The Cross of Iron (25 page)

When he saw Schnurrbart walking slowly toward him, he switched off the light. He could feel nothing at all. The forest panted and groaned under the assault of the wind which shook the trunks of the trees and lashed them with rain.
⁴
He’s dead,’ Steiner said. The storm wrenched the words from his lips. He held his face up to the rain, listened for a moment with closed eyes. Then he nodded his head and repeated: ‘He’s dead.’ Gripping Schnurrbart’s arm, he drew him across the clearing to the shelter of the trees. Then he slung his pack off his back, unbuckled the blanket and ground-sheets, and spread them out on the ground. They drew the canvas over their shoulders and stared into the shuddering darkness. Later, when the storm had let up somewhat, Schnurrbart said. ‘There was no saving him.’ Steiner nodded in the darkness. He had known that wounds like that were hopeless. ‘And it’s really best for him,’ Schnurrbart went on. ‘We would have had somehow to carry him all the way, and then try to get him across the Russian line. Couldn’t have been done.’ Steiner nodded again. Schnurrbart laid a hand on his arm. ‘We mustn’t let it get us down,’ he said beseechingly. ‘Don’t forget what we still have before us. We’ve never been in anything like this before—not as bad as this.’

‘I know,’ Steiner answered.

Schnurrbart peered worriedly, trying to see the expression on the other man’s face. The tone of Steiner’s voice bothered him. ‘Then you have to keep your chin up,’ he said. ‘Wish I knew what’s been the matter with you lately. You used to be a lot different, Rolf.’

‘I know,’ Steiner said again. A gust of wind shook the leaves above them and sent huge drops of rain on their heads. Schnurrbart felt at his wit’s end. Much as he disliked Steiner’s cynical, superior attitudes, he wished at the moment that Steiner were like that again. Steiner had been on his mind for the past few hours. In the past, in similar jams, Steiner had always seemed to grow more confident as the difficulties mounted. His present state was incomprehensible; not even the death of Dietz could explain it, Schnurrbart thought. Still, that might be a factor. He would see. ‘Sooner or later we all get it,’ he said experimentally. ‘Doesn’t matter much who comes first and who last.’

Steiner did not answer. Schnurrbart went on: ‘I always liked the kid, but damn it all-’ He spat on the ground and stared grimly into the darkness. Steiner turned so abruptly that Schnurrbart started.

‘Do you believe in God?’ he asked.

It gave Schnurrbart a start, from which, however, he recovered quickly. The answer to that question had been given him in his childhood, and he had carried it with him ever since. It was beyond discussion. ‘Do I believe in God?’ he repeated slowly. ‘Of course I do. At any rate, I believe we are dependent on someone who decides our fate.’

Steiner smiled savagely. It was the answer he had expected. ‘You make things easy for yourself,’ he said. ‘I had the same idea once. But if there is a God, he’s a sadist. That’s my firm conviction.’ ‘You’re crazy,’ Schnurrbart murmured, alarmed by the blasphemy. He shook his head. ‘You really are. Otherwise you’d see that all creation doesn’t indicate sadism but—I suppose the word for it is love. Can you deny that?’

‘I won’t go into that,’ Steiner said contemptuously. ‘What about the other side? If I’m dying of thirst and someone gives me a pail of water, that’s love, would you say?’

Wondering where this was leading, Schnurrbart nodded half-heartedly.

‘Good.’ Despite the darkness Steiner had detected the movement. ‘So that’s love. But if this someone takes the pail of water away from me when I’ve only had a swallow or two, that’s love too, isn’t it?’ When Schnurrbart did not reply, Steiner leaned closer to him. ‘You haven’t an answer to that one, have you? I'll tell you the name for it, though. It’s sadism, dirty rotten sadism, the kind of trick a real brute would think of. That’s my opinion, anyway; you can like it or lump it.’

Schnurrbart closed his eyes, confused, groping for the right rejoinder. For a while there was no sound but the swish of the rain. When Schnurrbart spoke again, his voice cracked with repressed agitation: ‘That’s what you say. Speak for yourself. I’ll tell you this: there are certain people who go on for so long hankering for a pail of water that’s disappeared that they die of thirst, when all the while a brook is flowing past them a few feet away. Good night.’ He stood up abruptly and walked off.

The following morning they buried Dietz. It was still raining, and the clouds hung low in the sky. The men dug a rectangular hole and stood around, soaked and shivering. A cold wind blasted across the clearing. When Steiner stepped up to the hole and looked down, the others silently approached. They had rolled Dietz in a tent canvas; he lay in the deep pit, small and inoffensive. The men held their short-handled spades in their hands and looked impatiently at Steiner.

