The Cross of Iron (63 page)

They waited in suspense. A few seconds passed. Then a dull thud reached their ears, at first inexplicable. There followed suddenly so piercing and frightful a cry that they reeled back from the opening. They had heard many kinds of screams. They knew how a man roared when the glowing hot iron of a shell splinter struck into his flesh, when a bullet tore away his intestines or shattered his genitals. But the sound that came up from below was not one of these. There was no longer anything human about that scream. It filled the entire shaft and did not stop until it was cut off by the chatter of a Russian tommy-gun. Then abruptly and terribly there was utter silence.

‘What was that?’ Schnurrbart whispered. None of the others answered. Steiner took several steps back and went to a window. He peered down into the courtyard. Finally he turned to the men. ‘We’ll have to find the stairs. We won’t get back down that shaft.’ He began running with catlike steps down the corridor. The men followed him. They passed a number of closed doors and came up at last against a wall. On their right a staircase led down, while behind an open door on the left a few steps were visible; probably these went up to the tower. Steiner stood hesitant. Then he told himself that the five minutes more or less would not matter.

Without a word of explanation he went through the doorway and scaled the narrow winding staircase. Schnurrbart followed at his heels. Although they tried to move quietly, their footsteps echoed with dreadful loudness on the stone steps, which went on and on, winding upward through impenetrable darkness. Finally Steiner stood still and called out a whispered order for the men to wait until he came back. Then he went cautiously on. Suddenly he heard an indistinct murmur that evidently came from further up. He dropped to his knees and crawled, careful not to make a sound. The murmuring became louder and more distinct. He could already make out individual words. Grey light trickled into the narrow tube of the stairwell, and after one more turning he saw above him a door which was closed except for a narrow crack. He raised himself to his knees, slipped the tommy-gun from his neck and listened. For a moment he wondered whether he ought to turn back and forget the flag. But no, he would not give up now that he was so close to the goal. With infinite care he pushed his head against the crack in the door. The room was rectangular, quite bare, with windows running around three of the sides. The glass in most of them was intact and reflected burning houses. On the right side stood four figures in Russian uniforms looking down at the city. They were talking unconcernedly in loud voices. Two of them were evidently officers; they wore caps and raincoats under which their high boots were visible. Now that his eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, Steiner made out two small boxes on the ground. Obviously radio apparatus. Advance artillery observation post, the thought flashed through his mind. All his keyed-up tension gave way abruptly to a sense of relief that affected him deceptively like gaiety. With a kind of eager curiosity he raised his tommy-gun to firing position. For the fraction of a second he felt inhibited; those backs turned unsuspectingly to him somehow troubled him, and he could not refrain from uttering a hissing noise that fell like a noose around the Russians’ heads and pulled them around. He saw the masklike planes of their faces, had time to observe the drawing-in movements of their necks and their arms, and then he pressed the trigger. The lifeless steel in his hands changed into a roaring, jerking creature that sent the bodies of the Russians spinning as though an invisible lash had struck into their midst. Steiner wondered at the way they died without a sound. Like animals, he thought, and lowered his tommy-gun. He felt sick. As he kicked the door in, a frantic trampling sounded on the staircase behind him, and Schnurrbart’s voice cried out his name. A second later they came rushing around the next winding of the stairs, weapons held high. Steiner called out that everything was under control, and Krüger let loose a string of relieved curses. ‘Always the same,’ he griped as he mounted the last few steps behind Schnurrbart. ‘The bastard was just trying to scare us again. I’ll bet there wasn’t...’ He fell silent. They had reached the doorway, and as they entered the room they saw the dead Russians. Steiner was standing with his back against the row of windows, his eyes fixed upon a narrow iron door in the rear wall. That, apparently, was the opening to the peak of the tower.

The men stepped closer to the bodies and looked down at them, shaking their heads. ‘A radio section,’ Schnurrbart said. He looked over at Steiner, who was changing the empty magazine of his gun. ‘Nice shooting. Didn’t they see you?’

‘It was too dark for me to introduce myself,’ Steiner replied. He strode over to the iron door and tried it. It was unlocked. ‘We’ll get that flag now,’ he said. ‘Schnurrbart can come with me. You two wait until we’re back; you have to keep our retreat open.’

