The Cross of Iron (58 page)

He looked up and saw the face of a man glaring indignantly down at him. ‘What’s worrying you?’ Steiner asked.

The man had by now recognized his rank, and his face showed embarrassment. ‘You must be careful, here sir. It’s all under enemy observation.’

Steiner looked around. Close to the window was a door into the building. He went through it. On the steps of the front hallway stood three men in dark-blue uniforms, their faces bearing the marks of fear. ‘What unit?’ Steiner asked curtly.

‘Marines,’ one of them replied. ‘Are you the relief?’

When Steiner nodded, the faces of all three brightened. ‘Thank God!’ the second man sighed. They reached for their carbines, which were leaning against the wall. Steiner climbed up the four steps to them and asked: ‘Where are you going?’

The men grinned. ‘Back,’ the first of them answered. ‘We’ve got a bellyful.’

‘Not any more than we have,’ Steiner replied with animosity. 

‘You’ve no idea,’ the man said. ‘You should have been here last night when it started.’

Steiner scrutinized him with contempt. ‘You crawled into the cellar anyhow; if you hadn’t the Russians wouldn’t have been able to land. And now we’ve got to clean up your shit.’

They glowered at him, and the first speaker said: ‘We’re not infantry.’

‘That’s obvious,’ Steiner said, his dislike mounting steadily. ‘What’s been going on here?’

‘Just about everything,’ the man replied. ‘There’s that factory over there, where at least a regiment of Russians have squatted. If they attack, we’re finished.’

‘You boys would be,’ Steiner growled. ‘Can the factory be seen from here?’

‘Sure. You must have seen the tower already.’

Steiner went back down the steps and stepped to the doorway. ‘Careful!’ one of the men warned him. Steiner shrugged contemptuously. He saw the tower at once. At the very top of it was a pole from which hung a red cloth that fluttered in the wind. He stared up at it for a few seconds. The marines had come up behind him, and one of them said: ‘That beats all. They’ve got their nerve with them.’

‘We’re supposed to take it down,’ Steiner murmured. He smiled grimly at their looks of wonder. ‘Wouldn’t you like to help us do it?’

They shook their heads in horror, and his grin broadened. ‘I’ll see how it looks from up above,’ he said, and went back into the house. Upstairs, a door led into an apartment. From the window he could see the whole area. The factory consisted of a block of connected eight-story buildings in the shape of a triangle open toward the waterfront. The tower was on the south wing. The longer Steiner looked the place over, the more hopeless the impending attack appeared to him. From the fence there were some five hundred feet of factory yard completely without cover, offering every opportunity to the defenders and none to the attackers. He leaned out of the window to glance at the south elevation of the factory, and jerked back abruptly. Over his head there was an ugly hiss and then a thud as though a board were struck against a stone. A cloud of dust whirled down toward him. Simultaneously a Russian machine-gun began hammering away from the factory. Steiner stepped quickly away from the window, cursing under his breath. They were keen as watchdogs. But he had had time to notice that the chances for an attack from the south side were somewhat better, since there the fence approached to within a hundred feet of the building. Moving cautiously, from the side this time, he approached the window again and looked down at the street. To his surprise, he saw several men of the second company running across the pavement and scattering along the fence. He recognized März among them. Quickly, he left the room and ran down the steps.

The marines had disappeared. On the street he caught sight of März again, leaning with his back against the fence and watching the company crossing the street in small groups. He saw Steiner and raised his hand. ‘Where have you been?’ he called impatiently. Steiner crossed over to him and gestured back over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Getting our bearings.’

‘You’ll take the right wing,’ März directed briskly. ‘We’ll start in a moment. We have artillery support.’

‘Ten rounds,’ Steiner growled, slipping the tommy-gun from his shoulder.

‘I beg your pardon?’ März asked in astonishment.

‘Ten rounds,’ Steiner repeated. ‘It won’t be enough to disturb the Russians at their second breakfast.’

‘You take too black a view.’ März reached into his pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Steiner.

‘The only colour for it,’ Steiner murmured morosely, holding the burning match under the company commander’s cigarette. As he tossed it away, he caught sight of several men kneeling on the ground and using their bayonets to pry the slats of the fence from the lower bar. He took a step forward. The rest of the company was engaged in similar work. ‘What’s the idea?’ he said to März, who was equably puffing away at his cigarette.

