The Cross of Iron (13 page)

‘On this side?’ Kern asked.

‘Of course. If you run on the other side, I won’t be able to see what’s happening.’ He turned to Schnurrbart. ‘Fire high—I’ll take the first house, you the second and Hollerbach the third. Get ready!’ 

Kern and Maag started toward the houses. They moved leadenly. Steiner shouted: ‘Speed!’ They began running. When the three behind them started firing above their heads at the windows, they dropped to the ground. Steiner cursed. ‘Those idiots!’ he raged, and shouted: ‘Get up. That’s us, you idiots; we’re covering you.’ He waved his hand reassuringly toward Kern, who was glancing back anxiously. Behind his back, Schnurrbart and Hollerbach suppressed a giggle. Hollerbach said: ‘Those tin soldiers.’ They watched as Maag, too, raised his head and looked back. Seeing Steiner point the tommy-gun menacingly at him, he stood up quickly and began running on. Kern stayed on the ground a few seconds more; then he, too, rose and stumbled behind Maag. ‘Do we fire?’ Schnurrbart asked.

Steiner shook his head impatiently. ‘Those idiots will think it’s the Russians again. Anyway, they’re all right now.’ The two had already reached the last of the buildings. As they disappeared around the corner, Steiner wiped the sweat from his forehead. Although they had had no trouble at all up to now, he was filled with forebodings. Schnurrbart was right; there was something fishy here. The Russians couldn’t be giving up without a fight. Minutes passed. He stared again at the houses standing green-shuttered, quiet and peaceful in the morning sunlight. At that moment a volley of shots rang out from the north side of the house, where Kern and Maag must be.

When they reached the end of the third house, Kern and Maag had looked around them quickly. The building had no doors or windows on this side. Kern sighed with relief. He leaned his back against the stout logs and said: ‘Nothing here. What’ll we do now?’

Maag suspiciously eyed the woods, which began about fifty feet away. ‘I don’t know,’ he said hesitantly. ‘We’d better wait here. If Steiner wants us to do something, he’ll tell us.’ He crouched down on the ground, groped forth a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed it to Kern. They said nothing until both cigarettes were lit. Then Kern pushed his cap back on his head. Sighing, he said: ‘I wonder what’s going to happen next?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Maag replied gloomily. His freckled face twisted into a grimace. ‘I tell you, this thing stinks like limburger cheese.’

Maag again eyed the edge of the woods. How many times he had gone into the edge of dense woods just like these, on Sundays, with his girl, of course. He could see her now. She had a red dress she wore often. He recalled how he would tremble when they sat down anywhere, she with her long tanned legs folded beneath her. He would lie on his stomach and talk to distract his attention from her legs, while Monika regarded him with a faint smile. Still, she said she liked his self-control. Once she had given him a long kiss and remarked that he was the first boy she knew who didn’t lose his head right away. He had swallowed the compliment like a soldier receiving an undeserved medal. What would Monika have said, he wondered, if she knew the real reason for his restraint. He had to do something about that. When the war was over, he’d go to a doctor, to a specialist in mental things. He didn’t want to lose Monika. Though it would be a long time before they’d be in a position to get married. Maybe he would own his own garage some day. If it weren’t for this damned war, he’d be on his way now. He sighed again. The time a man lost, all on account of those bastards, those stinkers with their goddamned war.

Thinking of all these things, he stared into space. When Kern suddenly gripped his arm, he looked up angrily. ‘What’s the matter, what the devil do you want-’ The outburst faded. Kern’s face was chalky white. The innkeeper was staring in terror at the woods. ‘Do you see him?’ he stammered. His fear was contagious; Maag was frightened too. ‘What?’ he whispered, peering at the trees but seeing nothing unusual. ‘Russians,’ Kern whispered. Maag threw himself forward on his stomach and raised his rifle. ‘Where, where the devil do you see them?’ But Kern was so worked up he could not say another word. He pointed silently at a spot on the edge of the woods where the underbrush was particularly dense. Maag stared intently at it. He could feel his heart beating in short, hard thrusts, and tried to master his excitement. Once or twice he thought he detected movement among the branches, but each time he fixed his eyes upon a particular spot, he became unsure. Finally he turned to Kern, who lay beside him, ‘You’re imagining things.’

But Kern shook his head violently. ‘I saw it, I tell you—a head with a cap, a Russian cap.’

