‘Come up for air,’ Steiner said at last. ‘You’ve used up two week’s stock of swear words. Better show us our quarters.’
Fetscher continued to mutter under his breath for a moment, but then he roused himself and displayed such admirable efficiency that within a few minutes the men were being guided by members of the supply column to comfortable houses. Steiner followed Fetscher to his own house. As soon as he stepped inside he slipped the pack from his back and hurled it to the floor. Fetscher was meanwhile talking. ‘There’s a warm meal waiting for you all, new clothes, rations for two days. You certainly deserve it. Congratulations, too—I mean about your promotion—you were bound for promotion soon anyhow. High time, too. You’ve got to tell me all about it—how the hell did you-’
Steiner clapped his hands to his ears. ‘Hold your horses; I want food and sleep and first of all I want to wash. Any water in this place?’
‘More than you need,’ Fetscher said complacently. ‘I’ve got a tub full for you in the kitchen. It’s even hot—thought of everything.’
‘That’s all you’ve got to do is think,’ Steiner said. He looked around the room. For Russian conditions it was pretty decent. In one comer the big stove built of clay; under the windows a green-painted bench and two huge beds big enough to sleep half a company. Fetscher smiled with pride. ‘Not a bad place, eh? Almost like home.’
‘Like your home maybe,’ Steiner chaffed him.
Fetscher turned to the door. ‘I’ll see how the other fellows are getting on. Incidentally, where did you—I mean, what became of your own pea-shooters?’
‘Just what Stransky asked me. In the summer offensive, I’ll show you the spot.’
‘You don’t mean you-?’ Fetscher asked in alarm.
‘I do,’ Steiner replied indifferently. ‘I’ll tell you about it later. Let me alone now.’
Fetscher went out. Later, when Steiner came out of the kitchen, freshly washed and shaved, his mess-tin stood on the table, filled to the brim with stew. He sat down. Strangely enough, he no longer felt hungry, and his weariness seemed to have washed away in the hot water. He felt depressed and ill-humoured without knowing why. All right, so they were back with the battalion. Meyer had been as giddy-glad as a kid on Christmas morning, he himself had been promoted, looked and smelled like a human being again— everything seemed fine, and still.... He propped his chin on his fists and stared out the window where fragile rays of sunlight played upon the fresh green of the trees. He recalled the conversation with Stransky and snorted contemptuously. So that was the sort of fool.... Well, he would see what came of it.... Stransky was only one of the many battalion commanders he had survived; he would survive Stransky, too. A stupid self-important ass—no need to take him seriously. What the devil were they so proud of, those arrogant idiots. Of their ancestry? It wasn’t their doing. Of their money? They’d inherited it. Of their educations? They’d had time to get one. He laughed and pushed the mess-tin aside. Then he stood up, walked slowly to the window and looked out. Maag was just passing, a new uniform over his arm, his face reflecting contentment. Steiner watched him trudging along until he disappeared into the house across the way. Undemanding and shallow, he thought bitterly. They’re glad to be back with the battalion. Here they felt at home, safe, sheltered. But he himself, where was he at home? Certainly not back in Freiburg, where for the last two years there had been no one waiting for him. He leaned his forehead against the cool window-pane and closed his eyes. If only there were still Anne, he thought. Anne! For the first time he felt that he had lost her for ever.
At Regiment HQ the news of the missing platoon’s return was a bombshell. Brandt sent for Kiesel at once. Kiesel had rarely known the commander to be in such high spirits. In spite of the earliness of the hour, Brandt had a bottle on the table in front of him and invited Kiesel to have a glass with him—of genuine Black Forest kirschwasser, he emphasized. Kiesel declined; he could not take alcohol on an empty stomach he said.
‘You’re an ascetic,’ Brandt declared, filling the water glass. ‘Prost!’ He drained his glass in one swig. ‘I told you right off,’ he said, ‘that Steiner would come through. What a boy, Kiesel, what a boy. If we had a few hundred like him the Russians would never have a peaceful moment.’
