The Cross of Iron (43 page)

‘My arm. I don’t know.’ He turned his head and looked back. Then he said dully: ‘Pasternack got it.’

‘Dead?’

‘Yes. Right through the chest.’

Krüger began blinking as though a grain of sand had got into his eye. From the shell-hole came a loud moan. As the men started toward the hole, Krüger held them back. ‘That one won’t bother us. We’d better look through the other holes.’

‘No need,’ Maag said. ‘All the bastards made tracks. There couldn’t have been many. What are we going to do now?’

‘Look for Steiner and Schnurrbart,’ Krüger said firmly. ‘Where are the other fellows?’

‘Wounded. They’re lying over there. Should we take them with us?’

Krüger considered for a moment, then shook his head. ‘There’ll be time for them later. How many are there?’

‘Five,’ Maag answered.

‘Good enough. Maybe there’ll be a few more; that will make it worth while picking them up.’

They stared at him outraged. One man came a step closer and said: ‘Now look here-’

‘Shut up,’ Krüger ordered sharply. ‘None of you has any reason to jabber. Why did you stop instead of following me?’ 

They evaded his menacing glance and did not answer. The artillery barrage had stopped meanwhile. But further to the west the noise of fighting continued; they distinctly heard the shattering explosions of the hand grenades. Loud shouting rang out from the top of the hill, where more and more flares were being fired. Krüger beckoned to the men to follow him. They climbed the hill and ran into men of the 1st Platoon, who shouted excitedly at him. Cursing wildly, Krüger silenced them long enough to ask a question. ‘What’s going on up there?’ One man explained that the Russians had got into the trenches and that Meyer was gathering all available men for a counter-thrust.

‘Then let’s go,’ Krüger declared, and started forward. The 1st Platoon men joined his group. They had covered about a hundred paces when there were several violent explosions in front of them. At the same time they heard loud cheers. On the run they reached the spot where the Russians had broken in. A few dark figures clambered out of the trench and ran forward, stooping. For a moment Meyer’s powerful voice could be heard. Then an ear-shattering hammering began. A large number of fleeing Russians came tearing down the slope. Krüger fired until his magazine was empty. As he reached for a new clip he caught sight of Steiner, standing beside Faber only a few yards away. For a second they stared at one another in amazement. Then Krüger cursed. ‘Where the hell is Schnurrbart?’ he asked. Steiner looked down the slope. Singly and in groups, pursuing Germans were coming back. Meyer appeared among them. Seeing Steiner, he came toward him swiftly. ‘What’s up?’ he asked tensely. Steiner shrugged. The question seemed superfluous.

Krüger took a step forward. ‘We cleaned out the shell-holes,’ he said.

‘Really?’ Meyer swung round. ‘And you only tell me that now?’

‘Haven’t had a chance to before,’ Krüger growled.

‘How did all this happen?’ he asked curtly.

Steiner reported laconically. ‘I was just about to withdraw when your show started. If you had attacked later we-’ He stopped abruptly, recognizing the man standing over there as Hollerbach. Hastily he pushed through the others and asked Hollerbach: ‘Where is Schnurrbart?’

‘He must still be lying down there,’ Hollerbach replied softly.

‘Down where?’

Stammering, hesitant, Hollerbach began to explain: ‘First we fired till our magazines were empty, and then the Russians came on at us and we ran up the hill. But I saw nothing of Schnurrbart.’

‘So.’ Steiner glowered at him. Then he turned and started down the slope again, followed by several men, including Krüger, Hollerbach and Faber. They found Schnurrbart at last, lying on his face, and Steiner looked down at him for long seconds before he knelt beside him and quickly examined him. Then he raised his head. ‘He’s alive,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Let’s get him to the infirmary.’ They lifted Schnurrbart carefully and toiled up the steep slope with him.

The infirmary bunkers were jammed. The medicos had their hands full, and it was some time before they found a doctor to look at Schnurrbart. Meanwhile Steiner looked round. The severely wounded men lay side by side on the floor. He saw many familiar faces. Most of the wounded men were already bandaged. Near the door lay one man with his torn abdomen exposed. His face was so smeared with blood as to be unrecognizable. Looking at him, Steiner had to clench his teeth to fight down the sickness that threatened to overpower him. It seemed incredible that a man with such gruesome wounds could still be alive. Quickly he turned his head away and looked at Schnurrbart. They had laid him on a blanket and Krüger was unbuckling the chin-strap of his helmet. Suddenly he cried out in horror: ‘Head wound.’ Steiner closed his eyes. He had avoided examining Schnurrbart because of his fear of what he would find. For a second he stood paralysed with agony. Then he heard Faber saying: ‘Don’t be silly! It just grazed him, that’s all.’ Steiner took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. The men had cut open Schnurrbart’s trousers and Krüger was saying: ‘He’s been hit in the leg, too.’

