The Cross of Iron (5 page)

The East Prussian picked at his nose. ‘If I sit here much longer,’ he said harshly, ‘I shall never get up again, believe me.’ He looked at Dietz, who was sitting open -mouthed, staring up at the sky. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘Seeing angels?’

Dietz raised his hand. ‘Sh -’ he said, closing his eyes.

‘He’s out of his mind,’ Krüger declared.

Dietz shook his head violently. ‘Be still,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t you hear them?’

Krüger gave him a suspicious look. ‘Hear what? The angels?’ 

‘Don’t be silly, you can’t help hearing them. The bells.’ He turned to the other men. ‘Do you hear them? There! Now—it’s perfectly clear.’

They all stared at him. ‘What do you hear?’ Kern asked. 

‘Bells,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘The Child hears bells, bells in the middle of the wilderness.’

‘Be quiet a minute, will you,’ Krüger said, straightening up and cupping his hands behind his ears. After a while he shrugged. ‘I don’t hear a thing. He’s just trying to make fun of us.’

‘I don’t hear anything either,’ Kern said.

They were all indignant and glowered at Dietz. ‘You’re just hearing things,’ Zoll growled.

Dietz lifted his shoulders helplessly. ‘I swear I heard them,’ he said uncertainly. ‘I couldn’t be that mistaken.’

‘It’s easy to diddle yourself,’ Krüger said, feeling sorry for the little fellow. He turned to Dorn who was standing behind him. ‘Isn’t that true, Professor?’

Dorn took his time about answering. He adjusted his glasses and regarded Dietz, who was looking anxiously up at him. His face was serious as he said: ‘Hallucinations.’

‘My God, what is that?’ Krüger asked aghast.

'When your senses deceive you,’ Dorn said briefly.

There was a silence. Krüger shook his head. ‘Never heard of it. Strange business.’

Dietz turned to Steiner. ‘Didn’t you hear them?’

Steiner, eyes half closed, took a drag on his cigarette. ‘The bells?’ he asked. ‘I did.’

‘There!’ Dietz fairly puffed with relief, while the others stared indignantly at Steiner.

‘Typical,’ Krüger whispered, turning to Schnurrbart. Schnurrbart did not answer. He had noticed long ago that Steiner had a weakness for little Dietz, who always seemed a little lost among the others. Not that Steiner showed favouritism toward him in matters like standing guard or carrying gear. His feelings came out in the almost paternal tone he sometimes adopted toward the Sudeten German. It had happened before that he took the side of Dietz in quarrels among the men; Schnurrbart recalled incidents he had observed with just the smallest touch of jealousy. Once more Steiner’s incomprehensible attitude angered him more than he would admit to himself. Naturally there had been no bells, he told himself. Bells in the middle of a forest in Russia! It was ridiculous. Irritably, he drew on his pipe, wondering whether or not to let the subject drop. But Dietz spoke first. Perhaps he
had
been hearing things. If Steiner hadn’t backed him up about the bells, he would have been willing to grant that it was a mistake. Perhaps Steiner had been mistaken also. He turned to him. ‘Did you really hear them?’

Steiner frowned. ‘Of course. I said so clearly enough, didn’t I?
’

‘Yes,’ Dietz murmured, intimidated. He glanced again at Anselm who was staring tight -lipped into space. The others, too, all seemed ill -humoured; a wall of hostile faces surrounded him with silent menace. He felt that he could placate them, but could not decide how to do it, especially since he did not want to offend Steiner. Finally a diplomatic solution occurred to him. With a weak smile he turned to Krüger and said: ‘It’s odd, all the same.’

‘There’s nothing odd about it,’ Steiner said sharply. ‘What’s odd about bells ringing on Sunday morning?’

They stared at him in surprise. Abruptly, Krüger slapped his powerful thigh with a report like the crack of a gun. ‘Why of course,’ he exclaimed loudly, ‘today’s Sunday. I never even thought of it.’

‘There you have it,’ Schnurrbart said with relief. * Why shouldn’t bells be ringing on Sunday?’

Their mood had changed instantly. They nodded and threw one another meaning looks. ‘Sunday!’ Maag sighed. ‘Back home, at this hour, I’d still be snoozing.’

‘And then getting up for coffee and cake,’ Pasternack said nostalgically.

