Cross of Iron

by Willi Heinrich

  ‘Maybe later on,’ Steiner said. He watched as the other men cleared the bodies out of the way, tossing them unceremoniously on to the bunks. For a few seconds he fought down a renewed impulse to vomit. Luckily, the door opened and Krüger came in with several sheets of paper. He dropped them on the telephone switchboard. ‘That’s all there were,’ he said.

  Steiner unfolded the maps and studied them. Then he smiled with pleasure. ‘Nice work. Meyer will be glad to see this stuff.’ With his finger he traced the lines. The map was distinctly better than his. The course of the front line was marked in red pencil, and the sectors of the different companies were neatly divided up, although there were no indications of the numbers of the companies. The battalion combat HQ was marked by a red circle. Steiner also found the explanation for the peculiar salient in the main line of resistance at this point. He turned to Schnurrbart, who was peering inquisitively over his shoulder. ‘You see that? There’s a ridge in front of us, and I’ll stake my head on it that our company is over there. The line runs out around here’— his finger pointed to the area marked out with brown cross-hatching. ‘Now we know just where we stand.’

  Finger on the map, he considered for a moment. It would obviously be best to try to get through right at the point of the salient. This route was shortest and easiest. He turned to Krüger. ‘Now let’s see what you can do. What I have in mind depends on you, because it depends on the Russian. Look here.’ Krüger bent over the map. ‘You see the point of this angle here?’ Krüger nodded. ‘Good. That’s where I want to cross. Now I have to know which company is stationed there.’

  ‘Which Russian company?’ Krüger asked.

  ‘Of course. What’s on the other side of the line doesn’t interest me until we get there.’

  Schnurrbart took the pipe out of his mouth. ‘Isn’t that marked on the map. Which company, I mean?’

  Steiner shook his head. ‘If it were, I wouldn’t have to ask the Russian.’

  ‘Well, let’s see,’ Krüger said. He turned to the Russian, who had been listening darkly to the conversation. When Krüger held the map up in front of him and spoke to him, he turned his head aside and set his lips. Steiner raised his hand. ‘He wants to play the hero,’ he said. ‘But we can knock that idea out of his head.’ He stood up and looked at the Russian officer. The man was wearing his trousers without a belt. Steiner reached out so quickly that the Russian’s defensive gesture came only after the buttons had given and the trousers slipped down to the floor. For seconds the Russian stared at the grinning men, his face contorted with fury. But when he stooped to pull up his trousers, Steiner struck him in the face so brutally that he fell over backwards and lay groaning on the floor.

  ‘That was only the beginning,’ Steiner said fiercely. ‘Undress him completely.’

  The men stared at him in astonishment. ‘Hurry up about it! * he snapped at them. Silently, they obeyed. The Russian’s initial resistance quickly ceased. A moment later he lay naked on the floor, panting from indignation and struggle. Steiner sat down again and regarded him coldly. ‘Stand him up,’ he ordered curtly. As though he had understood the order, the Russian sprang to his feet of his own accord. Without clothing he looked spare and helpless. His mouth and nose were bleeding; he rubbed the back of his hand over his face. ‘I never knew a man who was ready to be a hero in his birthday suit,’ Steiner drawled.

  He took his bayonet out of his belt and threw it skilfully across the bunker so that it stuck in the wooden floor close to the Russian. ‘If he doesn’t talk, we’ll castrate him,’ Steiner said. He spoke urgently to the men. ‘Everything depends on him. If he tells us lies or refuses to talk, we’re going to have a damned hard time of it, understand?’

  They looked at Steiner’s set face, and then at the Russian. Steiner was right, they felt, and the idea of falling into the hands of the Russians now that they were so close to safety drove all mercy out of their heads. Kern rubbed his finger-nails on his coat sleeve and growled: ‘I’ll cut him up piece by piece if necessary.’

  ‘Then we agree on what we’re to do,’ Steiner said. ‘Tell him, Krüger.’

