by John R Burns
‘If you have any,’ was Steiner again.
‘Or any of us have,’ was from Franz.
Frumm looked at him, ‘Well as you have missed months of the course yours might be different.’
‘In what way?’
‘You might have to repeat. It’s always a possibility.’
‘Not as we’ve heard the army is desperate for new officers,’ Steiner put in.
‘Maybe not that desperate,’ Frumm tried.
There was a sudden movement from the top table that had the rest of the hall immediately quiet.
Three hours later Franz was stood outside the office of Captain Reiss.
He had no idea what was going to be said to him. The tension was stretched around the possibility that he might have to do what Frumm had suggested and have to repeat the year.
Franz knocked, waited, went in, closed the door, marched forward, clicked his heels as he gave the Heil Hitler salute and then remained at attention.
Captain Reiss was short, thin, with angry eyes that always appeared critical of everybody. He lectured the recruits on the relationship between artillery and infantry in battle conditions.
He opened the file on his desk and then looked up at Franz.
‘Brucker?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘From Bavaria?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Mountain country.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Sit down please,’ Reiss said as he nodded to the chair.
Dear Aunt Hildegaard,
Franz had written the week before,
I am writing because I know soon there will be war. I am proud to be in the German army. I am proud to follow in uncle Gerhard’s footsteps. I hope I will make a good officer. I believe I will. Here everything is in preparation. I know whatever we face we will be victorious. Nothing can stop the needs of our people.
Thank you for you for the socks and vests you sent.
My best regards,
Your nephew Franz.
Captain Reiss lit a cigarette and then said as he blew out the first mouthful of smoke, ‘In normal circumstances you would not have made the grade Brucker. Do you understand that? Not only did you have a four month recuperation period after your accident, we now find ourselves preparing for war with officer cadets who are not fully trained. This time as always the army needs experience and you haven’t got it.’
Franz consciously tried to show no response.
‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I understand sir.’
‘I want to know what you think about what I’ve just said.’
This was unexpected, leaving Franz with a blank few seconds before he answered, ‘I agree but I....’
‘You what?’ the Captain interrupted.
He looked directly across the desk at Reiss, ‘I think I’m ready.’
‘You think you’re ready?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’
Again the sudden question, his mind having to catch hold of the words, ‘That it means I won’t let anybody down sir. I won’t let the army down. I want to fulfil my duty to the Reich.’
‘Your duty to the Reich.’
‘And do it well sir.’
Reiss nodded and turned his chair to look out of the window at the sound of trucks crossing the gravel parade ground.
‘So like every other recruit you are looking forward to the war? You have no idea. You can have no idea, but you are still eager to get on with it. And what about our Fuhrer Brucker?’
‘He is a great leader sir.’
‘And where do you think he will lead us?’
‘To victory sir.’
‘To victory?’
‘’Yes sir.’
The Captain swivelled back, blowing out more smoke from his cigarette.
‘Your answers sound automatic Brucker.’
Franz held himself in control, silently willing himself against this man.
‘Too automatic,’ Reiss repeated.
Footsteps sounded down the stairs outside.
‘You could still walk out of this room Brucker with no chance of a commission, with no role whatsoever.’
Franz waited an instant and then said, ‘Yes sir.’
‘The army is not desperate.’
‘Of course not sir.’
The Captain stubbed out his cigarette before telling Franz to stand up.
‘How tall are you?’
‘Five feet ten sir.’
‘And tell me, what part of the academic course have you felt to be the most worthwhile?’
‘All of it sir,’ Franz tried.
‘No Brucker, not that answer, not at all. You have to choose. And don’t feel you are obliged to pick mine.’
Franz forced himself to answer, ‘The lectures on battle formation strategies sir.’
‘Why those?’
‘It made clear what an officer’s immediate role would be once an attack began.’
‘And you think in a real battle situation it would work like that?’
‘It might not be exactly the same.’
‘Not exactly Brucker, not at all.’
He could smell Reiss’s nicotine breath as he spoke. He glanced at the neatly arranged desk top waiting for the next part of this man’s tactics.
‘You give commands and you follow commands.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘And never question those commands.’
‘No sir.’
‘Your men are....?’
‘More important than me sir.’
‘You don’t ask them to do....’
‘Anything that I wouldn’t do sir.’
‘By next week we will be at the Polish border. How does that sound to you?’
‘It sounds good sir.’
‘It better had be. You are dismissed Brucker.’
-------------------------------------------------------------------
‘You have to think what you can do,’ Franz often remembered one of his High School teachers Schiller saying.
Often Franz thought his teacher was a frustrated academic of some sort. His questions could be so abstract, so general they were meaningless. The class would sit there numbed off by his questions.
‘Our country as you all know is in a bad state,’ Schiller had continued, ‘you are part of its future generation. It will be up to you to improve things. So today I thought we might think about what that means. I want us to discuss what you as an individual can aim to do for your country. Who would like to start?’