Krüger cursed. ‘Cut it out,’ he protested. ‘What’s the use of water in my mouth when there’s more room for it in my bladder.’

‘Pretty good,’ Schnurrbart chuckled. He had removed his steel helmet and was busy scratching his tangled hair. But Pasternack was still lost in pleasant recollections. He twisted his thin, hungry face into a grimace and said: ‘I think a man has a right to talk about cake.’ He sounded challenging, and Krüger turned his face toward him. ‘You can talk about shit too,’ he declared irritably. Pasternack shook his head. ‘Do you have to be so foul -mouthed all the time?’

‘Foul -mouthed?’ Krüger stared at him in astonishment.

‘Yes, foul -mouthed,’ Pasternack repeated emphatically. His usual melancholic expression returned to his tired face. A strand of blond hair dangled over his pimpled forehead.

‘Look. Who’s talking filth all of a sudden,’ Krüger sneered.

Dietz intervened. ‘Cut out the bickering for once, since it is Sunday.’

‘You can stick your Sunday,’ Krüger said violently. ‘What the hell does the army care about Sundays? Here!’ He ran his hand over his unshaven face. ‘Is that what you call Sunday?’ In sudden fury he opened the top buttons of his tunic and pulled out a patch of filthy shirt. ‘We look like pigs!’ he snapped. ‘This is the way they let us go around, the bastards.’

Schnurrbart grinned at his flushed face. For him, there had always been something likeable about the East Prussian’s crude candour. And he’s right, he thought; no clean clothes for a month. The thought aroused a twitching feeling in his skin that travelled up his back all the way to his head. The damned lice, he thought. For a moment he tried to imagine what it would feel like to be standing under a hot shower and scrubbing his back with a stiff -bristled brush. It was maddening to imagine it. He sighed and with his thumb scratched his neck where the itching was worst. Krüger had meanwhile shoved his shirt back under his tunic. He looked over at Steiner who had watched with expressionless face, while listening with half an ear to a conversation between Dorn and two of the others.

‘We have about twenty miles to go,’ Steiner reminded them roughly. ‘According to the map, the woods are all marsh. Besides which there must be a stream somewhere in the middle of it. I hope you realize what we’re facing. Anyone who passes out is going to be left behind.’ He turned and started down the mountain. They watched him for a moment in consternation, then stood up, shouldered their gear and followed. They kept to the middle of the clearing and took care not to slip on the smooth grass. Dorn came last. His diarrhoea had improved somewhat since last night, and he felt glad about that. He was still thinking about Dietz’s peculiar hallucination. After all, bells must be ringing somewhere at this hour. But a thousand miles away at least. Perhaps the bells they heard had come all the way from the ruins of Germany, carried on waves of longing to wherever the German armies were fighting a desperate struggle. A lost struggle, he thought. And the worst part of it was knowing this.

They had reached the plain meanwhile. The lane came to an end here, and when they went forward among the trees, the sky vanished as the foliage closed in overhead. A cool breeze from the dim depths of the woods blew over their hot, flushed faces and made them shiver. One after the other they walked into the green dusk.

THE REGIMENT’S NEW positions ran west of Krymskaya through hilly terrain bare of vegetation. The dominant feature of this sector was Hill 121.4, which was crowned by a wooden tower. The 1st Battalion was holding the positions on the southern slope of it. From here there was a good view deep into the enemy hinterland, and the artillery observers could see as far as Krymskaya, which the last companies of the division had evacuated only a few hours ago. There was great activity everywhere. Bunkers were being dug out, machine -gun emplacements being sunk deep into the ground, wood for construction being brought up. The staff officers were well aware of the importance of the next few hours. The terrain was so open that the enemy would not be able to advance until after dark. But then the Russians would come, and from tomorrow morning on their snipers would be at work. The men did not need the admonitions of the company commanders to realize the urgency of digging in. Although they had done without sleep the night before, they set to work with a will and kept going with hardly a pause.

The battalion commander was standing in one of the 2nd Company’s advanced dugouts. He had been scanning a patch of woodland some way away through a stereo -telescope. This he considered the weak spot of his sector. Along its northern edge ran the Krymskaya -Anapa highway which was sure to be the target of the enemy’s next attack. Those woods, about a square mile in area, offered an ideal deployment area for the preparation of an enemy offensive.

