The Cross of Iron (68 page)

‘I’m mad already,’ Schulz said.

The outlines of the factory were now rising more and more distinctly out of the dissolving darkness. The building presented a black bulk against the paling sky. The men moved heavily toward the officer who was shaking his head again and saying: ‘The case reminds me of something that happened just about a year ago. Maybe the Russians realized that we were evacuating. In any case, I can’t understand their fighting it out in the factory when they’d already dug in right in the heart of the city. They would have finished you fellows off today in any case.’

He thrust his steel helmet back from his forehead. ‘You’ve had unbelievable luck,’ he declared happily. ‘We were supposed to dig you out and were just going to cross the yard when your sergeant came out of the window. ‘I’m glad we didn’t fire wildly.’ He caught sight of the two men with the canvas and asked: ‘Wounded?’

‘No. dead,’ Schulz replied.

‘What are you dragging him along for?’ the lieutenant asked in surprise. ‘Do you expect to carry him six miles?’

‘Six miles?’ Krüger exclaimed.

The lieutenant nodded and looked at his watch. ‘It’s five to four,’ he said urgently. ‘We must hurry. We’re evacuating the city at four.’ He laughed at their astonished expressions. ‘That’s the way it is. If I hadn’t got on the track of you right off, or the Russians had put up a hard fight, I would have had to leave you stuck there in the cellar. Then God knows what would have become of you. So let’s go.’ The lieutenant hitched up his belt. ‘Leave the dead man here. We have no time to carry him along.’

‘Who says so?’ Steiner asked. His voice sounded on the point of breaking.

Gollhofer raised his eyebrows. ‘I do. Have you a different opinion on the matter?’

‘Yes,’ Steiner retorted. He turned to the men. ‘Who'll help me?’ 

‘Me,’ Krüger said. Faber stepped up beside him. The other men held back. ‘One more,’ Steiner said loudly. No one stirred. Steiner gripped two ends of the canvas. ‘Three can do it.’

‘Hold on a moment,’ Schulz said. Without feeling any eagerness for this task, he suddenly felt that he had something to make up for. He took his place beside the other three. Gollhofer glared at them. He considered simply ordering them to let the dead man lie. But something about Steiner’s face restrained him. Raising his hand, he placed himself at the head of the column. As they marched with long strides down the street they kept looking back through the battered fence at the factory which seemed to be watching them through the empty sockets of its windows. At last they crossed the street near the former battalion command post and left the factory behind them. They marched up a dark canyon between towering walls of buildings.

Gollhofer had meanwhile noticed the radio operators and instructed them to contact Regiment. ‘Report that we’re on our way. That will give them something to chew,’ he added humourously. The knowledge of having carried out a difficult mission so easily filled him with elation.

Suddenly he thought of the men who were carrying the dead soldier, and his gleeful mood gave way to guilt. He waited until they had gone two blocks further. Then he ordered the company to halt and walked back to the rear where Steiner and the other three had taken advantage of the rest to lay their burden on the ground. They stood beside it, panting.

‘I’ll have you relieved,’ Gollhofer declared so loudly that the rest of the men could not help hearing. ‘I hope there will be volunteers,’ He looked his men over, waiting. ‘As you like,’ he said after a brief pause. His voice took on a tone of command. ‘Line up four abreast.’

The long column began to move. The men obeyed sullenly, while Gollhofer spoke to Steiner. ‘Take five or ten men and march a hundred yards ahead of the company as advance guard. I’ll give you a man who knows the way.’ Then he went to the head of the line and ordered the first row of four to carry the dead man. ‘After five minutes you’ll pass him to the next, and so on to the end of the line. Then start over at the beginning again.’

While the first four were carrying out the order, Steiner selected his men. Krüger whispered to Faber: ‘I couldn’t have held out much longer.’ He rubbed his aching arms. ‘Never knew he was so heavy,’ he added sadly. He turned to Schulz. ‘That was damned decent of you. Did you know Schnurrbart?’

Schulz nodded. ‘I did! Who didn’t know him? God, don’t mention it: I couldn’t leave you to do it all.’

They covered a long distance in silence until they reached a street that sloped somewhat uphill. ‘Do you know this district?’ Schulz asked.

Krüger looked around speculatively. ‘Seems familiar to me. Weren’t we here yesterday morning?’

‘Yes. Over there, in the next house or the one after, Mars told us about the attack on the factory.’

