Officer Factory E-Book

Hans Hellmut Kirst

• Herausgeber: Auris
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 1078

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Officers aren't born--they're carefully molded. In Nazi Germany this training took place in a horrific "factory, " where the men received both military and ideological indoctrination, preparing them to fight successfully for the fatherland. When a murder occurs in the school, however, underlying tensions begin to surface. Another unforgettable novel by the world-renowned author of" Night of the Generals (made into a film with an all-star cast) and an incomparable journey into the heart of wartime Germany.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

1. A LIEUTENANT IS BURIED

2. A MATTER OF RAPE

3. GAMES FOR H SECTION

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 1:

4. AN EXERCISE POSTPONED

5. THE NIGHT OF THE FUNERAL

6. A SECTION OFFICER REQUIRED

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 2:

7. THE MAJOR'S WIFE IS INDIGNANT

8. THE CADETS MAKE A MISTAKE

9. A JUDGE-ADVOCATE SPEAKS OUT AGAINST HIS WILL

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 3:

10. UNORTHODOX METHODS

11. AN UNHAPPY MAN

12. A LESSON IN ETIQUETTE

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 4:

13. CERTAIN DEMANDS ARE MADE

14. THE PRICE OF IT ALL

15. A LADY SHOULDN'T FORGET HERSELF

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 5:

16. THE GENERAL SPEAKS OUT

17. NOT EVEN BICYCLING IS NEGLECTED

18. THE TEMPTATION OF THE COMPANY COMMANDER

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 6:

19. THE EVE OF GREAT EVENTS

20. PLACING OF THE CHARGE

21. ORGANIZATION OF LEISURE

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 7:

22. SUNDAY IS A DAY LIKE ANY OTHER

ADDITION TO SPECIAL ORDER NO. 131

23. AN INVITATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

24. A QUESTION OF INFLUENCE

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 8:

25. CADET HOCHBAUER SLIPS UP

26. AN EVENING AMONG COMRADES

27. DISASTER DAWNS

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 9:

28. TRUTH IS DANGEROUS

29. DEATH HAS ITS GLORIES

30. THE HUNT IS UP

INTERMEDIATE REPORT NO. 10:

31. FAREWELL AND NO REGRETS

32. THE CALL OF DESTINY

33. THE NIGHT THAT BROUGHT THE END

FINAL REPORT

Hans HellmutKirst

Officer Factory

a Novel

IMPRESSUM:

Copyright:

©2011 AURIS Kommunikations- und Verlagsgesellschaft mbH, Düsseldorf, Germany

Internet:

http://www.auris-verlag.de

E-Mail:

[email protected]

Author:

Hans Helmut Kirst

Editorial:

Marius Moneth

Layout:

Marius Moneth

Lector:

Lea Rebecca Kawaletz

Cover:

Marius Moneth

CONDITIONS OF SALE :

This book is sold subject to the condition that

it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed an the subsequent purchaser.Thisworkiscopyright protected.Allrights,including translation,reprintingandcopyingof thebook orany parts

1. A LIEUTENANT IS BURIED

With greatcoat flapping, Lieutenant Krafft hurried across the graveyard like some startled bird of ill omen. The mourners eyed him with interest, sensing the possibility of a diversion from the otherwise interminable boredom of the funeral ceremony.

“Let me through, please!" muttered Lieutenant Krafft discreetly. Skillfully he wormed his way between the group of officers and the open grave. “Let me through, please!"

Nods greeted Krafft's request, though no one made room for him, possibly in the hope that he would fall into the grave. That at least would have been a step in the right direction. For nothing, except perhaps an endless church parade, makes hardened soldiers more restless than a long funeral, and at least at a church parade it's possible to sit down with a roof over one's head.

“What’s the hurry?" asked Captain Feders with interest. “Have we managed to produce another corpse?"

“Not yet," said Lieutenant Krafft, pushing past him. “As far as I know."

“At this rate," observed Captain Feders unconcernedly to all within earshot, " we'll soon be able to pack up as a training school and set up as undertakers—a limited liability company, of course."

Although even here Captain Feders didn't seem to care what he said, he kept his voice low. For the General wasn't far off.

Major-General Modersohn stood at the head of the open grave, a tall, erect figure with clearly defined features. He stood there utterly motionless.

