Crack of Doom (3 page)

"Has he!" Kolodzi gave a start, but she pressed him back on the pillows. "Father's getting old," she said hastily. "Since the front's been so close, he's all for the Czechs again. He thinks we'll become Czech again when the Russians are here."

"Are
you
for them too?"

"I'm for
you.
But you must tell me what to do. I can't go on, it's all so. . . ." She began crying quietly, and he didn't try to stop her, simply caressed her face and her bare shoulders. When she had grown a little calmer, he said: "Father had good friends in Olmütz. We've got relations living there too, a brother of his. You go to Olmütz with mother, and after that well see." He turned his head abruptly, thinking he had heard somebody call his name.

Maria had started too. "What's that?" she asked in a scared voice, climbing out of bed.

"Get dressed," he told her. "I'd like to know what the devil. . . ." He got into his clothes. As he was putting on his jacket, he heard the sound of heavy feet coming upstairs. There was a knock at the door, and someone said: "Sergeant Kolodzi."

Motioning Maria behind the door, he flung it open, and saw a man from his company, panting hard. "You're to report to the captain at once, sergeant," the man said breathlessly. "We're pulling out."

Kolodzi felt his hands beginning to tremble. He took a step forward. "Pulling out, you say?"

"Yes, that is, we're to be sent off on trucks. Special mission. . . ." The man swallowed noisily and concluded: "That's all I know."

"When?"

"In an hour."

"All right, I'm coming." Kolodzi shut the door in his face and turned to Maria; she was only half dressed. "I was afraid the town was being evacuated," he said.

"Stay," she said. He looked at her in amazement. She put her arms round his neck. "Stay here, Stefan," she faltered. "You mustn't go away now. If you put something else on, we can go to Olmütz together. They won't look for us in Olmütz, and the Russians . . ." She stopped, out of breath; she was trembling and clung to him.

He tore himself away. "What are you talking about? It's swarming with army patrols. Do you want them to hang me as they did my father? You go on to Olmütz and later on. . . ."

"And my father," she interrupted him. "He'll never let me go. Hell be mad."

"Are you scared of him?"

"No, not scared, but. . ."

"But what?"

She leant against him wearily. "He is my father," she said softly.

"I know." He patted her shoulder. "But you've got to decide now who you belong to. Perhaps you could persuade him to move to Olmütz with you."

"No, he'll never leave Ko§ice. He's got something on here. I don't know what it is, but it often frightens me. There are such a lot of strangers who come to him."

"What strangers?"

"I don't know, they always come at night. I hear them talking when I'm in bed. I'm frightened, Stefan."

He looked down at her, frowning. "What do they talk about?"

"I don't know that either, I don't understand what they say, I just hear them talk."

"Czech?"

"I think so."

"Some day hell put a rope round his own neck," muttered Kolodzi. Then he shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "What do I care, let him do what he likes. Listen, Maria," he drew her to him. "You've still got time to think everything over," he said roughly. "You can go back to your father again. It may even be better for you if...."

She quickly closed his mouth with a kiss. 'Til never leave you."

He took her face gently in his hands like a big shell. "If we lose the war, I’ll have to hide somewhere. Wait in Olmütz, if possible, till you hear from me."

She lifted her face to him, and he saw that she was once more weeping.

"If I get through this," he said huskily, "you'll never have to cry again." She clung to him, and he had to wrench himself away from her. "Look after Mother," he said, then rushed off. She called something after him, but he did not stop.

There was nobody about. He walked quickly and slightly bent, past dark windows and unlit lampposts. Snow lay in the gutters, dirty heaps blown along by the wind. The streets were lifeless shafts between silent facades, in which only the cold was alive, a cold which pierced through his uniform, through his skin and right to his heart, congealing it with fears. He forced himself not to turn his head, not to think that
she
was standing in the doorway and gazing after him, as she had always gazed whenever he left her in these many years of war—with the mute pain of all women in her face, all the tears that had been shed, tears of uncertainty and endless waiting. Always he had felt her gaze upon him, she had been with him on all the roads of war, following him through the hot breath of the steppe, over the curving lines of the horizon, all the way to the remotest places. He had met this gaze in each valley of loneliness, had felt it in all his thoughts; and she had been looking at him out of every face.

