The Cross of Iron (3 page)

‘I suppose we’ll have to look for him,’ he said impatiently.

‘I’ve been thinking about that. Where can you look for him in this darkness ? For all we know there are still Russians over there.’

Schnurrbart was inclined to agree. He hitched up his cartridge -belt, settled back and said: ‘Why don’t you go back to where it’s warm. I’ll stay here and keep my ears open, just in case. If anything comes up, you know where I am.’

Hollerbach nodded and started wearily back toward the bunker.

By now most of the men had dozed off. Dorn alone continued to sit at the table. Since he had to relieve Dietz in an hour, there was little point to lying down now. Besides he had been bothered for days by painful cramps, probably from the skimpy rations, which did not let him sleep.

He glanced about at the furnishings of the bunker, and sighed. For two weeks they had worked like dogs, had brought stuff from the nearest villages, had dug, carpentered, made window frames, fixed straw mattresses—done everything possible to make the bunker comfortable, and now all that work was for nothing. How hard we cling to a place, he thought, if we have done things to it that make for a bit of pleasantness. Of course it was only a hole in the ground. But for all of them, leading the soldier’s nomad life, it was much more. In this land of boundless expanses and unnerving strangeness, this land with which none of their memories were linked, the bunker was a semblance of home. And like home, they attached all kinds of emotions to it.

Now again they were pulling up stakes, forging out into the unknown, with all the apprehension such moves carried with them. Steiner’s report had not sounded encouraging. Who could say where they would spend tomorrow night?

He sighed and looked at his watch. Time for him to take over. Heavily, he stood up, clapped the steel helmet on his head, took his rifle and went out. As he raised his face, he felt rain falling. Cautiously he climbed the slippery steps. His glasses misted over. He removed them and tried to accommodate his eyes to the darkness. A few steps away from the door he came upon Dietz, who was leaning against a tree.

‘You here already?’ Dietz asked.

‘It’s time,’ Dorn replied. Dietz took a step closer to him. His teeth chattered lightly as he said: ‘Dirty weather.’ He eased the rifle from his shoulder and shook himself. ‘Nice time we’re going to have tonight,’ he said. ‘A regular funeral march. Just imagine it —twenty miles in this kind of weather through a swampy forest.’

‘It will be ghastly,’ Dorn agreed.

‘If only the rain would stop,’ Dietz said, peering in an effort to see Dorn’s face. They both fell silent and stared gloomily into the night.

The rain drizzled down steadily; the trees let fall big drops which slapped into the dry leaves on the ground. Dorn draped his groundsheet over his steel helmet and leaned against a tree. ‘Well, take it easy,’ Dietz said. He gave Dorn a helpful pat on the shoulder and disappeared into the bunker. Minutes passed. The darkness seemed to grow thicker. From somewhere sounded the wailing cry of an owl. A gust of wind shook the trees, producing a pattering like hailstones on the roof of a tent. Dorn pushed the steel helmet back from his forehead and strained to see into the blackness of the woods. His glasses were in his pocket; in weather like this they were useless.

What could be keeping Steiner so long, he wondered. His stomach cramps were getting worse. He pressed his fist into his belly and held his breath. For a few seconds the pain diminished. But when he removed his fist, it returned with redoubled intensity. He bent over, and when that brought no relief squatted on his heels. It was more bearable that way. He propped his chin in his hand and became aware of his unshaven face. His skin was damp and sticky. Filth, he thought in disgust; everything is filthy, body, underclothes, everything. After a while he propped both arms on his thighs and let his head droop; his rifle he held clamped between his legs. Again and again he heard strange noises, but he was too apathetic to pay attention to them. It was as though his basic fear, which had been with him for so long that it felt like part of himself, was overlaid by dull indifference.

His head drooped lower and lower. His lips were parted and he could feel the spittle trickling from his mouth. In his present state it gave him a spiteful, silly satisfaction to let himself go completely. This is what I am really like, he thought, this is me. If Maria could see me now. The thought of his wife revived him momentarily. He raised his head and closed his mouth. Maria, he thought, Maria, Betty, Jürgen. Jürgen would be going to school this year. He shook his head at the swift passage of time. Then he tried to picture his wife taking Jürgen to school every morning. He smiled happily, and the smile lingered when his thoughts had already taken a graver turn. There was Betty, two years younger than Jürgen, a quiet, serious child like her mother. Always rather sickly, and not like other girls the same age. The doctor had said Betty ought to be sent to a rest -home in the country for a few months. If only there were no war. Certainly it couldn’t go on much longer, but how would it end?