‘What are we waiting for?’ Kern asked irritably.

Steiner sized up their dirty, unshaven faces. ‘Maybe I intend to hold a funeral service,’ he replied hoarsely. He wiped the rain from his face with his sleeve. ‘It’s something we don’t usually bother with,’ he went on, ‘not out here. If Dietz had died at home, a few score, maybe even a hundred people would be standing around his grave, in their best dark clothes. Some would be crying because they really felt sad, and others because it was the thing to do.’ He wiped his face again. They stared morosely at him. ‘And if they met again later on they would say: so young; it’s always the best who go first. And would look sanctimoniously down at their bellies and be glad they still had bellies—the goddamned overstuffed brutes,’ he suddenly shouted. The men started. Schnurrbart, standing beside him, noticed that his shoulders were heaving.

‘A few weeks later they would have forgotten him,’ Steiner went on. ‘I hope that none of you will forget him. I should be sorry for anyone who did.’ He stooped and threw a handful of the black earth into the grave. Then, wordlessly, they all set to work closing the grave.

An hour later they set out, tent canvas over their shoulders, for the rain had not abated. They were still leading two horses, on which they had loaded the machine-gun’s heavy ammunition boxes. The other horses they had driven away. Since they might run into Russians at any moment, they held their guns at the ready and moved cautiously ahead, keeping a sharp look-out to all sides. Schnurrbart talked in whispers with Dorn.

‘That was a funny business before, but typical Steiner.’

Dorn nodded gravely. ‘The strangest funeral oration I have ever heard. He’s an original, no matter what else you may think of him.’ ‘You can think a lot of different things about him,’ Schnurrbart said.

‘That’s so, but it’s hard to judge him fairly. He must once have suffered a real trauma, a mental shock; that’s the only explanation for his oddness.’

Schnurrbart turned his head suspiciously. ‘Did he ever tell you anything?’

‘Not directly,’ Dorn said. ‘But I gathered a little from things he said.’

‘I see.’

For a while they walked along in silence. Schnurrbart considered whether he should tell Dorn anything about Steiner and Anne. He decided to keep his background material to himself. If Steiner ever found out, he would be through with him for good.

There was a halt up at the front of the line. The men were looking at a dense line of shrubbery about a hundred yards ahead. Beyond, the woods thinned out, and a steep incline rose sheer and grey. As Schnurrbart and Dorn drew closer they saw that what they had ahead of them was a hill.

‘We’re there,’ Steiner said, glancing at his watch. ‘We’ll wait here until dark. Come along.’ They went toward the bushes and forced a path through their tangled stems. On the other side of the hedge was an open field overgrown with tall grass. The chain of hills which began about a hundred yards further on was almost bare of vegetation. Half-way to the first hill a brook flowed across the meadow. It did not look wide enough to be a serious obstacle. The men stood close around Steiner, gazing in silence at the prospect before them. In thought they travelled back over the long trail through the forest. Fifty-five hours ago they had seen in the distance the silhouette of these hills which now lay close before them in this rainy noon hour. A promised land then, the hills presented a sad and dreary sight to the nearer view. The men thought of Dietz. A cold wind was still whipping the rain into their faces. Again and again the hill-tops were enveloped in drifting tag-ends of mist, and the sky was piled high with ledge-like cloud formations, grey and black. Steiner raised his head and listened to the hollow sighing in the trees. Then he turned to Schnurrbart. ‘Tether the horses. We’ll let them go this evening. One sentry will be enough; he can watch the meadow and the hills. I don’t think we need fear any trouble from the rear. The rest of you find a good place in the bushes and keep out of sight.’

The men silently followed his instructions. A relatively dry spot in the heart of the thicket was covered with groundsheets. Anselm posted himself as sentry on the edge of the woods. The others began unpacking canned food and bread. After eating they stretched out on the ground and smoked.

They spent the afternoon sleeping. The weather continued the same, and it grew dark very early, so that they were able to set out again by six o’clock. They left the horses behind. As soon as they began crossing the meadow they discovered that the ground was extremely marshy in places, and within a few minutes their boots filled with water. The brook was small. As Steiner indifferently stepped into it—he was so wet already he could not be wetter—he was still wondering which direction to take. For the tenth time he tried to recall the position of the city as he had seen it from the distance two days ago. But the outlines had been too vague then, although he did have the impression that some isolated hills rose out of the mist to the south of the city.

