Читать книгу Officer Factory - Hans Hellmut Kirst - Страница 5

The youthful voices of the cadets rang through the gymnasium, where a powerful smell of male sweat hung in the air. Captain Ratshelm, the officer commanding Number 6 Company, was personally supervising the three sections under his command, as he always did when they were down for sports or games. Dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt he cavorted happily about among his cadets, lending them encouragement and, in so far as he could, setting them an example. For he had a slight tendency to corpulence, and the rosy pinkness of his skin stood out in contrast to the brown sinewy torsos of the cadets.

H Section was the one he was particularly interested in. For it had been bereaved by the sudden death of Lieutenant Barkow and was thus temporarily without a section officer. Until the General appointed a successor to the dead man the company commander voluntarily took on the job himself.

Ratshelm was always happy when he could get into slightly closer contact with his young cadets, being particularly fond of a game of handball, in which he would hop around, grabbing the ball for himself and barging one of his young comrades out of the way in order to get a better shot at the goal. With their damp glistening torsos rubbing against him and the sharp animal tang of their sweat in his nostrils, he felt his heart full of strength and joy and a deep sense of comradeship. And this was particularly true whenever his eyes lit upon Cadet Hochbauer.

“A lovely pass!" he shouted across at him. “More like that one!"

“This fellow Hochbauer's in training all right," said Cadet Mösler knowingly. “For a creep up the C.O.'s arse."

Cadet Mösler had a reputation as a wit. The advantage of this was that almost everything he said was taken as a joke, which saved him a good deal of trouble one way and another.

“Hochbauer’ll have to look out, though," said his neighbor Cadet Rednitz thoughtfully. “There’s plenty of competition."

“Yes, you have to make certain sacrifices to become an officer," declared Mösler, not forgetting to grin inanely.

They were standing rather out of the limelight, right at the back of the field. Mösler was a wiry little fellow with darting eyes which spent most of their time on the look-out for anything in skirts, while Rednitz was a medium-sized, slim figure who however moved like a bear and was almost always smiling about something, though hardly ever laughing. He had already learned not to do that.

“Scandalous we don't have women training to be officers," said Mösler. “I’d be only too willing to play games with them!"

“Bad enough with some of us carrying on like women," said Rednitz. “Or do you want to sleep your way into a commission?"

“It depends on whom with," said Mösler, grinning. “I wouldn't mind a comely young major of thirty or so. It wouldn't be the worst sacrifice one could make for one's Fatherland."

“Half time!" cried Captain Ratshelm. “Change sides!"

The two teams changed sides, and Mösler and Rednitz promptly found their way to the rear again. They had no objection to leaving the main part of the field to the keener sportsmen.

Though Mösler and Rednitz were both only twenty-one, they had already acquired a certain amount of military experience, having developed a sixth sense which told them when their superior officer's eye was upon them. They instinctively positioned themselves where the danger of being spotted was light. Captain Ratshelm was now out in front of them, pleasantly distracted from his supervisory duties by the game and his sporting companions, and Mösler and Rednitz found his back a comforting sight. Now and again they would make a perfunctory move in one direction or another, even occasionally actually pursuing the ball. But this was only because the cold January air left them little option. They had no wish to work up an unnecessary sweat, but they had no wish to freeze either.

“Hochbauer’ll get his commission all right," said Mösler.

“Could become a general," agreed Rednitz, “if the war lasts long enough and he finds enough superior officers to fall for him."

“Coming over, sir!" cried Cadet Hochbauer, in clear, ringing tones. “Into the center!"

“Right!" cried Captain Ratshelm. Skipping forward with what he imagined was remarkable elegance he caught the ball and sent it hurtling into his opponents' half of the field, where for some reason or other one of the cadets dodged aside and the ball went into goal.

Yet another point scored. The Captain's team was well ahead, as was only to be expected. Once again Ratshelm felt that his own remarkable versatility had been overwhelmingly demonstrated.

“They can't beat us now!" cried Hochbauer happily.

“Our opponents are putting up a great fight, though! All honor to them!"

This man of honor, Captain Ratshelm, a professional soldier and an officer out of deep conviction, was utterly dedicated to the training company under his command. He had three sections under him in all, G, H and I, each of which had on its strength forty cadets, one section officer and one tactics instructor. It was Ratshelm's gift to be able to unite in his own person all those qualities required to produce the officers of the future. There was no field in which he was not an expert; he was planner, instructor, educator, all rolled into one, and above all a true comrade-in-arms. Although himself only a few years older than his cadets, he felt like a father to them, and the love which he so devotedly bore them was a father's too; or so at least he convinced himself.

