The Cross of Iron (62 page)

From the yard the Russian machine-gun began firing again, raking the line of windows. Further ahead two or three hand grenades exploded. Several men were working feverishly to get the wounded back out of the corridor. When Steiner reached the main hall, he saw Triebig standing excitedly at one of the windows, barking out a succession of meaningless orders. He caught sight of Steiner and swooped down upon him. ‘What the devil have you done?’ he shouted wildly. ‘Half your platoon is knocked out, do you know that?’

‘If you’d been leading them, not one of the bastards would have come back,’ Steiner snapped. ‘Am I the company commander or you?’ He left him and turned to Schnurrbart. ‘Where is Faber?’

‘At the front door with his MG. What’ll we do?’

Steiner turned his head and saw his men still busy with their wounded. They were being laid on the floor between two big machines. There were eight or ten stretched out there.

‘Shall we try the elevator?’ Schnurrbart urged.

‘We can’t get into the yard,’ Steiner said. He shrugged. ‘There’s no other way, although it’s insane. If they’re up above, they can pop us off as we climb.’

‘The whole attack on this coffin is insane anyway,’ Krüger declared. He laughed savagely. ‘And that fool has already sent off a big-breeches radio message. Factory taken and so on.’

‘Who?’ Steiner asked quickly.

‘Triebig. We have a radio section with us, you know. They’re up there in the corner and communicating with Battalion.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Steiner said. He again went over to Triebig, who was bickering with Sergeant Schulz. ‘You need not tell me what to do and what not to do,’ he was saying. ‘We have orders to take the factory, and that’s all there is to it.’ He caught sight of Steiner and fell silent.

‘What do you think?’ Schulz asked Steiner violently. ‘Do you think we can take this building?’

‘With several tons of dynamite and a hundred Stukas, why not?’ He addressed Triebig. ‘We’re going to try it up the elevator now. Four of us at first. If we reach the top, I’ll signal.’

‘And if you don’t reach the top?’ Triebig asked.

‘Then you can order us a state funeral. But don’t rejoice too soon.’ He went over to the elevator shaft where Schnurrbart and Krüger were waiting for him. They stood by the opening, craning their necks as they stared up. ‘Who’s coming with us?’ Krüger asked.

‘We four. Get Faber.’ Steiner slung the tommy-gun around his neck and collected a bunch of hand grenades from the other men. Then he felt for the rungs. All the men who were not posted as sentries thronged round the shaft and watched breathlessly as he slowly started climbing. Someone called after him: ‘The lieutenant says you’re not to forget the flag.’

‘The lieutenant can kiss my arse,’ Steiner retorted. He paused and looked down. Then, seeing Schnurrbart swing himself into the shaft, he reached for the next rung. He felt as if he could not tell up from down. It was so dark that he shut his eyes and depended wholly upon his sense of touch. But as yet he felt no fear.

Surprised and instantly on his guard, Stransky greeted Kiesel coldly. It was unusual, to say the least, for the regimental adjutant to call upon him at his command post.

‘Do sit down,’ Stransky said, gesturing toward a chair. ‘To what do I owe the honour? Have you news from the other battalions?’

‘No,’ Kiesel said curtly. ‘What news I have is so confused that it would be of little use to you. The latest reports make grim reading. We are trying to disengage, but the Russians are keeping us busy.’

‘And the city?’

Kiesel shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘We may as well write it off. It has become a secondary issue. I have orders for you. May I see your map?’ Stransky spread the tactical map out on the table. Kiesel took a pencil from his pocket and began explaining. ‘You will withdraw this morning at four o’clock to this line.’ He traced the line with his pencil. ‘About five miles north-east of here, at the western exit of the big tunnel. Do you see?’ Stransky leaned over the map and nodded. ‘To your right is the third, to your left the 2nd Battalion,’ Kiesel continued. ‘As soon as you have occupied this position, the lieutenant-colonel will expect you at Regiment. Inform your companies. What is your second company doing?’

Stransky picked up a sheet of paper from the table. ‘The last bulletin came in ten minutes ago. See for yourself.’ He handed the message form to Kiesel.

‘Factory building occupied without losses,’ Kiesel read aloud. ‘Mopping up has begun. Triebig.’ He nodded approvingly and laid down the sheet of paper. ‘They are not to take any more needless risks. Send a radio directive to that effect. We must conserve our forces. What is the situation with your other companies?’

