The Cross of Iron (18 page)

‘What do you want?’ Zoll asked impatiently. ‘Everything is all right.’

‘I said the women were to sit and not lie back,’ Schnurrbart answered.

Zoll was aware of the swift fading of all his good resolutions. If Schnurrbart was going to be a shit like Steiner, he would have to set him back on his heels in good time. ‘I don’t know what you want,’ he said angrily. ‘Let them stay the way they are. If any of them lets out a sound, I’ll let her have it.’

Their loud voices had roused the women. They sat up again, throwing anxious looks at the two men.

‘There you are!’ Zoll burst out in a rage. ‘When they’re lying down they’ve got less of a chance to make trouble.’ He turned around and bellowed: ‘Lie down!’

The Russian women looked blank. Zoll strode over to one of them, raised his boot and pushed against her shoulder, tipping her backwards. ‘Lie down, I said!’ he shouted again. This time the others understood. Zoll watched with satisfaction as their bodies sagged to the floor. ‘Don’t you think I can watch them better this way?’ he said to Schnurrbart.

Schnurrbart hesitated uneasily. Finally he shrugged. ‘At any rate you can’t see their faces like this.’

Zoll grinned. ‘What do I need to see their faces for. I prefer their arses.’

'You’re a young pig,’ Schnurrbart growled as he went out. Zoll kicked the door shut behind him and quickly turned toward the Russian woman. She had opened her eyes and was looking at him. Now she spread her legs apart, turning her feet outward, and nodded encouragingly to him. When he did not stir, she spread her blouse open, reached under the grey cloth of her undershirt and pressed her breast upward. Breathlessly, head crooked forward, Zoll watched the white flesh appear over the edge of the shirt He dug his teeth into his lower lip, and his whole body tautened. But he stood still as if nailed to the spot. His eyes hung painfully, lustfully upon the brownish circles of her nipples which rose up tease and hard. When the Russian woman beckoned him with her finger, he could feel that he was losing control of himself. His eyes swept over the heads of the other prisoners, paused upon the face of the man. Although he was lying with closed eyes, just like the women, Zoll’s suspicions revived. But it was crazy to worry, he told himself. The old geezer would not dare try anything. As his gaze turned back to the exposed breast, he feverishly went over the possibilities. Nothing much could happen if he went ahead. Though it would be stinking if another of the men came in. He would have to hurry. But here?

He shook himself. To provide an erotic spectacle for thirty women did not appeal to him. Besides he did not quite trust the sleepy and apparently indifferent man. The fellow might only be waiting for him to lay down on top of the woman. The thought sobered him a little. You couldn’t trust any of this damned pack of Russians. Indecisive, he looked over the rest of the prisoners once more. There was nothing about their attitudes that seemed suspicious. Then he suddenly recalled that the woman who was baring herself had been the very one with whom the man had talked so excitedly. He glowered at her. As though she were guessing his thoughts, she began to smile again, and to push herself along the floor toward him. She moved in such a provocative manner that all of Zoll’s compunctions disappeared. Where could he take her? Finally he thought he had found the solution. He beckoned with a movement of his head. ‘Come,’ he said softly,
‘iddi sudda
.’ She hesitated, and he noticed her glance at the man in perplexity for the briefest moment. The man seemed to notice nothing of the byplay between the two. Was he pretending? Again Zoll hesitated for a second. But by now he was in such a state of obsessive lust that he would have killed the man instantly rather than be deterred. ‘
Iddi sudda
,’ he repeated hoarsely.

The coquettish smile on the woman’s face vanished. When she looked up at him again, he saw fear in her eyes. He grinned. ‘So you’ve decided to be coy,’ he said. ‘That doesn’t go with me, understand, not with me.’ He took one long stride up to her, stooped, grasped her shoulder tightly and pulled her to her feet. ‘Not with me,’ he repeated harshly.

