Crack of Doom (4 page)

"Loaded?"

"Pit-props and barbed wire."

"The fates are against you," remarked Fuchs smoothly.

Giesinger stared at him. In this second he made up his mind. His voice turned into steel: "Do you think so? Unload the trucks," he told the lieutenant. "There'll be more back by the time you've done that." He addressed Schmitt: "Load up in front of your quarters, and be ready to move. The radio logs," he said to the signals officer, and turning again to Schmitt: "Take mortars with you, enough ammunition and rations for two days. Don't explain to your men the purpose of the operation till you reach Szomolnok; and don't attract attention to yourselves." He paused and glanced over at Fuchs. Something in Fuchs' face seemed to warn him again; but he had already ventured too far, and said with a firmness he did not feel: "That's all, gentlemen."

The officers rose, and Giesinger went over to Schmitt. "You know your mission."

Schmitt exchanged a glance with Fuchs. "The mission is completely hopeless."

"Well talk about that when you get back," said Giesinger. "In the presence of the general."

"A spiritualist seance, eh?" mocked Fuchs.

Giesinger picked his things up off the table. He would have liked to produce some crushing retort, but at the moment he could hardly speak for fury. When he saw that Schmitt was still there, he shouted at him: "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The battalion was informed that it should be ready to move in half an hour, and Schmitt directed a man to the house where Kolodzi was staying, with orders "to run as fast as you can and bring the sergeant back at once."

Schmitt went off to pack his own things. He was still at it when the man who had been to Kolodzi returned, reporting smartly: "Orders carried out, sir."

Schmitt glanced over his shoulder. "Did you see his mother, too?"

"His mother, sir?"

Schmitt turned round impatiently: "Sergeant Kolodzi's mother."

The man grinned. "I don't know if she... no, I don't think so."

"What don't you think?"

The man looked embarrassed. "There was a dress lying on the floor," he said hesitantly.

"What's that?"

"I only saw her legs behind the door," the man said hastily. "She hadn't anything on."

"Who hadn't?"

"The worn— I mean his mother."

"She hadn't anything on?"

"No, sir."

Schmitt bit his lips and dismissed the man. A little later Menges appeared. "All in order," he said.

Schmitt sat down at the table. "Log forms?"

"On the way."

"Ammunition?"

"More than we need."

"Let's hope so," said Schmitt. He pointed to a chair. "I wonder if I'll win my bet."

"Your bet?"

"A bet I took with myself. I laid odds on Kolodzi coming back. But now I'm not so sure."

"Why not?"

Schmitt lit a cigarette. 'Tut yourself in his place. Let's suppose you live here and have been given leave till tomorrow morning, you're in bed with a woman, and then someone rushes in and says: you're to come straight back to battalion. What would you do?"

"Come straight back," said Menges.

Schmitt nodded, as if he had expected this answer. "You're a good officer, Menges, but you haven't much imagination, have you! Know what I'd do?" He bent over the table. "I'd say, to hell with it—and so would you if you were only half a normal man. What do you bet he doesn't come?"

Menges looked irritated and said nothing.

"It is now"—Schmitt looked at his watch—"five to ten. If he's not here by quarter past ten, you've lost your bet."

"I've not taken any bet."

"My God, what a prig you are."

"I'm an officer," Menges said coldly.

Schmitt smiled: "A gallant German officer, eh,
sans peur et sans reproche—
every little shop girl's dream."

Suddenly he lost his composure. "But Menges, man, don't you realize how little this make-believe suits you? God Almighty! It doesn't seem to worry you that several millions of human beings have been slaughtered these last years, and that more and more are dying every day. Our whole world is going down the drain, and you simply look on and say: 'I'm a German officer!' Don't you realize how absurd it sounds, man?"

"There are some things. . . ." Menges began stiffly, but again Schmitt did not let him go on. "Who are you telling that to? There
are
some things, Menges, yes, and thank God there always will be. Things for whose preservation one should let oneself be torn to pieces if need be. But only for those things, not for the people who merely pretend to be fighting for them. And if you haven't yet learned to recognize the difference, then I'm damned sorry for you." He stared through the window, breathing heavily.

