Stalingrad has fallen; the German troops know that they are beaten; and Corporal Steiner’s platoon is cut off far behind the Russian lines. Resourceful and cynical, he coaxes, goads, bullies his men; but somehow or other he keeps them going through the bitter hand-to-hand fighting in forests, trenches and city streets. A dramatic encounter with a unit of Russian women troops leads to the horrible death of one of the platoon in recompense for a brutal rape; but eventually, through Steiner’s courage and leadership, they regain the German lines. Then follows the tension of waiting for the last overwhelming Russian advance; the futile counter-attacks and murderous house-to-house encounters, and finally the decimation of Steiner’s platoon.
CROSS OF IRON
THE GREAT NOVEL OF COMBAT ON THE EASTERN FRONT IN WORLD WAR II
WILLI HEINRICH
CASSELL&co
Cassell Military Paperbacks
Cassell & Co Wellington House, 125 Strand London WC2R 0BB
First published in Great Britain as The Willing Flesh by Weidenfeld & Nicolson 1956 This Cassell Military Paperbacks edition published 1999 Reprinted 2000, 2001, 2002
Translated from the German Das Geduldige Fleisch by Richard and Clare Winston
Copyright ©Willi Heinrich 1956
The right of Willi Heinrich to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
British Library Cataloguing -in -Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 0-304-35241-1
Printed by Guernsey Press, Guernsey, C. I.
Table of Contents
I
II
III
IV
V
VI Notes: Chapter VI
VII Notes: Chapter VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
I
WITH THE RUSSIAN artillery savagely blasting away, the sun went down behind the enormous woods. It had been the same yesterday and the day before yesterday, and it would be the same tomorrow and for ever. The men sat around in the bunker. Schnurrbart pried at the tar in the bowl of his pipe. Corporal Steiner felt for a cigarette in his pocket. The shrilling of the field telephone cut the silence. Steiner attended to it. He listened at length, then slammed the receiver down with a curse. Startled, the other men looked up, their peaked, unshaven faces all anxiety.
‘What did he say?’ Krüger called from the table. Steiner did not answer. His haggard face was glum; when he set his lips, the deep creases at the corners of his mouth brought out the hardness of that face.
The silence persisted. The two candles burning on the table cast huge shadows of the men on the wooden walls. Outside, a German machine -gun hammered out a short burst. Krüger cleared his throat and repeated his question: ‘What did he say?’
‘He said the whole war was senseless.’
The others stared at him. ‘Lieutenant Meyer said that?’
Steiner nodded. ‘Why not? After all, a company commander, too, is entitled to a private opinion about the war.’
‘Why yes.’ Dorn, whom they called the Professor, rubbed his slender hand over his bristly chin.‘ But I think-’
‘Don’t think so much,’ Steiner said.
‘Ah, let him think.’ Schnurrbart put his feet on the table and grinned. ‘You can’t order him not to think. Once he has that Russian bullet in his brain he’ll stop of his own accord.’
The men chuckled, their shadows jerked on the walls.
‘The regiment is withdrawing,’ Steiner remarked indifferently.
Krüger was the first to react. Why don't you say so right off? ' he cried, springing to his feet. With one swift movement he pulled the blanket off his cot and began to bundle it up. One after the other the men of the platoon followed his example. The lethargy in the bunker gave way to the furious bustle that comes before sudden departure.
Steiner had remained in his seat, his cigarette drooping from the comer of his mouth. He turned his head and looked at Schnurrbart, who was still sitting, pipe in mouth and feet on table, making no move to join in the packing. Steiner grinned. Schnurrbart was the only man who saw through him. Actually Schnurrbart’s name was Karl Reisenauer; the heavy black stubble on his face, a vigorous growth that withstood even the strongest razor -blade, had earned him the nickname of ‘Moustache’—Schnurrbart.
Steiner looked at the men. They were deeply absorbed in their work. Kneeling on the floor, Dorn was neatly rolling up his blanket while the others were already hoisting their packs.