‘What idea?’

‘That,’ Steiner said impatiently, gesturing at the men.

‘You can see for yourself,’ März replied. ‘Do you imagine we’re going to climb over the fence?’

Steiner stared at him. ‘Does that mean we attack from this point?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Of course,’ März said.

They stood in silence. From the direction of the factory a Russian machine-gun chattered now and then. Further to the south a violent skirmish seemed to be going on. Heavy artillery detonations boomed in unbroken succession. Before the mountains loomed dark clouds of smoke that stretched higher and higher, dirtying the cloudless sky. Steiner looked at the houses across the street. Their white stucco showed ugly wounds; they glistened starkly in the cold morning sunlight. An uncomfortable sensation crawled down his spine. ‘It’s mad,’ he murmured. ‘I hope you realize what our chances are.’

‘I do.’ März nodded indifferently. Steiner looked at the men. They were working away eagerly, as though the fence were the last obstacle between them and a storehouse full of provisions. The thought amused him so much that he laughed aloud. März looked up at him in astonishment. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ 

‘Nothing. I just thought of something funny.’

‘Of yourself, by any chance?’

‘For once no. I thought of a stupid rat desperately looking for a way into a trap.’

‘That certainly is funny,’ März replied. His face was deadly earnest. 

As Steiner started to turn away, the lieutenant gripped his shoulder. ‘Don’t forget the flag. The commander wants it.’

‘He can use it to be wrapped in at his funeral,’ Steiner growled. He went over to his men. They were sitting on the ground about sixty yards away.

‘How’s it look?’ Schnurrbart asked. He held his cold pipe clenched between his teeth. His face looked sunken and weary. Steiner sat down beside him without replying. He leaned his back against the fence and stared across the street. ‘Are we supposed to attack here?’ Kern asked anxiously.

Steiner nodded. Krüger propped himself up on his right elbow. ‘We won’t get across,’ he said definitely. ‘We’ll all be finished in this business, you can depend on that.’

‘Maybe luck’ll be on our side,’ Maag murmured. It was evident from his voice that he did not believe his own words.

Faber said nothing. The machine-gun tucked between his legs, he stared absently at the ground. Suddenly they all jerked at once. Above their heads, so close that they imagined they could feel the wind of their passage, a series of heavy shells swished by and exploded behind their backs in the factory yard. ‘It’s starting,’ Steiner murmured. They turned on their stomachs, pushed the slats somewhat to one side, and watched the barrage. The next round drummed against the factory walls, and they saw the walls burst apart. The building vanished behind a yellow-black cloud of smoke that slowly mounted upward. Ineffective, Steiner thought. The building was solid; there was no reason to think that a dozen holes in the walls would seriously weaken the enemy’s resistance. His glance fell upon a small black beetle that crawled under the fence and disappeared into a tiny hole. He swallowed. We’re too damn big, he thought. As he stared at the ground, aware that he was envying a beetle, he suddenly thought of Anne, and his throat contracted so that he had difficulty in breathing. The hellish report above his head continued. Insanely loud, the shells howled above the roofs, cleaving the air and crashing into the factory. Hooeeee-vumn, hooeeee-vumn. It went on and on. He turned his head and saw beside him Kern’s sallow face. Kern lay on the ground, lips twitching, steel helmet pressed against the fence. Faber was squatting on his heels, the machine-gun clutched in his hands, his eyes shut. Krüger and Schnurrbart were peering through the cracks in the fence at the factory yard, the skin over their cheekbones so taut it seemed on the point of ripping. Maag was on his other side, the freckles on the white skin of his face like drops of blood on snow.

