The Cross of Iron (55 page)

‘Let me worry about that,’ Brandt replied. ‘If he dares to make good his threat and contact Division behind my back, he’ll find he’s bitten off more than he can chew.’

‘He seems to have good connections,’ Kiesel reminded him. 

‘Connections!’ Brandt waved his hand contemptuously. ‘If I convict him of presenting a falsified report, the best connections in the world won’t do him any good. But we’re digressing. You had a plan, you said.’

‘Right,’ Kiesel said. He had finished smoking his cigarette and now stood up in order to walk over to the desk and crush out the stub in a crystal bowl. Then he began explaining his plan. When he finished, there was a prolonged silence.

‘Only you could hit on that idea,’ Brandt declared at last. He sat for several minutes with drawn face, thinking it over. Then he raised his head and said: ‘Bring the two of them in.’

He turned first to Steiner. ‘I’ve thought it over. I agree. You may think the matter over for a few days. You know what it is about?’

‘I can guess,’ Steiner replied.

Brandt nodded. ‘So that there will be no misunderstandings about it, it is this: Captain Stransky claims that he led 2nd Company’s counter-attack. For that he would receive the Iron Cross, First Class. But I want the action confirmed by two signatures, as is proper. The first was supplied by Lieutenant Triebig; the second should come from the company commander. Since Lieutenant Meyer was killed, you, who were his representative at the time, are the only possible person to give his signature. Any questions?’

Steiner shook his head. Brandt turned to Triebig. ‘I want you to inform Captain Stransky about this conversation. As for his promised report on the insubordinate conduct of one of his platoon leaders, you may tell him that I leave it to his imagination whether such an action might not refresh the memory of the person in question in a manner disadvantageous to Captain Stransky.’ 

Kiesel barely repressed a smile at the carefulness of Brandt’s wording. Triebig held his head bowed. But his relief was obvious. ‘I shall inform the captain,’ he murmured.

Brandt glared coldly at him. ‘That is an order,’ he informed him. ‘You are no longer needed here.’

He waited until Triebig had left the room. Then he sat down behind his desk again and looked at Steiner, who had remained standing in the middle of the room. From the back of the room, where Kiesel sat, came a repressed cough, and Brandt suddenly felt his presence as disturbing. But since he could not very well send him away, he forced himself to take a distant tone as he asked: ‘Why were you set to digging Stransky’s bunker tonight?’

Steiner compressed his lips.

‘I asked you something,’ Brandt said loudly.

Tempted though he was to retort sharply, Steiner only murmured: ‘I would rather not talk about it.’

‘And suppose I order you to?’

Steiner raised his head. Their eyes met, and Steiner felt a dull rage mounting within him. ‘Do you want to hear lies?’ he asked rebelliously.

Brandt placed the tips of his fingers together and leaned forward somewhat. ‘I want to tell you something, Steiner. In the vicinity of this house there is room for several hundred bunkers, and it might occur to me to keep you busy for two or three weeks, just to keep you where you don’t make any more trouble for me. Do you know that Stransky intends to recommend disciplining you?’ 

‘If I were he I wouldn’t lose a minute about it,’ Steiner growled. Brandt turned to Kiesel, who had been listening attentively. ‘What do you say to that? I really think it would be better for me to place a guard over him and have him dig holes until he’s blue in the face.’

‘A poor cure for obstinacy,’ Kiesel joked. ‘Besides, why try to revise the decisions of Providence?’ Since he did not want to say anything more in front of Steiner, he shrugged and fell silent. Brandt peered questioningly at his face. Then he turned to Steiner, and his voice took on the timbre of sternness. ‘Listen to me. You know quite well that I have always shown a great deal of understanding for you. But I am gradually beginning to get tired of battling with your superiors over you.’

‘I didn’t ask you to,’ Steiner replied with a defiant stare. It was the greatest liberty he had ever permitted himself with Brandt, and as soon as he had said it he was frightened at his own foolhardiness. But he met the commander’s eyes firmly and observed with an almost voluptuous excitement the way Brandt’s expression changed. Brandt drew himself up sharply and propped his arms on the desk top. ‘Didn’t ask me to!’ he repeated, hoarse with rage. ‘You didn’t ask me to? Have you gone clean out of your mind? Do you have any idea what you’re saying?’

