Cross of Iron

by Willi Heinrich

  He unbuckled his belt, took his spade out of its leather case, and with the sharp edge marked a large rectangle in the sand. Then he set to work. The ground under the layer of sand was hard and forced him to take many rests. But he made good progress. Now and then he ran to the brow of the hill and peered westward where the road crawled under the veiled horizon and vanished. Then he returned to his hole and resumed work. Sweat poured down his face and his shirt stuck wetly to his back. After a while he took off his tunic and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. He worked until he stood chest deep in the ground. Then he stopped. Contentedly he looked at his pit; he remembered that a few weeks ago he had done a similar job for Stransky. Only then the purpose was different. As he climbed out of the hole there were grim lines around his mouth. He got into his tunic, buckled his belt on and picked up his tommy-gun. He lay down flat on top of the ridge and waited. It was fifteen minutes past eight.

  After dismissing Steiner, Captain Kiesel went into Brandt’s office. The commander was sitting with two officers discussing the details of the impending transfer of the regiment to the Crimea. As Kiesel entered all turned their faces toward him. ‘All done?’ Brandt asked.

  Kiesel nodded and sat down. ‘It’s fortunate that Herr Morlock is here,’ Brandt said, rubbing his sharp chin with the back of his hand. His eyelids fluttered rapidly. ‘We’ll discuss the case afterwards,’ he continued. Then he turned to Captain Killius, who sat grave-faced beside him. ‘You know all about it now, so there’s no need for you to be here for the conference at ten o’clock. You can set out for the battalion at once and relieve Herr Stransky. Is my car here?’ he asked Kiesel.

  ‘You gave it to Lieutenant Stroh,’ Kiesel reminded him.

  ‘Damn it, so I did,’ Brandt ejaculated. He turned in explanation to the fourth officer, who had said nothing as yet. ‘I sent Stroh to the Third. As you know, Major Vogel is dead. There’s a competent company commander taking his place, but I want to play safe.... Sorry, Captain Killius, I’m afraid you’ll have to walk it. If you keep up a good pace you’ll be there in less than an hour. It’s a quarter to seven now. In case Herr Stransky hasn’t left yet, you can explain the route to him.’

  Killius stood up quickly. ‘I need to stretch my legs anyhow,’ he said.

  ‘Have you baggage?’ Brandt asked.

  Killius shook his head. ‘I left it with the supply column. If I need it I’ll send for it.’

  Captain Morlock, operations officer of the division, had been listening with interest to the brief exchange. As Killius was about to bid goodbye to the commander, he raised his hand. ‘One moment, please. If I’m not mistaken I can give you a ride, Captain Killius.’ He bent over the map in front of him. ‘Yes, you see, here is your road. I drove this same way with the general a few weeks ago. About a mile and a half west of here your road branches off from the highway, runs north for a while and then intersects with the highway again beyond the ravine. For me it will be the smallest detour, while it will save you a good forty minutes.’

  ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Killius protested.

  ‘Nothing of the sort, Captain Killius. Besides it will give us a chance to swap some more news.’ He turned to Brandt with a smile. ‘Captain Killius comes from the same town as myself, it seems. We discovered that yesterday when we first met at divisional headquarters.’

  ‘Then by all means make the most of your chance to talk,’ Brandt said. ‘Who knows when you may have another. Perhaps in the Urals,’ he concluded bitterly.

  For the fraction of a second the captain’s face changed as a landscape does when the shadow of a cloud passes over it. Then his smile returned, reinforced, and he said: ‘I do not think our leadership is continuing to entertain such far-reaching goals. We would be content with Baku, sir.’ The undertone of reprimand in his words was barely perceptible, but Kiesel detected it. The dark-haired, thin-faced divisional operations officer was well known and feared for his straitlaced ideology. In their occasional meetings Kiesel had strictly avoided anything like a political discussion. Brandt, too, had always been on his guard with the man and had never so much as touched on subjects outside the line of duty.

