The Cross of Iron (57 page)

When März spoke to him, he looked up vacantly. ‘We’re there,’ the lieutenant said.

‘Really?’ Steiner asked. Now he became aware that the road before them terminated in a broad highway where a line of big trucks stood. At the same time a loud call came down the column, ordering the company commanders up front. ‘Bring us good news!’ Steiner said. März nodded and hurried off. The men dropped leadenly by the roadside, lit cigarettes and talked in muted voices.

‘I wonder where we’ll drink our next champagne,’ Schnurrbart remarked.

Krüger grinned. ‘In Siberia. Where else?’

‘How late is it?’ Maag asked. He sat with legs drawn up, chewing a piece of bread.

Steiner looked at his watch. ‘Half past three. We marched for five hours.’

‘Twenty miles,’ Schnurrbart said, looked at the trucks. The drivers were asleep at the wheels.

Five minutes passed. Then März returned.

‘Where are we going?’ Steiner asked.

März hooked the map-board to his belt and grinned. ‘Guess.’

They regarded him curiously. ‘Italy?’ Steiner said hopefully.

März shook his head.

‘Crimea?’ Schnurrbart guessed.

‘No.’

They suggested various possibilities. Finally März said: ‘You’ll never guess it. We’re going back.’

‘We’ve been doing that for the past year,’ Steiner growled. ‘You don’t mean back to dear old Germany?’

‘No, back to Novorosisk,’ März stated.

They stared blankly at him. Steiner rubbed his eyes and murmured: ‘Somebody’s dippy.’ Suddenly he grinned. ‘Then we can go on with our chess match.’

‘We’ll have to play against the Russians,’ März said. ‘Tonight they landed at five points on the waterfront. Two hours after we moved out. Does that give you any ideas?’

Steiner gasped. ‘Treason!’ he murmured.

‘You could call it that,’ März replied equably. ‘But it sounds better if you say intelligence. In that area we have still something to learn from the Russians. Last week a radio station of theirs was discovered right in the heart of the city. Probably there were others.’

‘Incredible,’ Schnurrbart whispered.

März twisted his mouth into a mirthless smile. ‘We’ll have to get used to the idea. All right, into the trucks.’

Cursing, the men got up and scattered among the vehicles. Minutes later the trucks started up. Schnurrbart sat beside Steiner, holding his tommy-gun in his hands. ‘What a stinking mess,’ he grumbled. Steiner nodded.

They sat in silence until they reached the outer suburbs of the city. The trucks covered the distance of the five-hour march in barely an hour. It was already so light that the road could be seen. Above the city hovered huge clouds of smoke: dull detonations rolled over the roofs; and as the men jumped down from the trucks they noticed that the street was full of splintered glass, scraps of wood and fragmented stone. ‘You’d think there was a war going on here,’ Krüger said, gazing with disgust at the black shell-holes.

Steiner looked toward the one-story buildings which seemed to be cowering in terror behind the garden fences. Then he recalled there was something he’d wanted to ask about. He went over to März, who was supervising the unloading of the vehicles, and put his question: ‘Where were we going?’

‘The Perekop Peninsula,’ März replied.

‘And what were we supposed to do there?’

‘Defend the Crimea.’

Steiner nodded. ‘Then I guess there’s no harm in my having sent my letter.’

‘What letter?’ März asked in surprise.

‘My last will and testament,’ Steiner said, and returned to his men. He felt somehow relieved. They waited until the last of the soldiers had clambered out of the vehicles, then watched the trucks drive off as though the devil were behind them. Krüger picked at his nose and watched them go thoughtfully. ‘If I ever come into this world again...’ he began, but Steiner interrupted him. ‘You’ll be a truck driver, I know. But I imagine you’ll take care not to come into the world again.’

From somewhere sounded violent rifle skirmishing. Schnurrbart raised his head to listen. ‘That’s on the waterfront,’ he commented. ‘Must be going hot and heavy down there.’

‘If it weren’t they wouldn’t have sent for us,’ Maag growled.

Kern sighed. His unshaven face twitched as though pricked by nettles. He wished he could crawl into one of the houses and wait until the show was over. Glumly, he watched the head of the first company start forward. The men formed squad columns, leaving large intervals between them. They had exchanged their alpine caps for steel helmets and were walking crouched, with heads tilted.