‘Where, damn it?’

‘Right in front of us. Over there by the crooked tree, where the branches are hanging low.’

‘Near the reeds?’

‘No, further to the right, over—there he is again—do you see him?’ Kern’s voice broke with excitement. Maag raised him
s
elf a little and immediately dropped back flat on the ground. Kern was not mistaken. Above the bushes, close to the trunk of a twisted alder, he could distinctly make out the face of a man staring steadily in his direction. It was impossible to tell whether the man had sighted them, but Maag had the feeling that the Russian was looking straight into his eyes. For a few seconds he lay paralysed, tom between the desire to jump up and run and the feeling that this would be bad for the whole platoon. Kern’s fear intensified his own uncertainty.

As he slowly raised his rifle, he was acting against his will. Seen through the gunsight, the Russian’s face looked like a white spot in the greenness of the wood. Maag lowered the barrel slightly. His finger tightened on the trigger. Then he fired. The shot screamed in the unnatural silence. As he shot again, he saw out of the comers of his eyes Kern raising his rifle and beginning to fire. Wildly, heedlessly, they both fired their magazines empty, turned on their sides, opening their ammunition pouches, reloaded with trembling fingers, and again fired like mad. The Russian’s face had long since disappeared. Before they could load again, Steiner appeared. He came rushing around, threw himself on the ground beside them and raised his tommy-gun. ‘What’s up?’ he shouted. Maag lowered his rifle and stammered: ‘R-R-Russians.’

 ‘Where?’

‘Over there.’

‘How many?’

‘I saw one.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t know,’ Maag murmured uncertainly. ‘He’s gone now.’ Steiner turned to Kern, who had meanwhile reloaded and was raising his rifle again. ‘What are you banging away at?’

‘Russians,’ Kern responded eagerly. Dimly inside him his fear still resounded like an echo. But now that Steiner was here, he felt more confident. Grinning, he said, ‘We gave it to him.’

‘Did you?’ Steiner said. He stood up slowly and looked scornfully down at the innkeeper. But Kern did not notice. He had suddenly become aware of how courageously he had fired into the woods. The others couldn’t have done any better, he told himself. The thought filled him with pride. After all, this war business wasn’t half bad. Keep on your toes, and you were all right. You just had to show the Russians you weren’t afraid of them. His fear gave way to almost hysterical high spirits. He looked up at Steiner, who was now regarding him with absolute malignance.

‘You’re the biggest fool I ever came across. Get up.’

Offended, Kern stood up and looked at Maag, who was fussing with his rifle and glancing uncertainly at the edge of the woods. ‘Come along,’ Steiner ordered. He started moving carefully toward the trees. They followed him at a considerable distance.

After some searching, Steiner found the Russian. He lay among the undergrowth, holding both hands pressed against his waist, bulging eyes resting on Steiner, who paused a few steps away from him and studied him thoughtfully. Kern and Maag came up to him. When they saw the Russian, they stopped in alarm. Maag regained poise first. ‘We got him,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I thought so. I aimed carefully.’ Kern glowered at Maag and was about to say something, but Steiner did not give him the chance. He stepped closer to the Russian, who watched each of his movements in fear. This one, too, was an elderly man. Their last reserves, Steiner thought. He looked around for the Russian’s gun until be noticed it lying half-concealed among the branches of a bush. Then he turned to Maag. ‘You did enough shooting to kill a regiment. But it’s good you got the man. Go and bring Krüger back here with you. The others are to stay at their posts.’

Maag hurried off, while Kern stood staring uncomfortably down at the Russian. He suddenly felt sorry for the old man, who lay helplessly on the ground, his face clenching with pain now and then. His eyes were still fixed upon Steiner who was indifferently studying the Russian tommy-gun. I wonder what he’s going to do with him? Kern thought. Lousy business sending old men like this up to the front. Maag must have hit him; I was just firing into the air. The thought relieved him. It was rotten to feel you’d killed someone, especially when it was a sorry-looking old bird like this. He turned his head and saw Maag and Krüger approaching. 

‘What’s up?’ Krüger asked.

Steiner indicated the Russian. ‘Ask him where he was.’

Krüger went up to the wounded man and spoke to him. He had to repeat his question twice before the man moved his lips. The Russian’s voice was so faint and shaky that Krüger had to stoop down to him. When the man stopped talking, Krüger turned to Steiner. ‘He says he was watching the horses.’