For a second Steiner closed his eyes. The anger surged up in him so suddenly that afterwards he could not explain it. The bitterness locked up inside him for months spilled out with such violence that his whole body felt emptied, discharged. ‘I do know,’ he snarled. ‘Ever since I’ve been wearing this damned uniform I’ve known that there are two kinds of human being. One kind are the Stranskys and Triebigs and other commissioned officers, and they’re all the same, as much alike as one arse is like the next, and I’m glad I’ve said it to you at last.’

He fell silent, shaking. His face was twitching like the restless surface of a lake, and there was so much contempt in his eyes that Brandt was stunned. The commander uttered a low groan. Then there was a dead silence in the room. A clock could be heard ticking. The commander was breathing heavily. His unsteady hands groped across the top of the desk. Several times he started to speak. When at last he brought out a whisper, his voice sounded broken. ‘Get out. Get out of here at once!’

Steiner abruptly came to his senses. Staring at the commander’s grief-stricken face, he suddenly felt such remorse that his eyes filled with tears and all the objects in the room swam. Staggering, he moved toward the door, turned around once more and looked back helplessly. Then he went out.

When the door closed behind him, Brandt dropped into his chair and looked down at his big hands until he heard a shuffling sound at his side. He raised his head and saw Kiesel standing stiffly, watching him with a strange expression.

‘Why didn’t you spare yourself that?’ the adjutant said slowly.

Brandt looked blankly at him.

‘You should either have ignored his first impertinence or punished the last,’ Kiesel went on quietly. ‘You were inconsistent. You can raise up a wildcat, but don’t count on it for gratitude. The species is unpredictable. To tell the truth, I’m worried.’

‘About Steiner?’

‘No, not about Steiner. I’m worried about Stransky. For the past five minutes I’ve felt convinced that I would not like to be in his shoes.’

He watched as the blood flowed back under the commander’s skin, washing away the dumbfounded expression. Brandt nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said.

‘In that case it would be better for you to transfer Steiner to another battalion at once, or bring him up here to Regiment.’

Brandt stared down at his hands again. When he raised his head there was an inscrutable expression on his face. ‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ he said slowly. ‘A few minutes ago you yourself advised me not to revise the decisions of Providence. It seems to me that was for once a wise remark on your part.’

‘The case is somewhat different now,’ Kiesel retorted uncomfortably.

By now Brandt had recovered completely. He smiled somewhat mockingly. ‘I disagree. If you tried to mend a hole in a spider’s web, you’d tear the whole web, no matter how skilful your fingers were. I am going to keep my hands off matters as delicate as this.’ 

He stood up and began striding about the room. ‘Perhaps I’ve treated Steiner wrongly.’ he said reflectively. ‘The relationship between superior and subordinate presupposes a distinct barrier. I thought that in this case I could dispense with it.’

‘Why so?’ Kiesel interjected.

Brandt ignored the question. ‘It’s hard to find the proper tone.’ he went on. ‘I don’t want my men to lose touch with me, and at the same time I can’t have them taking the liberties Steiner does,’ 

‘It’s a matter of sensitivity,’ Kiesel said.

Brandt laughed harshly. ‘Don’t give me any of that. If I started being sensitive, I should have to apologize for every order I gave my men, saying it wasn’t from me but from Division. No...’ He shook his head passionately. ‘It’s something else, and it’s the thing I worry about most of the time.’ He halted in front of Kiesel, his face flushed. ‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ he declared in an unnaturally loud voice. ‘It’s the damned fear we carry around all the time, the fear of exposing any of our weaknesses, of losing our nimbus. That’s it, Kiesel. That’s why we don’t dare tolerate any personal contact with the men. If we discuss our love affairs, say, with a subordinate, we’ve shown ourselves in our underwear and can no longer ask him to run blindly head-on into a tank cannon while we hang medals on our chests.’

‘Not always.’ Kiesel smiled. ‘You’re right, though. In reality it is nothing but the attempt to maintain an illusion—the illusion that the officer occupies a special position. If you permit closer relations, you are letting the other fellow understand that you respect him as a human being. In doing that you bolster his self-assurance, and that way you run the risk of his feeling himself your equal. Letting down the barrier can be the equivalent of surrender.’ His smile broadened. ‘We are like actors who don’t dare appear without our grease-paint.’

‘I didn’t put it quite that drastically.’