‘Right,’ Krüger said. His big face started to work; he swallowed, wiped his face with his shirt-sleeve and fought vainly against the grief that clawed at his heart. He knew it, he thought. Schnurrbart knew be wouldn’t come out of it. The mist of moisture over his eyes grew more and more opaque; he forced his eyes wide open so that he could see where he was going. Their street ran now between a lane of trees into the brightening grey of daylight. Suddenly he felt that he must have a few words with Steiner. He caught up with him and asked: ‘Where are we going?’ He had to repeat his question twice before Steiner reacted.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Steiner said.

‘Right,’ Krüger said. ‘Nothing matters now.’

Beyond the trees were one-story houses, small grey cubes each ringed by its green-painted garden fence. ‘Here’s where we got out of the truck,’ Krüger said. Steiner remained silent. ‘Yesterday morning,’ Krüger said. Steiner remained silent. But abruptly they all stood still and looked back. In the west a number of low detonations sounded, and a few seconds later a steady rumble thundered up from the city. ‘They’re starting again,’ Krüger commented.

Schulz grinned. ‘A waste of ammunition.’ His shoulders twitched with soundless laughter while he held his sharp face turned toward the sky.

‘They should have realized we’ve cleared out,’ Krüger commented.

‘They haven’t,’ Schulz said. ‘Why do you think we left so late? That’s strategy. The Russians are used to us leaving around midnight when we retreat. By four o’clock in the morning they thought we wouldn’t be going.’

His reasoning sounded convincing. ‘Lucky we’re not there,’ someone said. ‘We really would have been in for something.’

The rest of the company had drawn up closer meanwhile, and Gollhofer came running toward them. ‘What are you loitering for?’ he said impatiently. ‘Let’s get out of here or we’ll get ourselves a dose of the Russian matins.’ He grinned. ‘They’re going to be in for a surprise when they attack.’

They continued on at a smarter pace, and a few minutes later left the outlying suburbs of the city behind. Steiner looked back once more. It was not yet light enough to distinguish more than the grey cones of the mountains suspended in the sky—like clouds. The skyline of the city, embedded in the ambiguous dusk of morning, was already almost visible. The sight produced no emotions in him. It was as if all his feeling were frozen and lifeless. But his mind circled incessantly and with great concentration around a single point. He had to settle the account; there was no help for it. Stransky was the real culprit. Triebig had only been his tool. The tool had been eliminated. The hardest task was still ahead. What happened to himself did not particularly matter, so long as he gave Stransky what he deserved.

He considered how to do it. Shoot him, he thought. That was the simplest way. The only question was where? That question he could not answer until he was back with the battalion.

Gollhofer came running up calling out his name. ‘For you, Steiner,’ he said loudly, holding out a scrap of paper. ‘Radio message from Regiment,’ he went on respectfully. ‘You’re to go directly to Regiment.’

As Steiner indicated neither curiosity nor any other sign of interest, the lieutenant disappointedly thrust the paper into his pocket. ‘This probably means you’re due for the
Ritterkreuz
,’ he said with forced gaiety. Steiner shrugged. The summons troubled him, although he told himself that it could not possibly have any connection with Triebig’s death. His expression of sourness deepened. Gollhofer studied him in wonderment. ‘What’s the matter with you, man?’ he asked impatiently. ‘You’ve deserved a decoration. Even if you already have a dozen of them plastered on your chest.’ Steiner still remained stubbornly silent. The lieutenant laughed crossly. ‘You’re a queer fish,’ he said. Out of sorts, he stood still, waiting for the company to come up with him. Then, as a thought occurred to him, he called out: ‘You can stay with us; we’re going straight to the regimental command post also.’ 

Steiner nodded without turning his head. Faber was marching at his side, and it suddenly struck him that he had not exchanged a word with Faber for hours. The kind of man who never says anything but who’s always there when you need him, he thought.