‘Have you heard any of the details?’ Kiesel asked.
‘Yes! I made Stransky cough up the story. He didn’t like it a bit; it’s my feeling that we’ll have to watch him for a while. You keep an eye on him, Kiesel.’
‘I don’t quite understand,’ Kiesel said in surprise.
‘You will soon enough. Remember that Stransky has already had some difficulty over Steiner, and remember the type Stransky is. He has a damned loose tongue on him anyway,’ Brandt added cheerfully.
‘Stransky?’ Kiesel exclaimed.
‘Don’t be silly. Steiner, of course. So watch sharp. And now get an earful of what that hellhound has done.’
He began on the story of the platoon, repeatedly bursting into laughter and pounding the table with his fist. ‘And do you know what I’m going to do?’ he concluded.
‘Promote him, of course,’ Kiesel guessed.
‘He has already been promoted. Stransky did that right off— even jumped him a grade to master sergeant. A lucky stroke by the way, or I would have made a point of asking him to. No, I was thinking of something else. Sending Steiner to Gursuf for two weeks. What do you think?’
‘He deserves it,’ Kiesel answered. Gursuf was a small spa on the southern coast of the Crimea where the division operated a rest camp. It was part of Kiesel’s job to allocate space in the camp among the various units of the regiment. He took a notebook from his pocket and turned through it for a few seconds. Then he said: ‘The next transport goes in ten days. I’ll put Steiner down for it.’
‘Ten days!’ Brandt gave a scornful laugh. ‘What do you mean, ten days? Steiner is to leave at once—tomorrow!’
‘The place is all filled up,’ Kiesel protested.
‘You take your damned red tape and do what you know with it. They’ll have a room free down there, and if they don’t I’ll see about it personally.’
Kiesel suddenly recalled a letter he had received in the last post. He took it out of his pocket. ‘If you don’t mind, I have a personal favour to ask this morning. I have a letter from my brother-in-law, Lieutenant März.’
‘What about him?’
Kiesel hesitated, then gave a chagrined laugh. ‘He insists on a transfer to the front, and to the eastern front of all places. Right now he’s a company commander in a Leipzig garrison. You know how these young chaps are. Think they’re missing something if they don’t get out here. He’s set his heart on it, and if I know him he’ll keep at it until he’s where he wants to be.’
Brandt nodded. ‘I take it you want to keep him near you.’
‘Exactly. I would feel a good deal better about it. Perhaps it would be possible to ask for him through Division.’
‘Will do,’ Brandt said, making a note of the matter. ‘How old is he?’
‘Twenty-four. He comes from Villingen in the Black Forest— the family owns a watch factory out there.’
Before Brandt could inquire more there was a knock at the door and a soldier reported the arrival of Lieutenant Triebig with Steiner’s Russian prisoner. Brandt nodded to Triebig as he entered the bunker. ‘You can return immediately,’ he said. ‘Tell Stransky I want to congratulate him on the return of his platoon, and tell him furthermore that I will expect Sergeant Steiner here at six o’clock. Have you the captured maps?’
Triebig laid the maps on the table and withdrew. On the way back he studied the terrain carefully. From the hill behind which Regimental HQ was located there was an excellent view of the surrounding countryside. Beyond the ravine rose the crooked ridge of Hill 121. 4. The trenches and weapon pits could be seen clearly. Every detail of this terrain must be equally visible from the enemy positions, Triebig thought, and involuntarily walked faster. He did not slow down
again until he had reached the ravine; then he returned to his sauntering pace. In the past few days he had thought a great deal about his conversation with Stransky and had come to the conclusion that he could not have handled his end of it more foolishly. But his nervousness had by now dissipated. His resolve to kill Stransky had already dwindled down to a mere wish, of no more intensity than his desire to spend one of these spring days strolling through the streets of Cologne again. He had decided not to act too hastily in any dealings with Stransky. Perhaps something would turn up; he would keep his eyes open for opportunities.