‘In the calf,’ Hollerbach said. ‘Shot went clean through.’ 

Steiner now had the courage to look at Schnurrbart’s face. From his temple a red streak ran down to his chin, where it vanished in the thick growth of beard. His face was pale, dirty, sunken-cheeked; all its familiar character had been erased. The sight of that alien face aroused a dull pain in Steiner. He could feel a choking, burning sensation rising in his throat. The noises in the bunker, the suppressed moans of the wounded men, the lowered voices of the medical personnel, the soft clinking of instruments, the curt instructions of the doctors, who worked with rolled-up shirt-sleeves, the flickering light of the candles—all of it merged into an unreal, stagy background. But close to him was this masklike, bearded face of a man who had been at his side through all these months and years.

A violent dispute caught his attention. One of the medicos was arguing with Krüger, waving his hands angrily. ‘You’ve got to clear out,’ he asserted angrily. ‘This isn’t a hospital ward.’ He turned to Steiner. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant, but you must realize we need the room.’

Steiner ordered the men to wait outside. They left reluctantly. ‘I’ll go as soon as you tell me what the story is,’ he said to the medico, gesturing at Schnurrbart.

‘We’ll be ready for him in a minute,’ the man said.

The doctor had approached meanwhile. He wiped his bloodstained hands with a piece of gauze, attended to a man who was lying in front of Schnurrbart, and then stopped before Steiner. ‘Wounded?’ he said curtly.

Steiner shook his head. ‘Not me. I want to know what’s wrong with this man here.’

He watched with outward calm as the doctor bent over Schnurrbart and felt the bloody welt above the right temple. Then he looked up. ‘Wasn’t the man wearing a helmet?’

‘Here it is,’ Steiner said. As he picked up the steel helmet his eyes widened. ‘Look at that,’ he said, pointing to a round hole on the back of the helmet. The doctor took it from his hand and examined the spot curiously. ‘Was he lucky!’ he said slowly. ‘The bullet came from behind, penetrated the metal and bounced around inside until it fell out. Incredible luck.’

‘Is it bad?’ Steiner asked.

The doctor stooped over Schnurrbart again. ‘Not a bit. Slight concussion of the brain. He’ll come to soon.’

‘And the leg?’

‘I don’t know yet. If the bone isn’t injured, he’ll be on his feet in a month.’ He turned to the next patient.

‘Well?’ Hollerbach asked outside.

Steiner waved his hand. ‘Luck. He may be back here in four weeks.’

They sighed with relief. ‘The idiot,’ Krüger cursed cheerfully. ‘I always told him to watch out for that silly head of his. Do you know that Pasternack got it?’

‘Dead?’ Steiner asked hoarsely.

‘Yes.’

Steiner bit his lip. ‘Who else?’

‘Maag,’ Krüger answered. ‘He’s on his way to the rear already. Half the platoon is knocked out. Incidentally, Meyer is looking for you. We said you would be right along.’

‘He can wait,’ Steiner growled.

Captain Stransky had put some exciting experiences behind him. Originally he had intended to await the outcome of the patrol action in his bunker. But soon he was seized by uneasiness and, accompanied by Triebig, had set out for the 2nd Company’s sector. They had reached the first foxholes when the enemy breakthrough occurred. Stransky had turned about promptly and raced back to his bunker, Triebig close at his heels. As soon as he recovered sufficiently to issue orders, he had commanded his frightened adjutant to take up positions in front of the bunker with all the men attached to the staff. Then he had placed telephone calls to the combat train and to Regiment. First Sergeant Fetscher was ordered to start marching everybody who could carry a gun to the battalion command post at once; to the worried regimental commander he gave a vivid description of the events, weaving into his report phrases about resistance to the last cartridge. Shortly afterwards, just as Sergeant Fetscher arrived with a heavily armed group of communications personnel, Lieutenant Meyer telephoned him that the positions had been retaken from the enemy and the bomb craters cleared. The result was that Fetscher and his men, cursing but visibly relieved, started back and the regimental commander received a report calculated to warm the cockles of his heart. Now Stransky sat in his bunker waiting impatiently for Meyer, whom he had ordered to bring Steiner with him. Meanwhile, he explained to his adjutant the proper way to meet any repetitions of such unfortunate incidents as he called them. ‘Everything depends on keeping calm and acting quickly and precisely,’ he was saying.

There was a knock at the door and Meyer and Steiner came in. Stransky greeted them curtly and then, turning to Steiner, asked him to describe the course of events in sequence. As Steiner spoke the three officers listened closely, and Stransky repeatedly gave vent to low exclamations of disapproval. Steiner studiously ignored them. When he had concluded his report, Stransky turned to Meyer. ‘Bad business. The penetration of the trench could have been prevented.’