Just as he was about to step out on the bank of the brook, he stopped abruptly, his feet still in the water. The others, too, froze in their tracks. About 500 yards away, above the hills, a white flare rose vertically into the air, paused for seconds as though hanging by an invisible thread, and then slowly fluttered down upon the meadow and faded out among the grass. Then it was as dark as before.

Steiner slowly climbed up out of the water and squinted toward the hills. The invisible soldier who had shot up the flare was stationed half-way towards the right, approximately in the direction of Krymskaya.

The others had all waded through the brook and came clustering around him in the high grass.

‘What shall we do?’ Schnurrbart whispered.

‘Keep a sharp eye out,’ Steiner replied. ‘And stay close together.’ He had made up his mind. As he slung the tommy-gun from his shoulder he said: ‘If you see anything, fire at once without challenge. Clear?’

Carefully they made their way toward the hill and began climbing the slope. The bare ground was smooth underfoot; now and again one of the men would slip and slide back several yards, then get to his feet, cursing, and wipe his hands on his trousers. At last they reached the top and stopped to catch their breath. They could not see five paces ahead of them. The wind was no longer so violent, but the rain beat steadily against their faces, soaked their uniforms and seeped, cold and clammy, down their sweaty backs. Steiner waited a few moments until all had stopped panting; then he led the way due west. Within a few steps they were going downhill again. But the dip did not continue for long. They crossed a flat hollow and began climbing once more.

Suddenly a cry rang out of the darkness: ‘
Vnimanye
.’ The men started as if a shell had exploded a few yards away. The call struck them so unexpectedly that they felt it like a physical blow that knocked them off their feet and froze their blood. They threw themselves flat and peered up the slope. Steiner looked back toward where Krüger must be and ordered in a whisper: ‘Answer him, you idiot, answer him.’

It took a moment before the East Prussian understood. He raised himself up, funnelled his hands over his mouth and shouted: ‘
Tovarishchi
—
tovarishchi.'

They held their breath. Not a sound came from in front of them. If the Russian had a flare gun with him now, things would happen fast. Steiner crawled on his belly until he reached Schnurrbart. He whispered: ‘Crawl a hundred yards farther, over to the right, and wait there.’ As the men slithered by him, he moved over beside Krüger. They lay close together, staring tensely into the impenetrable darkness. ‘I don’t understand it,’ Steiner said. Why doesn’t he do something?’

Krüger chuckled softly. ‘I must have made it sound right,’ he said. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Keep going,’ Steiner decided. ‘But we have to be more careful. Don’t make so much noise. They must have heard us; they couldn’t possibly see us. Come on.’

The platoon followed him like a many-limbed animal tensed to spring. For over an hour they went up and down the hills without incident. The monotonous tramp over soft ground, the steepness of the slopes that seemed to stretch on for ever into the nocturnal rain, their tops never visible until they were reached, the constant menace of the enemy who might confront them at any moment drained the men. Their caution gave way to apathy. Not even Steiner’s occasional sharp rebukes could shake them out of it.

Even Krüger and Schnurrbart were done in. Krüger was limping. For the past half-hour he had been feeling a stabbing pain in his right heel which grew steadily worse. Must be a blood-blister, he thought, and wondered whether he ought to take off his boot to look. But Steiner would not order a rest on account of a blister. Krüger cursed him fiercely under his breath. For a while he tried walking on tiptoe, but then the water in the boots was doubly unpleasant; at every step it bubbled between his toes and made smacking noises. I would get a blister, he thought, infuriated. It seemed to him incredible that his feet, so hardened to marching, should play such a trick on him—as though he were a raw recruit. His wet socks must have bunched up at his heel, and the skin, softened by water, have reacted to the chafing. The pain became unbearable. His shoulder, sore from the weight of the heavy machine-gun; the painful tugging at his hips, which bore the brunt of his pack with all its troublesome but indispensable equipment; the soaking uniform on his steaming, sweating skin; the plodding over soft ground where every step was an effort; the gloom and rain and uncertainty—all these other burdens vanished before the torment of his smarting heel. Suddenly he stopped and dropped the machine-gun to the ground. Its thud reached Steiner up at the front of the line. ‘You’re crazy,’ Schnurrbart muttered to him. Krüger did not reply. He simply sat down on the wet ground and began untying the laces of his boot. He took off boot and sock and felt the soft swelling at his heel. When Steiner came over and looked down at him in silence, he did not even look up.