His steps slowed more and more. In his thoughts he saw the lights behind the narrow windows, saw the men as they used to sit and laugh in front of their houses on the long summer evenings, nodding to the girls as they went by with their short skirts and red boots up to their firm, brown calves, bodices tightly laced over their young breasts. With every beat of his heart the past came more to life in him.

Turning, he stopped and looked back on the way he had come. He felt as if he need only take a few steps and he would find it all again. He bit his lip. But then, as if some irresistible force had taken control of him, he could feel his body turning; and without once stopping he strode back to the battalion.

CHAPTER

2

Shortly before eight o'clock that evening, Schmitt and Menges set out for Schmitt's postponed appointment with the general. The captain was silent and Menges did not venture to intrude on his thoughts. "God, it makes me sick," Schmitt exclaimed suddenly. "The whole thing makes me sick. How much longer are we going to play our part in this damn swindle?" Being used to such outbursts, Menges did not feel an answer was called for, but Schmitt gripped his arm and said: "Do you hear me?"

"What do you expect me to say?" Menges answered, feeling he had enough on his mind already. Any day now his wife would be having their child, and he was anxiously waiting for her next letter.

"I've got other worries," he muttered grumpily.

Schmitt smiled in the darkness. "Oh naturally. Everyone's thinking about his own affairs, and everyone behaves as if all that were no business of his."

"If you'll excuse my saying so," said Menges coldly, "I think you're making life unnecessarily hard for yourself."

"You think so? Personally I feel as if I'd always made it too easy for myself. Always the line of least resistance, always closing my eyes to the problems and . . . but I'm not going on with it much longer, I can tell you. You can't alter the law of gravity by constantly shifting your weight, and no more can you switch off your reason by pretending you haven't got any. I've tried to do that long enough. If this Kolodzi isn't a complete fool," he said erratically, "he'll stay where he is now."

"You sent him away?"

"I gave him leave till tomorrow morning. He lives here."

Menges stopped in amazement. "That surprises you?" said Schmitt. "Surprised me too, at first. But it's all the same where we live. You may be able to hide from the informers, but you can't hide from yourself." He hurried on, so that Menges was obliged to run after him. It was cold in the streets, and the lieutenant dug his hands in the pockets. Suddenly he exclaimed: "Look at the crowd!" The two men had reached the division headquarters, and his remark referred to the unusually large number of guards who were standing outside the front door or patroling in small groups. "It wasn't like that this morning," said Schmitt in astonishment.

A sergeant asked for their papers. "Those are my orders," he said in polite but firm tones when Schmitt protested. Inside the big house they had to pass a second check-post. "Completely crazy," declared Schmitt angrily, pushing his wallet back in his jacket They crossed a long hall to a door which again had two men standing in front of it.

"Schmitt!" The captain turned round and saw Giesinger, who had come running after them. "There you are," he said, panting. "I've just been phoning your HQ." He shook hands with Schmitt, nodded curtly to Menges, and pushed the door open. Inside, seven officers were seated at a table. Giesinger made hasty introductions before sitting down himself. Then he leaned toward Schmitt and said in a hollow voice: "They've caught the general—partisans."

Schmitt looked up incredulously. Glancing around the officers' faces, he noticed for the first time how worried they looked. "How did it happen?" he asked eventually.

Giesinger pointed to an officer who had his right arm in a sling. "Captain Meisel was there. He was in the second car, and the general in the first with Colonel Schnetzler and Captain Sitt." They re. . . .

"Dead. But the general's a prisoner."

"Then we're left without our general staff," Schmitt said to Meisel, who grimaced and felt his bandaged arm with his left hand. "Yes. A week ago the bombs and today the partisans. If it goes on like this. . . ."

"And they let you go?" asked Schmitt.

Meisel gave a harsh laugh. "Like hell they did. If it hadn't been for my driver we too would be lying in the ditch now."