‘Idiots!’ Steiner muttered.
‘Why?’ Schnurrbart grinned. ‘If I didn’t know you so well, I’d be packing, too.’
‘They’re idiots all the same,’ Steiner replied moodily.
The men, their gear packed, became aware that Schnurrbart and Steiner had not moved. Dorn looked at each of them in turn, an uncomprehending expression upon his thin face, to which glasses gave an air of insignificance.
‘He’s thinking again,’ Schnurrbart commented. Now the other men became attentive. They stared uneasily at Steiner. An uncanny silence fell. From somewhere came the blasts of another heavy battery and the staccato chattering of a machine -gun. At last Krüger stirred. He approached Steiner slowly.
‘What sort of a game is this?’ he asked through his teeth.
Steiner regarded him with amusement. ‘It’s your own game,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tell you to pack your stuff.’
‘You said the companies were withdrawing,’ Dorn said reproachfully.
‘No I didn’t,’ Steiner said.
‘You did,’ Krüger shouted. ‘We have ears!’
‘Pig’s ears,’ Steiner said. ‘I said the other companies were withdrawing.’
‘Drivel!’ Krüger said heatedly. Suddenly he wrenched the pack from his back, smashed it to the ground, and strode off to the bunks along the wall of the dugout. With a crash he let himself drop on the lowest and stretched out, clasping his hands under his head. Steiner grinned and turned to the others.
‘Battalion is withdrawing in twenty minutes. We, that is our platoon, are to stay here as a rear-guard.’
All the colour drained out of the men’s faces. Unsteadily Kern dropped into a chair, mumbling, ‘What a mess.’ Dietz clasped his hand to his throat. ‘The idiots are mad!’ he said in a trembling voice.
‘Idiots are always mad,’ Steiner stated. He rose, took a map from his pocket, and spread it out on the table. The men crowded around him.
‘Here is the situation,’ he explained. ‘Tonight the division is moving into new positions east of Krymskaya. Tomorrow night it will move on into permanent positions west of the city. Every battalion has left one platoon behind as a rear -guard. The plan was for us to stay here until five o’clock tomorrow morning. Now they’ve found out that the Russians have smelled a rat and have at some point advanced beyond the evacuated positions -’
‘You mean they’ll get to Krymskaya ahead of us?’ Krüger asked. Steiner shrugged. ‘Very likely. But orders are orders.’
‘You don’t mean to stay here until tomorrow morning, do you?’ Dorn asked in a shocked voice.
‘Not till morning, no. But for two hours we have to hold this position. Maybe three.’ Steiner grinned. ‘Otherwise we might get to K
rymskaya before the battalion.’
The faces of the men turned pale. Maag forced a hoarse laugh. ‘That wouldn’t do, would it?’ he said. His white face twitched under the mane of red hair.
Zoll brought his fist down on the table with a crash. ‘It is sheer idiocy,’ he said violently. ‘I’m for clearing out now, right this minute! This is so unreasonable -’
He fell silent under Steiner’s cool, steady gaze and tugged nervously at the flashy yellow silk scarf he wore around his neck.
‘What you are for interests nobody,’ Steiner said coldly. ‘If I wanted your advice, I’d ask for it. You ought to know by now that a conscript talking about reason is like a Jew shouting Heil Hitler.’ Krüger slapped his thigh in appreciation and the others grinned vindictively. None of them liked Zoll. He was the eternal troublemaker in the platoon. Steiner watched him clenching his fists in helpless rage. The scene disgusted him. He straightened up, buckled his belt, and turned to Schnurrbart.
‘You better hit your bunks till we’re ready. Who knows when we’ll next have a chance to get some sleep. Put a sentry out—take Maag, Dietz, and then the Professor. By then it will be time to go.’
They watched gravely as he picked up his cap, slung the tommy-gun over his shoulder and turned toward the door.
Schnurrbart involuntarily took a step forward. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked tightly.
‘Recce,’ Steiner said. The door slammed shut behind him.