Again he threw a glance at the man, who was still lying with closed eyes. But his face now seemed unnaturally pale. Abruptly, Zoll opened the door and pulled the resisting woman by the wrist out into the hall. Madly, he looked around. From the room behind the door opposite he heard the muted voices of the men. For a few seconds he listened, eyes narrowed, still tightly grasping the woman’s wrist. If they catch me, I’m sunk, he thought. He turned toward the woman and saw that she was trying with her free hand to button her blouse. He grinned. ‘Let that be,’ he said, his hand darting to her breast. The touch increased his excitement. He raised his tommy-gun and wordlessly gestured with it toward the outer door. The woman stared at him, her mouth twitching. ‘Come,’ he said, shoving her toward the door. On the steps she tried to escape. But he had expected this and tightened his brutal grip on her arm. ‘Come,’ he panted, dragging her to the next house. He pushed her up the steps and into the hall. The house was just like the others, a kitchen on one side, a living-room on the other. Both doors were open. He shoved the woman into the room to the right of the hallway. On the floor lay the prisoners’ blankets and equipment. As he laid his tommy-gun down in a corner, the woman suddenly broke loose and ran toward the door. In two bounds he was at her side. He threw his arm around her waist, dragged her back into the room, hurled her to the ground, and fell upon her, panting with exertion and excitement. She tried to defend herself; her small, clenched hands beat against his face, and she began to scream. Had he not been so wild with the desire to possess her, he might have wondered about her contradictory behaviour, and drawn conclusions. But he did not think. When he had stripped her naked, he dragged one of the blankets over her face and smothered her screams. She lay like an animal under him, moaning.

Vladimir Ignatiev heard the screams as he ran toward the bridge, and his heart contracted. Poor Ninotchka, he thought, tears streaming down his face, poor little Ninotchka. From the window he had watched the German pushing her into the empty house, and then he had made his break for freedom. Any moment as he ran he had expected to hear the crackle of the German’s guns, their shouts, but there had not been a sound. Now he was racing across the bridge, and the forest reached out green hands toward him; the forest cried: ‘Run faster, Vladimir Ignatiev.’ Then he was in the shelter of the tall trees. He panted, stumbled over roots, fought with flailing arms and legs through the dense undergrowth, until he came out on the road again. For a few seconds he paused, panting for breath; then he ran on. But, as he rounded a bend in the road, he stopped, as horror-stricken as though hell had opened before him. His heart pounded against his ribs and his gasping breath seemed to have become boiling water that seared the inside of his chest.

A dozen paces away from him sat a German. It was the one he had spoken to in front of the house. The German was sitting with his back against a tree, apparently lost in thought. Vladimir Ignatiev did not dare to move. He stood with arms dangling, his thoughts tumbling over one another like skittles when the wooden balls struck them square in the centre. The forest had lost its friendly aspect; the trees stared threateningly down at him. ‘Holy Saint Basil!’ Vladimir Ignatiev whispered. Under his heavy wadded jacket he began to sweat; perspiration poured down over his forehead, burned in his eyes. The German did not move. But if he turned his head just a little, it would all have been for nothing. All of it, including the screams of Ninotchka who had sacrificed herself to make his flight possible. It must not, it must not have been in vain. Vladimir’s parchment-like face tightened. He clenched his fists. He must kill the man, must seize his gun and make off for Krymskaya. Now, at once. As he got set to spring, he saw the German stand up abruptly, pause, and then stoop for his gun. At that moment he threw himself like a falling tree upon the German’s back and pulled him to the ground.

Although the attack was a complete surprise, Steiner reacted instantly. Even as he fell he managed to half turn his body, and recognized the Russian. As the Russian’s hands clasped around his throat, Steiner doubled up, reached over his shoulders and pressed his finger-tips into the man’s eyes. The Russian let out a piercing scream; his grip relaxed. Like a weasel Steiner rolled over on his side, continued to roll across the road, and jumped up. He saw the man taking a tremendous leap into the bushes, rushed toward the spot where he knew the tommy-gun must be, stumbled over a tree-root and fell flat on his face. Although he recovered almost at once, he had lost precious seconds. As soon as he had laid hands on the gun, he raised it and fired blindly into the undergrowth until the magazine was empty. But when he raised his head and listened into the sudden silence, he could hear the retreating sounds of breaking branches. In a moment these were swallowed up in the depths of the woods, and the silence closed over him like deep water.

For a second Steiner stood motionless, listening still. He was so clearly aware of the hopelessness of pursuit that he did not even attempt it. To hunt down one man in these impenetrable woods would take a whole company. As he brushed out his clothing, he smiled grimly. Leading a platoon, he thought, took more stuff than Schnurrbart had in that little brain of his. Served the talkative bastard right; let him get out of this mess now. He bent over to pick up his pack, which he had lost in the fight, and as he did so a piece of paper fell out of his coat pocket. He froze. The map, he thought, the map’s with me. Slowly he reached out for the piece of paper. Without the map Schnurrbart couldn’t possibly find his way to the battalion. Furious, he stared blankly into the green woods, cursing his own taciturnity; he should long ago have told the men where the new positions were located. At the very least he might have informed them that the detour around Krymskaya was possible only from the north; on the south of the city they would run into swamps. The longer he considered it, the more apparent it was that taking the map with him was not in the game. Schnurrbart had to have as good chances to make it as he would have had. Yet if he returned now to bring the men the map, they would not so easily let him go off again. Most of all he feared the way they would look at him. And what would Krüger say, or Hollerbach, or Dietz? What would he read in Dorn’s eyes? Yet there was no help for it; they had to have the map. What he did next would have to depend upon the situation he found when he returned to the platoon.