Giesinger winced slightly, and said to Schmitt: "Captain Meisel's nerves are rather strained. He was lucky to get away with his car, but he went back afterward. The partisans were gone, the general with them, and the others . . . well, it's as you've just heard." He sat up stiffly. "Apart from the fact that the partisans have collected all our positional plans, the general's fate is also completely uncertain. I've been on the phone to Corps, and they want to send us General Stiller, who's a complete stranger. Until he comes, it's my job to carry on." He reached for a map on the table, and pointed with his finger: "That's where it happened, between Denes and Szomolnok, about thirty miles from here. We presume the partisans' hide-out must be somewhere near, and in any case somewhere between those two places—which means we've got to decide whether it's north or south of the road. My guess
is
that it's north, because the Hungarian frontier's to the south, and it's obviously Czechs we're up against. The compass please." Giesinger drew a semi-circle around the point where the ambush had taken place. "This is where one must start," he declared confidently. "They're sure to be somewhere in this region. Don't you agree?" When nobody answered, he flung the compass down on the table. "I called you to a conference, not a lecture. What do
you
think?" he asked, addressing Schmitt.

Schmitt rubbed his nose and said hesitantly: "I don't feel sure the partisans are as stupid as that. If I were they, I'd have chosen a place for the ambush as far away as possible. . . ."

"As far away as possible!" interrupted Giesinger. "Don't talk nonsense. You seem to forget there's several feet of snow in the woods. Under the circumstances, they wouldn't take a long walk."

"If they had skis perhaps."

"Skis!" Giesinger turned quickly to Meisel: "Did you see any skis?"

The captain shook his head. "I don't think they did have skis. Unless they laid them by somewhere."

"Hardly likely." Giesinger looked at Schmitt. "You over-rate these scum. It's all right for a dozen of them to attack defenseless people, they can think that one up—but their imagination won't stretch any further. We'll give them a lesson they won't forget in a hurry."

"I wouldn't do anything drastic without getting Corps' consent," said Major Fuchs, commander of the reconnaissance unit. Giesinger waved this aside. "If we can inform Corps that we've freed the general, everything will be quite all right, my dear Fuchs. We haven't got time to wait for any bureaucratic decisions. Colonel Kolmel said nothing about our not taking any action."

"Nor about our taking any," commented Fuchs, and several of the other officers nodded approvingly.

Giesinger sprang to his feet. "I wonder what the general would make of your attitude," he snapped.

Fuchs looked lazily up at him: "What's the matter with you? You don't imagine this thing leaves me cold, do you? It's just that on principle I'm against ill-considered actions. Besides, as you very well know, it's only an hour since my men got back, frozen and exhausted. I wouldn't dream of sending them out in the cold again now."

Giesinger decided it would be wiser to give way for the moment. "Nobody said anything about that," he answered, "I was thinking of Herr Schmitt. The reconnaissance unit were the rearguard," he explained to Schmitt, "and they only returned an hour ago. But your men have been rested, have they not?"

Schmitt had seen it coming. He sat up straight, and said coldly: "Would you like to hear my opinion?"

"Yes?"

"Then I must express strong disagreement. My men are also dead tired, and I protest against their being sent into action so soon again."

"They'd still have been in action now if I hadn't brought them to Kosice."

"I know. But then they wouldn't have been on the road all night."

"They'd have been working the whole night in their trenches."

"Not as bad as twenty-five miles' march in snow. You seem to forget. . ."

"And
you
seem to forget," said Giesinger loudly, "that I didn't call you here for a debate."

"Please, gentlemen," put in Fuchs; but Giesinger would not be deflected. "So you don't want to?" he said, looking down at Schmitt.

"No."

"Interesting. Captain Schmitt doesn't want to. Captain Schmitt is asked to rescue his general from the partisans, and he doesn't want to. I must say you've established your independence pretty quickly. But we can perhaps make it simpler: I now give you an official order to leave with your battalion immediately and make all possible efforts to recover the general. Has anyone here any objections?" His cold eyes ranged over the officers' faces. They were silent. Sensing their irresoluteness, Giesinger threw caution to the winds: "I’ll take responsibility."

"If it goes wrong," said Fuchs, "well, you know what can happen to you."

Giesinger bit his lip. For a moment he felt uncertain, and his heart began thumping. But this was the chance of his life: suppose he succeeded in freeing the general! The idea intoxicated him. "That's my worry," he said, "Has anyone else any objections?"

"We're talking too much," declared Meisel, laying his injured arm on the table. "If I were able to, I'd get going at once. Giesinger's right, we must teach the rabble a lesson. If you'd seen how ..." He stopped for a moment and stared in front of him, then raised his head. "They can't have got far yet, we mustn't lose any time."

