Krüger took a deep breath. Then he shouted: ‘Potselui menya v shopu—iddi zudda.’ Nothing moved. He took a step forward and said sharply: ‘Biuda! ' Nervously, Steiner gnawed his lips. The men, breathing hard, held their guns ready to fire. Somewhere nearby a Russian machine-gun chattered; the noise plucked at their nerves, seemed to go on for ever. ‘Damn,’ Maag whispered, and took two steps back. Krüger, too, turned his head uneasily and looked at Steiner, who was already making up his mind to resort to force.
At this critical moment a figure emerged out of the darkness and slowly approached. Steiner swallowed; his relief was so intense that for a second he felt as if his body were no longer subject to the law of gravity. He lowered his gun and stared at the Russian, who had stopped a few paces away and was regarding them with curiosity. He was a lean fellow; his head protruded from the long Russian coat as though he had been stuck into a sack which was tied under the chin. He was carrying his tommy-gun loosely under his right arm, the muzzle pointed at the ground. ‘Kuda?' he asked. His voice was high-pitched and a little hoarse; it was evident from his tone that he was so far without suspicions.
Krüger went up to him. Reaching into his pocket he took out a single cigarette and held it out. ‘Papirossa? ' The Russian nodded gratefully. The others could see only a little of his face. He put the cigarette carefully into his coat pocket and said: ‘Spasiba. ' He was looking hard at Steiner, who began to wonder whether their caps were arousing his mistrust. But he turned to Krüger again and repeated: ‘Kuda?'
Krüger waved his hand vaguely and replied that they were going on a patrol up to the front. ‘Where do you belong?’ he asked.
The Russian began to speak freely, with the volubility of a person who is pleased to find something to break the monotony and wants to keep his visitor in good humour. By interjecting a few adroit questions Krüger learned that the man was guarding a Russian battalion combat HQ located in a bunker about a hundred feet away. But when the Russian went on to indicate that there were four bunkers, Krüger began to feel anxious. He looked at Steiner, who was standing beside him, half listening to the noises from the front. Their glances met and Krüger blinked. He exchanged a few more words with the Russian, then held out his hand, saying: ‘Dosvidanya. '
That was Steiner’s cue. As the Russian shifted the tommy-gun to his left hand and held out his right, Steiner took a rapid step to the side and raised his own gun high. The Russian caught the movement. Terrified, he twisted his head round and tried to escape the steely grip in which Krüger held his hand. He opened his mouth to shout, but before he could utter a sound the heavy barrel of the tommy-gun struck him in the back of the neck. It had all Steiner’s weight behind it. There was a horrible, cracking noise. Krüger caught the lifeless body and carefully lowered it to the ground. ‘He’s done for,’ he said to Steiner.
‘Move back,’ Steiner said.
‘He’s done for, I tell you,’ Krüger said as he stepped back.
‘Better to make sure,’ Steiner said coldly. He picked up the Russian’s gun and swung it twice. Then he hurled it far away. The men approached, their faces white. ‘Horrible,’ Dorn whispered.
‘You’ll see things a lot more horrible in the next few minutes,’ Steiner said. He turned to Krüger. ‘What did he say?’
‘This business isn’t so easy,’ Krüger replied hesitantly. ‘There are four bunkers. A battalion HQ’—he detailed hastily everything he had learned.
Steiner shrugged. ‘We’ll have to do it anyway. Two men to each bunker. One will stay outside and stand guard.’ He turned to Dorn. ‘That’s a job for you.’ Dorn nodded, relieved. ‘Let’s start,’ Steiner said. He assigned each man a bunker. ‘Remember, no prisoners,’ he whispered. ‘And don’t spare ammunition. Let’s go.’
They moved forward again. After a few yards they saw dark mounds of earth rising above the ground, and a feeble gleam of light. The bunkers were scattered, not in a straight row as he had assumed. They were connected by a deep trench that led, with many windings, toward the front. The gleam of light came from the crack under a door. In spite of the darkness they could see telephone lines leading from all directions to one of the bunkers and disappearing into a rectangular opening near the door. ‘Communications centre,’ Krüger whispered.
Steiner scrutinized the bunkers. They were covered with freshly dug earth and seemed massively built. He turned to the men. ‘I’ll open fire. As soon as you hear the first shot, go in and close the doors behind you. Are your flashlights working?’
