The Cross of Iron (71 page)

He suddenly felt unutterably tired, and sat down. The idiots, he thought, shaking his head. He had the feeling that he had missed the greatest opportunity in his life. But he did not feel unhappy about it, and wondered why.

After a while he set out along the road to rejoin his company.

Stransky did not stop until his feet began to stumble and fiery needles were pricking his brain. Gasping for air, he looked back. About fifty yards behind him his orderly came running through the dust like a lame horse, his head jogging from side to side with every step. There was no longer any sign of Steiner. Endless, dusty, deserted, the highway ran due west, and for a moment Stransky was inclined to think that he had been the victim of an hallucination. But he rejected the idea at once. Although his nerves had been subject to great strains of late, he knew he was not so far gone. Steiner’s face and the Russian tommy-gun in his hands, the whole horrible encounter was still so vivid in his mind that there was no pretending it had been an illusion. He became aware that his whole body was trembling, and he pressed his hands against his chest to still the irregular thudding of his heart. Still half mad with terror and shock, he looked at his orderly, who had slowed his pace and was shambling along unwillingly. The man’s haggard face had an expression of outrage, and deep within those colourless eyes Stransky thought he detected contempt mingled with astonishment. In a flash Stransky became aware of how frightfully foolish his behaviour had been. What must the man be thinking of him?

He turned swiftly so that they could not look at one another, so that he would no longer be exposed to that scornful scowl which shot arrows into his mind. Without a word of explanation, he continued on his way. The longer he thought about the encounter, going over the wretched role he had played, the more depressed he became. I’m disgraced, he thought, disgraced forever. Rage flickered up in him and quickly faded as he realized soberly that what had happened could no longer be undone. He had run away from Steiner like a whipped dog; he had no proof at all that Steiner had intended to kill him. He could feel his ego crumbling piece by piece, as though it were the bark of a dead tree.

He walked the rest of the way without paying the least attention to his surroundings. Not until the road dipped into the ravine did he recall the painful interview he was facing. But even the thought of this failed to produce any emotion in him. All through the morning he had pondered it so steadily that now, with the clash immediately before him, he was capable only of apathy. He was simply at the end of his rope. He had become psychologically sterile.

When he reached the regimental command post, he instructed the orderly to wait outside, and went in. For a few seconds he stood in front of a door through which the commander’s booming voice could be heard. He knocked. The conversation stopped and someone said loudly: ‘Come in.’ Stransky opened the door. Directly opposite him he saw Kiesel, who started up from his chair by the desk so suddenly that Stransky flinched. The commander remained in his seat. He was looking up, and his face was printed with a mingled surprise and disappointment that Stransky found utterly perplexing. The odd look persisted as he opened his mouth and exclaimed: ‘You!’

Stransky struggled for composure. This fantastic reception aroused again that thumping of his heart which he felt down to his fingertips. He closed the door behind him and blinked alternately at the faces of the two officers. The difference in their expressions only increased his bewilderment. While the commander’s face grew steadily angrier, Kiesel’s seemed to lighten and lighten —still further baffling Stransky, who had been expecting a particularly frosty reception from the adjutant. It was Kiesel, too, who broke the already embarrassing silence. With a mysterious twinkle in his clear eyes he said to the commander: ‘You made an appointment with Herr Stransky for nine o’clock.’

Brandt slowly turned his head. With mounting uneasiness Stransky witnessed the exchange of looks between the commander and his adjutant. Stransky had to lean against the wall to suppress the sudden weakness in his legs. The movement did not escape Brandt. He turned his head. ‘You are punctual,’ he said softly. He pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down.’ As Stransky obeyed, Brandt, with set features, studied a large map on the table before him. Finally he raised his head. ‘Get me Killius,’ he said to Kiesel. A few minutes of tormenting silence passed until Kiesel handed the telephone across the table. ‘He’s on the line now.’ Brandt nodded. Leaning both elbows on the table, he asked a few questions; Stransky was disturbed to note that his name was mentioned several times. ‘Very well, Captain Killius,’ Brandt said at last, and laid down the telephone.

‘You missed Captain Killius,’ he explained to Stransky. ‘Captain Killius reached your former battalion without meeting you. Didn’t you go by the highway?’

Former battalion, Stransky thought. He said former battalion.

His voice hoarse with agitation, he replied: ‘Only part of the way. We took a short cut for the first mile or so.’