‘What do you want the stinking old flag for,’ Krüger remonstrated. ‘If the Russians catch on to what’s happening up here, we’ll never get back down.’

Schnurrbart sided with Krüger, urging that they find the quickest way down again. But Steiner would not listen. ‘It isn’t the flag that matters; it’s something else entirely. If you feel things are getting too hot for you, you can run for it. I’m not keeping you.’ He turned away and went through the door. ‘Damned mule,’ Schnurrbart grumbled, following him.

They found themselves again on the worn steps of a winding staircase even narrower than the other. The stairs rose steeply into a pitch dark room. Steiner sent the beam of his flashlight sweeping hastily around it. The room was windowless and circular, the floor coated with dust. In the centre was an iron ladder with wide flat rungs which led to a rectangular opening in the ceiling. At the top of the ladder Steiner encountered a wooden trap-door which yielded to the pressure of his hands. He raised it, and a moment later they stood on the roof of the tower, with the stars above them. The roof was flat, ringed by a knee-high wall. In one comer, fastened to the wall by iron clamps, the creaking flag-pole pointed toward the sky. The flag fluttered clumsily like a big, dark shadow in the fresh breeze that blew from the sea and cooled their hot faces. Quiet had settled over the city. All was still and dark. Only here and there were fires still smouldering, casting a glow into the gloomy gorges of the streets and now and then raining sparks upon the roofs. From the elevation of the tower the fires seemed altogether harmless, and the red window openings looked like lanterns. The mountains reached toward the stars, and the Milky Way blazed in a bright arc from horizon to horizon.

‘I wonder which one is ours?’ Schnurrbart said.

‘Which what?’ Steiner asked.

Schnurrbart waved his hand at the sky. ‘Which star, I mean. My mother always used to say each of us had one.’ He fell silent. Then he asked: ‘Have you still a grudge against me?’

‘What about?’

‘Oh, anything. I thought maybe about that business at the bridge, back in the woods.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Steiner said.

‘You’re just saying that,’ Schnurrbart muttered sceptically.

‘We’re not children any more,’ Steiner said curtly. ‘A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then. I’ve forgotten about it. I’ve forgotten a great deal.’

‘That’s good,’ Schnurrbart whispered. And obeying a sudden inspiration he added: ‘Anne too?’

A few seconds passed before Steiner answered: ‘No. Not her. Never.’

Schnurrbart averted his eyes. ‘What she must have meant to you.’

‘That’s enough!’ Steiner said. With both hands he pulled down the flag. The rusty rollers screeched, and he had to tug hard at the cloth before he could separate it from the wire. They folded it carefully. Then Steiner strapped it to his assault pack and returned to the trap-door.

In the lower room Krüger and Faber were waiting impatiently for them. Quietly they descended the winding staircase and reached the corridor below without encountering any Russians.

Steiner peered toward the elevator shaft at the other end of the corridor. Not a sound reached their ears. Slowly, they went down the stairs to the next floor. Here, too, they paused for a few seconds, listening hard for suspicious sounds in the darkness. Steiner was about to continue on down when Schnurrbart suddenly held him back. Muffled, but distinctly audible, the din of violent shooting reverberated in the stair-well.

‘That must be from the yard,’ Steiner breathed. ‘They’re attacking the company.’

Schnurrbart relaxed his tight grip on Steiner’s arm. ‘What do we do?’

‘We must get down. If Triebig runs for it, we’ll be stuck in this trap. Let’s go.’

Disregarding caution, they pelted down the stairs. Suddenly a sharp outcry dropped like a stone at their feet. They glimpsed the outlines of a Russian on the landing below. He stood motionless, looking up at them. Without thinking Steiner raised his tommy-gun. The staircase resounded with the cracking of the shots. The Russian tipped over. The four of them raced across his body. Simultaneously the whole corridor came to life. Doors flew open, men shouted, boots thundered over the paving blocks, and then a random salvo spattered over their heads. Ducking, they raced on down the stairs, tearing their clothes on the banisters as they rounded the turns. Behind them the racket grew more terrifying from floor to floor. Then they reached the end of the staircase. It was blocked by a door that must lead out into the yard, and Steiner desperately tugged at the latch. But the door was locked. Behind them footsteps boomed like an avalanche down the stairs. The searing beams of flashlights ate into the darkness and scraps of words in Russian shrieked in their ears. Panting for breath, they stood still, their eyes frantically searching for a way out.