“Well done, Hochbauer!" he cried, puffing slightly as he scored yet another goal. “A lovely pass!"

“You were beautifully placed again, sir!" replied Hochbauer, his eyes shining with admiration.

It would never have occurred to Captain Ratshelm to feel flattered, it was enough for him that he was appreciated. True he had a fatherly love to bestow, but in return he looked for nothing but respect, and he never had the slightest fear that the depth of his affection might in any way constitute a threat to discipline.

Just then the ball hit him full on the side of the head. He swayed slightly, and for a moment it looked as if his legs were going to buckle under him. However, though his head was throbbing fiercely he managed a sporting smile in the best officer tradition.

“Sorry sir," called out Cadet Weber from the other side of the field. “I didn't mean it to be so hard."

“Foul!” cried Cadet Hochbauer, springing to the Captain's defense at once.

Cadet Weber (Christian name: Egon) was a broad, burly fellow, as solid as a well-made piece of furniture. Panting heavily he now pushed his way forward, laboring somewhat with a sense of insult, for he too had his ambitions as a sportsman.

“How would you know what was foul," he said to Hochbauer, “since you don't know what's fair?"

For a moment it seemed as if Hochbauer was going to spring at him. But then he looked across at the Captain, who, though still nursing his head, was not prevented from doing what he conceived to be his duty as a sportsman.

“Weber," said Captain Ratshelm severely, ”no arguing while the game's in progress. You're sent off!"

“Greetings, fellow sportsmen," said Cadet Weber, trotting over to Rednitz and Mösler. “Have you heard? I've been sent off. Not a bad trick for getting a spell of rest, eh? I'm going to patent it."

“I’m afraid," said Cadet Mösler, “that if your friend Hochbauer has to choose between you and the Captain there's little doubt where his choice will lie."

“Who cares?" said Weber indulgently. “The main thing is I managed to catch Ratshelm a crack on the head—all in the spirit of the game of course—and I've earned myself a breather as a result."

“All the same," Rednitz reminded him, “Hochbauer did say it was a foul."

“He’s right too," said Weber, quite unabashed. “I have no hesitation in playing foul in that sort of game, but I'm not going to admit it to those bastards."

This was typical of Cadet Weber (Christian name: Egon), whose imperturbability and disarming frankness allied to a bulldog-like temperament made him the least vulnerable of men. With such a remarkably thick skin he could count himself a useful soldier.

“What about a go with the medicine ball?" he suggested.

Mösler and Rednitz agreed—medicine ball was easily the best way of avoiding trouble; it kept one warm without requiring any effort, rather like the friendly sort of games that children play.

The three cadets retired from the game of handball altogether, without anyone noticing them. Ratshelm was still in the thick of things, playing with great abandon and setting an example which he felt sure everyone else would follow. He didn't exactly suffer from a sense of inferiority.

“Heard the latest?" Cadet Weber asked.

“What’s that?" asked Rednitz with a smile. “Apart from the fact that your friend Hochbauer thinks you don't play fair."

“Oh hell," rejoined Weber good-naturedly,” I know you can't stand Hochbauer, but I can't think why!"

“You know quite well why," put in Rednitz.

“My dear fellow," said Weber calmly,” my sole purpose here is to survive the course, not to go around awarding people marks for character. As far as I'm concerned, anyone here can be as pure or sink as low as he likes—all I care about is becoming an officer. To hell with everything else!"

Rednitz smiled. He picked up a medicine ball and threw it across to Mösler. Their evasive action was already under way.

“Well," asked Mösler, “what’s new on the Rialto?"

“Something pretty big!" Weber assured him. Rednitz looked at him curiously, and he added: “Or so it seems to me. It looks as if the women have got out of hand!"

“That’s nothing new," said Mösler speaking as an expert,” but which particular women do you mean?"

“Those here in the barracks!“ said Weber. “It’s said they're rushing about naked all over the place."

“Only in the showers, surely," said Rednitz. “Where else?"

"You may well ask! “Said Weber.” In the basement of staff headquarters—in the communications center, I'm told. Rows of them. Three at least, if not five. No one's safe, they say. Further information later. Makes you think, though, doesn't it, fellows?"

“Man!" said Cadet Mösler with something like solemnity. “This seems to demand a maximum effort on our part. I suggest the formation of a raiding party for to-night!"

“Carry on without me, fellows!" Captain Ratshelm called out to his cadets.

“We’ll manage," Cadet Hochbauer assured him. “Thanks to you, sir, we can't lose." And several of the cadets nodded enthusiastically.

