He was about to turn and say something. But the man at the MG made a hissing sound. Steiner was amazed at the keenness of the fellow’s hearing, for several seconds passed before he also heard the noises. First there was a vague, dull thudding; then he was able to distinguish gasping breaths and a tinny rattle. The darkness in front of him suddenly took on life, a stirring and scurrying that abruptly ceased when a flare rose behind his back, flooding the area with harsh light. Half-way up the slopes, about sixty feet from the lines, he saw his men. He recognized Schnurrbart and Krüger at once, standing side by side, necks thrust forward, peering up the hill. Behind him the voice of the machine-gunner cracked out a few words. Steiner raised his arm. He ordered his men to drop their weapons and come up to the lines one by one, at intervals. As soon as the flare died Schnurrbart appeared ‘What’s the idea?’ he panted. He stood looking angrily down at Steiner. ‘Why the devil are you sitting here? What’s the matter?’
Before Steiner could answer, Faber spoke up. As soon as he heard Schnurrbart’s voice he had taken his hands from the machinegun. Now he climbed up out of his weapon pit. ‘Don’t take offence,’ he said apologetically. ‘You understand we had to be sure.’
Steiner slowly rose to his feet. Sighing, he rubbed his stiff back. ‘There are easier ways to be sure, my boy,’ he said. ‘A telephone call to Freiburg would have done it. That’s my home town.’
The other men had come up one by one and were thronging around Steiner. He could scarcely fend off all who wanted to shake hands with him. From foxholes on both sides sentries came hurrying up, and word of the successful return of the platoon spread like wildfire up and down the lines. ‘Now for half a bottle of schnapps,’ Krüger said ambitiously. The men of the platoon laughed and nudged each other with their elbows.
Steiner turned to Schnurrbart. ‘Was everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ Schnurrbart said contentedly. ‘There was a while there when we had butterflies in our stomachs because it seemed so long, but as soon as those flares went up we started out like an express train, let me tell you. On the way-’ He babbled on about the details of their trip across the no-man’s-land, and Steiner listened with only half an ear. He was gazing out into the distance with the queer feeling that he had lost something irrecoverable. But he did not know what it was.
Faber stood watching him in silence for a while. Then he went up to him and remarked: ‘I think it would be better if you went on another ten paces before looking back.’
Steiner slowly turned to face him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘As a boy I once got lost in the forest,’ Faber said. ‘Maybe you know what it’s like. Anyway, my father found me next morning. When he brought me home, that is what he said to me.’
Steiner shook his head. ‘Quoth the raven,’ he exclaimed. He hesitated for a moment. ‘Would you care to come over to me—I mean join my platoon?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good,’ Steiner said. ‘I’ll talk to Meyer about it.’ He suddenly reached out for Faber’s hand and shook it strongly. Then he turned to the others. ‘Let’s go. We’ll rout out Meyer.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t think he’ll be annoyed when we disturb his beauty sleep.’
They groped their way forward to the main trench.
When Gausser awoke, it took him a while to realize where he was. At his side he heard Meyer breathing deeply and evenly. He shook his head. Here they had both gone to sleep in an MG emplacement instead of seeking the comparative comfort of their beds. Along with astonishment at his own conduct he was aware of intense uneasiness as he found himself wondering what had so suddenly awakened him. As a rule he slept soundly during the most intense artillery barrages; an uncomfortable position never bothered him. It must be late; he glanced at his watch and saw that it was already four o’clock. Day would break before long. For a moment he considered waking Meyer. But Meyer was sleeping so soundly that he could not bear to.
He got up, intending to look around. Suddenly he heard noises. In two rapid strides he was outside, and his eyes widened in surprise. Through the greying darkness of the trench came a long line of men, led by a man of his company. Cheerfully the man raised his hand: ‘Oh, there you are, sir! Corporal Steiner is back.’ Incredulously, and with just a touch of alarm, Gausser stared at the men in Russian uniform. He did not quite take it in until one of the newcomers raised his hand to his cap with studied carelessness and stood appraising him rather insolently. Without a word Gausser stooped and went back into the MG emplacement, where Meyer still slept. He gripped the other man’s arm roughly and pulled him to his feet. ‘Come on out,’ he shouted in his ear. ‘Come on out, Meyer, you have visitors.’