His next movements were swift and considered. He put a new clip in his gun, picked up the rest of his stuff and set out at a steady trot back down the path. When he reached the bridge, he stopped and looked around. Seeing no sentry, he shook his head and looked toward the houses. They seemed deserted, and uncannily quiet. His uneasiness mounted. Inconceivable that they had not yet discovered the Russian’s escape. As soon as he had crossed the bridge, he saw the horses. They were standing with lowered heads, tied to the last house. Steiner breathed easier. The men would not have set out without the horses; therefore they must still be inside. He felt somewhat reassured, although the silence was still baffling Cautiously he approached the house where the prisoners ought to be.

As he passed the first of the buildings, he heard a suppressed moan. Quickly, he turned on his heel and peered suspiciously at the windows. The sound was not repeated. On tiptoe he stole up the steps, entered the hall and paused, listening. Now he could hear the moaning again; it was a little softer, but unmistakable. Rather out of curiosity than concern, he approached the door, pushed it open slightly and thrust his head into the room. The sight that met his eyes took his breath away. But he made no sound. When he came out a moment later his face was flushed. So that’s it, he thought grimly, that’s why it’s so quiet here. He ran to the next building, rushed up the steps, noiselessly opened the kitchen door, and stood still, astounded. Then he raised his gun and fired.

The men, instinctively flattened out on the floor, gaped at Steiner who stood in the doorway with his gun smoking. Kern and Krüger were still lying in a tangle half under the table. But Kern’s terrible grip had loosened, and as Krüger staggered to his feet, his eyes glassy, the innkeeper’s heavy body rolled to the side and he lay like a stick of wood. Still bewildered, the men’s eyes shifted from the motionless Kern to the tottering figure of Krüger, who reeled toward the door and straightened up, breathing heavily, in front of Steiner. For a few seconds they stared at one another without a word. Abruptly Krüger began to grin. He plucked at his nose, glanced over his shoulder at Kern, and whispered: ‘Out for the count.’ Steiner blinked. His initial surprise at the scene had given way to a stem suspicion. Turning to Schnurrbart, still staring incredulously at him, he demanded: ‘Who is guarding the prisoners.’

It took a moment for Schnurrbart to remember. ‘Zoll,’ he said at last, breathing hard.

‘I see. Zoll.’ Steiner nodded. All at once he came to life. He sprang across the hall, wrenched open the door and looked into the room. The women were standing pressed up against the walls, their faces white. With narrowed eyes Steiner looked them over. Then he turned to the men, who had gathered in the hallway behind him. The expression on his face appalled them. ‘For Christ’s sake what is it?’ Schnurrbart stammered.

‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Steiner replied fiercely. ‘You idiots can’t be left alone for five minutes. Get yourselves ready, and none of you leave the house.’ Before they could ask him any more questions, he rushed out of the hut. As he went out Dorn, his voice aquiver with agitation, turned to Schnurrbart. ‘Where in the world is Zoll?’ he asked. Schnurrbart bit his lip and did not answer.

When Steiner kicked open the door, Zoll was just pulling up his trousers. The Russian woman was lying on the floor, naked and whimpering. At the sound of the opening door, Zoll whirled around. He stared incredulously at the figure of Steiner in the doorway. For a few seconds they merely looked at one another. Then Steiner came slowly into the room, and slowly approached Zoll, until he was right in front of him. The whimpering of the Russian woman stopped. With satisfaction Steiner observed the sheer terror in Zoll’s eyes. He was considering whether he would run into much trouble if he shot Zoll out of hand. Did the co
mm
ander of a platoon cut off in the heart of enemy country have the same rights of summary court-martial as the captain of a warship at sea? He did not know the regulations on that, but he knew that he would not tolerate Zoll in the platoon any longer. After all, there was another solution. He looked around the room and his eyes lit on the tall, single-doored wardrobe that stood beside the window, filling the entire left corner of the room. It was massively built, but seemed to have no lock; the door could be closed only by a wooden catch.