  Krüger spoke harshly, gesturing repeatedly at the bayonet on the floor. The Russian’s face reflected in turn shame, fear, rage and resolution. Steiner, studying him closely, thought he could guess his reaction in advance. He was right. When Krüger stopped talking and held the map up in front of the Russian, the skin tightened over the man’s cheekbones and he said in a firm voice: ‘Nyet!’ There was a collective groan in the room. The men moved threateningly closer to the prisoner. Steiner got up and slowly approached him, taking each step with deliberation. When he came up to the man, he stooped, pulled the bayonet out of the floor and toyed with it. ‘So you don’t want to,’ he said softly. Then he took a step backward and ordered: ‘Lay him down.’ They threw him to the floor. When he tried to scream, Krüger slapped his mouth. They knelt on his arms and legs and held him fast. His eyes were fixed upon Steiner with an expression of mortal terror. Steiner clenched the bayonet in his right hand and slowly bent over him. When he raised his arm, a babble of words burst from the Russian’s lips. Krüger listened expectantly. When the Russian stopped, he turned to Steiner, grinning. ‘Good enough. He says it’s the 3rd Company at the point, the 1st and 2nd are on the left and right respectively.’

  The men looked at Steiner with visible relief. Steiner was still frowning fiercely at the Russian. Before anyone could stop him, he brought his boot forward and stepped heavily between the man’s legs. The Russian let out a piercing scream and doubled up in agony. ‘You’re crazy,’ Krüger growled. The others looked at Steiner with outrage in their eyes. Steiner tossed his head impatiently and said: ‘This bird wasn’t nearly softened up enough for what I intend to do with him.’

  ‘You’ve already got your information,’ Krüger protested angrily.

  ‘Sure, but that’s only a starter.’ They looked blank. He smiled and said: ‘Take him over to the switchboard.’

  They pulled the Russian to his feet again, dragged him across the bunker and plumped him down in the chair. Steiner leaned over the switchboard and studied the numbers over the contacts.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Schnurrbart asked impatiently.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Steiner said. He turned to Krüger. ‘We’re going to call up the 3rd Company.’

  They looked at him as if he had gone out of his mind. He let them thresh for a few seconds, enjoying their consternation. Then he said: ‘That’s right, we’re going to telephone the 3rd Company. This bird’—he indicated the Russian, who sat doubled over on the chair, hands between his legs—‘this bird is going to tell the company commander that a reconnaissance patrol is on its way.’

  ‘A reconnaissance patrol!’ Schnurrbart whispered. Suddenly he slapped his thigh and burst into laughter. Kern had not yet understood. He looked at Krüger, who excitedly plucked at his nose, and wrinkled his brow, until all at once a broad smile of understanding spread over his face. ‘Why that’s—I’ll be damned—what a mad—what a-’ He pounded Steiner on the shoulder. ‘You’re the maddest man I ever met,’ he declared admiringly. The others still looked baffled. ‘Don’t you understand yet, you idiots,’ Kruger boomed. ‘This Russian will tell his company commander that reconnaissance patrol is going to cross the lines, so the boys have to keep quiet and not shoot.’ Laughing, he turned to Steiner ‘They’ll give us a guard of honour, I tell you, a guard of honour’

  Steiner twisted his mouth in a thin smile. ‘I think we had better dispense with that,’ he said. ‘It might be too much of a good thing.’ The smile vanished. ‘You’ve got to realize that if the Russian says one wrong word he can bring the whole company down on our necks. Keep tabs on him.’

  ‘You can depend on that,’ Krüger said fiercely.

  Krüger told the Russian what was expected of him. If he were sensible, he said, they would take him with them as a prisoner and he would be a lot better off than if he lay here mutilated and slowly bleeding
to death. Intimidated, the Russian nodded.

  Schnurrbart hooked up the second telephone and blew into the receiver several times. ‘It works,’ he said to Steiner. ‘We can try it.’

