The Cross of Iron (70 page)

‘Undoubtedly,’ Morlock said coolly. The shadow had returned to his face. As he spoke he looked at his hands which he had placed palms down on the desk. ‘Undoubtedly,’ he repeated. Uneasily, Kiesel noted the tightening lines around his mouth. ‘Precisely because we can see the whole situation more clearly,’ Morlock went on somewhat more loudly, ‘we beg to differ with you, sir. I believe the general would be very much surprised to hear your views. Rightly surprised, if I may add my personal opinion.’ 

Brandt looked back at him with an amused twinkle in his grey eyes. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said, glancing at Killius, who had sat down again and was taking in the talk with obvious discomfort. ‘I don’t know where the blinkers are made that so many people wear over their eyes. As long as they don’t blind me, I don’t mind them. But only as long.’ His tone had suddenly become chilly. Now he stood up. The leather of his boots squeaked loudly in the silence as he went to the window and stood there with averted face, looking out. With feelings of mingled admiration and nervousness Kiesel looked at his broad back, and then at the frozen face of the operations officer who was sitting rigid and unstirring, again studying his hands.

Morlock looked up when Brandt abruptly crossed the room in three big strides, pulled the leather strap of binoculars from the nail in the wall, returned to the window and held the glasses to his eyes. Since he said nothing, none of the other men ventured to ask a question. Killius, leaning across the table to Kiesel, whispered: ‘Planes?’

‘We’d hear them,’ Kiesel said, shrugging. Brandt was leaning forward eagerly now, pressing the binoculars to his eyes. His peculiar behaviour was highly disturbing. At last Kiesel could not refrain from asking: ‘Anything unusual?’

Brandt did not reply. He remained at the window for a moment more, slowly lowering the binoculars. When he turned around there was an expression of deep wonderment on his face. But he did not explain. Instead he said to Killius in a tone of forced calm: ‘There was one more thing I wanted to say to you. I would appreciate your not mentioning Herr Stransky’s transfer to him. I should like to surprise him. I’ll send for his baggage.’

‘Of course,’ Killius said, rising.

‘Didn’t you also want to talk with me about Herr Stransky?’ Morlock asked.

Brandt looked at him for a moment out of half-shut eyes. He shook his head. ‘There’s time for that later. I must talk with him first.’ He turned to Kiesel. ‘You accompany the gentlemen to the car,’ he said, and shook hands vigorously with Killius. He took leave of Morlock with a curt nod. When the door had closed behind them he went to the window and watched the car start up the winding highway, wrapped in a cloud of dust.

Kiesel returned immediately. The manner in which he sat down again expressed so much concern and incomprehension that Brandt drew up his mouth in a scornful smile. He stood with folded arms, looking at the captain with an air of challenge. At last, in the face of Kiesel’s persistent silence, he said: ‘Well?’ The ironic undertone could not be missed.

Kiesel’s lined face flashed a variety of expressions. When he spoke, it was with an almost pedantic carefulness. ‘You pose riddles,’ he said quietly. ‘Perhaps I am exceeding my privileges when I tell you that as an adjutant I am uncomfortable being kept on the fringes of a discussion that concerns me just as much as it does the other participants. Would you be surprised if I should ask you to replace me?’

Brandt’s face reflected in rapid succession indignation, disdain, and finally vexation. The superior expression which had lain like patina on his skin withdrew to the depths of his eyes. ‘I don’t think I would be surprised,’ he retorted coolly. ‘You know perfectly well that I would not let you go. Not because you are indispensable—you aren’t, any more than I am—but because I might land a creature like Morlock for adjutant. You get on my nerves at times, but I’ve grown accustomed to that, and I have the right to ask the same of you—that you get used to me.’

Kiesel tilted his head to one side. ‘It was only a theoretical question,’ he said serenely. ‘If I couldn’t stand you as my superior officer I would have one consolation: that my problem will soon be over. Another conversation like the one you’ve just had with Herr Morlock and there’s likely to be a violent solution to the problem. I’m not so sure I would enjoy that.’

‘I see,’ Brandt said. He smiled. ‘Are you afraid?’ he asked slyly.

‘A person is only afraid for himself,’ Kiesel replied, shrugging. ‘After all, it’s not my neck you were risking with your loose talk.’ 

Brandt frowned. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘No.’ Kiesel shook his head. ‘Perhaps I have a favour to ask of you,’ he added gravely.

Brandt went over to his desk and looked absently down at the papers strewn over it. ‘We can talk about that later,’ he said. ‘What did you learn from Steiner?’