The summons from Regiment continued to prey on his mind. If only he knew what lay behind it. Finally he gave up trying to imagine. By now it had grown so light that the terrain on both sides of the highway was visible. The familiar vineyards had a melancholy air. The leaves on the harvested vines were already aglow with the colours of autumn, as though they had been dipped into the hot embers of a fire, and as Steiner raised his head he saw the purple veil on the horizon slowly lifting, drawing after it the blue-black shadows of a chain of hills. It looked as though the highway ended in an unearthly radiance that the earth herself was shedding like a lamp. With an oddly cramped feeling in his chest, Steiner watched the sunrise. He looked back and saw the faces of the men washed with a pale yellow glow as though they were the souls of the dead marching on the great high road to heaven. The impression lasted until a blaze flashed across the horizon, and the rim of the sun became visible beyond the hills. With silent might it thrust higher, showering light over the last shades of the night. Day had come.

A quarter of an hour later Lieutenant Gollhofer ordered the company to halt. He went up to Steiner. ‘Your men must continue on from here,’ he directed. ‘They’ll do best to stick to the railroad embankment until they reach the tunnel. As far as I know the battalion is somewhere over there.’

‘Where are we going?’ Steiner asked.

Gollhofer indicated a mud road that branched off the highway on the left and disappeared among the vineyards. ‘We’re taking a short cut. The highway leads to the command post also, but it takes a detour and winds around the hills. We’ll be there in an hour, if the map is right.’ While he was speaking he happened to notice Steiner’s pack, and asked: ‘What’s that you have there?’

At first Steiner did not know what he meant. Then he recalled the captured flag which he still carried strapped to his assault pack. He had forgotten all about it, ‘A memento,’ he said tersely, and turned to Krüger. ‘Take him to Fetscher,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Tell him to make the grave level. Tell him that. So level that nobody will ever spot it as a grave. Clear?’ Krüger nodded. ‘I hope one of you will be able to be present,’ Steiner went on. ‘Faber or you. Try.’

‘Yes,’ Krüger said. Steiner hesitated. Then he went over to the men who were carrying Schnurrbart’s body. They had laid him down on the road, and no more of him but his nailed mountaineering boots could be seen. These protruded from the canvas as though they were things in themselves. Krüger stood beside Steiner, his lips so tightly compressed that they looked like a white streak across his face. Stiffly, clumsily, Steiner reached over his shoulder and fingered a strap until the red flag fell to the ground. He rolled it up and placed it on the canvas under the dusty boots. ‘Tell them to cover him with that,’ he said. They stood side by side, looking down at the dead man. Gollhofer had quietly come up to them and was watching the scene, a curious expression around his mouth. ‘A friend of yours?’ he murmured. Steiner turned on his heel, crossed the highway and started up the track between the vineyards. There was a startled silence, until Krüger spoke. ‘He was his brother,’ he said. Thin-lipped, Gollhofer watched as they picked up the body and marched off toward the railroad embankment. None of them looked back. When the last man had disappeared beyond the embankment, Gollhofer turned round and said: ‘Engineers platoon, march!’

Their way led across a treeless plateau extending westward as far as the eye could see. Suddenly Steiner, who was walking some five hundred yards ahead of them, disappeared as though swallowed up by the earth. Only then did they realize how sharply the land dropped ahead. The valley appeared at their feet so suddenly that they stood amazed. From up above the dip in the land was so extreme as to form what was practically a ravine. Cleft and uneven, the steep slope was almost barren, with only an occasional bush which clung to the rock. A few hundred yards to their right they saw roofs, and caught sight of the highway again winding down in four huge spirals. They scrambled down the rough incline. Steiner was waiting for them near the first house. Gollhofer sadly observed the dirty-grey walls of the houses and the boarded-up windows. A regular den for bandits, he thought.

A man came running toward them. ‘The lieutenant-colonel wants to speak to you at once, sir,’ he said to Gollhofer. The lieutenant nodded. As he pounded the dust from his uniform he asked where the quarters for the engineers platoon were to be. The man pointed to a barn-like building. ‘There, sir.’ Seeing the frown of chagrin on Gollhofer’s face, he laughed. ‘Not as comfortable as Novorosisk. But it doesn’t matter; we’ll be moving on again tonight.’

‘Oh!’ Gollhofer exclaimed. His face brightened. ‘Where to?’

‘I don’t know. But it’s certain that we’re evacuating the bridgehead.’

‘That’s what counts,’ Gollhofer said. He looked around. ‘Where is the commander?’

‘In the long building there. I’ll take you to him now.’ The man turned to Steiner. ‘You are to come too, Sergeant.’

In the commander’s building they had to wait several minutes in the dark, dirty vestibule until the man came back out of a room. ‘You may come in now, sir,’ he said to Gollhofer.