He was still thinking about this when a hand gripped his shoulder brutally and pulled him to his feet. Paralysed by fright, he stared into the face of Steiner. ‘Existential philosophy, Professor,’ Steiner said coldly, ‘presupposes existence. You won’t exist much longer if you go to sleep at your post. Pick up your gun.’ Released from his grip, Dorn stooped for the rifle on the ground. When he had straightened up he saw that Steiner was listening to the sounds from the woods. He turned to Dorn: ‘You can do sentry duty sitting, for all I care, but don’t fall asleep.’ Then he climbed down into the bunker. A few minutes later he was back, carrying blankets and ground -sheets. He spread the blanket out on the ground, hung the canvas over his shoulders and sat down at the foot of a tree. ‘Sit beside me,’ he ordered Dorn. ‘By night you see better from lower down.’

Dorn obeyed in silence. He had recovered from his slump and now felt guilty. Ought he to mention his cramps to Steiner, he wondered. But oddly enough, he no longer felt any pain. For a few minutes they sat without talking. Then Dorn asked: ‘Did you go to the highway?’

‘Yes.’

‘And—how does it look?’

‘Lovely,’ Steiner said with a humourless laugh.

Anxiously, Dorn peered into his face. ‘What does that mean? Did you see any Russians?’ 

‘I certainly did. Infantry, trucks, tanks—the whole damn Russian army.’

Dorn stared at him aghast. ‘On the highway?’

‘Not in the air, I assure you.’

Dorn took a deep breath. ‘My God,’ he murmured. He could feel his legs growing leaden; the wet uniform seemed to weigh him down like a suit of armour.

Steiner drew his knees up closer to his body and thrust his tommy -gun between them. ‘Why the surprise,’ he said scornfully. ‘That was predictable. I warned you, didn’t I?’

‘So you did.’ Dorn pushed the steel helmet back from his forehead. ‘Then we cannot use the highway?’

‘I doubt whether the Russians will let us have a concession for it. But we must cross it in any case.’

‘But you said yourself that the Russians -’

‘We’ll just have to wait until the traffic slackens off. It ought to be quieter by tomorrow morning.’

‘But that’s hopeless,’ Dorn said, hoarse with agitation. ‘Can’t we avoid the highway altogether?’

‘That would mean covering twice the distance. We haven’t the time. If the Russians reach Krymskaya before us, we’re sunk.’ Steiner’s very matter -of -factness made Dorn feel panic. He rubbed his wet face with the back of his hand and stammered: ‘Then what are we going to do?’

Steiner snorted angrily. ‘You heard what I said. We’re crossing the highway.’

‘And suppose the Russians see us?’

‘Then we’ll clap our hands and say good morning.’

Dorn closed his eyes before the wave of fear that swept him. He saw Russian columns marching toward him, a thousand tommy -guns pointed at him. It might be better if we left right away, he thought. It’s so dark now that the Russians could not see us. The thought bucked him up a little. ‘Why do you want to wait until morning?’ he asked Steiner. ‘Our chances would be better under cover of darkness.’

‘I’ve considered that. But don’t forget we’re setting out into unknown terrain. Besides, if we should come upon Russians unexpectedly in the darkness, we could easily lose touch with one another. I’ve thought it all over carefully. We’ll cross the road shortly before dawn; I want to be able to see what we are going into.’

Dora gave a tired shrug. ‘Whatever you think,’ he said.

By the time Hollerbach had gone to fetch Schnurrbart, the men inside the bunker were sitting at the table, Steiner among them. Even without looking at him, Schnurrbart sensed his mocking expression. He went over to a cot and sat down.

‘I hear you have been worried on my account,’ Steiner said. The sarcasm in his voice sent the blood rushing to Schnurrbart’s forehead. The bastard, he thought, trembling with rage, the bastard! He felt painfully humiliated. To hell with him in the future, he resolved and began fumbling with his pipe. Steiner watched him, his grey eyes glistening with amusement. Then he turned to the table, smoothed down the map, and motioned the men to crowd around him.

‘How far is it to Krymskaya,’ Maag inquired anxiously, craning his neck to get a look.

‘About twenty miles—if we used the road it would be nearly forty -five.’