Menges relapsed on to his chair. "Exactly what do you want?" he asked helplessly.

Schmitt swung around. "I want you to stop fooling yourself now and dying of it later. The muck on our boots still stinks even if we shut our eyes, and we've waded around in more muck than we let ourselves dream of. Every day we . . ." He broke off and looked quickly toward the door. It opened, and Kolodzi appeared in the doorway. Schmitt stared at him. "Leave us alone together," he told Menges, without taking his eyes off Kolodzi. His voice sounded strangely quiet. He went to the table, sat down at it, and pointed with his chin to the second chair. "Why didn't you knock?" he asked.

Kolodzi sat down. "I did knock, sir."

"You heard what was said?"

"Every word," said Kolodzi indifferently. Schmitt leaned back in his chair. "How's your mother?"

"All right, sir."

"And the woman with the naked legs behind the door?"

"I didn't realize it was an informer you sent me," said Kolodzi, unruffled. "My fiancee was with me, sir, if you want to know."

"Where is she now?"

'^At her fathers."

"I see." Schmitt put a map down on the table in front of him, and his voice became business-like. "Partisans have kidnapped the general; we're to hunt for him. This is the district where it happened, can you see?"

"By the bridge," said Kolodzi.

Schmitt looked up quickly. "You knew about it already?"

"Not about the general. I know the district, I was there several times before the war."

Schmitt nodded. "All right. Well, listen to this." He told Kolodzi briefly what had happened. "And so," he concluded, "we're moving off as soon as the trucks are here. Where would you look for the partisans if you were given the job?"

Kolodzi reflected and eventually shrugged his shoulders. "Hard to say. There are thousands of places for hide-outs round there."

"Exactly my own opinion," said Schmitt. "Unless we're damned lucky . . ." He pushed the map away and lowered his voice. "While the major search is going on, I want to start a little minor operation. Have you some reliable men?"

"How many?"

"Two or three will be enough."

"I can think of two, sir."

"Who are they?"

"Sergeant Vohringer and Corporal Herbig."

"Vohringer." Schmitt thought for a moment and then remembered. "Your deputy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now listen carefully: you'll ride with us to a place we've still to decide on, if possible right in the center of the suspect area. There well drop you off and you'll wait till we've searched the houses. Well pretend to the civilians that we're looking for three German deserters. That's you and your two men—get me?"

"No, sir."

"You will in a moment. So—we search the houses; naturally we don't find anything, and on we go in the trucks. You and your men wait a good hour, then go into the first houses you come to. What do you suppose their occupants will think of you?"

"That we're deserters."

Schmitt smiled. "You are a gifted child. And that's just what I want to happen. If there are partisans in the place, they certainly won't keep you waiting long. They'll try to make contact with you, and if they don't, you must take the initiative yourselves. In either case you let me know at once, though of course without arousing the partisans' suspicions—I rely on your common sense. Once we've got hold of one of those boys, well soon have him telling us what we want to know."

"I wouldn't be too sure, sir."

"You can leave that to me. There are one or two tricks to make even the dumb talk."

"You don't know Czechs."

"I know people. It's worth trying anyhow. If it doesn't work, then well just have been unlucky. And now about the place." He bent over the map again. "We haven't a big choice. Including Denes and Szomolnok there are about four villages. The first two won't be any good for you because we're supposed to be searching there. So where shall we send you?"

"To Oviz, sir," said Kolodzi, without looking at the map.

Schmitt gave him a sharp glance. "How d you work that out?"

"It's a place I used to know."

"I see." Schmitt studied the map. "Oviz lies outside the circle ... a good six miles from Szomolnok. A bit far, I feel; must be over four hours' walk in this snow. Can we get there at all with the trucks?"

"The road's good, it goes past Svedler."

"Even so." Schmitt gnawed at his lower lip. "It lies outside the circle," he said again.

Kolodzi yawned. "The partisans certainly won't be bothering about your circle."

"You may have something there. Still, we've got to limit the space we search in. What sort of a place is this Oviz?"