Modersohn was the sort of man who seemed not to notice what was going on around him. He never even glanced at the bustling figure of Lieutenant Krafft, and showed no reaction at all to Captain Feder's remarks. He stood there as though posing for a sculptor. Indeed all who knew him cherished the thought that they would someday see him as a statue.

Major-General Modersohn was always the center of any gathering he attended, and wherever he was, all color seemed drained from the surroundings and words rendered meaningless. Heaven and earth were reduced to the status of a backcloth. The coffin at his feet, poised on boards over the open grave, was now little more than a stage prop. The group of officers to his right, the bunch of cadets to his left, the aide-de-camp and the course commander two paces to his rear—all were reduced to more or less decorative marginal figures: a mere framework for a successful portrait of the General painted in cool, firm colors without a touch of garishness or ostentation. The General was the spirit of Prussia personified — or so at least a lot of people thought.

He was a past master in the art of commanding people's respect, appearing to be altogether above all ordinary human feeling. The weather, for instance, was a matter of supreme indifference to him, his uniform, however, never was. And even if the ice-cold wind which swept across the graveyard had started blowing solid blocks of ice, he would not have put up the collar of his greatcoat. As for putting his hands in his pockets, it was unthinkable.

He set a permanent example to his officers, who were left with no alternative but to follow it. They stood there now freezing miserably, for it was very cold and this ceremony seemed to be dragging itself out to an inordinate length.

Yet the more restlessly, the more hopefully the gathering eyed him, the more stiff and unapproachable did the General seem to become.

“Unless I'm very much mistaken," whispered Captain Feders to those beside him, “the old man's hatching up something really frightful. He's shut up like an oyster—the only question now is: who's going to force him open?"

As Lieutenant Krafft continued to make his way forward to the group in front, the officers' interest quickened visibly and they began to nudge each other surreptitiously. Their hope was that the Lieutenant would eventually find himself confronting the General, with all the inevitable dramatic consequences that would entail.

But Lieutenant Krafft was wise enough to avoid offending a statue. He had found that it was almost always more prudent to stick to the regulation way of doing things, so he now turned to Captain Kater, who was in command of the headquarters company, and said: " If you please, sir, the army chaplain is delayed—he's sprained his ankle. The M.O. is with him now."

This announcement upset Kater considerably. It seemed to him extremely painful that he should be forced to become the bearer of an unpleasant piece of news by his company officer in this way—before all the assembled officers too! For Kater knew his General. He knew that probably without ever saying a word he would give him a cold, penetrating look tantamount to a devastating reprimand. For a ceremony was in progress here, planned down to its minutest detail and brooking neither interruption nor delay. Lieutenant Krafft, or the stumbling chaplain, whichever way you liked to look at it, had landed Kater in an embarrassing situation. In an effort to gain time, he was foolish enough to ask: “How can the man have sprained his ankle?"

“Probably tight again!" said Captain Ratshelm, seething with righteous indignation.

The A.D.C. cleared his throat warningly. And though Major-General Modersohn continued to stand there without batting an eyelid, the dashing Captain Ratshelm sensed that he'd been reprimanded. He had meant well enough, but had expressed himself incorrectly. After all, he was at an officers' training school. The welfare and instruction of future officers had been entrusted to him, and it was one of his duties to express even undeniable truths with immaculate care.

So with some courage and therefore slightly excessive volume, he declared: “When I said ' tight,' I should of course have said drunk."

“The chaplain can't even have been drunk," said Captain Feders, the tactics instructor, whose mind worked very fast although not always in the pleasantest way. “It only requires the most elementary logic to see that. He is in fact almost always drunk, and so far no harm has ever befallen him. He might say his guardian angel sees to that. If, as now appears, he has sprained his ankle, then it may be presumed that he is not tight, or if you prefer drunk, and is therefore having to do without the assistance of his guardian angel—and his ankle has given in under the strain."

General Modersohn now turned his head. The process was a slow, menacing one, like a gun-barrel feeling its way towards its target. His eyes remained expressionless. The officers evaded his glance and stared with a show of solemnity at the grave. Only Feders looked inquiringly at his General, with a barely perceptible smile on his lips.

The A.D.C. kept his eyes and mouth shut tight, feeling that a storm was about to break over his head. It would probably not amount to more than a word from the General, but it would be violent enough to sweep the graveyard clear. Astonishingly the word remained unspoken. And this stimulated the A.D.C. to still further thought. Slowly he came to the conclusion that the chaplain's particular denomination must have something to do with it—presumably the Major-General was of a different faith. That is, if he had one at all.