"Indeed we mustn't." Giesinger sat down again, and said to Fuchs: "You'll admit yourself that it would be futile to ask Corps first. We'd have lost hours before the gentlemen made up their minds, and by then it would be too late. No, well handle it ourselves this time. What we need is success, and that depends wholly on you," he told Schmitt, who was listening with a stony face. "Look." They bent over the map. "It happened here," said Giesinger, "in this spot. You and your battalion will comb the country within the circle between Denes and Szomolnok, going over the houses in every village. Ill have you taken to Szomolnok in trucks, and I suggest you start the search from there. Divide the companies into small groups and send them off. It's important the men climb the mountains too and don't bypass them. How many walkie-talkies have you?"

"Three per company."

"Excellent," said Giesinger. "Then you can make up eleven groups, keeping one walkie-talkie at your headquarters. You will thus have continuous contact with your men, and can direct the groups as and where they are most needed. Is your headquarters radio in good order?"

"Certainly."

Giesinger turned to an officer seated opposite him. "Look after the radio logs, Herr Pfeiffer, I need a continuous connection with Herr Schmitt." He turned to Schmitt again. "If for any reason you have to leave your headquarters, then take signals men with you. Communications between us mustn't be broken off for a moment. Is everything clear?"

Schmitt cleared his throat. "Perhaps I might remind you that in this difficult country I need three or four days to carry out the task properly. And suppose I find nothing?"

"I'm not sending you to find nothing," Giesinger answered angrily. "I'm sending you to get the general back, and you don't need four days for that if you're worth your place as battalion commander." He got up abruptly. "How many trucks have we here?" he asked a young lieutenant.

"I'll have to go and see," was the answer. "All the vehicles are out."

"Where the devil have they gone?"

"You gave the orders yourself, sir. The trucks are taking building material to the positions."

"Then see if there are any here now. I need. . . ." He turned to Schmitt. "What's the strength of your battalion?"

"About a hundred and fifty men. The officers. . . ."

"Yes, I know," Giesinger broke in irritably. "We're waiting for replacements daily. Let's say forty men to a truck, then. See if we've got four trucks here," he told the lieutenant. "Have you any suggestions to make?" he asked the others. There was a silence. "Perhaps you have some yourself, Herr Schmitt?" said Giesinger.

"Not for the moment"

"Herr Fuchs?"

The Major kept his hands clasped over his stomach, and squinted at Giesinger: he was taking his time. "I should have handled it differently," he said at length.

"That's very interesting. How, pray?"

"Do what you like. I'd rather be out of the whole thing."

"The simplest way of shirking responsibility. Don't you think General Stiller may like to learn how his officers would behave if something like this happened to him?"

"No, I don't think so for a moment," said Fuchs. "Stiller's a realist and hasn't any use for sentimental nonsense. Once in Berlin he had an officer punished, and do you know why?" Giesinger gave him an uneasy glance. "The officer in question," Fuchs explained with deliberation, "tried to save a woman's life, a Jewess. She'd jumped into the river Spree, because they'd got her husband. The officer saw her and jumped after her even though he couldn't swim. If there hadn't happened to be other people about, they'd both have been drowned. When Stiller heard the story, he sent for the officer and had him put under house arrest for a month. Not, by any means, because it was a Jewess he'd jumped after, but because he did it when he couldn't swim. And that, you see, is what Stiller is like."

"You know him?" asked Giesinger in dismay.

"Of course I know Stiller. I met him before the war."

"And you only tell me that now?"

"You didn't ask me before."

"We were agreed he was a complete stranger," Giesinger said furiously.

"We
were?"
Fuchs raised his eyebrows. "You took it for granted; there was no suggestion of agreement We've never yet agreed about anything, not important questions anyhow."

You swine, thought Giesinger. Suddenly he felt he was making an enormous mistake, and his determination to send off Schmitt and his battalion began to waver. The other officers stared past him with impassive faces, and even Meisel, who had been for the plan till then, now avoided his eyes. Giesinger struggled within himself. Don't do it, a voice warned him. All was quiet in the room, and he could hear his own breathing.

The lieutenant returned to report: "There are two vehicles here, sir. But they're already loaded with building material."