He dragged the recalcitrant, still sleeping company commander outside, where the grinning men awaited them. Meyer suddenly jerked angrily away and snapped: ‘Are you going out of your mind, Gausser—what the devil-’ The words froze on his lips as he caught sight of the men in Russian uniforms. Involuntarily his hand flashed to his side. Gausser seized his arm. ‘Calmness does it, Lieutenant Meyer. Man, you’re hard to satisfy. First you can’t wait until your platoon comes back, and now that your Steiner is here you’re all ready to take a pot-shot at him.’
‘Steiner!’ Meyer’s mouth flew open; he rubbed his eyes and shook his head unbelievingly. Steiner, who had been watching him with amusement, suddenly felt a wave of emotion which clamped his lips shut and sent a prickly sensation up his back and through the nape of his neck into his face; the corners of his mouth twitched and he had to dig his teeth into his lower lip to keep himself from saying something silly. When Meyer gripped his hand and held it clenched in his for a long while, he closed his eyes for a few seconds. Gausser quietly departed.
The shrill ringing of the telephone awoke Stransky from his soundest sleep of the night. As he stumbled to his feet in the darkness, he bumped into the chair on which he had placed his clothes, and knocked it over. ‘Blast it,’ he cursed, kicked out at it vindictively, and cursed again because he had hurt his toes. The ringing went on. Face twisted with pain, he hobbled to the table, lifted the hand-set, and trembling with rage bellowed his name. When he recognized Meyer’s voice, his first impulse was to hurl the telephone to the floor. But the company commander’s first few words brought him wide awake. What was he saying? That Steiner was back, had brought a prisoner, wiped out a Russian battalion command post. Why that was.... ‘Is this an actual fact?’ he demanded suspiciously.
The jollity went out of Meyer’s voice. ‘I am not in the habit of playing practical jokes, sir!’ he replied sharply.
Stransky instructed Meyer to bring the prisoner and the platoon to his bunker at once. He hung up. For a while he sat lost in thought, unable to decide how to act. The return of the platoon presented him with a number of problems he would sooner not have dealt with. Chief of these was his promise to promote the corporal. Naturally, he told himself, he could simply pretend to have forgotten his conversation with Meyer on the subject. But Meyer would undoubtedly make a point of reminding him. The thought of Meyer’s temerity was even more unpleasant than the promotion as such. What irked him was not only that Meyer had been right, but also that he, Stransky, would have to pay tribute to Meyer’s rightness by promoting Steiner. The longer he considered this the deeper grew his antagonism toward his company commander.
He lit a candle and dressed. He would look this man Steiner over carefully. If the regimental commander thought so much of him, it would certainly not be out of order for himself to make a good showing by displaying generosity and jumping Steiner a grade. That was it: he would promote him to master sergeant.
He had just finished buckling his belt when there was a knock at the door. Quickly, he stepped to the little window and looked out. Day was breaking. Above the rim of the trench stood several men; he could see only their heads. Their faces looked grey and weary in the cold light of the morning.
When he stepped outside, he found Meyer before him. Stransky bit his lips at the triumph in M
eyer’s face. He mounted the steps and silently inspected the men. They were standing close together, their heads held high, and he sensed that this was a great moment for them. They were still wearing the Russian uniforms. Stransky’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. When he turned for explanation to Meyer, the lieutenant nodded, smiling. ‘I forgot to mention the uniforms, sir. You see-’
Stransky waved his hand impatiently. ‘I’ll hear the explanation later. Which of these is the prisoner?’
Silently, Meyer pointed to the Russian, who stood in the background watching alertly. The men of the battalion staff had meanwhile come out of the other bunkers. Stransky turned to Triebig, who had just appeared: ‘Put the prisoner in a bunker and see to it that he is well guarded,’ he ordered.
Meyer felt obliged to point out the Russian’s rank. ‘He is a captain, sir.’
‘At the moment he is a prisoner of war,’ Stransky replied coldly.