Captain Ratshelm had scored enough points. His companions had the right to score too, and he wasn't the man to spoil their fun. Besides, he was feeling rather tired. He was panting hard and had a slight stitch in his right side—life at the front, it seemed, had taken its toll on him. He withdrew to the rear—not far enough to disturb Cadets Mösler, Weber and Rednitz, but far enough away to be able to watch Cadet Hochbauer.

In Ratshelm's eyes Cadet Hochbauer was the very model of what an officer should be. He already possessed an outstanding personality, and his mind was alert and precise. He had plenty of energy and endurance, and was both keen, resourceful and respectful. In short, this fellow Hochbauer was endowed with all the qualities of a born leader of men. The inevitable callousness of youth would fine down in time, and his idealism, which was rather lacking in sophistication at the moment, would learn to make the unavoidable compromises.

Ratshelm paused to look across at the two other sections, G and I, where a familiar sight met his eyes. Lieutenant Webermann was circling his flock of cadets with the tireless energy of a sheepdog; Lieutenant Dietrich on the other hand had so positioned himself that he could take in all his cadets at a glance. They used different methods but achieved the same result, keeping their cadets on the move without setting any particular example themselves. This was why they were wearing thick track suits, whereas Ratshelm, stripped for action, was a true sportsman and a fitting companion for the cadets.

Thinking along these lines, Captain Ratshelm suddenly noticed that it was extremely cold in the gym. He was even shivering himself, so he decided to order a run round the hall.

He beckoned the section senior over to him and said: “Kramer—in five minutes we'll bring the games to an end and finish with a general run."

"Hear that?" said Cadet Mösler to his friends Rednitz and Weber. “They’re off on the Idiot's Handicap in five minutes. They can leave us out, though, eh?"

This went without saying. A run round the hall wasn't for old soldiers like them. This wretchedly taxing marathon trot was part of the Captain's basic routine, the principal item in his act, in fact. Captain Ratshelm stood in the center of the ring, while they all trotted round him for at least fifteen minutes on end.

To avoid this, Cadets Mösler, Weber and Rednitz went up to Kramer, the cadet who at present held the post of section senior, and Mösler said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: " Kramer, we'll see to the equipment—all right?"

“What, again?" demanded Kramer irritably. “All three of you? You three always want the cushy jobs! I won't stand for it indefinitely, you know; people will start asking questions."

“If that's all they start asking questions about," said Rednitz amiably,” you can count yourself lucky."

“Are you threatening me?" asked Kramer indignantly. He was head sergeant and wanted to be shown a certain amount of respect. If people only asked him for this sort of thing politely, he was almost certain to agree pleasantly enough. But the behavior of these three cadets was beginning to look very much like blackmail. “You look out!" he muttered. “These hints of yours will land you in trouble. You can't prove anything—Lieutenant Barkow died a completely natural death."

“It depends on how you look at it," said Weber. “Death is always the most natural thing in the world, one way or another."

“We’ll have a talk about it some time," announced Mösler with a grin. “To-day we just want to spare you any unpleasantness—and we're the only people who can. For if we don't look after the sports equipment you can be sure you'll be down a medicine ball."

Kramer was quite smart enough to realize what was being hinted at here. The three of them had obviously managed to hide a medicine ball away in such a way that only they could find it again. If he wanted to save himself a lot of trouble and embarrassment he had no alternative but to give in to them. He muttered an obscenity under his breath before giving the order: “Mösler, Weber and Rednitz are to see to the equipment."

Which meant that for these three the games period had ended before it had begun. It would have taken an inexperienced recruit less than ten minutes to collect and return the sports equipment, but since these were old soldiers, a good half-hour would be required. And by that time the circus performance would be over.

“Friends!” said Cadet Weber. “We must now discuss our plan of campaign—we've lots of time for it. I must say I can't get the idea of those women out of my head. I take it as a personal affront to my virility that these wretched little girls should be running around so pathetically dissatisfied."

“Let me have your attention a moment, fellows!" said Captain Ratshelm after looking at his watch. “We’ve just got time to sharpen up our wits a little, in accordance with the principle Mens sana in corpore sano, you know. You all understand what that means?"

There was hardly anyone who didn't understand what that meant. It meant that before his last great closing number, before the last communal exertion of the day, Captain Ratshelm intended to indulge in a little theoretical work. Noncommissioned officers might be content to know how a thing was done, but officers needed to know why it was done. It was to this end therefore that Captain Ratshelm collected his cadets around him in a semicircle and asked searchingly: “Why actually do we play games?"

“I often ask myself that!" whispered a cadet at the back.