Suddenly with a slow circling motion the General raised his left arm and looked at his watch. Then he lowered his arm again.

And this relatively meager gesture conveyed a terrifying rebuke.

There was now no alternative for Captain Kater but to push his way forward to the General. He was followed by every pair of eyes in the place. Both the officers and cadets were counting themselves lucky they weren't in his shoes. For Kater was responsible for the smooth running of the ceremony—and the ceremony wasn't running smoothly at all, which in the General's eyes constituted a devastating reflection of his abilities.

Kater summoned up all his courage, praying that he would manage to pass on the message without his voice quavering or trembling or breaking unexpectedly into a falsetto. For he knew from experience that what mattered most was to deliver a message in clear, ringing tones and without a trace of hesitation. The rest then usually took care of itself.

Anyway Captain Kater, the officer commanding the headquarters company, was merely telling the General something he already knew, for after all he wasn't deaf. In fact his ears were reputed to have all the sensitivity of sound-locators.

Major-General Modersohn took the message calmly enough, immobile as a lonely rock at the bottom of a valley. But then came the moment Kater had been dreading. The General pushed back the peak of his cap with a brusque gesture, and said briefly: “Take the necessary steps."

The officers grinned broadly. The cadets craned forward eagerly. But Captain Kater seemed to break out into a cold sweat. It was his job to see that the necessary steps were taken without delay, but what were they? He knew that there were at least half a dozen possible courses of action open to him, but at least five would prove to be the wrong ones—in the General's eyes at least, which was what counted.

Lieutenant Krafft couldn't help feeling certain sympathy for Kater. This was because he still didn't know the Captain well enough, since he had only arrived at the training school two weeks before. But Krafft was a shrewd fellow and was picking things up very quickly. The most important thing was to abide by regulations and carry out orders—it was the only way to show the requisite briskness and decision. Whether the regulations made sense or not, or whether there was any point in the orders, was of secondary importance.

It was in that spirit that Captain Kater now promptly issued an order. “Ten minutes break!" he roared.

This of course was a hair-raising piece of stupidity, a real Kater idea. The officers were barely able to conceal their delight, always glad to see others make a bad mistake because it bolstered their own self-confidence. Even the cadets shook their heads, while the valiant Captain Ratshelm simply muttered indignantly: “Idiot!"

The General, however, turned away and seemed to gaze with utter indifference at the sky. He didn't say a word. But he thus gave his sanction to Kater's order all the same. Why he did so was his own secret, though there were at least two possible explanations. The first was that the General didn't want to give Kater a dressing down in front of the cadets, who were his subordinates. The second was that the General respected the sanctity of the place in which they found themselves. The relevant army regulations were very specific about this.

The main thing was that orders were orders, and therefore in many people's eyes sacred.

At any rate, there it was: a break! A ten-minute break!

Major-General Modersohn turned away and walked a few paces in the direction of a small rise. His A.D.C. and the two course commanders followed him very respectfully at a short distance. And since the General didn't speak, neither of them spoke either.

The General surveyed the horizon as if trying to devise a plan of battle. He knew every inch of the landscape here. The River Main wound between gentle hills covered with vineyards, and, down below, the town of Wildlingen looked as if it had been built out of a box of bricks. Towering above it all was Hill 201 with Number 5 Officers' Training School perched on the top. The cemetery lay rather to one side but was within easy reach, exactly fifteen minutes' march from the barracks, which was convenient for the return journey too.

“A nice bit of ground," said the General.

“Really very nice," Major Frey, commander of Number 2 Course, assured him hurriedly. “And an astonishing amount of room in it too, General. In this respect I don't think we need anticipate any difficulties, unless we're subjected to air raids. But even then we'll manage somehow."

The General had been referring to the landscape. The Major had meant the cemetery. Now they both fell silent. This saved them further misunderstandings.

The officers had acted on their own initiative and had broken ranks on a signal from Captain Feders. He left the ranks and withdrew to the rear—to stretch his legs, as he put it. He disappeared behind a yew hedge.

The officers began wandering about in groups. No one could take exception to that, for the only thing that mattered was to follow the General's example. If he stretched his legs, then they might too.

“Lieutenant Krafft," said Captain Kater resentfully, " how could you do such a thing to me?"

“What do you mean?" asked Krafft, quite unperturbed. “I didn't sprain my ankle, did I? I'm not responsible for this ceremony, am I?"