Franz always felt intimidated by his teacher’s demanding tone. He was scared of him, scared of how much he could humiliate each one of the class. Such fear increased his resentment, his need to somehow confront Schiller and all he stood for.
‘Learn to read and write,’ one of the farmers’ sons sitting at the back of the classroom had eventually offered, more of a joke than anything else.
But to their teacher there was nothing light hearted about his lessons. He had no time for casual responses.
‘Yes. Some of you still have a way to go to even manage that and we know that without such basic accomplishments the rest is impossible.’
‘We become better at sport,’ was another remark.
Schiller had looked over the top of his glasses at the one who had spoken.
‘Or get stronger so we can fight better,’ was the next answer, the class surprisingly warming to the teacher’s question.
Finally Franz had stood up and said, ‘We have to become more confident sir, confident about what we can do.’
The rest of the pupils’ restlessness ceased as they sensed something different was about to happen.
Franz knew his tone had been too stringent.
‘And how do we do that Brucker?’ his teacher had asked.
‘By believing we can do whatever it is we are asked to do.’
‘And do you believe?’
‘No sir.’
>
Schiller had carefully looked at him as the room had gone very quiet.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not sure what it means sir.’
‘It means to be ready to meet any challenge.’
‘Then I don’t think I am ready sir.’
‘But you want to be?’
Franz had inwardly taken a deep breath knowing that he would have to say something or completely lose face in front of the rest of the class.
‘My father says Germany is not ready sir.’
‘And he’s right Brucker. But at the moment we are talking about you and what you can do to make your country better prepared. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘So what have you to do to prepare yourself for whatever in the future your country might need from you?’
‘I have to believe sir.’
‘Which you don’t?’
‘No sir.’
‘So this is getting us nowhere, is it Brucker?’
‘No sir.’
‘And I’ve always thought you were so sure of yourself.’
‘Thank you sir.’
‘Well, is it true?’ Schiller had asked with the first edge to his voice.
‘What?’
‘That you really are sure.’
‘Depends on what it’s about.’
‘It’s about the future of Germany Brucker.’
‘I believe in our country sir.’
‘Well at least that’s a start.’
‘And I think I want to do something that matters.’
‘And we’re glad to hear that as well.’
‘But I’m not sure what it’s going to be.’
Schiller had turned to the window and then back again, his rigid features appearing even stiffer as he said, ‘So long as you’re determined enough.’
Franz had waited for the teacher to continue, to ask him another question, to push him further. He stood there until Schiller sat back at his desk.
‘At least you were good enough to contribute Brucker. You can sit down now.’
Momentarily Franz had not moved.
‘You can sit down,’ Schiller had repeated.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
It was after dinner a few nights later that the first years were told about a night time session on the assault course.
‘Why tonight?’ Frumm wanted to know as the recruits went along the dormitory corridor.
‘Exactly,’ Meissner agreed, ‘we’ll be packing up out of here soon for God’s sake.’
‘I don’t trust it,’ Steiner added as they came into their room.
‘What?’ was Franz’s question.
‘We’ve got fifteen minutes,’ was from a breathless Hammling as he appeared in the doorway.
‘Just don’t trust what we’ve been told to do.’
‘Orders,’ Meissner said.
‘Come on you lot,’ was again from Hammling before he went off to his own room.
‘But who from? Have you directly heard them? Has anybody heard?’
Nobody responded.
‘Soon we leave,’ Steiner continued, ‘Doesn’t make sense. I would be prepared gentlemen for something cooked up by our senior cadets. They’re at it again. The bastards are taking their last chance.’
The sunset was spreading a russet tinge across the front of the school as a group of the first years in combat kit marched across the parade ground before turning to the left on their way to the artificial lake where the assault course began.
‘Why aren’t we all here?’ Franz inquired.
‘Because we’ve been picked as the lucky ones,’ Frumm muttered.
‘This is too obvious,’ was Steiner’s remark.
They followed a path cut through high ferns and trees before coming out at the foot of a grassy embankment. Beside the start of the assault course two huge swastika flags were fluttering in the warm summer breeze.
By now the sky had turned deep purple. At the top of the embankment stood Strauss, Hoffenbach, Winkler and some others from the second years dressed in their gym tracksuits. Each was holding an officer’s baton.
‘Up here gentlemen,’ Strauss started.
‘What’s going on?’ one of the first years called.
‘Steady. Steady,’ Strauss said smiling as the group came up the embankment.
‘Where are the officers?’ somebody else asked.
‘This is fucking rubbish,’ said another.
‘It will be if you don’t pay attention,’ was Strauss’s threat, his round face shadowed in the dimming light.
‘And what if we just turn round and.....?
Before the first year could finish his question Hoffenbach stepped forward and cracked his stick across the first year’s back. When he did it again the first year sank to his knees with a grunt.
