The Cross of Iron (32 page)

Stransky pushed his chair back and rose. His face looked sallow and apathetic. The candles on the table flickered tiredly in the dim of the bunker, though the daylight was seeping in through the window with increasing brightness. The air was heavy and stale.

Steiner felt a craving to get outside into the open air. As he, along with Meyer, followed the commander’s example and rose, fatigue suddenly almost toppled him; he had to lean on the table for support. Stransky picked up the maps Steiner had brought and spoke to Meyer. ‘I will inform Regiment; see to it that the prisoner is taken to Kiesel at once.’

He turned again to Steiner. ‘For my part you can feel as you like. But as long as you talk with me do not forget that you are wearing a uniform. In the future you keep that in mind.’ He reached for the telephone and Steiner decided that he had been dismissed.

As he stepped outside, Meyer laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘A useful tip,’ he said. ‘Remember from now on that we have a different battalion commander.’ Steiner did not answer. They collected the men from the bunkers and Meyer shook hands with each one of them. ‘Get yourselves plenty of sleep. I’ll see to it that you’re given a few days rest.’ He turned again to Steiner and explained the route they must take to Kanskoye. ‘You’ll be there in twenty minutes. Fetscher will take care of you. I’ve had him informed. Well, then-’ He hesitated and lowered his voice. ‘Don’t forget by tonight what I’ve just said.’

The platoon watched him walk off toward the bunker where the prisoner had been put. Schnurrbart clicked his heels and rasped: ‘Pull your arses together from now on; we have a master sergeant for platoon leader.’ They laughed, crowding around Steiner and pounding him on the back. ‘Now you’re somebody,’ Anselm said flatteringly. ‘Do we have to say “sir” when we talk to you?’ ‘Shut up, idiot,’ Steiner replied with mock fierceness. ‘I’ve just been told in there’—he jerked a thumb toward the commander’s bunker—‘how important I am.’

‘Why, what was wrong?’ Krüger asked curiously.

Steiner gestured wearily. ‘Not now. There’ll be a better time to-’ The rest of the sentence trailed off into an indistinct murmur. ‘Was there something he didn’t like?’ Schnurrbart asked sourly.

Steiner shrugged. He slung the tommy-gun over his shoulder and said: ‘Let’s get to the village. I’ll be glad to get out of these wet clothes.’

They descended into the ravine and followed the winding brook. Although the sky was still clouded, it felt as though the rains were over. The sight of the bushes that lined the brook, their fresh green contrasting with the barrenness of the dead clay slopes, revived the men. Their thoughts hurried on ahead; they could see themselves already resting in comfortable, dry quarters beyond the next or at most the next but one turn in the path. One of them began to sing. Hollerbach took up the song, and a few moments later the echo of their voices boomed boisterously down the gorge:

We, we are the huntsmen of the plains,

The starvelings of the nation.

For three years now, in snow and rain We’ve marched on dehydrated rations.

Forward, you huntsmen of the plains,

Forward, to do your fighting all alone.

For the others come in cars when the battle is all done. Forward, you huntsmen of the plains.

Up ahead, through a cluster of trees, the first houses appeared. A minute later they were surrounded by a crowd of admirers who slapped them on the back, shook hands and hurled so many questions that it would have taken hours to answer all. Finally the massive figure of a first sergeant thrust through the crowd, cursed furiously for silence, and stood shaking his head at the appearance of Steiner and the others. He was a powerfully-built man with nigged, honest features; it was easy to imagine him pacing slowly behind a plough. Several times he started to speak but was so surprised by the sight of the Russian uniforms that he could not say a word. Steiner grinned. He had always got on well with Fetscher. Slowly he brought his heels together, performed a caricature of standing at attention, raised his hand to his cap and said: ‘Beg to report, sir-’ The sergeant’s face turned red. Suddenly he found speech again, and the rest of Steiner’s report was drowned out in a series of obscene curses.

‘Come up for air,’ Steiner said at last. ‘You’ve used up two week’s stock of swear words. Better show us our quarters.’

Fetscher continued to mutter under his breath for a moment, but then he roused himself and displayed such admirable efficiency that within a few minutes the men were being guided by members of the supply column to comfortable houses. Steiner followed Fetscher to his own house. As soon as he stepped inside he slipped the pack from his back and hurled it to the floor. Fetscher was meanwhile talking. ‘There’s a warm meal waiting for you all, new clothes, rations for two days. You certainly deserve it. Congratulations, too—I mean about your promotion—you were bound for promotion soon anyhow. High time, too. You’ve got to tell me all about it—how the hell did you-’

Steiner clapped his hands to his ears. ‘Hold your horses; I want food and sleep and first of all I want to wash. Any water in this place?’

