The Cross of Iron (10 page)

‘We can’t cross that,’ Krüger said.

Schnurrbart nodded. ‘Not a chance. What do we do next?’ Steiner unstrapped his pack, dropped it on the ground and looked about. Finally he went up to a tree with low-hanging branches. He swung up to the first bow and climbed from limb to limb until he was lost among the leaves.

The men looked expectantly at him when he came down. Steiner dropped from the last branch of the tree. In a few words he described what he had seen: a hundred-foot stretch of reeds, open water, more reeds, and forest beyond. ‘It’s 300 feet across at least. Worse than I ever thought it would be.’

‘There must be some way to get over,’ Krüger said.

For reply Steiner dug in his pocket, took out the map and spread it out on the ground. The men looked over his shoulders. He showed them the delicate blue line cutting across the woods.

‘The devil,’ Maag said. ‘Are you sure this is the creek?’

‘No doubt about it.’

Dietz swallowed hard. ‘Couldn’t it be a lake?’

‘No, it’s the creek.’

‘Then we’re done,’ Krüger declared.

Steiner folded up the map, reached out for his tommy-gun, and turned in the direction from which they had come. They followed him about 300 yards back into the woods, until they reached a comparatively dry spot. Here Steiner stopped. The men dropped to the ground and lay brooding dully. Schnurrbart went up to Steiner. ‘Are we staying the night here?’

Steiner nodded. He looked like a man who had made a wearisome climb up a mountain only to recognize just below the peak that the last hundred feet were unscalable. Schnurrbart watched him out of the corners of his eyes, sensing his discouragement. He realized that it was up to him to restore Steiner’s confidence. If the other men guessed how Steiner felt, they would lose heart completely. There was just one thing they could do. They would have to follow the creek toward the north until they reached the road, cross the bridge there, and then turn south-west again and go back through the woods toward Krymskaya. He tried to calculate the number of miles they would have to cover. Since they had been marching steadily south-west, it would be a good thirty to the highway. Then another forty or so to Krymskaya. Seventy miles at least.

Seventy miles without rations through this swampy forest was a sheer impossibility. Steiner was right to be discouraged; they were done for. Best make an end of it before they just collapsed somewhere and croaked of hunger and exhaustion. He glanced at the tommy-gun which he had placed between his legs. Devil take it, that was one hell of a death. And Erika? What would she do without him? He suddenly recalled the last time they had been together. That was more than a year ago now. This filthy war. Leave came rarely enough anyhow, and when your turn did come, there was sure to be a general ban on leave. Twelve months, he thought; my God, twelve months.

He heard Steiner clearing his throat and looked up quickly. Their eyes met.

‘That damned creek,’ Schnurrbart said.

Steiner nodded. ‘The map doesn’t do it justice, does it. Listen, you,’ he said to the others. ‘We’re going to spend the night here. Tomorrow morning we’ll start before dawn.’

‘Straight into the creek?’ Krüger asked querulously.

Steiner frowned. ‘We’ll march to the road,’ he said.

‘How far is that?’ Maag asked.

‘About thirty miles.’

‘Thirty miles! Krüger laughed crazily. Before I march thirty miles I need something to eat.’

‘You mean to march those thirty miles tomorrow?’ Anselm inquired.

Steiner shrugged impatiently. ‘If we don’t get there tomorrow, we will the day after.’

Dorn wagged his head soberly. ‘Even fifteen miles a day is too much without food.’

Their carpings infuriated Steiner. The harshness returned to his voice. ‘When you’re marching for your life, fifteen miles on an empty stomach is nothing. I’ll tell you something.’ He straightened up and stared down the row of dispirited faces. ‘We’ll reach that road by the day after tomorrow at the latest. If you’ve got to have something to eat, try tree bark. Cooked in water till soft, it’s supposed to be edible. You’ve got your mess-kits, you’ve got wood, you’ve got water and matches—damn it all, don’t behave like a lot of children.’

They looked shamefaced, but Krüger growled: ‘If we can drink the muck. Didn’t you see what it looks like? As if a hundred cows have been shitting in it.’

‘Then boil it and skim it. You won’t mind the filth—you’ve got a pig’s stomach anyway.’

The men grinned; they were gradually becoming infected by Steiner’s confidence. Schnurrbart stared at him, wondering at the sudden change of mood. But now that Steiner was himself again, they’d make it, damn it all. He grinned cheerfully. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘we’ll eat tree bark like the ancient Teutons.’