Krüger saw the door first. A corner behind the stairs, a big wooden box, and beside it a narrow door. Unlocked. Beyond it more steps led into a black tunnel. As they plunged on down, the total darkness wrapped them like a blanket. Steiner switched on his flashlight. To left and right ran a long, narrow underground corridor. A few iron pipes attached to the low ceiling. Doors on both sides. And in the background impenetrable darkness. But there was no time to consider. The Russians had reached the entrance to the cellar, and Steiner turned to the right. They raced with giant strides down the narrow tube of the corridor, the cones of light from their flashlights severing the darkness. Behind them several shattering explosions boomed. Hand grenades, Steiner thought. He ducked even lower. Any moment now the Russians would be down here with their tommy-guns, and this corridor seemed to go on for ever. No branches, nothing but doors, doors, doors. Every one of those doors concealed a rat trap, and Steiner knew it. Once they were caught in one of those holes, the Russians would have no trouble smoking them out. It was hopeless. He halted in his tracks so suddenly that the others bumped into him.

‘What?’ Schnurrbart panted.

‘Shut up,’ Steiner whispered. ‘Put out your lights and keep going.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll follow you; go on, damn it.’ As the men ran on, he flung himself flat on the ground and began firing blindly into the darkness. Schnurrbart wanted to stop again. But Krüger’s fist caught him hard in the back. ‘Go on, go on!’ They continued running until, in the darkness, they slammed up against a wall.

Their hearts jumped. The corridor turned at a right angle here and led toward a patch of light against which the shadowy outlines of several men could be seen. They were standing in an open doorway, and they wore steel helmets. German steel helmets. Schnurrbart uttered a cry of disbelief. Then he rushed toward the men, shouting: ‘Sergeant Steiner here, don’t shoot. It’s us— Sergeant Steiner.’ He ran out of the darkness toward the light. With every step he took his jubilation grew; he could think of nothing but: saved, we’re saved. Already he thought he could distinguish Triebig, standing in the midst of the men and raising his hand. But Schnurrbart overlooked the motion. He saw only the familiar uniforms, and he thought of the captured flag and that Steiner was the luckiest bastard born and with him by you a fellow could fetch the stars from the sky. By God, the luckiest bastard born. Joyously, he threw up his arms. The stars, he thought, the stars from the sky. Then something fell at his feet and he staggered. But he managed to remain on his feet and tried to regain his balance. ‘Damn it all,’ he stammered, throwing his head back, uncomprehending. With abrupt horror he felt something striking his body. It was as though his chest, his abdomen, were being torn open, and fiery pain darted up to the roots of his hair. They’re mad, he thought, sinking to his knees. The rumbling stopped and he saw innumerable shimmering points plummeting towards him. The stars, he thought again. Then he suddenly heard his mother speaking to him; he knew instantly it was her voice. While he tilted forward from the waist, he laughed wildly. The stars gathered together, formed big, glowing-hot discs that became a face. He recognized Erika. Or was it his mother still? It’s all one, he had time to think. Then a black wall fell across his brain.

CORPORAL NONNENMACHER
was leader of the radio section in the signals platoon at Regiment. He was a stocky, powerful man with a ruddy face and good-natured blue eyes that regarded the world with quizzical intelligence. Sitting in his headquarters on the second floor of the regimental command post, he casually twisted the dial of the radio set. At the back of the room the men of his section were snoring. Nonnenmacher listened to them for a while. Then he fooled with the dial again. But nothing special seemed to be happening to either the first battalion or the others, and Nonnenmacher yawned mightily. He glanced at his watch. Another hour and a half, he thought. How slowly the time passed. As he idly continued to turn the dial, listening to the unchanging drone of the ether waves, he wondered what their new quarters would be like. Undoubtedly not as comfortable as these, he thought gloomily, and sighed. Russia was bearable only when you were established in a big city. Novorosisk had had some conveniences they were going to miss. He stared into the quiet flame of the lantern and sighed again, lt was a dreary business, these eternal retreats. When he thought of the imminent winter, the stark snow-covered hills whipped with icy wind, when he remembered the two thousand miles that lay between him and his home in Karlsruhe, an unnameable sadness and hopelessness came over him.