When Steiner set out shortly after five o’clock, the Russian artillery was sending occasional nuisance bursts into the ravine. He avoided the direct road and made a wide detour around the dangerous area. As a result, it took him nearly an hour to reach Regimental HQ, and he arrived a few minutes late. As he approached he admired the skilful arrangement of the bunkers. They had been built into a part of the slope that rose almost vertically, so that it would be virtually impossible for the enemy guns to reach them. Steiner asked his way to the commander’s bunker, which had no outward marks to distinguish it from the rest.
Brandt came striding forward to meet him and pressed his hand vigorously. ‘So there you are,’ he said loudly. ‘Unpunctual and unsoldierly as ever.’ He laughed and propelled Steiner into a chair.
Steiner looked up at his smiling face and shrugged regretfully. ‘The way was longer than I thought; I had to-’
‘No need to apologize,’ Brandt interrupted, taking a seat opposite him. ‘If that sort of thing bothered me I would have seen that you changed your ways long ago.’ He laughed again and shook his head. ‘What you’ve pulled off this time beats all. I wouldn’t have thought you could do it.’
‘We were lucky,’ Steiner replied.
Brandt crossed his legs. ‘If luck was all there was to it,’ he said quietly, ‘you wouldn’t be sitting here. Now tell me all about it. Don’t leave anything out.’ He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed them across the table. Steiner thanked him, lit up and began his report. Brandt listened in silence. When Steiner came to the encounter with the Russian women, he took a few notes. After Steiner had finished, he said: ‘You’ve done a wonderful job, Steiner. It’s a long time since I’ve felt as pleased as I do today; we know each other well enough for me to be able to say that to you. Your report is enormously valuable; I intend to transmit it personally to the general. I hope it gives him a thing or two to think about. You know the big brass think we’re in a rest camp down here; maybe they’ll see what’s brewing when I tell them about the material you saw rolling down that highway.’
Steiner watched him in silence. His relations with Brandt had been good from the start, without his having made any effort. Both men had felt drawn to one another, and since the incident at Studenok the commander had displayed an understandable interest in him. After becoming commander of the regiment Brandt had suggested that he stay with him, and had offered him a quiet staff post. But Steiner had politely asked permission to remain with his men. He could still see how disappointed Brandt had looked. Asked for his reasons, he had referred to his feelings of solidarity with the men. It would have been difficult to explain to the commander that he did not want to be dependent upon anyone, let alone a regimental commander, no matter how good a fellow. Since that time he had not seen Brandt, and he was relieved to find that the commander did not seem to hold his refusal against him. Yet he could not stifle a slight sense of uneasiness, and he waited impatiently to be dismissed. When Brandt thrust some papers across the table and told him that beginning tomorrow he was to start two-week’s leave in the Crimea, he could not rise to the occasion. In fact he found himself raising various objections to the leave. However, when it became apparent that the commander was beginning to be seriously displeased, he shrugged his acquiescence. ‘If it’s your command, sir—You see, the reason that I don’t feel easy about it is that every man in my platoon deserves this leave and it will make a bad impression if I-’
‘As far as I can recall,’ Brandt interrupted him sharply, ‘you have never given a hang about the impression you were making anywhere and at any time. You are going on leave tomorrow, and that’s all there is to it. I have already informed your company commander.’ He rose quickly. ‘Sometimes, Steiner, you make it hard for me to forget that I am your superior.’
‘I often wonder why you try to forget.’ Steiner also stood up and looked expectantly at the commander. Brandt’s mouth began to twitch and his voice shook as he shook hands. ‘You’re the most impertinent man that’s ever come my way. If you aren’t gone by tomorrow I’ll have you chased away from this front at bayonet point.’
He gripped Steiner by the shoulders and ushered him out of the door. A little bewildered by the treatment he had received, Steiner began ascending the slope and almost failed to notice an officer who was coming down the path toward him. The officer looked him over carefully. Steiner recognized the regimental adjutant. ‘You are Steiner,’ the officer said, stopping. Carefully, so that the slackness of his reaction would not be overlooked, Steiner placed his feet together and nodded. A fleeting smile passed over the captain’s stem features. ‘So I thought,’ he said. He continued on up the hill and vanished into the commander’s bunker. Steiner looked back after him with a startled expression. Then he continued on his way, whistling.
