Men of Snow (6 page)

CHAPTER 3

When the next manoeuvres took place Franz was ready. He had spent weeks preparing himself. Over and over he pictured what was going to happen and how he was going to respond. He was creating a deep line of cognition to follow through, his own mind programmed to control any unwanted physical reactions. All that happened as the artillery started and planes flew low was that his scars began to feel hotter. The longer the manoeuvres lasted the hotter they became, throbbing across his cheek and down his neck. But everything else had gone as planned. There had been no other reactions. He had advanced with the rest of them, thrown himself to the ground, got up, advanced again with live ammunition clattering over his head and explosions sounding close by. His mind had tightened his resolve until nothing else was possible. He had achieved control. Consciousness had become the tool.

‘Have you ever met a Jew? Do they have such things in mountain villages in Bavaria?’ Meissner, who had been given the spare bed in their room, started one night.

Frumm was laid out dozing. Steiner was reading and Franz was preparing his kit for the next day.

‘In such refined air you’d smell them miles away.’

‘No,’ Franz finally answered, ‘there weren’t any.’

‘Lucky you, I’ve seen them, seen too many, heard them, smelt them. They’re disgusting. They should have been thrown out of Germany a long time ago. A Yid. A Kike. Whatever you call them, they’re still vermin.’

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  ‘So you agreed,’ was the first thing Steiner called one evening over the throng of noise in the beer hall to Franz who was struggling his way through the crowd.

His expression shifted when he noticed Frumm, Meissner and another recruit called Hammling, who was in a dormitory on their corridor, following behind.

‘It’s definitely going to be war,’ was Meissner’s opinion when they had all managed to get chairs and sit at the end of one of the long beer tables.

‘Here’s to war,’ Frumm said ironically before lifting his glass of beer.

Somebody was playing a piano through the noise of voices, shouts and laughter.

‘Do you know, there are three versions of killing, whatever our officers might say?

Meissner’s voice was already drawled and slow.

‘Do we have to?’ Steiner complained.

‘No, listen,’ Franz said back.

Meissner looked from one to the other.

‘The first is the distance kill, the sniper shot, that sort of thing. It’s how you feel at the point of squeezing the trigger that interests me.’

‘And how the hell would you know?’ Frumm asked.

‘He knows,’ Hammling muttered, his round, red face covered in sweat.

‘How?’

‘Because....because he’s in the army.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Frumm laughed.

‘It’s automatic,’ Meissner continued, ‘It’s just a picture in your brain. There’s something there and then it’s down. It isn’t there anymore. There’s nothing to control except keeping your arm steady and your aim focused, but the second.’

‘The second,’ Hammling repeated before belching across the table.

Franz finished his beer as a waiter brought more full glasses.

Steiner was looking emptily across the smoke filled hall.

‘The second is the close combat kill, the rush of blood, the pumped up action kill. It’s when it’s either you or him. No time to think or feel anything. You just go for it, shoot, bayonet them, knife them, and chew their heads off if that’s a last resort. It’s instinctive, primitive. It’s the rush of blood for more blood, to wallow in it, to smash and butcher and all the rest. There is no choice. It’s such close action you just react. Fear becomes anger becomes the lust to kill.’

‘Yes,’ Hammling exclaimed.

‘No,’ Frumm sighed, ‘But go on, what about the third?’

‘That’s the execution,’ Franz said.

Meissner looked at him.

‘That’s when there will be time,’ he added.

‘Eh, this is my piece,’ Meissner complained.

Franz pulled a doubtful expression, ‘Sorry. I thought you might need a bit of help.’

‘Well I don’t.’

‘He doesn’t,’ added Hammling.

‘So please, carry on. You were saying...’

‘The third is the firing squad, is the prisoner who you can’t take with you, is the rat Jew getting in your way, something like that.’

‘So go on,’ Franz interrupted, ‘Tell us Meissner how you would feel.’

‘I would....’

‘You would do your duty,’ Franz continued, ‘that’s all there is to it. There’s no emotion. It’s just something that has to be done.’

‘So say you.’

‘What else is there?’

‘Maybe a momentary consideration,’ Steiner put in.

Franz glanced at him, ‘I don’t think so. If it’s a situation where you are in command then you just do whatever is necessary.’

‘Just like that.’

‘Yes,’ he said to Steiner, ‘Just like that.’

‘So what about the Russians?’ was Frumm’s loud question, ‘The Ruskies.’

‘Ribbentrop is an arse. He’s probably promised them half of Europe,’ said Meissner as he unbuttoned the collar of his uniform, ‘What a heat in this place.’

‘It’s hot,’ Hammling muttered.

‘Does he have to agree with everything you say?’ Steiner asked.

Meissner started laughing and raised his glass, ‘He’s a follower. He knows who knows what there is to know. Cheers to all those in the know.’

‘I know,’ Hammling added.

‘Of course you do!’ Meissner shouted as he slapped him on the back.

‘So it’s the Poles first.’

‘It will be,’ Steiner said back to Frumm who had lit another cigarette.

There was a general movement in the hall that had recruits falling over each other and pushing against their table before it settled down again and the piano started up.

‘And why not?’ Franz asked, ‘We need their space. They waste space. They’re only Slavs for God’s sake.’

‘Poland is full of Yids,’ Meissner mentioned.

‘All the more reason to take their bloody country.’