‘Who is we?’ Brandt asked quickly.

Stransky moistened his dry lips. ‘I have my orderly with me,’ he said with an effort. ‘He’s waiting outside.’

‘I see.’ Brandt studied him out of slitted eyes. Suddenly he turned to Kiesel. ‘Bring the man in.’

As Kiesel left the room, Stransky shifted about in his chair. There was no need for my saying that, he thought. The idiot will tell the whole story and... The idea took his breath away. My God, he thought. But Kiesel was already back. Sheepish, cap in hand, Stransky’s orderly followed him into the room. He clicked his heels resoundingly and lifted his eyes timidly to the commander’s face. Brandt waited until Kiesel had taken a seat. Then he asked the orderly: ‘Anything happen on your way here?’

The man threw a shamefaced look at Stransky. Unaware that Brandt was watching him, Stransky blinked his eyes violently at the orderly. At the sound of the commander’s incisive voice Stransky whirled round in panic. ‘If you can’t keep your eyes still,’ Brandt said, ‘I’ll have you stand in a corner.’ He turned to the soldier again. ‘Speak up, man, and don’t you dare lie to me or hold back. Is that clear?’

‘Jawohl
!
'
 the man said, terrified. Kiesel, catching the expression of shame and embarrassment on Stransky’s face, once again felt admiration for the commander’s sure instinct.

‘Well, what happened?’ Brandt asked.

The man dropped his eyes. ‘All of a sudden he was standing in the road,’ he mumbled awkwardly.

‘Who?’ Brandt snapped.

‘The sergeant. He stood there with a Russian tommy-gun in his hand, and the captain ran away.’

‘Ran away?’ Brandt repeated incredulously, leaning across the desk.

The man nodded. ‘He just ran,’ he said helplessly. ‘And then I ran too, I don’t know...’

He glanced nervously at Stransky. Kiesel bit his lips. He suddenly saw the scene and found it hard to keep a straight face. Even Brandt’s glowering features twitched as he asked: ‘And why did you run away?’

Again the man threw a perplexed glance at Stransky, who sat still, head lowered, ‘I don’t know,’ the man faltered. ‘The sergeant was holding his gun in such a queer way.’

‘Did he fire?’ Brandt asked quickly.

The man shook his head. ‘He was one of our soldiers,’ he said in surprise. ‘How could he have fired at us.’

‘Right.’ Brandt got up, went to the window and stood there for more than five minutes, face averted from the three in the room. Finally he turned. ‘Go back to your battalion,’ he ordered the man. He waited until the door had closed behind him. Then he went to his desk, picked up a letter, and sat for a few seconds looking down at it. Kiesel watched him breathlessly. He could not have said why, but suddenly he had the feeling that he was witnessing a magnificent scene. He was not mistaken. With an inimitable gesture that expressed all at once contempt, superiority and pity, Brandt tossed the letter across the desk so adroitly that it fluttered down into Stransky’s lap. Stransky reached for it with both hands. Before he could begin to read it, the commander’s icy voice lashed him to his feet. ‘Examine it outside,’ Brandt said. ‘I don’t want to see any more of you. Run, you little shit!’ Stransky stared open-mouthed at that stony face. When he did not stir, Brandt said to Kiesel: ‘Open the door for him.’

Kiesel obeyed. At that moment he felt that he could embrace Brandt like a brother.

‘Go,’ Kiesel said. He avoided looking at Stransky’s face as the man lurched past him to the door. Then he went over to Brandt’s side and watched with him as Stransky stepped out on the street and there stood still. He read the letter, but his face remained expressionless. Finally he thrust the sheet of paper almost carelessly into his pocket and moved off down the street, shoulders drooping, growing smaller and smaller until he disappeared from sight around a turn in the ravine.

‘What I cannot understand,’ Brandt said hoarsely, ‘is why this creature is the one to escape. Stransky, of all people!’

Shaking his head, he returned to his desk and dropped heavily into a chair. Kiesel remained at the window, his intelligent eyes fixed on the commander. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked softly.

‘Why?’ Brandt laughed bitterly. ‘You know as well as I what awaits us. Hundreds of times we’ve escaped; hundreds of times we’ve been caught in the trap and each time found a way out somehow. But this time...’ He bit his lips. ‘This time there is no way out,’ he finished glumly.