Everything went quiet. Strauss got them in line, exaggeratedly strutting in front of them as he slapped his stick against the side of his leg.
‘I am surprised gentlemen you have never heard of this part of the school’s tradition, a long standing tradition I might say.’
Franz glanced at Steiner who was staring straight ahead. For an instant he looked up at the two flags that were now hanging limp.
‘Tomorrow as you know,’ Strauss continued, ‘We leave the school. Soon you will be officers of the Wehrmacht, but at this moment you are still cadets, junior cadets. So just do as you are told and I promise you’ll have something to remember for the rest of your military careers however long they may be.’
‘Take up a bag,’ was Winkler’s instructions, ‘And get a move on.’
He was the tallest of the second years with a Berlin accent and a way of slightly nodding his head when he spoke.
The kitbags were in a pile, each with a numbered card pinned to it.
Then they had to follow Strauss to the swing bars that were built over a trench of water.
‘Now gentlemen, you strip. Clothes go in your knapsack. Don’t forget your number. First thing tomorrow your kit will be inspected so I suggest you fold everything neatly with your boots in the bag first.’
‘Hurry up,’ Winkler ordered, ‘Get all your clothes off.’
Hoffenbach went around poking those who were slow.
‘It’s alright gentlemen, we’ve all seen your bits before,’ was Strauss’s comment.
‘Get on with it,’ came Winkler again at one of the first years before he lashed out with his stick.
Eventually they were all stood there naked. Franz was aware of Steiner a few feet in front of him.
‘All it is gentlemen is getting from one end of the swing bars to the other, something you’ve done by now at least a hundred times, should be easy. You get to the end, pick up your knapsack, get dressed and make your way back to your dorms for your last night in the school. We know some of you arse pokers will be sad about leaving tomorrow. The rest of us should be glad. So gentlemen we start with number one.’
It was Winkler who flipped his lighter open to set fire to the torch that Hoffenbach had picked up. His face was glowing as he started along the trench under the swing bars that was now full of fuel, the flames quickly spreading.
‘First!’ Strauss had to shout over the sudden noise of the flames, ‘The first!’
The cadet with the number one card stepped up and then did not move.
‘Come on, you first.’
‘I’m not going to....’ the cadet tried.
‘You’ll do as you’re fucking told or I’ll beat the shit out of you myself. Now get fucking up there, now!’
Finally the cadet jumped up, gripping hold of the bar, hanging there as the flames settled down.
The rest watched him, his feet almost in the fire as he frantically swung from one bar to the other.
‘Next! Come on! Next!,’ Strauss was shouting as Franz saw the number six on his knapsack.
Just then there was a scream as the first recruit missed a bar and fell
into the liquid flames. His body in one writhing motion struggled out of the ditch and started rolling around in the grass before one of the senior cadets threw a blanket over him. His screams ripped through the night echoing around the trees of the nearby wood.
‘No,’ the next cadet was shouting before Strauss gave him a crack over the shoulders.
They all watched as the cadet jumped up and started immediately swinging to the next bar, the fire blazing beneath him. When he stopped in the middle and hung there a few of the recruits began voicing their encouragement as the flames licked up towards his feet. Again he swung his naked body backwards and forwards until he stretched for the next bar, gripping it with one hand as he hung there suspended again before with obvious effort he managed to grip with both hands and begin moving onto the next bar.
‘You see!’ Strauss was shouting as the recruit finally reached the end, collapsing on the ground and then rubbing his feet with handfuls of grass.
It was Steiner next. Franz watched the way the flames sent orange patterns over his long limbs as easily he moved from one bar to the next before he too stopped in the middle.
‘Watch it boys! Steiner managed to call above the noise of the fire, ‘The bastards have taken a bar out here.’
With that he began swinging, his feet only inches away from the highest flames, his back turning black with soot, his arms stretched and quivering.
All of them watched. A group of other second years were stood at the end of the swing bars, their arms crossed, their reddened faces intent on Steiner’s efforts.
Franz could hardly breathe. The panic was for Steiner to succeed. His elongated body was alive with moving shadows, his features glistening in the heat. Everything for Franz was focused on this image so exposed and provocative at the same time, the skin and muscles almost melting in the heat.
With relief he watched Steiner manage the last bar before he dropped down, standing there, refusing any help from the second years as he quickly picked up his knapsack and started walking away.
For Franz, when he leapt up his hands were already sweating. He was confused and angry and yet forcing himself from bar to bar.
‘Move, come on!’ Winkler was shouting at him.
Momentarily he thought he saw Steiner still naked by the trees until he started choking from the smoke and fumes. Everything, the recruits, the dark night clouds, the fire, all swung with him as he stretched out for the next bar. The heat was scorching his feet and legs, throbbing along the flesh of his scars. His grip was becoming wetter as the bars were so hot. In the next moments was the sense of the absurdity of what was happening and then the fear and anger again.