He looked at the men again. ‘Which one is Corporal Steiner.’ Steiner took a step forward and slackly came to attention. Stransky studied him, disappointed. From all that he had heard he had formed another picture of Steiner—a vague one, but resembling in no way the man who stood before him and met his gaze with insulting unconcern. He felt Meyer eyeing him and stiffened. ‘You are promoted to master sergeant, promotion to be effective at once!’ he declared loudly. He watched Steiner’s face. But again he experienced a disappointment. It was as if he had spoken to a tree. Steiner betrayed no sign of surprise, and only the manner in which he flexed his arms slightly indicated that he had heard at all.
Stransky frowned. Then he turned abruptly to Meyer. ‘Come in, you and the sergeant.’
As Steiner followed the two officers down the steps to the bunker, he suddenly felt his knees shaking from exhaustion. In spite of the half-dozen shots of schnapps he had drunk in Meyer’s bunker, he was shivering with cold.
The men of the platoon watched him go. It was a chilly, disagreeable morning, the air filled with mist, and the muddy slopes stretching upward on all sides making the scene even gloomier. Schnurrbart stretched, his teeth chattering. He turned to Krüger. ‘Some reception, huh? I tell you, if Brandt were still here-’ He glared down at the commander’s bunker.
‘This one looked like a stinker to me the first time I laid eyes on him,’ Krüger growled.
They stood in a huddle, cross and cold, answering in monosyllables the questions bombarded at them by the men of the staff. Their exuberant mood had been thoroughly quelled. Standing around in filthy, soaking wet clothes did not improve their humour; all they could think about was their need for sleep. After a while they accepted the invitation of the signalmen and scattered among the men’s bunkers to await Steiner’s return.
Meanwhile the newly-appointed master sergeant was sitting at the regimental commander’s table reporting in short, clipped sentences the events of the past few days. Meyer, who had already heard most of the story, remained silent, but Stransky kept interrupting with questions. Steiner at first answered these patiently, but gradually grew more and more irritable. He had difficulty keeping his eyes open, and Meyer, well aware of his condition, finally thought the time had come to put an end to the conversation—all the more so since the main events had been covered. When Stransky wanted to know what had happened to their original guns, Meyer cleared his throat. ‘Wouldn’t it be possible to discuss these matters at some later time, sir?’ he suggested. ‘It seems to me that Sergeant Steiner is too exhausted to go into more detail. Besides, the other men are waiting outside; they’ll catch their deaths in those wet clothes of theirs.’
Stransky’s eyes flashed angrily. But since there was little objection he could raise, he nodded with a hypocritical sympathy. ‘You should have remarked on this sooner,’ he said. ‘But after all I must have some of the details in order to make my report to Regiment.’ He crushed out his cigarette and turned to Steiner with a patronizing smile. ‘I have been in the habit of interrogating men in the uniform you are wearing, not receiving reports from them. A new experience, really. Take your platoon back to Kanskoye. Until tonight you may catch up on some sleep. I shall expect you back when the supply column comes over, since there are several points I am still unclear about.’ He let his eyes travel over Steiner’s filthy uniform once more. Then he smiled harshly. ‘See to it that you transform yourself into a German sergeant by then. Incidentally, the uniform looks very well on you; were you an actor before the war?’
Meyer raised his head, alert to the insult in the words. Steiner showed no change of expression as he replied: ‘Not before the war.’
Stransky folded his arms. Something in the man’s intonation did not please him. ‘You seem to emphasize the word “before, ”’ he said.
Steiner appraised him. Then he shrugged. ‘If I did, it was accidental.’
‘So?’ Stransky scratched his chin in vexation. There was something wrong with the fellow’s attitude; he seemed to think that he was talking to an equal. The fact that he was discreet in his choice of words and overstepped the limits Stransky had mentally set for the rank of an NCO only in his tone, made it all the more offensive. Stransky made up his mind to cut him down to size: ‘I have the feeling, sergeant, that you somewhat overestimate your importance,’ he said.
A little colour rose in the grey of Steiner’s exhausted face. His eyes darkened, turned almost black. But there was no change in his voice as he replied: ‘At the moment I am free of any such illusions.’