‘A fascinating story!’ Kiesel said, and retold it. The commander listened to him in silence, his face expressionless. ‘A certain imprecision about the report,’ Kiesel said. ‘I have the feeling that Steiner concealed one or two details. It might be a good idea to question another participant.’

‘What for?’ Brandt asked.

Kiesel shrugged. ‘I suspect that Steiner is still trying to cover up Stransky.’

‘I doubt that,’ Brandt said forcefully. Kiesel looked up at him, startled by the emphasis in his voice. Brandt gave an odd smile. ‘Where is Steiner at the moment?’ he asked.

‘In the house next door, I suppose. I suggested that he sleep for a couple of hours, until we would need him.’

‘Does he know Stransky is coming here?’

‘I think so,’ Kiesel said, considering. Then he nodded. ‘Yes, I remember, I mentioned it.’

‘You mentioned it!’ Brandt repeated. He broke out into hysterical laughter that shook his whole big body. ‘You’re priceless,’ he said, gasping for breath. Then he became serious so abruptly that Kiesel could scarcely follow the alternations of mood. He sprang to his feet again and went to the window once more. For a while he stood looking up the slope of the ravine. When he turned around, there was a grim sparkle in his eyes. ‘I told you this morning that you were unstable, Kiesel,’ he said. ‘But you are not only unstable, you are naive. Do you know whom I observed with my binoculars a while ago?’ His face suddenly looked alien and brutal to Kiesel. ‘I saw Steiner. Steiner whom you think is next door taking a couple of hours of well-deserved rest. What a fool you are, Kiesel.’ He chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Steiner is a product of our times,’ he went on, and Kiesel thought he detected a trace of satisfaction in the commander’s voice. ‘Do you recall what I said to you about justice? Of course you do. And I should like to add that a man like Steiner makes no bones about correcting Providence when the powers above bungle things. What is more, he’d be a thrice damned fool if he let a good chance slip by because he trusted in heavenly justice. The justice of Heaven is a dream of the weak, Kiesel, and it’s about time you absorbed that idea.’

He fell silent and began pacing the room. When Kiesel rose without a word and started toward the door, Brandt blocked his way. ‘Where are you going?’ Kiesel did not reply, but his pale face was answer enough for Brandt. ‘You have more imagination than I thought,’ Brandt said coldly. ‘But I cannot do without you for the next hour. The march routes for the battalions have to be settled and I’ll need your help.’

‘I’ll be back in ten minutes.’ Kiesel’s voice sounded muffled, tense and resolute.

Brandt shook his head mockingly. ‘You will stay here,’ he declared firmly, ‘Do you understand me?’ Again Kiesel did not reply. Brandt returned to his desk and bent over the maps. ‘Come here,’ he said sharply. Kiesel continued to stand immobile at the door. The commander’s tone changed. ‘In case you are not yet aware of it, I have given you an order.’

‘I know,’ Kiesel said. His voice thickened with rage as he added: ‘You are making me guilty as an accomplice.’

Brandt straightened up. ‘I am on the point of leading my regiment into a cul de sac from which it has not the slightest chance of escaping. To what sort of guilt are you referring?’

It was a clever move. But Kiesel would not concede defeat. ‘That is still no excuse for this other thing.’

‘You are evading my question,’ Brandt retorted. ‘As matters stand, I have no time for philosophical debate when there are these important decisions to make. Now will you kindly drop the question and attend to business.’ He sat down at the desk. ‘Let’s start with Killius’s regiment,’ he said crisply.

IT WAS
twenty minutes to nine when a dark spot crawled up over the horizon of the road and slowly drew nearer. Twenty minutes to nine; this must be Stransky, Steiner thought. He laid the tommy-gun ready to hand on the ground beside him and peered with narrowed eyes along the grey ribbon of road that wound so forlornly across the undulating landscape. The highway seemed utterly out of place in the context of the scenery; the telegraph poles looked like big posts stuck into the ground for no reason at all. The dark spot in the distance increased in size. Steiner regretted having no binoculars with him. He continued to lie flat. In spite of the early morning hour he felt the warmth of the sand through his uniform. Tiredness trickled down from his brain all the way to his toes. He figured it out: fifty hours since he had last slept. As long as that, he thought in astonishment, and again turned his attention to the dark spot, which had meanwhile come much closer. Still he could distinguish nothing more than a formless something that moved with tortuous slowness down the highway. Often it seemed to stand completely still for minutes at a time. Gradually, however, Steiner made out the figure of a man striding forward at a vigorous pace.