‘But that is what you meant,’ Kiesel answered.

They stood silent for a few moments, until Brandt went over to the desk and sat down with a groan. Face twisted in pain, he clapped his hand to his hip. ‘This damned rheumatism. I can’t seem to get rid of it any more.’

‘We’re getting old,’ Kiesel said equably.

Brandt looked at him suspiciously. ‘Is that directed at me?’ 

‘At your rheumatism,’ Kiesel said.

The conversation between them had bogged down once more. Somehow, Kiesel could not understand Brandt. There were too many contradictions in his personality which at the moment he could find no explanation for. He recalled how a few months ago the commander had emphasized that his regiment did not consist of figures, but of human beings. And now came this strict repudiation of any such feelings. He decided to explore along this track.

‘Stransky must have made the same mistake you did,’ he said. ‘He was too sure of himself when he started discussions with Steiner.’

‘Don’t overlook the difference in our motives,’ Brandt growled. 

‘I’ve thought of that,’ Kiesel replied. ‘Stransky’s I know. He received a setback to his morbid arrogance that he will have to chew on for a long time. Incidentally, that sort of arrogance seems to be a specifically German trait.’

Brandt waved his hand impatiently. ‘That’s sheer prejudice,’ he said irritably. ‘We are no worse than others.’

‘But perhaps more peculiar,’ Kiesel countered. ‘There’s no denying that our country swarms with frustrated despots. For their own self-esteem they need someone’s back to step on, just as a short woman needs high heels to feel self-respecting. They’re frustrated, of course, only so long as they’re not in uniform.’ 

‘You’re an anarchist,’ Brandt said.

Kiesel shrugged. ‘I lack the courage to be an anarchist. I am just one of the many who know very well they’re in the wrong pew and do nothing about it.’

‘It’s not worth the doing.’

‘Not for the sake of others,’ Kiesel agreed. ‘But perhaps for our own sakes. What are you going to do with Steiner?’

Brandt looked up into his face. ‘You certainly are prying,’ he said rudely. ‘Why are you concerned?’

‘For your sake,’ Kiesel said earnestly.

Brandt seemed on the point of replying in the same gruff tone. Then he suddenly compressed his lips, reached into his breast pocket and took out a worn leather letter-case. From it he removed a picture and sat for some moments staring at it. At last, still without a word, he handed it to the captain. In astonishment Kiesel studied the snapshot of a man in officer’s uniform who unmistakably looked like Steiner. Only on closer examination could he detect where the face varied. And something else now struck him. For the first time he became aware of a resemblance between Steiner and the commander. It was particularly recognizable around the eyes. His hand holding the snapshot dropped and he looked questioningly into the commander’s composed face.

‘I don’t quite understand.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Brandt said, taking the picture from him. ‘This is my son. He was killed four years ago, in Poland. The first time I saw Steiner I thought I would go out of my mind. The resemblance, you understand. And the same sort of obstinacy besides. Steiner lost both his parents—did you know that?’ Kiesel shook his head silently. ‘Two years ago. In an accident. He lost his parents and I have lost my son. On lop of that the resemblance and...’ His voice had been fading steadily. Now he fell quite silent and let his head droop. Shocked, Kiesel looked down at him, waiting. But as minute after minute passed and Brandt remained immobile, he turned and went softly to the door.

The sun had set beyond the peaceful swells of the sea. Faber was sitting in his quarters reading for the second or third time his letter from Barbara. At last he folded it carefully and placed it in his breast pocket. Thoughtfully, he went over to the window. His gaze wandered from the mountains down to the waterfront, trying to connect the appearance of this city with the information Barbara had supplied. Her data must have come from their old village schoolmaster. He wrinkled his broad forehead. Could 95, 000 people possibly have lived here? He tried to imagine the number, and shook his head in astonishment. However, the big factories Barbara mentioned were here—he had seen them. The grain mills and cement works, the elevators and oil refineries—these stood. But on the waterfront there was none of the busy activity she spoke of, no sign of the many ships. What a Babel of tongues there must have been along those piers. But now the port lay still like a choked spring, and the city had been transformed into a stony wasteland at the foot of the mountains; it could not have seemed more silent and lifeless if it had lain at the bottom of the sea. A city without human beings. It was like a Black Forest without trees, unthinkable and unreasonable.