‘Somewhat more stabilized. Only they can’t really make contact. The gaps between the companies are too large to close with available manpower. At night practically impossible.’

‘The eternal evil. Huge sectors and no men to occupy them. If we had one battalion more it would be...’ He broke off, for the telephone was ringing. Stransky lifted the receiver. After the first few words Stransky’s face creased into lines of vast astonishment. He laid down the receiver. ‘It was the artillery observer who has been watching the factory through his night glasses. He has just seen the flag pulled down from the factory tower. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.’

‘What?’ Kiesel asked quickly.

Stransky realized that he had made a mistake. He gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘The whole thing,’ he answered evasively. ‘I wouldn’t have thought Triebig would succeed in getting as far as the top of the tower.’

Kiesel studied him closely. ‘What makes you think it is Triebig?’

‘Lieutenant Triebig is in command of the company,’ Stransky replied aloofly.

‘Indeed. Had you given orders for the flag to be taken down?’ 

‘Would that be so odd? The flag was undoubtedly a control point for the Russian artillery. I had no idea we were going to pull out and thought it essential for the flag to come down.’

‘But you assumed it was impossible?’

‘As troop commander one gives the right orders irrespective of their feasibility. If offensive action always depended on its probable outcome, we would never attack at all.’

‘You are partly right,’ Kiesel said. ‘But there is a difference between operations undertaken for strategic significance and those undertaken merely for prestige. Did you by any chance order Sergeant Steiner to fetch that flag?’

The bluntness of the question caught Stransky off balance. ‘What makes you think that?’ he parried.

Kiesel’s voice was hard as he answered: ‘A guess, Captain Stransky. I will tell you something. There are two persons in this world who mean a great deal to me, and Sergeant Steiner saved the life of one of them.’

‘I don’t know what you may be referring to,’ Stransky said. ‘Are you speaking of your brother-in-law?’

‘Yes, my brother-in-law, Lieutenant März. You know that he was wounded. Steiner carried him back. It surprises me that you have not yet heard about it.’

‘Lieutenant Triebig did not mention it,’ Stransky said, shrugging. It took him a moment to adjust to the new situation. When he spoke, his tone was reserved and he chose his words carefully. ‘Sergeant Steiner is to my knowledge platoon leader in Second Company. What orders he receives come from Lieutenant Triebig.’

‘That may be so,’ Kiesel said frostily. ‘But in case it really was Sergeant Steiner who brought down that flag, I hope that the assignment was not given to him with a certain intention.’ He stood up.

‘Will you express yourself somewhat more clearly?’ Stransky asked.

Kiesel shook his head. ‘If my interpretation is correct, I spoke clearly enough. I might at most add a general suggestion.’

‘Directed toward whom?’

‘Answer that yourself,’ Kiesel said contemptuously. ‘My point is that it is risky to play Providence. Many a nasty wish has boomeranged.’

Stransky rose slowly to his feet, his face betraying the intensity of his effort to control himself. ‘That sounds like a threat.’

‘I never bother to threaten,’ Kiesel retorted. ‘Justice does not require advance notice.’ On the way out he turned briefly. ‘You will be informed of the position of the new regimental command post.’

He let the door slam behind him. Back at the command post he seized the first opportunity to talk with the commander. He urged the immediate transfer of Steiner with such forcefulness that Brandt could not conceal his astonishment.

‘I don’t know why you are so agitated,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Frankly, I no longer care to meddle with the business. I’ve given Steiner a chance and I’ve given Stransky a chance. Let them now settle with one another. What made you go to see Stransky, anyway? I needed you.’

The commander picked up the telephone, called Captain Körner and had a brief talk with him. Then he turned to Kiesel again. ‘It looks as though we have switched parts,’ he said harshly. ‘At least in our relationship to Steiner. I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I assure you, it isn’t worth it. Believe me, it isn’t worth it. Steiner has already come to the point that it has taken me fifty-two years to reach. You’ll have no more success with him than I have had, and you’ll be kicked in the teeth, besides.’

The commander ceased speaking, his eyes fixed blankly at some spot far beyond Kiesel. Then his sagging shoulders straightened. ‘Take four or five men, drive to our new command post and get the quarters ready. We will follow in two hours. Send the car back to me.’ When Kiesel did not respond immediately, Brandt snapped: ‘Did you hear me?’ Kiesel nodded, but did not move. ‘What are you waiting for?’ Brandt asked, frowning.