Stransky stared at him more in astonishment than indignation. In a voice just a shade colder he said: ‘You are in the habit of speaking your mind, I see, but I would nevertheless suggest to you not to underestimate your present company. At any rate never forget that everything you are and may become is dependent upon that present company.’
‘I don’t think I will forget that,’ Steiner replied coolly. ‘Although I may add that a man generally becomes what he feels himself to be.’
Stransky pushed his chair back and rose. His face looked sallow and apathetic. The candles on the table flickered tiredly in the dim of the bunker, though the daylight was seeping in through the window with increasing brightness. The air was heavy and stale.
Steiner felt a craving to get outside into the open air. As he, along with Meyer, followed the commander’s example and rose, fatigue suddenly almost toppled him; he had to lean on the table for support. Stransky picked up the maps Steiner had brought and spoke to Meyer. ‘I will inform Regiment; see to it that the prisoner is taken to Kiesel at once.’
He turned again to Steiner. ‘For my part you can feel as you like. But as long as you talk with me do not forget that you are wearing a uniform. In the future you keep that in mind.’ He reached for the telephone and Steiner decided that he had been dismissed.
As he stepped outside, Meyer laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘A useful tip,’ he said. ‘Remember from now on that we have a different battalion commander.’ Steiner did not answer. They collected the men from the bunkers and Meyer shook hands with each one of them. ‘Get yourselves plenty of sleep. I’ll see to it that you’re given a few days rest.’ He turned again to Steiner and explained the route they must take to Kanskoye. ‘You’ll be there in twenty minutes. Fetscher will take care of you. I’ve had him informed. Well, then-’ He hesitated and lowered his voice. ‘Don’t forget by tonight what I’ve just said.’
The platoon watched him walk off toward the bunker where the prisoner had been put. Schnurrbart clicked his heels and rasped: ‘Pull your arses together from now on; we have a master sergeant for platoon leader.’ They laughed, crowding around Steiner and pounding him on the back. ‘Now you’re somebody,’ Anselm said flatteringly. ‘Do we have to say “sir” when we talk to you?’ ‘Shut up, idiot,’ Steiner replied with mock fierceness. ‘I’ve just been told in there’—he jerked a thumb toward the commander’s bunker—‘how important I am.’
‘Why, what was wrong?’ Krüger asked curiously.
Steiner gestured wearily. ‘N
ot now. There’ll be a better time to-’ The rest of the sentence trailed off into an indistinct murmur. ‘Was there something he didn’t like?’ Schnurrbart asked sourly.
Steiner shrugged. He slung the tommy-gun over his shoulder and said: ‘Let’s get to the village. I’ll be glad to get out of these wet clothes.’
They descended into the ravine and followed the winding brook. Although the sky was still clouded, it felt as though the rains were over. The sight of the bushes that lined the brook, their fresh green contrasting with the barrenness of the dead clay slopes, revived the men. Their thoughts hurried on ahead; they could see themselves already resting in comfortable, dry quarters beyond the next or at most the next but one turn in the path. One of them began to sing. Hollerbach took up the song, and a few moments later the echo of their voices boomed boisterously down the gorge:
We, we are the huntsmen of the plains,
The starvelings of the nation.
For three years now, in snow and rain We’ve marched on dehydrated rations.
Forward, you huntsmen of the plains,
Forward, to do your fighting all alone.
For the others come in cars when the battle is all done. Forward, you huntsmen of the plains.
Up ahead, through a cluster of trees, the first houses appeared. A minute later they were surrounded by a crowd of admirers who slapped them on the back, shook hands and hurled so many questions that it would have taken hours to answer all. Finally the massive figure of a first sergeant thrust through the crowd, cursed furiously for silence, and stood shaking his head at the appearance of Steiner and the others. He was a powerfully-built man with nigged, honest features; it was easy to imagine him pacing slowly behind a plough. Several times he started to speak but was so surprised by the sight of the Russian uniforms that he could not say a word. Steiner grinned. He had always got on well with Fetscher. Slowly he brought his heels together, performed a caricature of standing at attention, raised his hand to his cap and said: ‘Beg to report, sir-’ The sergeant’s face turned red. Suddenly he found speech again, and the rest of Steiner’s report was drowned out in a series of obscene curses.
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