‘Under normal conditions certainly,’ Meyer said. ‘But in the first place the positions were weakly held, and in the second place the men did not know what to expect, since their own men were out there in front of them. By the time they realized the men coming up the hill were Russians, it was already too late.’

‘All the same,’ Stransky retorted testily. He picked up a candle from the table and rolled it several times between his hands. Then he turned to Steiner. ‘You should have taken into consideration such a possibility,’ he said sternly. ‘A shock troop leader must count on all eventualities.’

Meyer sucked in his breath indignantly. But Steiner answered before he could intervene. ‘My assignment was to clear the bomb craters,’ he replied coolly. ‘An encounter with a hundred Russians was not expected by me or anyone else.’

‘You should have attacked the Russians right off,’ Triebig interposed. ‘If you had done so, they would never have got so far.’ 

Steiner threw him a contemptuous glance. ‘The reasons why I did not,’ he said, ‘are so obvious that an explanation is unnecessary.’

Stransky pounded his fist on the table. ‘I cannot agree with you,’ he said savagely. ‘In fact, it is perfectly clear that you are not up to coping with such situations.’ He turned to Meyer. ‘It would have been better after all if you had led the patrol. Apparently I overestimated your platoon leader’s abilities.’

Meyer exchanged a rapid glance with Steiner. In spite of the harsh words between himself and Steiner earlier, his sense of justice was outraged by Stransky’s attempt to fix the blame. His anger was apparent in his voice as he said: ‘I disagree, sir. As I see the situation, I would have acted precisely as Steiner did in every detail.’

Stransky regarded him without expression. ‘It grieves me to hear that,’ he retorted. ‘If you equate your qualities as a leader with the sergeant’s, that is your affair, of course, but it suggests regrettable conclusions.’

Triebig spoke up. ‘I must agree with the captain,’ he said softly. ‘Such situations call for not only a high degree of coolness, but certain traits of character. Whether Sergeant Steiner possesses them, you would know. Certainly there is reason to doubt that he does.’ 

There was a silence. The eyes of the officers were upon Steiner, whose face was drained of colour. Meyer stood up quickly. ‘Perhaps you are an authority on character, Herr Triebig,’ he said scornfully. He turned to Stransky: ‘Have you any further orders for me?’

Stransky, still seated, looked up at him, his light eyes holding a glint of mockery. ‘Not at the moment. You can inform me about your casualties tomorrow. I shall expect your written report at nine o’clock. You may go.’

Outside, they had gone some distance from the bunker when Steiner suddenly stopped. ‘There’s something I have still to take care of,’ he said tightly.

Meyer scrutinized him. In the darkness he could scarcely see Steiner’s face, but the tone of voice gave him concern. ‘You’ll get into a mess,’ he warned him. ‘Don’t do anything foolish.’

Steiner shook his head. For a moment Meyer still hesitated; then he nodded. ‘All right, see you later. Come to my bunker.’ He walked away swiftly.

Steiner waited until he had vanished in the darkness. Then he stole back quietly. He detoured around the command post, and found a good spot among the trees, where he could not be seen. There was a sentry in front of the commander’s bunker. Steiner prepared for a long wait. He thought over every detail of his plan. It was relatively simple. It would only be necessary to work up a suitable alibi. That was easy: Krüger and Hollerbach would swear to high heaven that he had been with them all during the time in question.

Minute after minute passed. Suddenly a light fell from one of the bunkers. A man came out slowly and looked around. Then he closed the door behind him, exchanged a few words with the sentry, and disappeared among the trees. Steiner stepped behind a crooked trunk and peered again. The sentry shifted his carbine to the other shoulder and began pacing back and forth. Finally he turned to the right, went over to the western edge of the orchard, and again stood motionless. He was only dimly visible now. Steiner was about to step out from behind the tree when he heard a sound. A dark shadow emerged from the trees, stood poised for a while, approached with footsteps silent as a cat’s and disappeared noiselessly into the bunker which Steiner knew belonged to Triebig. Steiner shook his head in wonder. But another ten minutes passed before Triebig appeared. He came from the commander’s bunker and went straight to his, without glancing right or left. As he descended the steps and opened the door, Steiner stretched his head forward. But to his amazement no sound of conversation broke the silence. The glimmer of light from the small window beside the door went out. What was going on here? At last curiosity overcame caution. After making sure that there was no immediate danger from the sentry, Steiner carefully approached the bunker, felt his way down the steps and paused for a moment at the door, listening, his tommy-gun tucked under his arm. Nothing stirred inside. Inch by inch he pushed the door open until he could squeeze in. Then he stepped quickly across the threshold.