Then there was an abrupt silence. Somewhere a piercing cry rang out. Steiner saw the men jump up, reach for the slats of the fence and tug at them. The big nails in the wood squealed as though several dozen doors were moving on rusty hinges, and the boards thumped to the ground. Then the yard lay before them. Smooth, flooded with sunlight. A slaughtering yard, Steiner thought, and began running. Two hundred steps to the factory. Two hundred ridiculous steps to the grey basalt walls behind which the Russians lay. He felt his heart pounding against his ribs, sweat streaming down his face. He panted. Two hundred steps, twenty seconds. Since Anne plunged over the cliff two thousand years had passed, or was it more? Twenty seconds; it was ridiculous. He heard his breath whistling, saw the scurrying shadows of the men to his left and right, felt biting dust in his eyes and stumbled and ran and gasped. They had covered half the distance when machine-gun fire blazed in their faces. They had taken a hundred steps, and fell to the ground as though they had stumbled over a wire. Within ten seconds the company lay like a writhing, many-limbed animal in the factory yard, and somewhere a man began to scream as though he had three voices. Seconds later a second began, and then another, then many. They lay screaming on the ground, and over them and into them pelted the bullets from half a dozen Russian machine-guns. And then came the artillery fire. The yard was transformed into a forest of darting fountains of smoke, as though the earth had broken open in a hundred places, and the screams of the wounded and dying men were drowned by the garish explosions. Steiner lay two paces away from Kern and stared at the one-time innkeeper, whose right arm stuck up into the air like a post, fingers curiously outspread. Steiner lay beside the dead man, and two paces farther on Maag had his freckled face pressed against the ground as though he had discovered there a shaft leading through the earth, with the blue sky above the Azores on the other side. Steiner lay between the dead men and felt clods of earth raining down on his back, felt the hot breath of steel fragments hissing by, and in his head was nothing but a roaring which made him scarcely hear the infernal din in the factory yard. In the cemetery, he thought, closing his eyes. He heard a voice calling his name, but did not stir. He stayed still, his thoughts flying amid swooping in great circles, and he heard another voice saying: ‘... And none of you will go without his reward...’ But it sounded unreal and remote. It must have been in a barracks yard, he thought. A voice ringing out across a barracks yard in which stood eight hundred men in new uniforms and shining boots. How far away was that? Six million steps and more, and across the factory yard it was only two hundred.

He raised his head and looked toward the road. A hundred paces from the fence, he thought; only half the distance. And he saw several dozen men running in between the detonations of the shells, running, throwing themselves to the ground, picking themselves up and racing on, until they vanished from sight. Suddenly he realized that it had been Schnurrbart’s voice calling his name.

At that he pushed himself up. He pushed himself away from the ground and for a moment stood upright. As he turned around he saw März. The lieutenant came stumbling across the yard, eyes wild, mouth open, arms dangling slackly at his sides, and Steiner heard him shouting. But he could not understand a word, When a shell struck near März, he tipped over as though his legs had been knocked from under him, and Steiner ran toward him. He looked neither to right nor to left and ran over to him. For a second he stared down at him, then slung the man over his shoulder and stumbled blindly through the fire. He ran like a machine, utterly without sensation, eyes closed, thinking: You will all receive your reward. All of you. He tripped over bodies, slid heavily into shell-holes that opened before him, panted through dark clouds of smoke, until suddenly he saw the fence before him. The weight of the lieutenant seemed to increase tenfold. As Steiner ran across the street, his knees threatened to give in. He saw several men in a doorway shouting at him, saw a familiar face as Schnurrbart came running toward him, and then the tons of weight fell from his shoulder and he plunged into the vestibule of a house, where he lay groaning and half unconscious. You will all receive your reward, he thought again, and closed his eyes. There was a great stillness within him.

Toward evening Kiesel entered the commander’s room. He found the lieutenant-colonel studying some papers which he quickly laid aside on perceiving Kiesel. His face expressed uneasiness and concern as he asked: ‘Well?’

‘He was lucky,’ Kiesel replied, sitting down. ‘I found him at the clearing station. He had already been operated on and was out of ether when I came. But now he is probably...’ Kiesel glanced at his wrist-watch. ‘At this moment he must be on his way to the ferry. In a few days he’ll be in a hospital back home.’ 

‘I’m glad for him and for you,’ Brandt said heartily. ‘What do you think your sister will say to that?’

Kiesel stared reflectively at the floor. ‘She will thank his lucky star,’ he replied. ‘His lucky star and Steiner.’

The commander’s head jerked up. ‘Steiner? What about Steiner?’ 

‘If it were not for Steiner he would have lain there and bled to death. Steiner carried him back. März told me about it himself.’