‘The ancient Teutons ate bear steak by the ton,’ Anselm said, rubbing his belly.

‘Yes,’ Kern added, ‘and drank mead by the barrel.’

‘If you still had your iron rations, it wouldn’t be half as bad. Any of you have them left?’ asked Steiner.

There was a shamefaced silence. Steiner reached into his pack, took out a small bag and dropped it on the ground. ‘We’ll make a soup,’ he said. ‘Put the meat and the bread right in it. Two men fetch water. If you can’t get to the creek, dig a hole in the ground. But don’t anybody try drinking the muck before it’s boiled. The rest can gather wood.’

The men got up. For a few minutes they bustled about. It was already growing dark beneath the trees. Steiner appointed sentries, and the fire was lit only after these had reached their assigned places. The wood was wet and smoked heavily, but this proved to be a boon, for it drove away the swarms of insects. Kern and Anselm had meanwhile gone to the creek for water, each carrying half a dozen mess-tins. They went as far as the soft ground permitted, then dug a square hole which immediately filled with water. The water was black and stinking. Kern made a face. ‘Ugh, when I think of what I could be drinking back home,’ he said. He stared mournfully into the gathering gloom among the trees.

Anselm looked at him from the side. He suddenly felt that Kern was not such a bad fellow after all; all the quarrels they had had now seemed foolish and needless. He watched Kern filling the mess-tins and felt a great gladness that he was not alone in the woods here. All along the edge of the creek numberless frogs had begun a concert which was rapidly rising to an unbearable fortissimo. Kern raised his head. ‘Listen to that!’ he said grimly. He finished filling the mess-tins and straightened his back, groaning. ‘Shall we go?’ he asked. Anselm nodded. Holding the vessels carefully so as not to spill the water, they started back.

In the last few minutes night had descended fully. A feeble glimmer of light directed them toward the camp. When they reached it, they saw the men sitting around the fire, which they kept burning low. A flat hole had been dug, and the burning branches rested on the bottom. Kern and Anselm sat down with the others. Steiner was sitting with his back against a tree. Beside him lay Schnurrbart, Krüger and Maag. Dietz was chatting with Hollerbach. Dorn, off to one side, had his arms clasped over his knees and was staring vacantly into the fire. Zoll and Pasternak were doing sentry duty. The confidence Steiner had injected into them all a few moments ago had already ebbed away. The uncertainty over what faced them was as depressing as the tiredness in their bodies.

Kern turned to Anselm. ‘You know what I wish I had? I wish I had a barrel of vodka.’ He squirmed restlessly. ‘How I would drink!’

‘No more than you can hold,’ Steiner said; he had been sitting with closed eyes, listening to the conversation.

Kern was wary of getting involved in a conversation with Steiner. But he felt misunderstood, and so he said more than he wanted to. ‘You don’t know how much I can hold. After ten bottles I sick it up; then I’m ready for the next ten and the next.’

The others pricked up their ears. The boasting irritated them. Krüger said: ‘Listen to his boasting before he touches a drop. I’d like to see him after one bottle. I’ll bet he’s done most of his drinking from a bottle with a rubber nipple.’

The others laughed. Kern spat on the ground. ‘Don’t you wish you had half what I’ve drunk in my life. Why, I can handle vodka even better than I can women, and that’s saying a lot.’

‘Really?’ Krüger leaned forward. ‘And how many women can you handle at one time, may I ask?’

‘Don’t you wish you knew!’ Kern grinned significantly. Now that the conversation had taken its usual turn, several of the men yawned. Maag, however, spurred him on. ‘Come on, let’s have it.’

Kern pretended reticence. The presence of Dorn inhibited him. 

‘Why, you can see by his nose that he hasn’t lost his sex yet.’

Schnurrbart drawled. ‘He just boasts. He’s so bad at it he lives from hand to prick. '

‘Hell to you!’ Kern snapped, enraged. ‘If you’d had all the sex I’ve had, you wouldn’t have to.’

Maag looked enviously at him, recalling his one and only experience. He’d had a few drinks for courage, then gone to a whorehouse. He’d paid his money and the blonde girl had taken him to a small red-carpeted room. But something funny had happened to him there; when she pulled him down on her, all his excitement had evaporated and nothing she could do helped. He had lain with his head on her breasts, tears streaming down his face. Finally she had sent him home, keeping the money. Ever since he had been scared stiff it would happen again; he was always worrying about it. If the same thing ever happened to him with Monika, she’d be sure to find somebody else. Perhaps she had already done so. The idea made him sweat. He tried to distract himself, and looked at Kern who was just relating his latest adventure with a twenty-five-year-old war widow. The men listened with mingled fascination and scepticism. Dorn had turned away indifferently. Now he stood up brusquely and walked a few steps away, sitting down by a tree.