Captain Ratshelm ignored this, chiefly because it never occurred to him that anyone would have dared to whisper in his presence. He gazed straight into the keen, eager faces of the cadets. For one of the slogans of the training school, laid down by the course commanders, stated that there were no questions to which an officer did not have an answer.

Ratshelm looked at Hochbauer with a momentary tingle of pleasure at the cadet's fine, upstanding appearance. His fine blue eyes, betraying both confidence and humility, radiated his respect for his commanding officer. Siegfried must have had something of the same look when his glance rested on Kriemhilde. And Hochbauer thrust his powerful, manly chin slightly forward, a gesture equivalent to the raised hand of the eager schoolboy denoting that he was burning to be asked.

“Well, Hochbauer?" asked the Captain. A shiver ran down the cadet's spine as he sprang to attention in exemplary fashion, looked his superior officer straight in the eye, and spoke out: “Games steel the body, sir, but a healthy body contains a healthy mind as well. Games make one versatile, and versatility is one of the finest qualities in the German character."

It was as if the answer had been turned out by a machine —curt, crisp and precise. In short, beyond reproach. Ratshelm was very pleased. He nodded and said: “Good, Hochbauer."

Hochbauer seemed to swell with pride and happiness, though his face remained admirably self-controlled. He stayed as rigid as ever, with the merest flicker of a smile playing about his lips. But his eyes radiated warmth. He bared his teeth slightly, almost imperceptibly. They too were splendid and he would have made an admirable toothpaste advertisement: Healthy teeth denote a healthy mind—officers prefer Blendol.

But Ratshelm continued his theoretical instruction with the question: " Are games an officer's concern?"

“Only in so far as his subordinates have to play them," whispered the cadet at the back.

But a cadet in front gave the required answer: "An officer is concerned with everything that promotes military efficiency, instills discipline and maintains and indeed develops a high standard of general fitness. Games are an excellent way of improving military discipline. A good officer organizes games and takes part in them himself; he has to set an example in everything."

Ratshelm decided that that would do. The excellent answers were fully up to the standard of the earlier performance. He had every reason to be content with this section of his and could only hope and pray that the successor of the late Lieutenant Barkow would prove worthy of them. Such first-rate human material deserved the greatest possible care.

Captain Ratshelm now gave orders for the run round the gym to begin, planning that it should last about twenty minutes. To guarantee a good steady pace he put Hochbauer in front, and, to prevent any weakening in the center, made Kramer, the section senior, bring up the rear. Off they trotted in this formation.

Letting his glance wander up from the cadets' legs to their faces, Ratshelm was surprised to find the correct expression of enthusiasm missing. In vain he searched for that fine eager glow of manly zest which should have distinguished the officers of the future, particularly those whose privilege it was to grow to their full stature under his tutelage.

But perhaps the sudden death of Lieutenant Barkow had depressed the cadets. It might have been, too, that the regrettably incomplete funeral ceremony of the early afternoon had made an unfavorable impression on them. Then there was the unpleasantness of the investigation being conducted by Judge-Advocate Wirrmann into the Barkow affair —an unavoidable procedure, perhaps, but one well calculated to bewilder them.

Thinking along these lines, Ratshelm found the situation deeply moving. Young men who had been selected to be officers, he told himself, needed to be shown the importance of esprit de corps in the circle to which they aspired. So, acting on a spontaneous impulse, he once again gathered H Section about him.

The cadets showed an extraordinary willingness to respond to their commanding officer's summons, which provided a welcome break in the exhausting marathon. Most of them were curious too: for they had soon discovered that Captain Ratshelm was utterly unpredictable. The man also had a way of talking as if reading out of some military textbook, which certainly had its funny side.

“Right. Now, just give me your attention, all of you," said Ratshelm impressively, the very picture of an officer determined to give his men a thorough grounding in their subject. “To-day we've buried our section officer, Lieutenant Barkow. He was a good man. Now we all have to die in the end, and a good soldier must be prepared to do so at any moment—officer or not, of course. So far so good. But we soldiers don't only have to fight and die; we also have a paper war to fight. And this has its points, even though I won't discuss them in further detail just at the moment. Anyhow, it's a necessary part of things that when a man dies there should sometimes be an investigation. But an investigation of this sort is a pure matter of form. Do you follow me? There's nothing more to it than that. Certain things just don't happen among officers. Understood? And just to make myself completely plain to the blockheads, Lieutenant Barkow died a natural death, a soldier's death, one might say. It was an accident, and that's all there is to it. Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn't yet understood the meaning of being an officer, and he'll find he has me to reckon with! About turn! Double march!"