Читать книгу Officer Factory - Hans Hellmut Kirst - Страница 12

“Hand-grenades ready for the new man!” cried one of the cadets brightly. “Out with bayonets and pen nibs—it's a matter of life and death! Idiots and suicides to the fore— soldiers take cover!” The speaker looked round for applause, but no one laughed. This was no time for trying to be funny. A new section officer marked a new chapter in training, perhaps even a new start altogether. And this was nothing to joke about.

The cadets of H Section were entering classroom thirteen in ones and twos. They took their places, unpacked their brief-cases, and laid their notebooks out in front of them. All this was done surely and mechanically, as when a knob is turned in a factory, or a lever's position changed at the ring of a bell.

Up to this moment in the day everything had gone like clockwork—reveille, early games, washing, breakfast, cleaning out of rooms, marching to class. But now the complications set in. Unforeseen developments might lie ahead. No one could be sure of what would happen. A wrong answer could result in a bad mark; every false move might prejudice one's chances of a commission.

“Listen here!” cried Cadet Kramer, the section senior. “This new man's name is Krafft, Lieutenant Krafft.” He had learned the name from one of the course commander's clerks. “Anyone know him?”

No one knew him the cadets had had their work cut out getting to know their former section officer, their tactics instructor, their course commander, and all the other people who had a say in whether or not they were to become officers. No other officers interested them.

“In one hour at the latest,” said Cadet Hochbauer with an air of superiority, “we shall know exactly how to behave. Until then it's best to reserve judgment. And don't let anyone try and suck up to him too soon!”

This was to be taken as not just a hint but a warning. The cadets round Hochbauer nodded. What was more; there was some sense in the injunction, since it was never advisable to put too much faith in a superior officer whose business was to put them through their paces for several weeks on end.

On this particular morning, therefore, the cadets of H Section were unusually quiet. They slipped uneasily into their places and looked nervously across the bare room towards the instructor's desk and the blackboard.

At the middle desk in the front row sat Cadet Hochbauer, and beside him the section senior. The two conversed together under their breath. Hochbauer gave Kramer advice, and Kramer nodded agreement. Cadets Rednitz and Mösler naturally sat right at the back of the room. Of all those present they were easily the calmest, for they had invested practically nothing in this course to date, either physically or spiritually, and as a result had nothing to lose.

“What are we getting so excited about, children?” asked Rednitz jovially. “It’s quite possible that the new man will be completely accommodating. It's possible too that he'll have limitations, or be blessed with more than his share of stubbornness. In any case the man's an officer, so we must be prepared for anything.”

“We’re going to wait and see,” said Cadet Hochbauer in a tone of rebuke. “It would be a mistake to jump to conclusions, don't you think, Kramer?”

“A great mistake,” said the section senior.

“But what if the new man's like Lieutenant Barkow?” inquired Mösler.

“Then,” said Rednitz, “we’ll again have to put our trust in God, our Cadet Hochbauer, and the effectiveness of a fast-burning fuse.”

Hochbauer jumped to his feet and drew himself up to his full height. The cadets in the front row backed away and formed a ring of spectators. An uneasy silence settled over the room, broken only by the shuffling of feet.

Hochbauer walked down the center gangway to the back of the room, followed by Kramer, the section senior. Two other cadets, Amfortas and Andreas, joined the procession, though more to cover the rear than for any other purpose. The room was poorly heated, but the temperature seemed to have risen appreciably.

“Now what's all this melodrama so early in the morning!” cried Mösler, looking round for some way of escape.

Rednitz had also risen. He looked rather pale but managed to convey a certain air of light-heartedness nevertheless. He waited until Hochbauer was standing in front of him and then made an effort to broaden his friendly smile. He wasn't afraid, being too well acquainted with the freakish twists of fate at the front to have any fear of this posturing youth. And although he was about the same age as Hochbauer, he felt himself almost an old man by contrast.

“Rednitz,” said Hochbauer in an unmistakably menacing tone, “I don't like your nasty insinuations.”

“You don't need to listen to them!”

“I regard my honor as at stake over this,” said Hochbauer.