‘I wonder whether this area is exposed to observation,’ Maag remarked uneasily.

Krüger shrugged. ‘I doubt it, or we’d have smelt powder by now.’

‘Just give it time,’ Schnurrbart said, hitching up his belt. ‘I don’t like this quiet.’

‘You call this quiet!’ Krüger grinned, nodding toward the water-front where a series of heavy explosions rumbled one after the other. The air was smoky, and the cool breeze from the sea carried the smell of burned powder to the street. Steiner saw März place himself at the head of the first platoon and raise his fist into the air. The company started forward. They passed down several streets which were swathed in dense smoke and had been partly converted into rubble heaps. ‘Mortars,’ Schnurrbart commented, glancing distrustfully up at the cloudless sky, which was gradually colouring with the promise of a fine day. After a quarter hour’s march they had come so close to the centre of the city that the noise of battle seemed to be raging beyond the next street corner. They could easily distinguish machine-guns and hand grenades. Isolated shells passed high above the roofs and exploded with thunderous crashes. Up front there was a pause. Steiner observed the men scattering among the houses as März hurried on, crouching as he ran.

‘What’s going on?’ Schnurrbart asked.

Steiner shrugged. ‘Dunno. Probably a briefing at battalion. Let’s get off the street.’

He sat down on a doorstep, lit a cigarette and looked at the houses across the street. The lop stories were already receiving the light of the rising sun. A curtain swayed in and out of an empty window frame. The sight was somehow homelike, and Steiner felt his heart grow heavy. Damn it all, he thought, absently puffing on his cigarette. Behind him he heard the voices of Kern and Krüger, who were sitting in the vestibule of the house, talking loudly. Suddenly they fell silent. The even noise of rifle and machine-gun fire was drowned out by a long dull thunder that reverberated menacingly over the streets, plucking at the nerves. ‘Artillery salvo,’ Schnurrbart murmured. They had all jumped up and cowered in the doorway. The detonations followed in quick succession somewhere along the waterfront. ‘They’ll blow our arses off,’ Kern whispered, white-lipped. They were all pale, unshaven, sleepworn. Their steel helmets hung down low over their eyes.

‘You know what we’ll have,’ Krüger asked. He laughed savagely. ‘The same shit as in Kharkov, I tell you. Fighting from house to house and room to room. When we throw them out on one side they’ll come in again on the other, and when we’re in the cellar they’ll be in the pantry. I can do without it.’

He stared darkly out at the street, where März had suddenly turned up and was coming toward them swiftly. He went over to Steiner, who rose and looked inquiringly at him. ‘It’s starting,’ März said laconically. He turned to Kern. ‘Bring the other platoon leaders here.’

Kern went off and returned shortly with Sergeants Schulz and Stober. Steiner knew the two men only slightly. They had come with the latest batch of replacements, and he had exchanged a few words with them just once or twice. They entered the vestibule of the house and looked expectantly at März, who held a map in his hand and was studying it attentively. Now he looked up at him. ‘We’re attacking. The goal is a big machine-tool factory on the waterfront. The Russians have raised a red flag on the factory tower. We’re to take it down. Express order from the battalion commander. Special assignment for you, Steiner.’

‘That’s idiotic,’ Stober murmured.

März ignored the remark and continued: ‘The first and third companies are advancing toward the waterfront to our left and right. The attack is set for eight o’clock.’

‘How far is it to the factory?’ Steiner asked.

‘Above five hundred and fifty yards. We’ll be there soon.’ 

‘And the line?’ Schulz asked.

März scraped his chin. ‘Things seem to be confused. In places the Russians are already deep into the city, and at other places they haven’t got beyond the waterfront.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Stober murmured, shaking his head. ‘What are we doing on the waterfront if they’re inside the city already?’ He had an angular face with deep hollows in his cheeks and eyes that seemed made of glass.

März spread the map out on the floor and the men stood looking over his shoulders. ‘Here’s the waterfront. When we get there, we’ll advance along the shore and take the Russians on the flank. They seem to be bent on establishing contact with their units on the other side,’ März pointed to a spot on the map. ‘Here is Novorosisk and here is our southern flank. The line begins on the other side of the harbour. If the Russians succeed in breaking through, they’ll advance along the seacoast as far as Anapa and seize the ferry-landings.’

‘I see,’ Stober said. ‘By landing on the waterfront he’s taking us in the rear. It’s like cutting the string on a stretched bow.’ 