The longer the commander studied the terrain, the grimmer his expression became. Finally he straightened up angrily and turned to the commander of the 2nd Company, who was standing directly behind him. ‘Incredible—an irreparable oversight,’ he snapped. ‘Those woods should have been cut down or destroyed by fire.’

Lieutenant Meyer’s good -natured, somewhat flushed face took on the hint of a grimace. ‘We came sooner than expected.’

‘Sooner, what does sooner mean here?’ the commander replied irritably. ‘By God, they had ample time to establish the lines for the bridgehead. I should like to know what raw beginner is responsible for this.’ He stooped over the telescope again.

Meyer regarded him coolly. That longish face with high forehead and light blue eyes gave an impression of extreme forcefulness. An impression underlined by the thin -lipped mouth and the angular chin. The man’s thick hair was white at the temples, emphasizing by contrast the healthy tan of his face. His uniform was the work of a first -class tailor and effectively showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He was certainly a superior specimen of officer, but in spite of that Meyer could not stand him. He watched with disgust as Stransky moved the knobs on the telescope with long, thin fingers. On his left hand he wore a heavy signet -ring. No doubt with the family crest on it, Meyer thought, recalling that the regimental adjutant had told him Stransky owned big estates in East Prussia. Not that estates impressed him. We’re all the same here, he told himself; a handful of life trying to preserve itself like the candlelight in the bunkers; a bundle of duties in uniform, feeling and thinking like human beings, but trained to act like automatons.

Stransky straightened up again. ‘I shall send a report to that effect to Regiment,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately it is too late to do anything about it.’

Meyer agreed. ‘Perhaps the Russians are already in those woods,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t want to ask anyone to try to cross to them in broad daylight.’ He glanced uncomfortably across the flat terrain, which was wholly without cover. Its rust -brown colour was scarcely distinguishable from the dark strip of asphalt highway.

‘I doubt that,’ Stransky replied. ‘It was already daylight when we got here. The Russians couldn’t possibly have followed at our heels.’

‘So we thought last night,’ Meyer said gloomily, ‘and still we were unable to hold the planned positions.’

‘That is something else again,’ Stransky said with annoyance although he was aware that the company commander was right.

According to the original plans, the battalion was still supposed to be holding the positions east of Krymskaya. Toward midnight, after an easy ride on the trucks, they had reached the reception line. But an hour later the order had come from division to move into the final positions.

Stransky suddenly remembered the 2nd Company platoon which had been left behind for a rear -guard. Thoughtfully, he reached for his cigarette -case. ‘I suppose we will have to write off your 2nd Platoon,’ he said.

‘I think not, sir. I gave the platoon leader appropriate instructions in case we might have to withdraw sooner than anticipated. And then Steiner is in command of the platoon.’

‘Who is Steiner?’ Stransky asked with a frown.

Meyer stared at him for a moment, then nodded. ‘I forgot you were new to the battalion, sir. Corporal Steiner is a soldier, let me tell you. As you may know, I joined the battalion at Tuapse. A few weeks later the Russians rolled up the battalion on our left and suddenly appeared in front of my combat H.Q. If it hadn’t been for Steiner turning up with his platoon at the last minute, we would all have been done for. He’s a reconnaissance specialist, incidentally. One of your predecessors, our present regimental commander, thinks the world of him.’

‘So,’ Stransky said without interest.

‘Yes,’ Meyer said. ‘He was battalion commander when the regiment was stationed in Pribram. They got into a bad spot—that was at the beginning of the Russian campaign—and Steiner saved his life.’

Bored, Stransky took a drag on his cigarette and glanced across at the woods again. These stories about a corporal somehow jarred him. The man sounded like a typical Wild West hero, he thought, one of these young kids who were quick on the trigger and had a run of luck. He knew the type—crude and arrogant. ‘Sounds like a universal genius,’ he said with sarcasm.

‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ Meyer said. ‘At any rate, he is a fine soldier.’

‘I tend to be cautious in my estimate of men,’ Stransky replied coolly. ‘There are human as well as soldierly traits that determine worth. It surprises me, incidentally that this—ah, what did you say his name was?’

‘You mean Steiner?’

‘Yes, that’s it, Steiner. As I was saying, it surprises me to hear that this man Steiner in spite of his remarkable talents and services is only a corporal.’

Meyer was startled. The argument was sound. To judge by all he had heard of Steiner, the man must have been in the army at least five years. There must be some explication of that. He would find out some day.