“If nothing else,” said Rednitz. Cadet Rednitz looked round at the flat, pallid faces of his companions, and found little support there. But he was grateful for Mösler's hand on his arm, and noticed that the bull-like Weber, Egon, was maneuvering into position, though less out of loyalty than at the prospect of a fight for its own sake. The net effect, however, was likely to be the same.

“You will apologies to Hochbauer,” Kramer ordered Rednitz, and Amfortas and Andreas nodded energetically. “This has gone beyond a joke.”

“I think we both agree on that,” said Rednitz. “The problem is to convince Hochbauer.”

The cadets watched the dispute with rising misgiving, sensing unnecessary complications. Things were difficult enough as it was, on the course, without having dissensions in their own ranks which were just a dangerous waste of time.

The majority of the cadets respected Kramer as their section senior. He had spent a good deal of time as a corporal and thus had the necessary experience for the job without being clever enough to rule by intrigue. He was in fact a relatively decent fellow, a real plodder, and they could hardly have found anyone better.

But the cadets also tolerated Hochbauer as deputy section senior, having quickly realized that he was one of the ambitious ones of this world. There was no way of stopping him or placating him except by letting him have his own way. That he also happened to be a powerful athlete and an expert in ideology were additional reasons for letting him have his head.

These, then, were the basic considerations in the minds of the cadets. The line of least resistance was their chief concern: and life simply had to be taken as it came. This was why the provocative attitude of Rednitz and Mösler seemed nothing short of irresponsible. The instinct for self-preservation alone demanded that such outsiders should receive no support.

“I’m waiting,” said Hochbauer, looking at Rednitz as if he were some sort of louse.

“As far as I'm concerned,” said Rednitz, “you can wait there till the cows come home.”

“I’ll give you five seconds,” said Cadet Hochbauer. “After that my patience will be exhausted.”

“Be reasonable, Rednitz I” implored Kramer. “After all we're all comrades here, all in the same boat. Apologize and it'll all be forgotten.”

“Out of my way, Kramer!” cried Hochbauer firmly. “One has to talk plain German with people like this!”

Kramer still wanted to act the peacemaker, but Hochbauer pushed his way forward, followed by his bodyguard Amfortas and Andreas. Then everyone stopped where they were and listened.

“Look out! He's coming!” cried a hoarse, excited voice.

This was Cadet Böhmke; a poetically inclined individual who in consequence found himself allotted every sort of dreary special duty. This time he had been posted as look-out.

“Look out!” he repeated.

“Attention!” cried Kramer with relief. “To your places, men!”

Captain Ratshelm walked into the classroom followed by Lieutenant Krafft. Cadet Kramer reported: “Section H for Heinrich—forty men all present and correct, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Ratshelm. “At ease please!” “Stand at ease!” cried Kramer.

The cadets pushed their left feet forward and sideways and waited. Each knew perfectly well that the order Captain Ratshelm had just issued was an imperfect one. But he could afford to do that sort of thing: he wasn't on the course.

He corrected himself: “You may sit down.”

“Be seated!” cried Kramer.

The cadets sat down very correctly, with their hands on the desk in front of them in the prescribed manner for the presence of officers. They now began to cast a wary eye on Lieutenant Krafft, without, however, for one moment forgetting to give the impression that their whole attention was riveted on Captain Ratshelm, the senior officer present.

Captain Ratshelm now addressed them with gusto. “Gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce to you your new section officer, Lieutenant Krafft. I know you'll give him your full respect and confidence.”

Ratshelm looked about him with a challenging air of optimism, concluding with the words: “Lieutenant Krafft, I hereby hand over to you your section and wish you every success.”

The cadets watched the ceremony with mixed feelings, noting the exchange of handshakes between the two officers, the radiant look on Ratshelm's face and the tough smile on Krafft's. Then Ratshelm strutted from the room, leaving H Section alone with its new section officer.

The cadets couldn't make much of him at first. Outwardly he bore a certain resemblance to a bull. His face wore a serious expression, and his glance seemed to sweep over them indifferently. He seemed to have no particular quality that one could pick on, which rather increased their uneasiness. They had no idea yet who it was they had to deal with. And yet everything seemed possible, including of course the worst.