He was due at the battalion command post at eight o’clock. Since the Russian fire had stopped toward evening, he reached the headquarters without incident. He had more than half an hour before his scheduled interview with Stransky, and he dropped in on Meyer first. The lieutenant gave him a hearty greeting and congratulated him on his impending leave.
‘I’ve already informed the captain,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t seem altogether delighted, but orders are orders and not even Captain Stransky can scotch them.’ He produced cigarettes and schnapps.
‘The two weeks will do you good. I’m afraid, though, that things will be popping here by the time you return.’
‘Really?’ Steiner asked.
Meyer nodded gravely. ‘I’d say that the Russian preparations indicate a big offensive in the making. Since we’re right in a salient, I imagine we’ll be hit hard. That damned hill,’ he added uncomfortably. From somewhere outside came the dull thud of exploding shells. ‘Do you hear that? Must be a 17.2. They’re bringing in new guns every day over there.’
‘They have plenty,’ Steiner said, shrugging.
Meyer leaned across the table. ‘I did want to tell you this. Be careful with Stransky. He seems to have taken a dislike to you. He’s sure to make a stink about the weapons you discarded.’ Steiner waved that away. ‘That doesn’t worry me. I’ve already reported the matter to Colonel Brandt. He let it pass without a word.’
‘That’s good.’ Meyer was visibly relieved. He glanced at his watch. ‘You’d better be on your way; it’s nearly eight.’
Steiner finished his glass and reached for his cap. As they shook hands Meyer said: ‘Don’t forget us while you’re on leave.’
‘I’ve been in your company too long for that,’ Steiner said.
It was dark outside, with stars gleaming among scattered clouds and a soft breeze blowing over the hill. Steiner took a deep breath. It was starting to feel like spring. At home the last patches of snow would be melting among the pine trees. He stood still abruptly, listening with astonishment to his own thoughts and emotions. Was this homesickness? Perhaps—a homesickness for memories. Violently, he started forward again and went toward the battalion headquarters by the shortest route, without bothering to use the trench.
When he entered the commander’s bunker, Stransky was sitting over a map. He looked up and said: ‘Here you are. Sit down. You’re three minutes late.’
‘Dark out,’ Steiner explained laconically, taking the offered seat. Stransky took a cigarette case from his pocket, removed one cigarette, tapped it carefully on his thumbnail several times, and finally put it betw
een his lips. Steiner watched him impassively. There was the outside chance that Stransky would offer him a cigarette—as this was the last thing he wanted, he put on an expression of refusal. But Stransky came promptly to the point.
‘I’ve sent for you in order to clarify certain obscurities,’ he said. ‘Principally I should like to hear again how your casualties occurred. You lost two men?’
‘I’ve been over that,’ Steiner said curtly. This was a subject he preferred to steer clear of. After Schnurrbart had pointed out that even if Zoll had funked, they ought to conceal the fact, out of consideration for Zoll’s parents, they had all agreed on a new version of the story. Zoll was simply to be reported missing. This was the story Steiner had given in his first report and Stransky’s inquisitiveness endangered it. ‘That time we ran into the Russians,’ he went on reluctantly, ‘it was already dark in the woods. Dietz received two shots in the back, while Zoll simply vanished.’
‘Did you look for him?’ Stransky asked.
Steiner shrugged impatiently. ‘We had no time to lose. It would have been mad to risk the safety of the entire platoon for the sake of one man. I’m glad we came out of it as well as we did.’
‘You will have to make a written report,’ Stransky declared. ‘There ought not to be any missing men in such cases. But let us drop that for the moment. There is another matter I cannot understand. What prompted you to exchange weapons? As you surely know, the weapons are entered in the men’s pay-books and each man is responsible for the equipment entrusted to him. You know that, don’t you?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘Furthermore, you must also be aware that the quality of our arms is far superior to that of the Russians and-’
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