  He placed the receiver in the Russian’s hand. Kern stepped up behind the man and almost tenderly placed his hands around his throat. The Russian hunched his head between his shoulders and pressed the receiver to his ear. Steiner exchanged a glance with Krüger. Then he pressed one of the black buttons and turned the crank. There was a dead silence. Steiner drummed his fingertips on the wooden case that housed the switchboard. In a moment they would see whether he was risking too much. All at once the plan seemed to him crazy and impossible. He wished he could stop the call, but it was already too late. The prisoner began to speak. He spoke slowly; only a very attentive listener would have detected the excitement in his voice. The men kept their eyes on his face; their fists were clenched and they held their breath. Anselm stood with eyes closed. It can’t work, it just can’t, he kept thinking. He was so convinced that the telephone call would end badly that he still held his eyes closed when the prisoner’s voice had stopped and Krüger sighed with relief and replaced the receiver on the hook. ‘It worked,’ he said. Anselm opened his eyes in astonishment and saw around him the men’s white faces.

  ‘Nobody will believe us when we get back,’ Pasternack whispered. ‘If only Dietz had lived to see this.’

  Steiner turned slowly toward him, his mouth twitching. Suddenly Schnurrbart laid his hand on Steiner’s shoulder. ‘If it hadn’t been for you,’ he said impulsively, ‘we never would have got out of here. Never, believe me.’

  ‘No laurels in advance,’ Steiner said roughly. ‘We aren’t out yet. Besides’—he looked at Krüger—‘without you there would have been no way to pull this off.’

  ‘Right,’ Anselm exclaimed. He stepped up to Krüger and shook his hand vigorously. ‘You really handled that swell. We were lucky to have you with us.’

  Krüger was taken aback. He tried to conceal his pleasure and play modest. ‘Oh, hell,’ he said. ‘What good would my Russian do me if Steiner didn’t have the ideas.’

  ‘Do your back-slapping later on,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘It seems to me high time we got out of here.’

  They looked at Steiner for further orders. ‘We’ll take the Russian with us,’ Steiner said. ‘Better put him in one of the dead men’s uniforms so he doesn’t attract attention. He’ll march between Krüger and Kern. If he attempts to escape, hammer him. Don’t shoot. Krüger, tell him that if he opens his mouth on the way he’s done for. He can make trouble for us, but it won’t do him any good.’

  While Krüger translated, the men stripped one of the bodies. Steiner tucked the Russian maps carefully into his coat pocket. He watched as the prisoner donned the bloodstained uniform. Before they left the bunker they dropped the switchboard and telephones to the floor and trampled on them. Then each of the men took a souvenir—the Russian officer’s uniform on the floor was almost torn to pieces. Maag, Hollerbach and Dorn joined them at once, and Steiner explained in a whisper what had been happening. Then they set out along the trench leading toward the front line.

  It was still raining, a thin, even drizzle. The front had quieted down all along the line. But flares still rose, hung trembling against the clouded sky, fluttered noiselessly down to the ground and went out. Schnurrbart followed Kern. He had slung his tommy-gun over his right shoulder, buried both hands in his trousers pockets, and walked with head drooping in thought. Soon the trench became shallower, and ended in a grassless plain that sloped slightly upward. ‘Quite a bit of construction for two nights,’ Maag, walking behind him, whispered.

  Schnurrbart nodded. The Russians must have worked like moles, he thought. But undoubtedly they had mobilized the entire civilian population of Krymskaya; were it not for the rain the platoon probably would have run into a construction crew by now. That would have meant more trouble. As it was there were dangers enough to pass through before they reached the German trenches. Suddenly something occurred to him. He hurried past the file of men until he came up with Steiner. ‘Do you think all the Ivans have been warned we’re coming?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Steiner said. ‘Look up ahead. Don’t you notice anything?’

  The other men had caught up with them, and all looked, but they saw nothing in particular. It was impossible to see more than a dozen paces ahead anyhow, and the occasional glow of flares above the trenches was swallowed up in the darkness before it reached them. ‘Dark as the inside of a black cow’s belly,’ Kern whispered.

  Steiner raised his hand impatiently. ‘Don’t you see anything?’ ‘Sure,’ Schnurrbart nodded, ‘if you mean the flares.’

  ‘I do mean them,’ Steiner replied with a scornful undertone. ‘Not the ones you see but the ones you don’t see.’

  Schnurrbart shook his head. ‘That’s too much for me.’

  ‘Not for me,’ Dorn said.

  The men looked at him. ‘We know you’re smart,’ Schnurrbart growled.