They nodded. ‘Good. Depending on how many Russians are inside, one of you can hold the light and the other fire. Clear?’ He turned to Dorn. ‘You stay outside. If anybody comes along, fire at once, even if it’s Stalin in person.’
They divided up in pairs and began climbing down into the trench. As Krüger stepped to the edge of the trench his foot slipped on the wet earth. He tried to throw himself backward, but the weight of the machine-gun hindered him. Anselm, close at his heels, reached out to grab him, but it was already too late. The bunker was directly opposite and Krüger fell heavily against the door. It yielded and he tumbled headlong into the interior of the bunker. For a few seconds he lay dazed. When he started to get up, a glaring beam of light fell upon his face and an incisive voice rang in his ear. Anselm, who had jumped down into the trench after him, stared over Krüger’s body at the half-dressed figure of a Russian who was holding a battery lantern and shouting in fury at Krüger. At that moment the muted but fully audible hammering of tommy-guns began. The Russian flashed his light toward the trench. Krüger, who had recovered from his first shock, instinctively reached out and grasped the Russian’s high leather boots.
‘An officer,’ he thought. With a powerful jerk he pulled the man off his feet. He saw Anselm raising his gun. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he panted. ‘Hit him on the head, on the head.’
Anselm hesitated. There might be other Russians in the bunker. Across the two men grappling on the floor he peered into the room. There was a candle burning on the table, a cot in the background, and blankets scattered around the floor.
‘Hit him!’ Krüger groaned.
The Russian fought desperately. His lantern had rolled into the trench and illuminated the scene. At last Anselm grasped his hair and slugged him on the head with the butt of the tommy-gun.
Krüger quickly got to his feet and shook himself like a dog emerging from the water. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked quickly, stooping for the machine-gun.
‘I don’t know,’ Anselm gasped excitedly. ‘It’s so quiet.’ He looked down at the Russian, who lay motionless. ‘What should we do with him?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe we can use him.’
He looked around the bunker. The Russian’s tunic and coat were hanging from a nail. Krüger nodded with satisfaction. ‘A captain. Must be the commander. We’re sure in luck.’
‘If he isn’t dead already,’ Anselm said. ‘But Steiner said no prisoners.’
‘We can always kill him later,’ Krüger replied brusquely. He stooped over the Russian and took his wrist. ‘There’s still a pulse-beat.’ He listened. The firing had stopped. No more than two minutes had passed since his tumble into the trench. He dropped the Russian’s arm. ‘We’ll have to see what’s going on. It’s--’He broke off. Someone came running down the trench. They crouched then recognized Schnurrbart and Kern. ‘All right?’ Schnurrbart asked, glancing at the Russian.
‘How about your bunker?’ Krüger returned the question.
‘Four men.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes. They were asleep. Nothing to it.’
‘What about Hollerbach and Steiner?’ Krüger asked nervously, mopping his damp face with his sleeve.
‘I don’t know,’ Schnurrbart replied. ‘We’ll have to go and see.’
Krüger turned to Anselm. ‘Watch the Russian.’
‘Is he still alive?’ Kern whispered.
‘Yes,’ Krüger said. The three of them hurried down the trench.
Steiner had picked the communications bunker for himself. Maag at his side, he pressed the door open inch by inch. The first thing he saw was the back of a man sitting on a chair, head drooping, dozing. Then he heard loud snoring and thrust his head in so that he could see the whole of the spacious bunker. There were six bunks in two tiers, each tier at right angles to the other. They filled the rear long wall and the right side wall of the bunker. On each of them lay a Russian wrapped in a brown woollen blanket, sound asleep. Most of them had their backs to the door. The man sitting on the left had in front of him a box containing a switchboard. Guns hung from a wooden pole driven into the earthen wall. The room was lit by two candles. Steiner closed the door again and turned to Maag. ‘You take the beds on the right-’ he started to say.