  But now the devil seemed to have entered Brandt. His bass voice rumbled dangerously. ‘Don’t misconstrue what I said, Herr Morlock; I don’t like having my words twisted. For the past year our goals have been determined not by ourselves, but by the Russians. You know that as well as I.’ He shook his big head and snorted. ‘You at Division should be able to see that more clearly than I can.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Morlock said coolly. The shadow had returned to his face. As he spoke he looked at his hands which he had placed palms down on the desk. ‘Undoubtedly,’ he repeated. Uneasily, Kiesel noted the tightening lines around his mouth. ‘Precisely because we can see the whole situation more clearly,’ Morlock went on somewhat more loudly, ‘we beg to differ with you, sir. I believe the general would be very much surprised to hear your views. Rightly surprised, if I may add my personal opinion.’

  Brandt looked back at him with an amused twinkle in his grey eyes. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said, glancing at Killius, who had sat down again and was taking in the talk with obvious discomfort. ‘I don’t know where the blinkers are made that so many people wear over their eyes. As long as they don’t blind me, I don’t mind them. But only as long.’ His tone had suddenly become chilly. Now he stood up. The leather of his boots squeaked loudly in the silence as he went to the window and stood there with averted face, looking out. With feelings of mingled admiration and nervousness Kiesel looked at his broad back, and then at the frozen face of the operations officer who was sitting rigid and unstirring, again studying his hands.

  Morlock looked up when Brandt abruptly crossed the room in three big strides, pulled the leather strap of binoculars from the nail in the wall, returned to the window and held the glasses to his eyes. Since he said nothing, none of the other men ventured to ask a question. Killius, leaning across the table to Kiesel, whispered: ‘Planes?’

  ‘We’d hear them,’ Kiesel said, shrugging. Brandt was leaning forward eagerly now, pressing the binoculars to his eyes. His peculiar behaviour was highly disturbing. At last Kiesel could not refrain from asking: ‘Anything unusual?’

  Brandt did not reply. He remained at the window for a moment more, slowly lowering the binoculars. When he turned around there was an expression of deep wonderment on his face. But he did not explain. Instead he said to Killius in a tone of forced calm: ‘There was one more thing I wanted to say to you. I would appreciate your not mentioning Herr Stransky’s transfer to him. I should like to surprise him. I’ll send for his baggage.’

  ‘Of course,’ Killius said, rising.

  ‘Didn’t you also want to talk with me about Herr Stransky?’ Morlock asked.

  Brandt looked at him for a moment out of half-shut eyes. He shook his head. ‘There’s time for that later. I must talk with him first.’ He turned to Kiesel. ‘You accompany the gentlemen to the car,’ he said, and shook hands vigorously with Killius. He took leave of Morlock with a curt nod. When the door had closed behind them he went to the window and watched the car start up the winding highway, wrapped in a cloud of dust.

  Kiesel returned immediately. The manner in which he sat down again expressed so much concern and incomprehension that Brandt drew up his mouth in a scornful smile. He stood with folded arms, looking at the captain with an air of challenge. At last, in the face of Kiesel’s persistent silence, he said: ‘Well?’ The ironic undertone could not be missed.

  Kiesel’s lined face flashed a variety of expressions. When he spoke, it was with an almost pedantic carefulness. ‘You pose riddles,’ he said quietly. ‘Perhaps I am exceeding my privileges when I tell you that as an adjutant I am uncomfortable being kept on the fringes of a discussion that concerns me just as much as it does the other participants. Would you be surprised if I should ask you to replace me?’

  Brandt’s face reflected in rapid successi
on indignation, disdain, and finally vexation. The superior expression which had lain like patina on his skin withdrew to the depths of his eyes. ‘I don’t think I would be surprised,’ he retorted coolly. ‘You know perfectly well that I would not let you go. Not because you are indispensable—you aren’t, any more than I am—but because I might land a creature like Morlock for adjutant. You get on my nerves at times, but I’ve grown accustomed to that, and I have the right to ask the same of you—that you get used to me.’