‘And then we’ll keep going.’

‘East,’ said Steiner.

‘East, West, North and South. We’re the army of the third Reich. It doesn’t matter what direction so long as we make it ours. That’s why you don’t have to feel anything for any of them. They’re not worth it, Yids, Slavs, Greeks, whatever. Here’s to wiping the shits out!’ exclaimed Meissner as he raised his empty glass.

Steiner looked at him and then at his own glass of beer. Franz watched him for an instant and then stood up.

‘Yes. Good idea,’ said Frumm, ‘Let’s move.’

‘Already?’ asked Meissner.

‘Why not?’

‘You’ve all just got here,’ Steiner put in.

‘Good night,’ said Franz before he turned to start to struggle his way through the crowd.

‘Where are you going?’ Meissner wanted to know when they were outside and Franz had started off down the cobbled street.

‘To see somebody,’ he called back.

‘Oh yes. Lucky you,’ Frumm laughed, ‘give her one for us old boy.’

‘For all of us,’ added Meissner who had Hammling staggering beside him.

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Franz walked quickly to the end of the street before turning down an alleyway. This area of Meiteldorf was usually deserted after dark. He turned into another narrow street where the buildings from opposite side were almost touching overhead. He cut down the side of a building to where there was a low wall. Against it were several small outhouses. He went into one of them and came out with a knapsack that he slung over his shoulder.

Five minutes later he was knocking at the door of a tall tenement building on one of the larger side streets that lead to the centre.

After waiting and knocking again a woman opened the door.

‘Yes Herr Brucker, good evening. I suppose your brother is expecting you.’

‘Thank you Mrs Hoffner,’ Franz said as he stepped into the hallway, nodding at the stout, middle aged landlady.

‘Do you want me to show you up to his room?’

‘No. I don’t think that’s necessary. I can find my own way now. Thank you,’ was his answer as he started up the carpeted stairs, smoothing his hand up the wide, polished bannister rail.

‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ the landlady added as he went up to the next floor.

He waited to hear the door to her room close.

For a moment he stood there listening. There was a radio on upstairs. A truck rattled past outside. There were voices from the street and then quiet again.

Finally he tapped on the door.

There was little lighting on the stairs as he waited, hearing somebody change the radio station from one of the upper rooms.

‘Who is it?’ came a voice.

‘It’s Brucker. Open the door.

‘Are....are you by yourself?’

‘Of course I am. Hurry up and open the door.’

With the rattle of the lock it was Schultz who glanced through the opening crack in the doorway before he let Franz in.

In the room there was a double bed, a washstand and a set of drawers with a curved mirror.

‘You came,’ was all Schultz could say as he stepped back against the bed.

‘I said I would.’

‘This is such a mess.’

‘Yes,’ Franz agreed.

‘I just can’t believe you’re doing this, doing this for me.’

‘I’ve done nothing.’

Schultz’s face squeezed up in doubt, ‘You’ve saved me.’

‘And you exaggerate.’

‘I wished I did.’

‘Here is some food,’ Franz mentioned as he put the knapsack on the bed, ‘And a change of clothing, and this,’ he added as he took an envelope out of his jacket pocket.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s money, enough money for the ticket.’

Schultz hesitated.

‘Take it. Otherwise you’ll never get out of this place.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Here,’ Franz persisted.

For a few moments Schultz studied the envelope he had taken.

‘You...you don’t know what this is like. Why should you? I’ve....I’ve always failed. Everything I’ve tried, everything I’ve wanted.  I should never have been accepted. I don’t know how I managed it. I....I was sure I would never get in. Me...me training to be an officer in the army of the Third Reich. It sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous.’

He sat on the edge of the bed as Franz smelt the dampness in the room overlaid with polish, reminding him of his old schoolroom.

‘You know the time of the train?’

‘They would have killed me,’ Schultz muttered back.

There was the sound of more voices out in the street and the noise of a train’s wheels skidding on the tracks near the town’s railway station.

‘The timetable,’ Franz said.

‘I don’t understand why you are doing this, but I have to thank you, to thank you Brucker.’

‘You get there so you don’t have to wait on the platform for too long.’

‘Will they find out?’

‘I don’t know. No. I don’t see why they should.’

‘I was trying Brucker. I was really trying.’

‘It’s too late for that now.’

‘Now....now I don’t know what’s going to happen. There’s going to be a war and what will I do?’

‘Just make sure you catch that train,’ Franz said strongly before he turned to the door.

‘I....I might....might see you...sometime,’ Schultz tried.

Out on the landing Franz waited after closing the door. The radio was still playing dance music upstairs, but something was different. He glanced over the banister to see the landlady waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Not staying long tonight?’ Mrs Hoffner asked as Franz came down.

‘My brother has a headache.’

‘Should I get him a glass of water or something?’

Franz looked at her, ‘No. I’m sure he’ll manage. He just wants an early night.’

Mrs Hoffner said in an exaggeratedly concerned voice, ‘Of course. We won’t disturb him then. So he’s expecting nobody else tonight?’ she added.

‘No. He won’t be expecting anybody else.’

‘You’ve been his only visitor.’

‘He is only here to see me.’

‘His brother.’

‘Yes,’ Franz said.

Mrs Hoffner half smiled as she asked, ‘Will you be visiting him tomorrow?’