A low thud in the trench interrupted him. Aghast, they looked to the left where a loud voice suddenly bellowed incomprehensible phrases. ‘Russians,’ Maag gasped. For the fraction of a second Steiner hesitated. Then he swung round, kicked open the door, and stepped in. The Russian at the switchboard had jumped to his feet and was staring at him in surprise. Steiner forced himself to smile. He kept smiling and waited until Maag had slipped into the bunker. Then he slowly closed the door behind him. Out of the corners of his eyes he detected movement in the bunks. But his attention was wholly taken up by the Russian standing before him. He was a tall man with a mournful face under a shaved head. As he opened his mouth, Steiner shot from the hip. He saw the pupils of the man’s eyes start to widen with horror, but his face did not have a chance to express the sudden emotion. The astonishment remained suspended in his eyes as he turned from the force of the bullets and toppled forward. Steiner whirled round. The beds had come to life. He saw jerking limbs, eyes goggling with the terror of death, heavy boots swinging through the air, blankets fluttering to the floor. Then there came a loud bellow of fear that was silenced at once by the hammering of his gun. Maag fired also. He stood crouching slightly, his back against the door, his face contorted. They braced the butts of their tommy-guns against their chests, took their stand with legs wide apart and squinted over the shaking barrels of their guns at the beds. The rapid succession of bullets tore scraps of wood from the bunks, caught leaping bodies and dropped them to the floor like sandbags, transformed open-mouthed, frightened faces into shapeless, bloody clods of flesh. Steiner acted in a fever. Objects swam before his eyes. The insane roar of the two sub-machine-guns in the confined space almost robbed him of the remnants of consciousness. When from one of the upper bunks a dark shadow moved and came flying toward him in a gigantic leap, he instinctively crouched and thrust the barrel of his gun into a face of which he saw only the bloodshot eyes and gaping mouth. Then the Russian’s heavy body threw him to the floor and knocked the wind out of him. Abruptly, there was silence. From somewhere came the alarmed voice of Maag, calling him by name. Groaning, he tried to free himself from the weight on his chest. Then the Russian’s body was pulled to one side, and turning his head he recognized Maag’s smoke-blackened face. Pushing with both arms, he managed to sit up.
‘Were you hit?’ Maag asked in dismay. Steiner slowly shook his head and looked around. The Russian lay close beside him. At the sight of the man’s face Steiner suddenly felt sick, and threw up. The gush of vomit was so violent that he was thrown forward. Spasm after spasm racked him, and he felt as if he were choking in his own slops. He writhed on the floor, snorting, struggling for breath. Maag stared down at him in helpless fright.
The door was kicked open and Hollerbach, followed closely by Pasternack, came rushing in. They stopped dead, stunned by the sight of Steiner on the floor. Before Maag could explain, Schnurrbart and the others appeared. A few seconds later the whole platoon, except for Dorn and Anselm who had not left their posts were gathered round Steiner and bending anxiously over him’ Their concern was unfounded. Steiner had by now recovered sufficiently to be aware of what was happening around him. He still felt wretched and had to be helped up by the men, and his legs shook as he staggered to his feet. But then he saw the open door angrily pushed aside the helping hands and cursed. ‘You idiots, close the door, damn it!’
Krüger grinned. ‘I thought so. There’s still some bile in him even though half of it is on the floor. How are you feeling General?’
Steiner rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and glared. After Maag had closed the door, they looked around. ‘A regular slaughterhouse,’ Schnurrbart exclaimed in disgust. ‘This goddamned lousy war!’
Steiner picked his tommy-gun up from the floor and replaced the empty clip.
‘Where do we go from here?’ Krüger said with some imperativeness. ‘We’re apt to have visitors soon. They must have heard the racket we made.’
‘So what,’ Steiner said. ‘There’s room enough for more corpses here. What happened in your bunkers?’
The men reported. Hollerbach and Pasternack had had the easiest time of it. The two officers sleeping in their beds had never had a chance to wake up.
Steiner turned to Krüger. ‘Is the commander in a condition to be questioned?’
‘When I left him he was still taking a snooze,’ Krüger replied. ‘I can go and see.’
‘You do that,’ Steiner said. Krüger left the bunker. Steiner reached into his pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes which he silently passed to Schnurrbart. He took a cigarette for himself, stepped over the bodies lying on the floor and with the cigarette in his mouth leaned forward to the burning candles. As he stooped one of the dark-brown jacks on the switchboard dropped and a muted buzzing sounded. The men’s heads jerked around and they looked at Steiner, who had frozen in the midst of his movement and was staring at the telephone jack. The buzzing stopped.