There were eleven men in the platoon. Too few by far to keep watch on the tricky wooded terrain. By morning the Russians would be on to the enemy’s weakness. Anselm could not bring himself to think of what would happen then. An hour’s delay in pulling out would not have been so bad. Perhaps even two. But to stay until the morning! A regular suicide job, he told himself.
One of the men sat down beside him. He looked up and recognized Kern. ‘What do you say about this?’ he asked. Kern shrugged. ‘What’s there to say? A stinking deal if there ever was one. The bastards won’t be satisfied till we’re all dead.’
Anselm regarded him with disgust. Kern’s vulgar manner jarred on him. From the first he had never liked the fellow. He drew in his lip in contempt, and his voice sounded hostile as he said: ‘If that’s all you have to say, you can keep it to yourself.’ Kern returned his glance with malice. ‘If you don’t like what I say, don’t ask me,’ he growled. His thumb darted under his collar at the back of his neck. He had huge, hairy hands. Anselm studied his flat, ugly nose, his low forehead and mane of shaggy hair. I’m glad I don’t look like him, he thought. He ran his hand over his own boyish face.
He did not know much about Kern who had joined them only two weeks ago, transferred from a bakers’ unit. No one knew the reasons for his transfer. No one cared particularly. Perhaps it was a punishment. All they actually knew about him was that he had owned an inn at home; he brought this up on every possible occasion. When he talked about the bottles of wine he had stowed away in a comer of his cellar, the men listened raptly. He implied that the inn brought in a tidy income, and Anselm felt resentment whenever he thought about this. Moodily he watched Kern as the baker rolled a cigarette with unpracticed fingers; half the tobacco dropped to the floor. The man’s clumsiness filled Anselm with fresh contempt.
The others were sitting around the table. Krüger took a pack of cards out of his pocket, saying: ‘There’s no sense trying to get any sleep now.’ He rubbed his nose and frowned. He looked bad -tempered but then he usually did. Anselm, watching him, remembered that he was an East Prussian from Königsberg. Rumour had it that his father had been a Russian, for he spoke the language. Krüger himself had never accounted for this.
The Professor was sitting beside him. He was easy to get along with. Anselm liked his quiet way of talking. He had often wondered why Dorn had not become an officer. Krüger said the Professor did not want to. That didn’t make sense, as far as Anselm was concerned.
The last man at the table was Dietz, a Sudeten German and the youngest of the group. Steiner’s name for him was Baby; Krüger said he was a dreamer. Anselm looked them over as though their individualities might somehow cheer him up. The thought of having to leave this bunker depressed him. He sighed heavily and said: ‘Too bad.’
‘What’s too bad?’ Krüger asked.
‘That we have to up and leave this place.’
‘I should think you’d have got used to moving by now.’
‘I’ll never get used to it,’ Anselm retorted vehemently. ‘We worked a whole week fixing this place up—the devil take the army.’
‘Amen,’ Krüger said, slamming a trump down on the table so hard that the candle went out.
‘Watch what you’re doing, you idiot!’ Kern snapped. ‘Idiot yourself,’ Krüger answered. His eyes narrowed. For a few seconds the two stared at one another like fighting cocks, until Kern threw his cards down on the table. ‘I’m sick of the whole thing,’ he growled in extenuation. Krüger grinned. ‘You’re scared stiff.’ Kern folded his arms across his chest, obviously wondering whether to let this pass. He contented himself with a mocking smile. ‘If you think I’m scared you don’t know me, that’s all.’ ‘No reason why I should,’ Krüger baited him. ‘You’ve only been with us for two weeks.’
Kern flushed. ‘You’ve got nothing to boast about,’ he said angrily. ‘Two weeks at the front is as good as two years. Once you’ve learned the ropes, all you need is luck.’
Krüger turned to the others. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘We’re not deaf,’ Anselm said. ‘He can’t tell a Russian from a German and thinks he’s an old sweat.’
Kern looked up at the door again. ‘I wonder what’s keeping Steiner.’
