself were killed in the process. The thought filled him with pride. Suddenly he felt a part of the platoon, as though he had been with it for ten years. It’s a damn fine thing to belong to a crowd like this, he said to himself. We all belong together. All for one and one for all. He no longer remembered where he had picked up the phrase, but it sent strange chills down his spine, plucked strings in him that momentarily made his eyes fill with tears. It was a great thing to have comrades. As he listened to the crunch of the gravelly earth underfoot and the stirring noises from the front, he was more and more overwhelmed by this emotion. Comradeship is everything, he thought. It didn’t matter if you pitched into each other once in a while; what mattered was that you could depend on the others when you were in trouble. And by God you could depend on these fellows here. You really could, and he was damned glad to be in their platoon and not in some other. Later, when the war was over, he would invite them all to come to his inn. The idea enchanted him. He turned his head and glanced almost with tenderness at Dorn, who was stumbling along behind him. The longer he thought about it, the more enthusiastic he became. He’d keep them for two weeks; they could eat all they had room for, and sleep in his bedrooms, and he would hang a big sign on the door:
Closed for veteran’s reunion.
Yes, by God, he would do it, and every night he would bring up the best stuff in the cellar and they’d talk about the past, how they had marched through this damned dark night and through the goddamned woods and how they had undressed the women and almost run head-on into the Russian artillery emplacement, and how they had all been scared stiff. He could see the whole scene: all of them sitting around the big round table in his inn, laughing, slapping each other on the back, the glasses tinkling as they touched. Then he would stand up and make a speech, a fine speech in plain words, and at the end they would stand up and bow their heads and think of Dietz, of Dietz and ... oh, well.... He ran his sleeve over his face, wiping away the picture.

Meanwhile they had come so close to the line that they had to fall flat as each flare went up. While the Russians up ahead of them remained absolutely quiet, machine-gun and rifle fire from the other side often passed close over their heads, so that for stretches they had to crawl on all fours. ‘Idiots!’ Krüger whispered indignantly. He stuck close by Steiner’s side.

At the moment Steiner was flattened out on the ground, peering ahead.

‘You should have sent them a postcard that we’re coming,’ Steiner growled. ‘But you’re right, they seem to be awfully nervous over there. They might be getting nervous because the Russians are so quiet.’

He concentrated on the ground before them. The ground was still rising. It was muddy now, and made progress difficult. But the rain had stopped. On the other side, about 200 paces away, another flare was shot up. For a few seconds all the features of the terrain could be seen. In front of them, a good stone’s throw away, a dark wall rose above the ground. Steiner guessed that it must be the rampart of the Russian trench. The eastern slope of the hill was also distinctly visible. The German line must run somewhere along over there. When the flare went out, he glanced briefly back at the men. They were lying flat on the ground, motionless. Wearily, as though the burden of the pack on his back had suddenly increased many times in weight, he straightened up. For a few seconds he stood indecisive. ‘What is it?’ Krüger whispered. Steiner did not reply. His original intention of leading the platoon in a body across the no-man’s-land, across these damned crucial hundred yards, now seemed insane. Frowning, he considered the situation. There seemed to be only one way to keep the platoon from being mowed down by their own machine-guns.

He beckoned the men to him and explained in a whisper. ‘And suppose you get hit?’ Krüger asked uncomfortably.

‘With a little luck it ought to work,’ Steiner said. ‘But if I am, Schnurrbart must try it next. We haven’t much choice. You come with me now. We must first find a place where you can cross afterwards without being stopped. Then you go back and wait for the flares. If nothing happens in fifteen minutes, Schnurrbart had better set out. I-’ He threw himself to the ground. A chilling howl hurtled toward them, and they pressed their faces into the damp earth. Then came the frightful crash of the explosion, and a few seconds later a hail of large and small lumps of earth pattered down on their backs. They waited with bated breath until the wicked hum of the splinters stopped and the silence washed over them like water. Steiner raised his head and shook off the paralysis of shock. All year long they have no ammunition, he thought fiercely, and they have to pick this moment to throw the stuff around.

The men came to life again. Schnurrbart wiped his muddy face and began to curse softly. ‘There’ll be more,’ Krüger warned. ‘They never fire only one shell.’

‘They always fire just one shell,’ Schnurrbart answered. ‘Ever since I’ve been in this bloody army they fire one shell and hit their own men with it.’ They listened fearfully to the darkness.

‘Calm down,’ Steiner said. ‘If any more come, we can’t do anything about it.’ He turned to Krüger. ‘We have to start. Everything clear?’

‘Clear as mud,’ Krüger said gloomily.

He passed the machine-gun to Maag, who stood beside him. The prisoner was sitting on the ground, crouching forward, motionless. ‘Keep a close watch on him,’ Krüger said to Kern. ‘If he makes a sound now, we’re sunk.’

‘He won’t,’ Kern promised, spreading his fingers significantly.

‘Good luck,’ Schnurrbart whispered uneasily.

Steiner nodded. As he and Krüger disappeared into the darkness, the men stared anxiously after them. They cowered on the ground and waited.

Flattened out, the two crawled up to the Russian trench. They were within a few yards of it when Krüger suddenly hissed softly and clutched Steiner’s foot. Steiner turned toward him and breathed: ‘What?’ Silently, Krüger pointed to the left. For a few seconds Steiner peered; then he saw the Russian. The man was standing in the trench, his helmet rising shapeless above the mounded earth. ‘To the right,’ Krüger whispered. With infinite caution they crawled over the slippery ground. They moved about fifty feet parallel to the Russian trench before Steiner abruptly turned. Panting, Krüger crawled up beside him. Their uniforms were pasted to their bodies, their faces and hands smeared with mud.

‘Do you see anyone?’ Steiner whispered.

‘No.’

Steiner hesitated. Then he stood up and walked on, crouching. When he reached the trench, another flare rose from the German lines. He dropped quickly to his knees and looked up and down the trench. It was not occupied here. He waited until Krüger came up beside him, then whispered: ‘Not this place. This is where you must cross. Right here, understand?’ He straightened his belt. ‘You can take my tommy-gun. I won’t need it any more.’

‘Why?’ Krüger whispered anxiously.

Steiner looked across the trench. Somewhat to the right a German machine-gun was firing tracer rounds. He watched them fade out in the darkness like shooting stars. The flare was dead now; no-man’s-land stretched before him, black and hostile.

‘Because deserters don’t carry weapons when they cross the lines. Go back now.’

Krüger hesitated. Then he reached out for Steiner’s hand and pressed it hard. ‘If anything happens to you,’ he said fiercely, ‘I’ll kill them all.’