‘Pretty much,’ März replied. ‘If we want to hold the bridgehead we’ve got to get the Russians out of here. So you know what’s at stake.’

Schulz straightened up. ‘That’s idiotic,’ he declared discontentedly.

‘What?’

‘That about the factory. How big is the place?’

‘I don’t know,’ März replied. ‘I’ve never been in that part of town. We’ll soon see.’

A man came in from the street. ‘The first company is leaving. Lieutenant,’ he reported.

‘I know. They have further to go than we.’ He folded up the map and thrust it into the map-board hanging from his side. Then he turned to Steiner. ‘You and your platoon will follow me at the head of the company. In front of us are parts of a marine unit. We will relieve them and then attack at once. Order the men to fall in.’

Steiner had a few more words with the two sergeants. Schulz had thrust his hands into his pockets and was glaring furiously at the lieutenant, who was already outside. ‘Wants to earn the Iron Cross, the stinker!’ he said with an ugly sneer.

Steiner looked at him with reproof. He did not like the man. His face appeared extremely brutal. From temple to chin ran a deep scar. The man’s brows grew together over the base of his nose, and his broad mouth was embedded in ugly folds. ‘Mind your own business,’ Steiner said sharply, and followed the lieutenant out. The men streamed out of the houses and stood waiting in a long row on the right side of the street. Steiner glanced rapidly around to assure himself that Schnurrbart and the others were close by him. März raised his hand. ‘Keep a good distance between you,’ he ordered. ‘I don’t want any casualties before the show starts. March!’

As they moved down the street, keeping close to the row of houses, the artillery fire above their heads increased. The din of battle in front of them went on without pause. The district they were now in must once have been the business centre of the city. On both sides of the street gaped the empty frames of huge show windows; the insides of the shops were strewn with plaster and broken glass. In many places the pavement on the street had been torn open by shells, and as Steiner, following März, went round a heap of rubble, there was an explosion behind them that threw them to the ground and showered large and small pieces of stone on to the street. When the hail stopped, März stood up and dusted his clothes. ‘That’s the start,’ he said calmly. ‘Increase distances.’

Steiner passed the order on and observed the men come out of their frozen positions. Then he followed März, who was displaying an astonishing coolheadedness. Steiner had to smile as it struck him that the lieutenant was walking as though he were out for a Sunday stroll in a peaceful garrison town. März, happening to turn his head at that moment, caught the grin and stood still.

‘What amuses you so?’ he demanded.

‘You,’ Steiner replied, wiping the grin from his face. März opened his mouth. Steiner, hearing the shell a fraction of a second before him, pulled him to the ground as he dived. The street vanished under a cloud of smoke. Again a wild hail of stone hurtled against the walls of the buildings. Glowing splinters of iron darted with a horrible hissing noise into the wooden frames of the shop windows. The men lay flat on the ground, pressing their faces into their arms. The next shell exploded a long way ahead of them.

März got up. ‘I asked you a question,’ he said to Steiner, who was rubbing an aching elbow.

Steiner shook his head irritably. ‘Maybe you were going to ask me something.’

März looked thoughtfully at him. Then he nodded. ‘Right. I wanted to ask you what amuses you so about me.’

Steiner looked back and noticed Schnurrbart’s uncomprehending expression; he was standing right behind them, listening to every word. Steiner turned to März again. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

‘If that’s all it is, you can keep it to yourself.’ März strode on again. They made a detour around the fresh shell-hole. When they reached an intersection they saw that the street dropped steeply to the waterfront, and that it seemed to be blocked off at the end by a board fence. Coming closer they were able to see a cross-street running along the fence and in a wide curve around the harbour. ‘We’re here,’ März said. ‘Send the men into the houses. I’ll go to the battalion command post.’

‘Where is it?’ Steiner asked.

‘Around the corner here somewhere. I’ll be right back,’ As März trotted off around the corner, Steiner turned and signalled to the men to take cover.

‘What’s up?’ Schnurrbart wanted to know.

‘You’re to wait here,’ Steiner ordered. ‘Get out of sight.’ He lit a cigarette and walked slowly forward toward the intersection.

The waterfront street was built up only on one side. On the other side was the six-foot-high fence. As Steiner turned the corner someone called out to him: ‘Watch your step, man!’