March Battalion (18 page)

Dorn's lips opened and closed silently, like the fronds of a sea anemone. His brain was in a state of terror and confusion. Visions of the firing squad, of the Russian front, danced like spots before the eyes. And it was all the fault of that wretched Gustav Durer. Nothing but trouble when he was alive, nothing but trouble now that he was dead. What irony to reflect that he himself had requested that the man be posted to his section!

Dorn suddenly drew himself up straight If this was the end, then very well, it was the end. But they should see how a good Hauptfeldwebel conducted himself. Enough of this lenience towards his inferiors. And towards his superiors, come to that. For too long he had shouldered more than his fair share of the burden. From now on he would be hard, hard as the steel from the Krupp works.

Schroder released his hold on Dorn's tunic and waved a none too clean finger in his face.

'I'm telling you for the last time: either produce a murderer, or you can count yourself as a dead man.'

Silence. Dorn stood stiffly, his arms rigid at his side, hard as the steel from the Krupp works. Katz suddenly came to life.

'Sit down.' He nodded curtly towards a stool in the centre of the room. 'Consider yourself under arrest.'

Even steel from the Krupp works might have wavered beneath the blow. Dorn's heart missed a beat then went wildly on its way, sending the blood pounding in his ears. No more peaceful days idled away with the Major's cigars and a book of titillating photographs. Instead he saw himself scrubbing floors, slopping about in the filth of prison latrines, shut up in a cell at Glatz like a common criminal. Or even - and this was the worst horror of all - even committed to Torgau itself, where all the prisoners knew him as a Hauptfeldwebel and where the humiliation would be unbearable.

Katz seated himself at the typewriter and inserted a sheet of paper.

'Name? Age? Religion?'

He made out a lengthy report under four main headings: sabotage, illegal conduct, neglect of duties, falsification of documents. When it was finished to his satisfaction he handed Dorn a pen and told him to sign it. Through force of habit, Dorn added the word 'Hauptfeldwebel' after his signature. Katz at once snatched the pen from him and scored through it.

'You can forget that. You're no longer a Hauptfeldwebel. You're under arrest, you're a person of no importance whatsoever.'

At this humiliating moment the door opened and an officer entered. In stature he was insignificant; in presence he was the largest man in the room. A colonel, wearing the pale grey uniform of the assault corps, decorated with two silver death's heads. Round his waist was a broad leather belt and a holster containing a black P.38 revolver. On such a small man, the revolver seemed to take on the proportions of a machine-gun. The colonel's left sleeve was empty; round his neck hung the Croix de Chevalier. He advanced magnificently into the room, sure of himself and of his authority. Dorn jumped at once to attention.

'Hauptfeldwebel Joa--' He stopped, abruptly, and corrected himself. 'Joachim Dorn, under arrest, sir.'

Not a flicker passed across the Colonel's face. He stood rigid, his eyes coldly regarding the two Gestapo men. Katz and Schroder had instinctively come to their feet. Already they seemed less certain of their superiority. Dorn was hardly able to keep his kneecaps from leaping up and down. He braced his legs and found himself shivering. He was always ill at ease in the Colonel's presence. The silence continued, prolonged itself unbearably. It was the Colonel himself who broke it.

'These men--' He glanced distastefully at Katz and Schroder - 'they belong to the Secret Police, I presume?'

'Yes, sir,' confirmed Katz, with an uneasy frown. He disliked the expression 'Secret police'. 'S.S. Stabscharfuhrer Katz, accompanied by S.S. Oberscharfuhrer Schroder as assistant. We have been sent here to make a report on the incident that took place yesterday in the 2nd section of this prison, when a certain Gustav Durer was murdered by one of your prisoners.'

'I take it you have now gathered sufficient information to allow you to make your report?'

The Colonel's question was in fact more in the nature of a statement. His tone was polite, but menacing.

'With regard to Haupfeldwebel Dorn - may I ask if you consider him to be in any way implicated in the murder?'

'No, sir. Not in the murder itself.'

'Oh?' The Colonel arched an eyebrow. His nostrils quivered slightly, like those of a dog who suddenly finds itself on the right scent. 'May I therefore further inquire what business you two gentlemen have to conduct in this particular office?'