  Kiesel tilted his head to one side. ‘It was only a theoretical question,’ he said serenely. ‘If I couldn’t stand you as my superior officer I would have one consolation: that my problem will soon be over. Another conversation like the one you’ve just had with Herr Morlock and there’s likely to be a violent solution to the problem. I’m not so sure I would enjoy that.’

  ‘I see,’ Brandt said. He smiled. ‘Are you afraid?’ he asked slyly.

  ‘A person is only afraid for himself,’ Kiesel replied, shrugging. ‘After all, it’s not my neck you were risking with your loose talk.’

  Brandt frowned. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  ‘No.’ Kiesel shook his head. ‘Perhaps I have a favour to ask of you,’ he added gravely.

  Brandt went over to his desk and looked absently down at the papers strewn over it. ‘We can talk about that later,’ he said. ‘What did you learn from Steiner?’

  ‘A fascinating story!’ Kiesel said, and retold it. The commander listened to him in silence, his face expressionless. ‘A certain imprecision about the report,’ Kiesel said. ‘I have the feeling that Steiner concealed one or two details. It might be a good idea to question another participant.’

  ‘What for?’ Brandt asked.

  Kiesel shrugged. ‘I suspect that Steiner is still trying to cover up Stransky.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Brandt said forcefully. Kiesel looked up at him, startled by the emphasis in his voice. Brandt gave an odd smile. ‘Where is Steiner at the moment?’ he asked.

  ‘In the house next door, I suppose. I suggested that he sleep for a couple of hours, until we would need him.’

  ‘Does he know Stransky is coming here?’

  ‘I think so,’ Kiesel said, considering. Then he nodded. ‘Yes, I remember, I mentioned it.’

  ‘You mentioned it!’ Brandt repeated. He broke out into hysterical laughter that shook his whole big body. ‘You’re priceless,’ he said, gasping for breath. Then he became serious so abruptly that Kiesel could scarcely follow the alternations of mood. He sprang to his feet again and went to the window once more. For a while he stood looking up the slope of the ravine. When he turned around, there was a grim sparkle in his eyes. ‘I told you this morning that you were unstable, Kiesel,’ he said. ‘But you are not only unstable, you are naive. Do you know whom I observed with my binoculars a while ago?’ His face suddenly looked alien and brutal to Kiesel. ‘I saw Steiner. Steiner whom you think is next door taking a couple of hours of well-deserved rest. What a fool you are, Kiesel.’ He chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Steiner is a product of our times,’ he went on, and Kiesel thought he detected a trace of satisfaction in the commander’s voice. ‘Do you recall what I said to you about justice? Of course you do. And I should like to add that a man like Steiner makes no bones about correcting Providence when the powers above bungle things. What is more, he’d be a thrice damned fool if he let a good chance slip by because he trusted in heavenly justice. The justice of Heaven is a dream of the weak, Kiesel, and it’s about time you absorbed that idea.’

  He fell silent and began pacing the room. When Kiesel rose without a word and started toward the door, Brandt blocked his way. ‘Where are you going?’ Kiesel did not reply, but his pale face was answer enough for Brandt. ‘You have more imagination than I thought,’ Brandt said coldly. ‘But I cannot do without you for the next hour. The march routes for the battalions have to be settled and I’ll need your help.’

  ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes.’ Kiesel’s voice sounded muffled, tense and resolute.

  Brandt shook his head mockingly. ‘You will stay here,’ he declared firmly, ‘Do you understand me?’ Again Kiesel did not reply. Brandt returned to his desk and bent over the maps. ‘Come here,’ he said sharply. Kiesel continued to stand immobile at the door. The commander’s tone changed. ‘In case you are not yet aware of it, I have given you an order.’

  ‘I know,’ Kiesel said. His voice thickened with rage as he added: ‘You are making me guilty as an accomplice.’

  Brandt straightened up. ‘I am on the point of leading my regiment into a cul de sac from which it has not the slightest chance of escaping. To what sort of guilt are you referring?’