‘Then we certainly won’t be using the road,’ Krüger said.

Steiner stared at the map. ‘The stuff between is regular wilderness. At least, that’s how it looks to me from the map. And a stream running through. The whole region is marshy. The big question is whether we can get through.’

‘Then let’s take the road,’ Krüger said.

‘Certainly,’ Kern nodded. ‘It’s a lot better walking on the road. We can do forty -five miles by tomorrow night easy. The battalion must have marched along the road too.’

‘In the first place,’ Steiner explained, ‘the battalion didn’t march; it went by truck. In the second place, I doubt that we’ll be able to stay on the road without interference.’

Kern looked blankly at the map. ‘Why?’ he asked.

For a moment Steiner sat still looking into their anxious faces. Then he rose: ‘The Russians are on the highway. That means we have to go through the woods. Before we reach them we have that highway to cross.’ He slung his tommy -gun over his shoulder and went to the door, opening it. ‘Come on! Stay close together and keep your traps shut.’

One after the other the men squeezed past him. The last to leave the bunker, Steiner kicked the stove so that it fell over, spilling its glowing embers on the floor.

He went out, closing the door behind him. The men were waiting for him a few yards away. He took the lead and the platoon set off into the woods. They spoke scarcely a word as they marched. After some twenty minutes the forest began thinning out, and in another five minutes they reached the edge of it. As they stepped out upon the open ploughland, a cold wind lashed the rain into their faces. By the time they had gone a few yards great lumps of muddy soil clung to their boots. They panted under the burden of their machine -guns and boxes of ammunition, and with every step cursed under their breath. Krüger kept close behind Hollerbach. He was carrying the heavy machine -gun over his right shoulder like a shovel. Once he slipped and fell into a furrow. Tired, he scrambled up and wiped the mud from his hands. This stinking war, he thought bitterly. Schnurrbart came over to him. ‘Come on,’ he said. They moved forward side by side until they bumped into Hollerbach. ‘That’s what you get for falling asleep on your feet,’ Hollerbach whispered, shifting his rifle to his other shoulder. Krüger jabbed his fist into Hollerbach’s back. ‘Shut up. What I’d like to know is how far we still have to go. This damned field is never going to end.’

‘No more than another thirty miles,’ Hollerbach replied. He suddenly stood still.

Krüger pushed forward toward the group in front. ‘What the devil’s the matter now?’

The men did not answer. Out of the darkness before them rose the low drone of big motors, the creaking of heavily laden trucks. Occasional shouts, windblown and stirring, reached their ears.

‘Russians,’ Hollerbach whispered.

‘A whole army,’ Kern stammered. With quivering fingers he unthinkingly reached for his cigarettes and thrust one between his lips. As he struck a match, Steiner suddenly appeared in front of him, his hand sweeping back. There was a sharp clapping sound, followed by a rain of sparks from the crushed cigarette. Kern uttered a whimpering noise and pressed both hands against his mouth. The whole incident had taken place so swiftly that the others only began to realize what it was about when Steiner took a step backward and raised his tommy -gun. ‘You idiot!’ His voice sounded thick with rage. The men stared at him in alarm, while Kern still stood among them, his hands at his face. ‘You ought to be shot!’ Steiner whispered harshly. He whirled around and started forward again. They followed him without a word. For another hundred yards they continued in the same direction. The ground sloped upward somewhat. The noises ahead became increasingly distinct. They could already hear the crisp tread of nailed boots. But it was still so dark that they could not see ten paces ahead. They must have been about fifty yards from the highway when Steiner ordered a halt. He called to Hollerbach and Schnurrbart to join him. ‘You fellows come with me. The rest will wait here.’ Bent low, they disappeared into the darkness.

The men squatted on the wet ground, listening to the noises from the highway. They were all wide awake now. Krüger looked at his watch. It was already four. The rain had stopped. I wish it would pour now, Krüger thought. He turned to Dietz beside him and said: ‘We’ll never get across there.’

Dietz shrugged. He looked at Kern, who had buried his face in his hands and was sitting in a posture of resentment. ‘He shouldn’t have hit him,’ Dietz whispered.

Krüger spat, ‘Ah, shit!’

‘What do you mean, shit?’ Dietz protested. ‘He shouldn’t have done it.’ He began to stammer indignantly. ‘Where’d we be if every corporal could slap us in the face?’