He pulled a gold watch from his pocket, checked the time with that shown by the clock on the wall.

'If my information is correct - which I have no reason to doubt - you passed the guardhouse at 9.37. It is now 17.14. You have been inside the prison for 7 hours and 37 minutes, yet not until this moment do I have the pleasure of meeting you - and even now it is I who have had to come to you, which hardly seems to me to be a very satisfactory state of affairs.'

Katz opened his mouth to speak, and then changed his mind. The Colonel gently arched a second eyebrow.

'Possibly you were not informed that it was I, and not the 2nd Section, who caused you to be sent here?'

'Oh, yes, sir,' said Schroder, with unwise enthusiasm. 'We were told that you wanted an outside inquiry to be conducted into the affair.'

'Indeed?' The Colonel permitted himself a frostbitten smile. 'In that case, I really am at a loss to understand how it is that you failed to present yourselves to me on your arrival here?'

Katz was spared the embarrassing task of finding a suitable reply to this question. The door opened and Major Divalordy thrust his beaming person upon the scene.

'Good morning, good morning!' he began, in his usual cheersome fashion. 'And how are we this fine--'

His speech stopped short. His smile faded. He looked at Dorn, at the Colonel, at the two Gestapo agents. A series of nervous tics twitched his eyebrows and mouth convulsively. He had suddenly become the focal point of attention. From the silence that fell, it was obvious that he had burst in in the middle of something important, and feeling the need to express himself the Major began babbling a stream of inanities. Everyone stood gravely listening, until at length his voice faded awkwardly away in the middle of a sentence. Again, there was that nasty silence.

'Nothing special to report, sir,' concluded the Major, timidly.

'Really?' The Colonel's eyebrows went up again, both together this time. 'In the midst of all this excitement, you have nothing special to report? I see.'

The Major shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He murmured something about the 'unfortunate incident that had occurred yesterday'.

'More than unfortunate,' interrupted the Colonel. 'I should say catastrophic, rather. The consequences of that "unfortunate incident", Major Divalordy, are likely to be extremely disagreeable.'

'Indeed yes, sir.' The Major nodded, heartily. 'Just what I was thinking myself, sir. Extremely disagreeable.'

'Not so much for me--' said the Colonel.

'No, sir?'

'No, Major. Not so much for me, as for you.'

Major Divalordy gulped down a mouthful of air. He felt bubbles of hot sweat bursting out all over him. The Colonel calmly screwed a monocle into his eye and held out his hand for the papers that Katz was still clutching. Katz silently passed them to him and joined the rest of the room in standing stiffly to attention.

The Colonel ran his eye swiftly down the first page, then tossed the bundle of papers contemptuously on to the desk. He removed his monocle and studied first Katz, then Schroder.

'You have deliberately disobeyed my orders. You were told to report to the Kommandantur - to me, personally. Instead of so doing, you seem to have taken it upon yourselves to play at private detectives in the 2nd Section and to sit in judgment upon one of my hauptfeldwebels.'

Katz and Schroder said nothing. They stared fixedly ahead at a photograph of Adolf Hitler, as if seeking courage and inspiration.

'Very well,' said the Colonel. 'I take your silence to mean that you accept the charge. In a few moments you will be called in to see my adjutant. He has himself conducted an inquiry into the matter and has certain documents for which he requires your signature. You are expected back at Berlin this evening. From there, you will be transferred to another section - somewhere on the eastern front. I wish you well of it, gentlemen.'

The heroes of the Gestapo were dismissed. The Colonel turned his back on them and they left the room without a word. It was for Dorn, now, to take his turn on the rack.

'You've been a hauptfeldwebel for some considerable time now,' began the Colonel, deceptively gentle. 'I've been keeping my eye on you, Dorn, and it has seemed to me that of recent months you've been finding your duties rather - taxing, shall we say? Rather irksome? You're a good soldier, I know that. I sense in you an eagerness to be done with office work, to come personally to grips with the enemies of the Fuhrer ... Am I right?'

Dorn nodded his agreement What else, after all, could he do?