Schnurrbart yawned with great deliberation. Then he turned to Krüger. ‘You might take a look around for him,’ he said. ‘The rest of the company must have left long ago.’
‘Why me?’
‘You’re the most reliable man here.’
Krüger stood up and reached out for his tommy -gun. He detected something in Schnurrbart’s face that he did not like. He quickly dropped back into his chair again. ‘I’m not a nursemaid,’ he said sullenly. ‘Steiner can look after himself.’
‘I’m sure of it,’ Schnurrbart said, getting up in turn. ‘If he had to depend on you, I’d be sorry for him.’ Before Krüger could reply, he had left the bunker.
In front of the door he paused. The position ran through a dense forest, but it was too dark to see even the nearest trees. Schnurrbart groped his way to the trench. He found Maag who wanted to know when his relief was coming. ‘In ten minutes,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘Was Steiner here?’
‘He went over there.’
Schnurrbart peered at the dim white blur which was all he could see of the man’s face. ‘Over where?’
‘To the Russians, of course,’ Maag answered. ‘To see what’s happening.’
‘Alone?’
‘Naturally—he always does. What about it?’
‘That idiot!’ Schnurrbart exclaimed. He ought to have looked for Steiner earlier.
The forest smelled cold, spicy with old leaves, sodden with snow recently melted into the spongy ground. The trees were full of noises. Tiny insects fell from above and rustled through the layers of dead vegetation on the forest floor. Schnurrbart stared into the darkness. ‘Did he say how long he’d stay out there?’ he asked.
‘How could he? That depends on the Russians.’
Schnurrbart nodded. If only I knew what to do, he thought. For a while they remained silent. When one stood still any length of time, the forest dampness pierced one like a frost.
Schnurrbart took a few steps down the trench. His uneasiness continued to mount. He returned to Maag. ‘Go back to the others and tell them to get ready,’ he said. ‘We’ll wait another ten minutes. If Steiner isn’t back by then, we’ll look for him.’
While Schnurrbart settled down behind the heavy machine -gun, Maag climbed out of the trench and sped off. For a while Schnurrba
rt looked thoughtfully over the rim of the trench. His thoughts again reverted to Steiner. Probably he was a fool to be concerned. He grinned to himself as he pictured Steiner sitting somewhere in an abandoned Russian bunker reading the book he always carried with him. Just the sort of thing Steiner would do. Ever since Schnurrbart had known him he had carried Eichendorff’s Collected Works in his pocket, and he would start turning through it in the oddest situations. He must have read the thing a hundred times over. Odd, because otherwise reading didn’t seem much in his line.
Schnurrbart remembered how offhand Steiner had been toward him at the beginning, until one day their casual and almost hostile relationship had changed to friendship. The change had come about a year and a half ago. The battalion had held positions south of Kramatorskya, on an endless plain of Russian snow....
For days the snow had been coming down, a veritable blizzard. They were sitting in their bunker warming themselves by the small drum stove. It was late evening. The other men were already asleep on their cots. Steiner was reading, Schnurrbart toasting some slices of bread on the red -hot top of the stove. Suddenly Steiner laid his book aside and asked: ‘You play chess?’
‘So -so,’ Schnurrbart replied. He watched Steiner take a travelling chess set out of his pack and arrange the pieces on the board. They started. After the first few moves Schnurrbart realized that Steiner was several classes above him. The game was over in half an hour. He had no better luck in the second game. When by an oversight he lost his queen, he angrily swept the pieces from the board. Steiner expressionlessly rolled a cigarette. ‘Bad, losing her,’ he said.
They sat in silence while the storm raged with unremitting violence, driving powdery snow through the cracks in the door. Schnurrbart took out his pipe and began filling it. After lighting it he looked up at Steiner and said: ‘I’m not inquisitive, but -’ He hesitated, considering how best to put his question. It was harder than he had thought. Finally he gave himself a mental push and went on ‘But I’d be interested to know whether you have a girl.’
Cross of Iron Page 1