Schnurrbart had meanwhile begun distributing the soup among the mess-tins, measuring conscientiously and handing each man his portion as it was doled out. He looked around and asked: 'Where is Steiner?’ Krüger shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The Professor isn’t here either.’ Maag jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the trees. ‘They must be somewhere back there.’ Hollerbach stood up and walked in the direction Maag had indicated. ‘Extras for us,’ Kern growled irritably. He had placed the mess-tin on his knee. He sniffed several times at the dark concoction and began carefully spooning it out. The soup was hot. He burned his mouth and cursed. ‘Tastes like prussic acid,’ he observed. Krüger grinned. ‘Spill the muck off the top first,’ he said. ‘What muck?’ Kern asked, examining the mess-kit suspiciously. Krüger shook his head. ‘Can’t he tell muck when he sees it. I wonder what kind of stuff he serves his guests back home.’

His professional pride slighted, Kern threw his head back and snarled: ‘Shut your mouth!’

For a second Krüger looked at him in surprise. Then his face hardened. ‘You want to make something of this?’ he said calmly.

Kern stared into his icy eyes and suddenly felt frightened. He mumbled something indistinct and looked down at his mess-tin again. This time he discovered the layer of filth floating on the surface. Sickened, he dumped half the soup on the ground. ‘Looks like spunk,’ he mumbled.

‘You should have skimmed it,’ Maag advised. He was eating rapidly. But Kern had lost his appetite. Disgruntled, he placed the mess tin on the ground.

Hollerbach returned to the fire. ‘What’s up?’ Kern asked him uneasily. The others lowered their mess tins. Hollerbach shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Steiner’s gone off somewhere. Pasternack says Steiner walked off by him without saying a word.’

‘Where to?’ Krüger asked in perplexity.

Hollerbach sat down. ‘The devil only knows.’

There was a moment’s silence. The wet wood crackled in the fire and sent a rain of sparks spurting from the hole. Schnurrbart turned to Hollerbach. ‘Where’s the Professor?’

‘He’s asleep. Though he doesn’t seem to be really asleep, Pasternack says.’

‘Sick?’ Schnurrbart asked with concern.

They fell silent. Schnurrbart scratched his neck, wondering. Probably another of Steiner’s mad notions, he thought. Poking around now in the darkness, as usual.

‘What’ll we do?’ Kern asked. He looked around helplessly at the men’s gloomy faces. The thought that Steiner might not return terrified him. His glance fell upon Anselm’s pale face; Anselm was staring over the fire at the trees beyond. They’re all scared, Kern thought. When Steiner isn’t here they’re all scared. The realization intensified his own fear. ‘Should we go looking for him?’ he asked Schnurrbart.

Schnurrbart tossed a branch into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. ‘Where would you look for him!’ he answered roughly. ‘He’ll be back. Anyway, you can relieve Pasternack,’ he ordered Kern. ‘And you,’ he turned to Anselm, ‘can relieve Zoll.’

‘Why me?’ Anselm asked rebelliously. He stared at each of them in turn. When his eyes met Krüger’s, he saw the East Prussian suddenly lean to one side, pick up a dry stick of wood and toss it across the fire at him. Anselm avoided it only by throwing himself backward. With the stick clattering against a tree behind him, he jumped to his feet with a cry of rage. Krüger rose slowly. Something in his expression warned Anselm. His aggression died within him; Krüger was twice as strong as he. He contented himself with a glare of hatred and said to Kern: ‘They feel important already.’ Kern stood up without a word.

The men watched them walk off side by side into the encompassing darkness. Dietz turned reproachfully to Krüger, who was sitting down with a grin of complacency on his face. ‘Why do you make trouble all the time?’ he said gravely.

‘Yes,’ Hollerbach chimed in. ‘Dietz is right; all this wrangling is disgusting. I should think we had other things to worry about-’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Krüger interrupted wrathfully. He was on edge and ready to fight even with Hollerbach.

Schnurrbart interfered. He put his hand on Krüger’s shoulder. ‘Cut it out now. It is sickening; as soon as Steiner is gone for ten minutes we go to pieces. Let’s get some sleep now; there’s a tough day ahead of us.’