'Your talents are wasted in paper work,' continued the Colonel, lyrically. 'A man with your gifts, a man with your zeal, your burning loyalty and devotion to the Fatherland, should sooner be engaged on active duties. Out with the men, fighting at the front ... You've been very patient all these years, Dorn, It has not gone unnoticed. Now it is to be rewarded: you chance has come ...' The Colonel's voice on a brisker tone. 'Your papers have already been transferred Be ready to leave within the hour. Bon voyage, and good luck.'

Stunned and horrified, Dorn saluted and crept from the room. Nothing had ever been further from his thoughts or his desires than a personal confrontation with the enemies of the Fuhrer - unless they should be safely behind bars, as at Torgau. His blood boiled in helpless anger against the Colonel. All those years of devoted service, and this was his reward! Sent to the front line, to die like a common soldier! If the Fuhrer only knew how his most loyal of servants were treated...

The door closed behind Dorn, and Major Divalordy was left, still sweating, alone with the Colonel. He gave an ingratiating smile, but the Colonel did not return it.

'Well, Major, this is a most unsatisfactory turn of events... Who, I wonder, had the absurd notion of placing you in charge of this section? You are evidently quite unfitted to the task. You have allowed yourself to be led by the nose by a mere feldwebel, and I will not tolerate such a state of affairs. One is either an officer or a plain soldier. Which do you consider yourself to be?'

Major Divalordy swallowed convulsively.

'An officer, sir.'

He had attempted a gallant cry: it left his lips as a faint bleat.

'An officer? I wonder?'

The Colonel considered the matter a moment.

'I'm interested in you, Major. I should like to give you a chance to prove yourself, and for this reason I have personally gone to no small amount of trouble on your behalf. You will be glad to hear that I have found a post for you in an engineering regiment. You should see plenty of action and have plenty of scope to show the stuff you're made of. I myself have grave doubts that you are officer material: I shall be only too happy if you prove me wrong.'

To the Major's horror, Colonel Vogel pulled out a Request for Transfer form and threw it on to the desk. 'I knew you would be anxious not to waste time, so I've already made all the necessary arrangements. You have only to sign this form and give it to my adjutant and I think you'll find there should be no delay in effecting the transfer ... To you also, Major Divalordy, I say bon voyage and good luck.'

The Colonel left the room, and Major Divalordy remained standing in position for many minutes, wildly contemplating, suicide.

He died of dysentery in 1948, in a prisoner of war camp at Tobolsk.

All the sentences passed by courts martial were sent for verification to the Judicial Department of the Army. Each case had to receive the official signature of the Head of the Department, General von Grabach, before sentence could be carriedout.

Von Grabach was known for his expensive tastes rather than for his legal wisdom. He was known for his whoring and for his addiction to the cognac bottle. He affected a gracious way of life, was more concerned with the set of his jacket, the gloss on his creaking leather boots, the glitter of his silver spurs, than with the more mundane aspects of army life.

It was many years, now, since he had troubled to read any of the documents to which he so lightly appended his name. Death sentences or deliveries of sausages, they were all one to him.

G
ENERAL VON
G
RABACH
paced eagerly up and down the thick pile carpet of his office, staring out upon, but not seeing, the magnificent view over the Landwehr Kanal. Instead of the water, instead of the trees, he was gazing upon a vision of Frau von Zirlitz wearing her pink silk panties. General von Grabach had a passion for pink: he even went so far as to wear pink underclothes himself. He also had a passion for Ebba von Zirlitz: she was his mistress of the moment.

As he paced, he glanced impatiently at his watch and subtracted another five minutes from the long hours he must wait before the delights of the evening which lay ahead. The watch was gold, with a heavy gold strap. It was a present from the town council of Bucharest, where he had been stationed for four glorious months. Bucharest! There was a cushy number, if you like. Endless days of dances, parties, free drink, free tobacco. Endless nights of frolic and debauchery. It seemed to von Grabach, looking back upon those halcyon days, that every other woman you met in Bucharest was a beautiful nymphomaniac.

It was different here in Berlin. You had to fight for your women here, and a damned hard fight it was, too. But the worst thing of all was the way you simply couldn't move for the S.S. men that swarmed all over the city. Ghastly types. An uncouth rabble that in his opinion had no place in the German Army.