Steiner nodded, pleased. ‘So I thought. That was the weak point in this deal. He must have heard the firing. Ask him if there are any more men with the horses.’

To Steiner’s relief, the Russian shook his head. Steiner thrust a thumb into his belt. ‘How many men are there in the houses?’ 

But this time the Russian did not reply. When Krüger translated the question, he closed his eyes and turned his head aside. Steiner frowned. He was acutely conscious of how much time was passing, and he decided to act quickly. In an icy voice he said: ‘If he doesn’t open his mouth, we’ll hang him to a tree. Tell him that.’

Krüger spoke in an urgent, imploring voice to the old man. Finally he shrugged hopelessly. ‘He won’t say.’

Steiner took one long step up to the wounded man and held the muzzle of the tommy-gun against his forehead. ‘He has to,’ he said sternly. ‘Ask him again.’

Krüger glanced at the other men’s faces. The whole business sickened him, but he felt that there was no other way. He began expostulating with the Russian, illustrating his words with unmistakable gestures. The Russian slowly opened his eyes and turned his face toward Steiner, who was regarding him expressionlessly. As he spoke a few words, a brief smile passed over his wrinkled, parchment-like face.

‘What is he saying?’ Steiner asked.

Krüger jerked his shoulders irritably. 'He says he is an old man.’ ‘We can see that,’ Steiner said calmly. ‘Nothing more?’

‘No.’

‘Did you tell him we’ll shoot him?’

Krüger nodded.

For the space of a few heartbeats Steiner was conscious of admiration for the old man. He felt how dry his mouth was. His finger was resting on the trigger guard of the tommy-gun, but he hesitated. When he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, he did so with the sensation of a person who is tearing a scrap of skin from a bruise, skin that hangs only by a thread. The shot sounded low, as though he had thrust the barrel of the gun into the ground. The Russian’s body heaved up. The whites of his eyes bulged out, his feet beat a tattoo on the ground, and then he abruptly lay still. Steiner looked at the white faces of the men and turned around without a word. When they reached the house, he said to Krüger: ‘Go back to your gun. Don’t let anyone out of the windows, remember. We’re going to see these places from the inside.’

As they moved around the corner, they pressed close to the wall of the house. At the bridge, Hollerbach and Schnurrbart were waiting for them, peering anxiously. When Steiner raised his hand and beckoned, they came rushing, doubled up, past the houses. ‘What was it?’ Schnurrbart asked.

Steiner explained.

‘And now?’

‘Now we’re going in.’ Steiner turned to Hollerbach. ‘You stay out here. With your tommy-gun you can command all the doors and windows from the side. Make sure nobody gets away.’ He gave Hollerbach the Russian tommy-gun he had picked up. ‘Take this one; it’s better than ours.’ He turned to the others, who were pressed close against the wall of the house, and seemed content to stay right there. ‘Don’t fire unless you see something, and don’t run unless I give the order.’

Kern rubbed his cheek excitedly. ‘And if you fa-’ He corrected himself quickly—‘I mean, if something should happen to you?’

Steiner stared him down. ‘In that case Schnurrbart will carry on; but don’t worry, I won’t give you the pleasure.’ As Schnurrbart started to protest, Steiner cut him off with a wave of his hand.

‘Aren’t we awful few for the job?’ Maag asked hollowly.

‘No. In the houses we’d only get in each other’s way. A few hand grenades will do it.’ As he spoke he drew a stick grenade from his belt. Turning, he ducked under the first window. Most of the glass had been smashed by their firing earlier. Crouching under the window, he pulled the pin on the grenade, rose quickly and threw it into the house. The others were still taking cover around the corner. Steiner heard the grenade thud to the floor; then he leaped to safety. There was a low, booming noise as though a heavy object had been dropped in a large, empty room. The men’s tense poses relaxed. They watched Steiner run to the window, hesitate for a moment, and then slowly bring his face level with the empty window frame. For a few seconds he stared into the house; then he straightened up. ‘Empty,’ he said quietly, stepping back. Cautiously the others approached and peered through the splintered frame. Although the interior was in semi-darkness because of the closed shutters on the other windows, they could see at once that the big, rectangular room was vacant. It was utterly bare and the floor was covered with a thick layer of dust.

‘I thought so,’ Schnurrbart said. ‘The chimney wasn’t smoking.’