"Pretty small, a few dozen houses. In the middle of the forest, with mountains on all sides—the perfect partisan village."

"All right then, that's the way it will be." Schmitt leaned back and stared at the table. "Excuse my excessive curiosity, but you said there's a girl you're engaged to, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Kolodzi.

"Then I'm surprised you didn't stay with her. What will happen to her when the Russians come?"

"She's going to Olmutz the day after tomorrow."

"And your mother? Or was that only an excuse?"

"I don't need excuses. She'll be with my mother."

"And if the Russians get to Olmutz?"

Kolodzi did not answer. At last, Schmitt rose. "Let's get ready then. You'll ride in my truck. Wait a moment." He went to a corner where his belongings were lying. "An heirloom," he said, picking up a large pair of binoculars; Kolodzi had often seen him wearing them. "A sort of mascot; my grandfather used to take them along with him whenever he went out hunting. So I don't want to lose them." He held them undecidedly in his hand, then gave them to Kolodzi. "You might need them in Oviz," he said casually. "You can give them back to me afterward. But don't lose them, they mean a lot to me, and this is the first time I've let anyone else have them."

Kolodzi looked into his eyes and saw a strange expression there. "You'll get them back, sir," he said quietly.

"Good." Schmitt put a hand on Kolodzi's shoulder. "You're certainly going to be very useful to me just now. Which is why I'm glad you came back. Is there anything else you want to know?"

"I can't think of anything, sir."

"All right then."

Returning to his billet, Kolodzi found Vohringer lying on his bed ready for the move. He sat up when Kolodzi came in, and asked: "Was she pleased to see you?"

"My mother?"

"Her too."

"Yes, quite pleased." Kolodzi sat down by Vohringer on the bed. "What d'you think they're going to do with us?"

"Something awful, I suppose. Do you happen to know?"

"Yes, Schmitt told me. Guess."

"Don't feel like it," grunted Vohringer.

"We're clearing off—deserting."

"At last."

"What do you mean by at last?"

"At last you've seen sense. If I'd had my way. . . ."

"Oh, shut up," Kolodzi interrupted. "If you'd had your way, you'd have had us hanged long ago."

"We can always make Wertheim." Vohringer felt in his pocket and brought out a folded map. "Found it here," he said ponderously, "map of Czecho. We can mark out a route."

"The devil we can. In this snow you have to keep to the road, and on the road you'd run into plenty of patrols. Besides, what should I do in Wertheim? You've got your family there, but what about me?"

Vohringer was silent.

"How far is it to Wertheim?" Kolodzi asked after a pause.

"Nearly six hundred miles."

"Nearly six hundred." Kolodzi laughed. "You must have a screw loose. Maybe you've chartered a plane?"

"Then don't talk such crap to me," said Vohringer sullenly. "You started all this."

"Not in the way you meant. We're deserting on Schmitt's instructions."

Vohringer stopped in the middle of lighting a cigarette. "What!"

"Just what I said." Kolodzi lay back and explained the whole thing, while Vohringer listened with mounting astonishment. "It's pretty crazy, I suppose," Kolodzi said, "but I like the plan. It'll be a good break for us."

"Good break!" Vohringer leapt to his feet. "Good break you say!" He flung his arms in the air. "The partisans won't play, of course, but the thing is terrific, absolutely terrific.
The
opportunity—well, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he dashed to the table, spread out the map and studied it closely: "From here," he said feverishly, "we go by Linz, Passau, Straubing, Regensburg, Nurnberg, Furth, and so to Wertheim. We can do it in a month."

"You
can," said Kolodzi. He had his hands clasped behind his neck, and was blinking up at the fight.

Vohringer's thin rat-like face glowed with excitement.

"Don't be pig-headed," he said urgently, sitting down by Kolodzi. "You don't want your number to come up just before the curtain comes down, do you?"

"No, I don't, and that's exactly why I'm staying here." Kolodzi leaned on his elbow, and said firmly: "I've told you over and over again that I wouldn't do it. Besides" —he pointed to Schmitt's binoculars on the table in their dark leather case—"I promised to bring that thing back again."

"Where did you get them?" Vohringer asked irritably.