Lieutenant Krafft saw forty faces staring up at him, forty vague, colorless, identical faces in which he found it quite impossible to make out the details. Somewhere in the back row he thought he discovered a pair of friendly eyes for a moment, but couldn't find them again when he looked for them. Instead he saw passive indifference, watchful reserve, and cautious mistrust.

“Right, gentlemen,” said the Lieutenant. “We must get to know each other. I am your new section officer, Lieutenant Krafft, born in 1916, at Stettin, to be precise, where my father was an official of the post office. I worked on a large agricultural estate as farm foreman and as accountant in the estate office, and was then called up in the Wehrmacht. And that's about all. Now it's your turn. Let's begin with the section senior.”

This increased the cadets' misgivings considerably. They began to feel they were being victimized, for they had expected their section officer to start straight in on the lesson, in which case the Lieutenant would have had to hold the floor and they would have been able to take their time sizing him up. Instead of which, here was this Lieutenant Krafft demanding from them solo performances which could only have one object, namely to bring each one of them in turn under scrutiny. And what, after that, would they know of their new section officer? Nothing. That he wouldn't have gathered anything very much about them either didn't seem to occur to them.

Meanwhile the section senior had risen to his feet and in his hoarse, slightly rasping voice, obviously accustomed to giving orders, announced curtly: “Kramer, Otto, cadet. Born 1920 in Nuremberg. Father, fitter in a photographic works. Regular enlistment. Corporal.”

“Any further interests, Kramer? Particular aptitudes? Hobbies?”

“None,” declared Kramer honestly, and sat down, feeling rather pleased with himself. He was a simple soldier and nothing more, and it seemed to him important to have made that clear. He was sure he'd made a good job of things. He always was, until someone of higher rank pointed out the contrary. But this happened rarely enough.

Krafft's glance switched from the boorish face of Cadet Kramer to that of the man beside him. He saw a youth whose clear-cut winning features had a certain nobility about them, and he said encouragingly: “Right, then, next please.”

Cadet Hochbauer rose to his full imposing height and said: “Cadet Hochbauer, Lieutenant. Christian name: Heinz. Born 1923 in Rosenheim. My father is in charge of the political training school at Pronthausen, holder of the Pour le Write. After matriculating I volunteered for the front. Special interests: history and philosophy.”

Hochbauer said this all very much as a matter of course, without attaching any particular importance to it almost in an offhand way, in fact. But he watched Lieutenant Krafft carefully to see if his words had made any impression, and seemed to detect that they had. The Lieutenant's eyes rested thoughtfully for a while on Cadet Hochbauer.

“Next please,” said Krafft.

“Cadet Weber, Egon, born in 1922. My father was a master baker in Werdau which is where I was born, but my father is no longer alive, he had a heart attack at work in 1933 just after being nominated master tradesman of the district—he's been a Party member from 1927 or '26. I learnt bakery too—we've got a number of different branches—and my hobby is motor racing.”

Figures, names, dates, particulars of places and professions, clues, explanations, statements of fact—all these political, human, military details, formed a confused buzzing sound in the room, which seemed completely to bemuse Krafft. By the sixth place-name he had already forgotten the first. By the ninth surname he could no longer remember the third or fourth. He stared at the desert of faces in front of him—bony, flat, round, long, and podgy. He listened to one voice after another—honest, rough, sharp, gentle, rasping voices—and they all merged into this one indeterminate buzz.

Krafft noted the amount of wood there was in the room, taking in the paneled wall, the beams of the ceiling and the floor-board—wood everywhere, worn, scratched, battered, from yellowish-brown to brownish-black. The smell of pinewood, turpentine and dirty water was all about him.

Krafft realized that this method of his was neither bringing him any closer to his section nor enabling him to gain any particularly penetrating insight into them. The hour crawled by with lamentable results. He looked at his wrist-watch and longed for the time to be up.

The Lieutenant's increasing sense of misgiving automatically transmitted itself to his section. The cadets too longed for the end of this hour that had brought them so much boredom and confusion. Disgruntled looks came over their faces as they began to shift restlessly about in their seats. Some who had already said their piece relapsed into sullen brooding. One even yawned—a long drawn-out yawn that was distinctly audible. But the new section officer seemed not to notice this, which the cadets took as another bad sign.