  It was a clever move. But Kiesel would not concede defeat. ‘That is still no excuse for this other thing.’

  ‘You are evading my question,’ Brandt retorted. ‘As matters stand, I have no time for philosophical debate when there are these important decisions to make. Now will you kindly drop the question and attend to business.’ He sat down at the desk. ‘Let’s start with Killius’s regiment,’ he said crisply.

  XVII

  IT WAS twenty minutes to nine when a dark spot crawled up over the horizon of the road and slowly drew nearer. Twenty minutes to nine; this must be Stransky, Steiner thought. He laid the tommy-gun ready to hand on the ground beside him and peered with narrowed eyes along the grey ribbon of road that wound so forlornly across the undulating landscape. The highway seemed utterly out of place in the context of the scenery; the telegraph poles looked like big posts stuck into the ground for no reason at all. The dark spot in the distance increased in size. Steiner regretted having no binoculars with him. He continued to lie flat. In spite of the early morning hour he felt the warmth of the sand through his uniform. Tiredness trickled down from his brain all the way to his toes. He figured it out: fifty hours since he had last slept. As long as that, he thought in astonishment, and again turned his attention to the dark spot, which had meanwhile come much closer. Still he could distinguish nothing more than a formless something that moved with tortuous slowness down the highway. Often it seemed to stand completely still for minutes at a time. Gradually, however, Steiner made out the figure of a man striding forward at a vigorous pace.

  At last he was convinced that the man was Stransky. With a relieved sigh he tucked the tommy-gun under his arm and crawled back a little way, so that he could no longer be seen from the road. Now that the decision was nearing, silently and steadily, he felt that his face was covered with a thin layer of sweat that ran, salty-tasting, into the corners of his mouth. His throat felt all choked up. His hands twitched restlessly. He crawled back a little more, then instantly worked forward again and remained lying still as a stone. Stransky had by now come within some two hundred yards of him. With every step the man took Steiner’s face changed like a sandbar under the wind. At last it froze into a mask in which only the eyes remained alive, burning. The oiled steel of the gun lay cool and firm in his hands. As he pushed back the safety-catch, he did so with so utter a lack of feeling that he was not even conscious of the movement.

  Suddenly the upper part of his body shot up as though snapped by a spring. For a few seconds he disregarded all caution. Stransky was not alone. To one side of him there appeared the figure of a man who must have been marching along behind the commander all the while. Steiner stared at this person as though he had fallen from the sky. He had thought of some such possibility, but only fleetingly. What should he do? If he shot Stransky, the captain’s companion would have to share his fate. Otherwise the man would run straight to Regiment with his tale. There was no way out. As Steiner watched the two of them he became aware, with grim contempt for himself, of how much value he was placing upon a perfect alibi, how careful he was being to cover his tracks. A few hours ago he would have maintained that he didn’t care. He had thought he was finished with himself, with everything. That had been a mistake.

  With a gesture of finality he br
aced the butt of the tommy-gun against his armpit. The two men swiftly approached, Stransky walking with that peculiar, rather rocking gait of his, his right hand resting lightly on his hip. while his companion trotted along apathetically behind him, head drooping. He was a stranger to Steiner. Probably he had come with the last batch of replacements, Steiner thought; perhaps he was the captain’s orderly. He could distinctly see Stransky’s face now. It wore an expression of gloom, and the manner in which he stared at the ground also suggested that his thoughts were none too happy.

  By now they had come within fifty paces, and Steiner knew it was time for him to act. But still he held back. Something in the bearing of the man tramping behind Stransky troubled him, made him unsure of himself. It was a man like any other, with a face like all the faces which had permanently peopled his surroundings for so many months—haggard, weary and utterly indifferent. The man’s arms hung loosely, his body seemed to be following the movements of his legs with reluctance. A dusty, unpressed uniform without insignia of rank, a visored cap under which a few strands of hair protruded, and a carbine slung diagonally across his back. At every step tiny puffs of dust whirled up from the ground, and the man’s boots looked as though they had been wading through chalk.