Although Kiesel knew how right he was, he tried to find something encouraging to say. ‘It isn’t as bad as all that. Things may still turn out.’

‘Don’t fool yourself,’ Brandt said surlily. ‘When they pick on us as the last division for the Crimea, the meaning is another Stalingrad. Even if we should succeed in reaching Sebastopol, we won’t find so much as a rowboat to take us off. No, this time our number is up, Kiesel, and perhaps it’s just as well. I really think it is just as well.’

Kiesel felt a sudden sinking sensation. He looked out of the window at the hovels that made up this village, and clenched his teeth. Brandt’s remarks were certainly not the product of exaggerated pessimism. Rather, they represented the logical conclusion to be drawn from what Morlock had said. The Russians were already established west of Melitopol and were pushing toward Perekop with strong armoured forces. If the intention actually was to evacuate the Crimea by water—and that would follow from Morlock’s talk about delaying tactics—then it was plain as day that the available shipping space could accommodate only a fraction of the troops stationed in the Crimea. Sooner or later the majority of those troops would suffer the same fate as the Sixth Army at Stalingrad.

During the past several years Kiesel had repeatedly considered where the division would run its last lap. He had thought of many possibilities. But that it would be in the Crimea was something he had never dreamed. As he stood looking out over the ravine, out up to the barren rims of the slope, beyond which the blue of the sky glowed like a chalice in eternity, his eyes misted over slightly and he felt a dull pressure in his breast. Between clenched teeth he exhaled against the window with a hissing sound.

‘What’s the trouble?’ the commander asked. When Kiesel did not reply, the commander’s mouth twisted in a weary smile. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said quietly. ‘We could scarcely expect anything else, and we have done our duty. You and I and all of us. But we undertook to do too much, and that is our misfortune.’

He lit a cigarette. Casually, he added: ‘Incidentally, whatever happens in the Crimea need not cause you any personal concern. You will not be affected.’

‘How do you mean that?’

The tired, superior smile flitted once more across Brandt’s stern face. ‘That I shall send you on leave before the end is reached.’

For a moment Kiesel imagined he had not heard right. Behind his back he dug his fingers into the wood of the window frame. Never, he thought. ‘You aren’t serious,’ he said.

‘Not serious?’ Brandt repeated. He spoke with unfamiliar mildness. ‘I am always more serious than you are inclined to think, Kiesel. I shall send you on leave before the noose is drawn and knotted, and I see no way for you to block me...’

‘Do you think so?’ Kiesel whispered.

Brandt nodded quietly. ‘Your chances of fighting against leave are practically nil. Should you attempt to provide me with a show of heroism, you’ll have a bitter disappointment. I am not a bit impressed by shows of heroism.’ He leaned forward, smiling. ‘You see, Kiesel,’ he said serenely, ‘you have misunderstood me so often in the past that one more misunderstanding wouldn’t matter much. But since I am going to part with you, I want you to know why. You know the story of Noah.’ His smile broadened. ‘Noah built the ark and saved himself and his family from the Flood. He became the bridge between the old and the new humanity, and he took elements of both into the new world: the good and the evil. I am trying to do the same. I have given evil a chance, in the special case of Stransky, and I shall give the good a chance also, and no power in this world will prevent me.’

Kiesel still scarcely dared to breathe. After a long pause he said: ‘You overlook one factor.’

‘Which is that?’

‘Noah saved himself in the ark.’

‘Noah was not commander of a regiment,’ Brandt retorted. ‘Any more questions?’ Kiesel shook his head silently. ‘Then we can go back to our work. We still have a great deal to do before the Flood. Now let’s see, Körner's battalion will. . .’

‘One more thing, please,’ Kiesel said.

Brandt looked up in surprise. ‘What might that be?’ he asked curtly.

‘You’ve forgotten Steiner.’

‘I haven’t forgotten him. Steiner is a case all to himself. How late is it?’

Kiesel looked at his watch and gasped. ‘Five to ten,’ he said. ‘The battalion commanders will be here any moment now.’

‘Tell the sentry to show them the way,’ Brandt ordered. ‘They can wait in the next room till I call them. And one thing more. Telephone Killius and ask whether Steiner has reached the 2nd company. Hurry.’ He bent over his work again and did not look up until Kiesel returned to the room. Something about his expression boded ill. ‘What’s the matter?’ Brandt asked.