  ‘You don’t have to be particularly smart to see this,’ Dorn replied evenly. ‘If you look close you’ll notice that the Russians directly in front of us are not firing any flares; all of the flares are coming from the other side.’

  ‘Right,’ Steiner said approvingly. ‘So the Russians are just waiting until we come through. Stay close together from now on. In case we’re spoken to, Krüger knows what to do.’ He slipped the gun from his shoulder and went up to the Russian. ‘One word from you, you bastard,’ he said threateningly, ‘and we’ll tear you to pieces!’

  ‘He can’t understand,’ Kern said.

  ‘He understood that, don’t worry.’ Steiner turned away and moved forward, taking long resolute strides. According to the map, the distance between the battalion command post and the positions of the 3rd Company was about a mile. They must have covered at least half that distance by now. The men moved in a knot. Kern was walking so close behind the prisoner that their bodies touched. He was acutely conscious of the responsibility resting upon him, and he wanted Steiner to be satisfied with him. At the first suspicious movement on the Russian’s part he was determined to kill him, even if he himself were killed in the process. The thought filled him with pride. Suddenly he felt a part of the platoon, as though he had been with it for ten years. It’s a damn fine thing to belong to a crowd like this, he said to himself. We all belong together. All for one and one for all. He no longer remembered where he had picked up the phrase, but it sent strange chills down his spine, plucked strings in him that momentarily made his eyes fill with tears. It was a great thing to have comrades. As he listened to the crunch of the gravelly earth underfoot and the stirring noises from the front, he was more and more overwhelmed by this emotion. Comradeship is everything, he thought. It didn’t matter if you pitched into each other once in a while; what mattered was that you could depend on the others when you were in trouble. And by God you could depend on these fellows here. You really could, and he was damned glad to be in their platoon and not in some other. Later, when the war was over, he would invite them all to come to his inn. The idea enchanted him. He turned his head and glanced almost with tenderness at Dorn, who was stumbling along behind him. The longer he thought about it, the more enthusiastic he became. He’d keep them for two weeks; they could eat all they had room for, and sleep in his bedrooms, and he would hang a big sign on the door: Closed for veteran’s reunion. Yes, by God, he would do it, and every night he would bring up the best stuff in the cellar and they’d talk about the past, how they had marched through this damned dark night and through the goddamned woods and how they had undressed the women and almost run head-on into the Russian artillery emplacement, and how they had all been scared stiff. He could see the whole scene: all of them sitting around the big round table in his inn, laughing, slapping each other on the back, the glasses tinkling as they touched. Then he would stand up and make a speech, a fine speech in plain words, and at the end they would stand up
and bow their heads and think of Dietz, of Dietz and ... oh, well.... He ran his sleeve over his face, wiping away the picture.

  Meanwhile they had come so close to the line that they had to fall flat as each flare went up. While the Russians up ahead of them remained absolutely quiet, machine-gun and rifle fire from the other side often passed close over their heads, so that for stretches they had to crawl on all fours. ‘Idiots!’ Krüger whispered indignantly. He stuck close by Steiner’s side.

  At the moment Steiner was flattened out on the ground, peering ahead.

  ‘You should have sent them a postcard that we’re coming,’ Steiner growled. ‘But you’re right, they seem to be awfully nervous over there. They might be getting nervous because the Russians are so quiet.’

  He concentrated on the ground before them. The ground was still rising. It was muddy now, and made progress difficult. But the rain had stopped. On the other side, about 200 paces away, another flare was shot up. For a few seconds all the features of the terrain could be seen. In front of them, a good stone’s throw away, a dark wall rose above the ground. Steiner guessed that it must be the rampart of the Russian trench. The eastern slope of the hill was also distinctly visible. The German line must run somewhere along over there. When the flare went out, he glanced briefly back at the men. They were lying flat on the ground, motionless. Wearily, as though the burden of the pack on his back had suddenly increased many times in weight, he straightened up. For a few seconds he stood indecisive. ‘What is it?’ Krüger whispered. Steiner did not reply. His original intention of leading the platoon in a body across the no-man’s-land, across these damned crucial hundred yards, now seemed insane. Frowning, he considered the situation. There seemed to be only one way to keep the platoon from being mowed down by their own machine-guns.