Schnurrbart came over to Steiner’s side. ‘What’ll we do? If nobody answers they’ll be coming to see what’s the matter.’
‘Get Krüger,’ Steiner snapped, taking the cigarette from his mouth. Schnurrbart rushed out of the bunker. Steiner examined the apparatus. If was similar to the type of switchboard used in the German army. As he stared at the bright brass plugs he was struck by a thought at which he first shook his head, then involuntarily grinned. He turned toward the men and encountered anxious glances. Maag opened his mouth to say something. But at that moment the buzzing resumed, and instead of speaking he glanced impatiently at the door.
‘Any of you know how to say “wait ” in Russian?’ Steiner asked.
All shook their heads.
‘I’ll see what’s keeping them,’ Kern exclaimed. As he opened the door, Schnurrbart and Krüger appeared. Schnurrbart had already told Krüger the latest development. The East Prussian went directly to the switchboard, picked up the hand-set and pressed the button above the jack. He brought the mouthpiece closer to his lips and said: ‘Da.’ The men watched the tense expression on his face slowly disappear. With his free hand he reached out for the crank on the telephone box, turned it vigorously several times, and said: ‘Kharshov.’ As he replaced the receiver, the jack sprang up. ‘What is it?’ Steiner asked quickly.
Krüger grinned broadly. ‘What a laugh. Some fat-headed signalman decided to test the line.’
Steiner sighed with relief. ‘He ought to be shot for that.’
The door was thrust open again and Anselm appeared, pushing the tall figure of the Russian officer into the bunker. The man’s lean, pale face looked distraught. He caught sight of the dead bodies and swallowed. They could see his adam’s apple bob up and down above his shirt collar. He turned still paler, and swayed from side to side, his eyes fixed upon a single point. Involuntarily, the men followed the direction of his gaze. From one of the upper bunks dangled the corpse of a Russian. He hung head downward; his finger-tips seemed to be reaching for some invisible object on the floor. The head was a dark blob from which blood was dripping on to the wooden floorboards. Already there was a large pool of blood. Schnurrbart felt an impulse to say something obscene. ‘Like a virgin after defloration,’ he commented.
&n
bsp; ‘What the hell’s that?’ Maag asked.
‘What?’
‘That word you just used. Defloration, or something.’
Schnurrbart tore his eyes away from the corpse on the bunk and grinned. ‘That’s the fate worse than death that a virgin always lives through.’
The men guffawed, and the spell was broken. Steiner turned to the Russian again and studied him. Then he asked Krüger: ‘Who told you to take prisoners?’
‘You can kill him any time,’ Krüger retorted.
Steiner shook his head. ‘I’ve changed my mind, but in the future obey my orders, understand?’
Krüger fell into sulky silence.
‘Come on, we’d better get out of here,’ Schnurrbart said impatiently. He was suddenly filled with an acute dread which was only intensified by the sight of all the dead. But Steiner waved his protest aside. ‘Five minutes more or less don’t matter,’ he said. ‘We have a little more to do here.’ He turned to Krüger.
‘Did you find any maps?’ he asked him.
‘I had other things to worry about,’ Krüger replied indignantly.
‘Well, go and look now. Since this bird is the commander there must be maps of these positions in his bunker.’
Krüger went out.
‘What have you got in mind?’ Schnurrbart asked.
‘You’ll find out in a moment,’ Steiner replied. He beckoned to the Russian. ‘Come here.’ The Russian raised his head; he was still standing by the door. The men had given him no time to put on his tunic. His high-collared shirt was smeared with mud. Steiner regarded his set face thoughtfully. The fellow did not look the type to yield easily. They would have to soften him up good and proper. Kern pushed him roughly forward, bellowing: ‘Didn’t you hear?’ Steiner saw the Russian glare at Kern and clench his fists. ‘Bring him over here,’ he ordered. Kern gripped the Russian’s arm and pulled him across the bunker to where Steiner was sitting near the switchboard. ‘The bastard is still cheeky,’ Kern said, frowning fiercely at the glowering prisoner. ‘Should I smash his ugly mug for him?’
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