Somewhere in the vicinity several heavy shells exploded, and Kiesel waited until the din had faded before he spoke. ‘Permit me one question,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘What point has Steiner reached?’

Brandt studied him, his own expression non-committal. Then he picked up his belt which lay on the table with pistol holster attached. ‘This,’ he said tersely, slapping the leather holster. ‘Just this. Is there anything else you want to know?’

‘Thank you,’ Kiesel murmured. He left the room, his face grey.

Steiner had counted one hundred of the iron rungs when his hand, groping for the next, failed to find it. Carefully, he felt the wall on his left until he encountered a depression which must be a doorway. He called down in a whisper to Schnurrbart, whose panting breaths were growing louder beneath him, and waited until he felt Schnurrbart’s hand touch his boot. He told Schnurrbart to switch on his flashlight. As the bright beam cut the darkness, he was able to orient himself. About six feet above his head was the roof of the shaft, to which the heavy elevator mechanism was attached. On his left, an easy step away, he saw the foot-wide base of the iron door. The door resisted the pressure of his hand. It was undoubtedly bolted from outside, and for a few seconds Steiner was in a quandary.

‘What’s the matter?’ Schnurrbart whispered. He stood with his right arm hooked around a rung, still holding the flashlight. Steiner glanced down. Seeing that Krüger and Faber were immediately below, he ordered them to climb back as far as the next floor and wait there. Then he took two stick grenades from his belt and unscrewed the safety caps. ‘We’ll have to blow it open. Buckle yourselves to the rungs with your belts.’

‘The stuff will fall on our heads,’ Schnurrbart objected.

‘The hell it will. You’re safe if you press close to the ladder. The door will blow open outward. Get down.’

Grumbling, Schnurrbart climbed downward. He was sweating and the air in the shaft was stale. When he thought of the yawning depths below him, he had to close his eyes to press back a feeling of giddiness. A warning cry from below indicated that he had reached the others. ‘What’s up?’ Krüger wanted to know.

‘He wants to blow the door open,’ Schnurrbart growled, flashing the light up to where Steiner was leaning over and laying the hand grenades at the foot of the door.

Krüger cursed. ‘Mad, he is,’ he muttered.

‘That’s what I said.’ Schnurrbart took the flashlight in his mouth, unbuckled his belt and drew it around a rung. The others followed his example. When Steiner called down to ask whether they were ready, Schnurrbart answered crossly: ‘We’re as ready as we’ll ever be. You’ll finish us off with your wild ideas.’ 

Suddenly Steiner came racing down the ladder like fury and pressed himself against the rungs just above their heads. The explosion will be heard throughout the building, Schnurrbart had time to think. Then there was a booming crash as though the shaft were collapsing. Above their heads scraps of iron hurled against the walls, and the air blast threatened to wrench their cramped fingers from the rungs. But they could already see Steiner swarming up, and before they could detach their belts from the rungs he had disappeared into the wall of the shaft. Seconds later they stood panting and excited beside him, staring into a broad corridor with large windows through which the reflected light of the burning city shone. On their left were doors probably leading to offices. Steiner quickly tried these and found them locked. Meanwhile Krüger was examining the door of the shaft. The force of the explosion had torn the bolting device right out of the concrete blocks and blown the door outward. The trick had worked, and now that the worst lay behind them, they quickly regained their confidence. Only Krüger was still worried. He turned to Steiner and asked: ‘What do you want to do now?’

Steiner looked thoughtfully out of a window at a fantastic vision. All along the waterfront and in the centre of the city burning houses stood like gigantic torches against a star-studded sky. The artillery fire had quieted down. But through the smashed window-panes rifle fire could be heard distinctly, rising and falling in intensity and seeming to come from all parts of the city.

Steiner turned around. ‘We’d better call the others. Until they get here, we can’t do anything.’

They went back to the shaft and Schnurrbart moved his flashlight in circles. The signal was immediately answered from below. Krüger felt as if he were stooping over a bottomless well, and at the bottom of the pitchy darkness there was a dancing light that seemed to come from another world. ‘They’ve seen it,’ he breathed. ‘We’re lucky bastards.’