Only two more of them, thought Lieutenant Krafft, and then it'll be over. And automatically he said: “Right, next please.”

Cadet Rednitz now rose to his feet, smiled pleasantly, and declared: “I must beg the Lieutenant to excuse me, but I'm afraid I'm not in a position to give him the extensive information he requires.”

Krafft gazed at Rednitz with some interest. The cadets stopped wriggling about in their seats and also turned and looked at Rednitz, thereby turning their backs on their section officer—an unusual sign of disrespect, which the Lieutenant appeared not to notice. This made Kramer, the section senior, particularly indignant. He began to fear for the preservation of discipline. Discipline was his responsibility, and provided he had the support of his superior officer it was perfectly possible to maintain it in the requisite manner. But if this Krafft were going to let the cadets turn their backs on him, it would only be a matter of time before they were talking in the ranks or sleeping in class. Lieutenant Krafft on the other hand regarded Cadet Rednitz's behavior as a welcome diversion. His spirits recovered slightly, and he asked in some amusement: “Perhaps, Cadet, you would be so good as to explain just why you can't give me this information?”

“It’s like this,” said Rednitz pleasantly. “Unlike my fellow cadets here I'm afraid I can't produce an official father, and so I can't say what his profession was.”

“Presumably what you mean, Rednitz, is that you are illegitimate?”

“Yes, Lieutenant—exactly.”

“Well,” said Krafft cheerfully, “such things happen from time to time. And it doesn't seem altogether a bad thing—especially when one realizes that official fathers are by no means always the best. I hope, though, that this minor- deficiency won't prevent you from giving me at least a few other particulars.”

Rednitz beamed. He liked the Lieutenant. But there was another reason for his undisguised pleasure. He could see Hochbauer's angry face glowering at him, and this alone made it worth the little extra trouble.

“I was born in 1922,” declared Rednitz, “in Dortmund. My mother was a housemaid to the director of a big firm, though it would be unwise to draw any particular conclusions from that. I went to the primary school, spent a year at technical school, and another year at higher technical school. In 1940 I was called up into the Wehrmacht. Special interests: philosophy and history.”

Lieutenant Krafft smiled. Hochbauer looked black. He regarded Rednitz's statement that his special interests were also history and philosophy as a personal insult. Some of the cadets grinned, but only because their section officer had smiled, thus giving them something to go on.

But Cadet Kramer got to his feet and in his capacity as section senior said: “May I draw the Lieutenant's attention to the fact that time is up?”

Krafft nodded, trying to conceal his relief. He did up his belt, put on his cap, and made for the exit.

“Attention!” roared Kramer.

The cadets jumped to their feet rather less briskly than at the beginning of the period, and came to attention with a certain sluggishness. The Lieutenant saluted the room briefly and went out.

“Impossible,” muttered Cadet Kramer. “If he goes on like this the whole section will go to pieces.”

The cadets looked at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing with relief. The prevailing mood was excellent, and more than a few of them now found themselves facing the remainder of the course with a certain equanimity. “Well, Mösler,” asked his friend Rednitz, “what do you make of him?”

“Yes,” said Mösler thoughtfully, “what do I make of him? He's not unsympathetic—but that's not much to go on. My grandmother's quite sympathetic too.”

“Fellow sportsmen,” said Cadet Weber, Egon, pushing his way closer, “this much is certain: he seems an energetic sort of type, and yet acts like a sheep. Now, what is one to make of that?”

Böhmke, poet and thinker, merely shook his head a number of times. All in all he would have found it difficult to give any very clear opinion of Krafft, and indeed no one asked him for one.

Kramer, the section senior, made an entry in the class log, sensing complications ahead. This fellow Krafft hadn't even signed the book confirming the subject and duration of the class. Kramer saw that they were in for a period of reorganization and indiscipline.

But in the group round Hochbauer joy reigned supreme. Amfortas and Andreas even went so far as to convey utter contempt when the new section officer's name came up. “A complete nonentity, eh, Hochbauer?”

The latter nodded vigorously. “We’ll soon have him where we want him. He'll either be eating out of our hands within a week or be fit for nothing but a pension.”