‘More than you need,’ Fetscher said complacently. ‘I’ve got a tub full for you in the kitchen. It’s even hot—thought of everything.’ 

‘That’s all you’ve got to do is think,’ Steiner said. He looked around the room. For Russian conditions it was pretty decent. In one comer the big stove built of clay; under the windows a green-painted bench and two huge beds big enough to sleep half a company. Fetscher smiled with pride. ‘Not a bad place, eh? Almost like home.’

‘Like your home maybe,’ Steiner chaffed him.

Fetscher turned to the door. ‘I’ll see how the other fellows are getting on. Incidentally, where did you—I mean, what became of your own pea-shooters?’

‘Just what Stransky asked me. In the summer offensive, I’ll show you the spot.’

‘You don’t mean you-?’ Fetscher asked in alarm.

‘I do,’ Steiner replied indifferently. ‘I’ll tell you about it later. Let me alone now.’

Fetscher went out. Later, when Steiner came out of the kitchen, freshly washed and shaved, his mess-tin stood on the table, filled to the brim with stew. He sat down. Strangely enough, he no longer felt hungry, and his weariness seemed to have washed away in the hot water. He felt depressed and ill-humoured without knowing why. All right, so they were back with the battalion. Meyer had been as giddy-glad as a kid on Christmas morning, he himself had been promoted, looked and smelled like a human being again— everything seemed fine, and still.... He propped his chin on his fists and stared out the window where fragile rays of sunlight played upon the fresh green of the trees. He recalled the conversation with Stransky and snorted contemptuously. So that was the sort of fool.... Well, he would see what came of it.... Stransky was only one of the many battalion commanders he had survived; he would survive Stransky, too. A stupid self-important ass—no need to take him seriously. What the devil were they so proud of, those arrogant idiots. Of their ancestry? It wasn’t their doing. Of their money? They’d inherited it. Of their educations? They’d had time to get one. He laughed and pushed the mess-tin aside. Then he stood up, walked slowly to the window and looked out. Maag was just passing, a new uniform over his arm, his face reflecting contentment. Steiner watched him trudging along until he disappeared into the house across the way. Undemanding and shallow, he thought bitterly. They’re glad to be back with the battalion. Here they felt at home, safe, sheltered. But he himself, where was he at home? Certainly not back in Freiburg, where for the last two years there had been no one waiting for him. He leaned his forehead against the cool window-pane and closed his eyes. If only there were still Anne, he thought. Anne! For the first time he felt that he had lost her for ever.

At Regiment HQ the news of the missing platoon’s return was a bombshell. Brandt sent for Kiesel at once. Kiesel had rarely known the commander to be in such high spirits. In spite of the earliness of the hour, Brandt had a bottle on the table in front of him and invited Kiesel to have a glass with him—of genuine Black Forest kirschwasser, he emphasized. Kiesel declined; he could not take alcohol on an empty stomach he said.

‘You’re an ascetic,’ Brandt declared, filling the water glass.
‘Prost!’
He drained his glass in one swig. ‘I told you right off,’ he said, ‘that Steiner would come through. What a boy, Kiesel, what a boy. If we had a few hundred like him the Russians would never have a peaceful moment.’

‘Have you heard any of the details?’ Kiesel asked.

‘Yes! I made Stransky cough up the story. He didn’t like it a bit; it’s my feeling that we’ll have to watch him for a while. You keep an eye on him, Kiesel.’

‘I don’t quite understand,’ Kiesel said in surprise.

‘You will soon enough. Remember that Stransky has already had some difficulty over Steiner, and remember the type Stransky is. He has a damned loose tongue on him anyway,’ Brandt added cheerfully.

‘Stransky?’ Kiesel exclaimed.

‘Don’t be silly. Steiner, of course. So watch sharp. And now get an earful of what that hellhound has done.’

He began on the story of the platoon, repeatedly bursting into laughter and pounding the table with his fist. ‘And do you know what I’m going to do?’ he concluded.

‘Promote him, of course,’ Kiesel guessed.

‘He has already been promoted. Stransky did that right off— even jumped him a grade to master sergeant. A lucky stroke by the way, or I would have made a point of asking him to. No, I was thinking of something else. Sending Steiner to Gursuf for two weeks. What do you think?’

‘He deserves it,’ Kiesel answered. Gursuf was a small spa on the southern coast of the Crimea where the division operated a rest camp. It was part of Kiesel’s job to allocate space in the camp among the various units of the regiment. He took a notebook from his pocket and turned through it for a few seconds. Then he said: ‘The next transport goes in ten days. I’ll put Steiner down for it.’