At last he was convinced that the man was Stransky. With a relieved sigh he tucked the tommy-gun under his arm and crawled back a little way, so that he could no longer be seen from the road. Now that the decision was nearing, silently and steadily, he felt that his face was covered with a thin layer of sweat that ran, salty-tasting, into the corners of his mouth. His throat felt all choked up. His hands twitched restlessly. He crawled back a little more, then instantly worked forward again and remained lying still as a stone. Stransky had by now come within some two hundred yards of him. With every step the man took Steiner’s face changed like a sandbar under the wind. At last it froze into a mask in which only the eyes remained alive, burning. The oiled steel of the gun lay cool and firm in his hands. As he pushed back the safety-catch, he did so with so utter a lack of feeling that he was not even conscious of the movement.

Suddenly the upper part of his body shot up as though snapped by a spring. For a few seconds he disregarded all caution. Stransky was not alone. To one side of him there appeared the figure of a man who must have been marching along behind the commander all the while. Steiner stared at this person as though he had fallen from the sky. He had thought of some such possibility, but only fleetingly. What should he do? If he shot Stransky, the captain’s companion would have to share his fate. Otherwise the man would run straight to Regiment with his tale. There was no way out. As Steiner watched the two of them he became aware, with grim contempt for himself, of how much value he was placing upon a perfect alibi, how careful he was being to cover his tracks. A few hours ago he would have maintained that he didn’t care. He had thought he was finished with himself, with everything. That had been a mistake.

With a gesture of finality he braced the butt of the tommy-gun against his armpit. The two men swiftly approached, Stransky walking with that peculiar, rather rocking gait of his, his right hand resting lightly on his hip. while his companion trotted along apathetically behind him, head drooping. He was a stranger to Steiner. Probably he had come with the last batch of replacements, Steiner thought; perhaps he was the captain’s orderly. He could distinctly see Stransky’s face now. It wore an expression of gloom, and the manner in which he stared at the ground also suggested that his thoughts were none too happy.

By now they had come within fifty paces, and Steiner knew it was time for him to act. But still he held back. Something in the bearing of the man tramping behind Stransky troubled him, made him unsure of himself. It was a man like any other, with a face like all the faces which had permanently peopled his surroundings for so many months—haggard, weary and utterly indifferent. The man’s arms hung loosely, his body seemed to be following the movements of his legs with reluctance. A dusty, unpressed uniform without insignia of rank, a visored cap under which a few strands of hair protruded, and a carbine slung diagonally across his back. At every step tiny puffs of dust whirled up from the ground, and the man’s boots looked as though they had been wading through chalk.

Were there really two men marching along the highway? Wasn’t there just one? He was marching on a road without end, a road that ran on over the horizon as though there were no horizon, a straight, dusty-grey, merciless road. A weary, apathetic, hopeless man. And looking at his face Steiner told himself that the man would never reach the end of the road, for the road had no end. The longer he stared at that face, the more familiar it seemed to him. Suddenly he realized that it was Dietz. He opened his mouth to scream, but his voice did not obey him; and then, suddenly, numbed, he thought he recognized Dorn, but then again it was not Dorn but Hollerbach, Hollerbach who...

He groaned and stirred. Part of his conscious mind noted the movement with which he rose up beside the road. Then reality leaped at him once more. Stransky was there in front of him. Stransky, who had seen him now and was standing petrified. They confronted one another, motionless as the telegraph poles behind them, no more than ten paces separating them.

As Steiner raised the barrel of his gun, the two walkers held their breath. Steiner’s face was frightful to behold. Stransky saw only his face, like a white disc, and the meaning of this meeting burst upon him. He made no attempt to reach for his pistol which hung, ludicrously small, at his belt. Nor did he think of his companion who stood beside him, open-mouthed, stunned. Stransky simply ran. His right hand had dropped away from his hip, and he ran down the road ducking his head so low that only his back could be seen. His feet drummed a rapid tattoo on the gravel, and Steiner followed him with his eyes. He watched him without moving, turning his head just enough to keep Stransky in view. He saw Stransky’s companion start forward and run after the commander, the dust spurting up under his boots. Then he slowly let the barrel of the tommy-gun slide down toward the ground. They won’t make it, he thought. He watched as their figures became smaller and smaller. They were still running, desperate and tireless as hunted game, and Steiner murmured, ‘It’s pointless’ without any awareness of what his words meant.