‘Ten days!’ Brandt gave a scornful laugh. ‘What do you mean, ten days? Steiner is to leave at once—tomorrow!’

‘The place is all filled up,’ Kiesel protested.

‘You take your damned red tape and do what you know with it. They’ll have a room free down there, and if they don’t I’ll see about it personally.’

Kiesel suddenly recalled a letter he had received in the last post. He took it out of his pocket. ‘If you don’t mind, I have a personal favour to ask this morning. I have a letter from my brother-in-law, Lieutenant März.’

‘What about him?’

Kiesel hesitated, then gave a chagrined laugh. ‘He insists on a transfer to the front, and to the eastern front of all places. Right now he’s a company commander in a Leipzig garrison. You know how these young chaps are. Think they’re missing something if they don’t get out here. He’s set his heart on it, and if I know him he’ll keep at it until he’s where he wants to be.’

Brandt nodded. ‘I take it you want to keep him near you.’ 

‘Exactly. I would feel a good deal better about it. Perhaps it would be possible to ask for him through Division.’

‘Will do,’ Brandt said, making a note of the matter. ‘How old is he?’

‘Twenty-four. He comes from Villingen in the Black Forest— the family owns a watch factory out there.’

Before Brandt could inquire more there was a knock at the door and a soldier reported the arrival of Lieutenant Triebig with Steiner’s Russian prisoner. Brandt nodded to Triebig as he entered the bunker. ‘You can return immediately,’ he said. ‘Tell Stransky I want to congratulate him on the return of his platoon, and tell him furthermore that I will expect Sergeant Steiner here at six o’clock. Have you the captured maps?’

Triebig laid the maps on the table and withdrew. On the way back he studied the terrain carefully. From the hill behind which Regimental HQ was located there was an excellent view of the surrounding countryside. Beyond the ravine rose the crooked ridge of Hill 121. 4. The trenches and weapon pits could be seen clearly. Every detail of this terrain must be equally visible from the enemy positions, Triebig thought, and involuntarily walked faster. He did not slow down again until he had reached the ravine; then he returned to his sauntering pace. In the past few days he had thought a great deal about his conversation with Stransky and had come to the conclusion that he could not have handled his end of it more foolishly. But his nervousness had by now dissipated. His resolve to kill Stransky had already dwindled down to a mere wish, of no more intensity than his desire to spend one of these spring days strolling through the streets of Cologne again. He had decided not to act too hastily in any dealings with Stransky. Perhaps something would turn up; he would keep his eyes open for opportunities.

When Steiner set out shortly after five o’clock, the Russian artillery was sending occasional nuisance bursts into the ravine. He avoided the direct road and made a wide detour around the dangerous area. As a result, it took him nearly an hour to reach Regimental HQ, and he arrived a few minutes late. As he approached he admired the skilful arrangement of the bunkers. They had been built into a part of the slope that rose almost vertically, so that it would be virtually impossible for the enemy guns to reach them. Steiner asked his way to the commander’s bunker, which had no outward marks to distinguish it from the rest.

Brandt came striding forward to meet him and pressed his hand vigorously. ‘So there you are,’ he said loudly. ‘Unpunctual and unsoldierly as ever.’ He laughed and propelled Steiner into a chair.

Steiner looked up at his smiling face and shrugged regretfully. ‘The way was longer than I thought; I had to-’

‘No need to apologize,’ Brandt interrupted, taking a seat opposite him. ‘If that sort of thing bothered me I would have seen that you changed your ways long ago.’ He laughed again and shook his head. ‘What you’ve pulled off this time beats all. I wouldn’t have thought you could do it.’

‘We were lucky,’ Steiner replied.

Brandt crossed his legs. ‘If luck was all there was to it,’ he said quietly, ‘you wouldn’t be sitting here. Now tell me all about it. Don’t leave anything out.’ He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed them across the table. Steiner thanked him, lit up and began his report. Brandt listened in silence. When Steiner came to the encounter with the Russian women, he took a few notes. After Steiner had finished, he said: ‘You’ve done a wonderful job, Steiner. It’s a long time since I’ve felt as pleased as I do today; we know each other well enough for me to be able to say that to you. Your report is enormously valuable; I intend to transmit it personally to the general. I hope it gives him a thing or two to think about. You know the big brass think we’re in a rest camp down here; maybe they’ll see what’s brewing when I tell them about the material you saw rolling down that highway.’