“In a certain sense yes," said Kater angrily. “For as an officer of the headquarters company you're my immediate subordinate, and any responsibility that I have you share with me."

“Certainly," said Krafft, “but there's a small point you've overlooked. I agree I'm responsible to you, but then you're responsible to the General. And rather you than me!"

“It’s fantastic!" growled Captain Kater. “How could they ever have sent a man like you to an officers' training school!"

“Oh well!" said Krafft cheerfully. “You’re here, after all!"

Captain Kater gulped. He only had to make a mistake and even junior officers started checking him. But he'd show them. With a quick look at the General, he positioned himself by way of cover behind a tree, then pulled a flask out of his pocket, opened it and took a drink to give himself courage. He didn't offer the flask to Krafft.

But just as he was putting it back into his pocket he suddenly found himself surrounded by a small group of officers headed by the inevitable Captain Feders. They, it seemed, were in need of warmth too.

“Now come on, Kater, try and show a little friendly spirit," said Feders, with a grin. “Hand that flask of yours round. It shouldn't really set you back much—with those vast supplies you've got."

“I would like to remind you that we're in a cemetery," replied Kater with dignity.

Feders said: “We can't help it if the General suddenly takes it into his head to hold a slap-up funeral just as if it were peace-time. After all, this is war. Heaven knows how many times I've eaten with the dead. So pass your flask over, you old hypocrite! You're responsible for this break; you might at least make it as pleasant as possible."

The forty cadets of H Section stayed where they were, unable as yet to avail themselves of the privileges of officers. It was not for them to take their cue from the General and wander about as they pleased. They needed a direct order to be able to do such a thing, and this of course was not forthcoming.

So they just went on standing there, at ease, three deep, rifles by their sides, steel helmets on their heads—forty incredibly young, smooth faces, some of them with the eyes of experienced old men and hardly a man among them more than twenty. These were the youngest of the whole course.

“Where the hell do the officers get the drink?" said Cadet Hochbauer to his neighbor. “There hasn't been an issue of schnapps for a week."

“Perhaps they're just very economical with it," suggested Cadet Mösler with a grin. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. If I needed anything to make me want to become an officer, I'd find this flask a most convincing incentive."

“But it's downright dishonest," said Cadet Hochbauer severely. “It shouldn't be allowed. Something ought to be done about it."

“Why not just blow up the lot?" suggested Cadet Rednitz. “Then there'd be a mass funeral, and at least that way we wouldn't have to keep on running backwards and forwards to the cemetery."

“Shut up," said Cadet Hochbauer roughly. “Keep your lousy remarks to yourself, or you'll have me to reckon with."

“Don’t get excited," said Cadet Rednitz. "I sized you up long ago."

“Silence, please!" said Cadet Weber. “I’m in mourning here, and I'd like a little respect for the fact!"

Gradually the excitement among the cadets began to subside. They looked round cautiously: the General was a long way off, and the officers were still stamping their feet up and down to keep warm. Meanwhile Captain Kater's flask was empty. Captain Feders was still keeping the company entertained with his witticisms. The presence of the coffin seemed quite forgotten.

But one of the officers was Captain Ratshelm, a valiant and tireless father to the cadets, and commander of Number 6 Company, of which Section H formed part. And Ratshelm, though standing on the other side of the grave, continued to cast frank and friendly glances in their direction.

Captain Ratshelm eyed his cadets with real fatherly affection. True, they had begun to raise their voices rather, but in that he chose to see a sign of their soldierly qualities. They had come here to accompany their section officer, Lieutenant Barkow, on his last journey, and he was delighted to note that they were not behaving like a bunch of women, but almost like real soldiers for whom death was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world—an ever-present travelling companion, the truest of all comrades as it were. And though it wasn't quite fitting to laugh in his face, certain composure in his presence was thoroughly desirable. Or so Ratshelm thought.

“At the front," said Cadet Weber, spitting vigorously, “we barely needed five minutes for a burial—apart from digging the grave, that is. But here, back home, you have to knock up a huge great box. I've nothing against it, mind you, except that if it's going to be done with all the trappings, then you might as well do the thing really properly and include an afternoon off, which is something I could use. I've got myself a nice little girl lined up down in the town—Annemarie’s her name. I've told her I'll marry her when I'm a General." There were further signs of restlessness among the cadets at this. But most of them simply stood there half asleep, moving their frozen toes about energetically inside their boots. To stamp their feet for warmth would have been going too far, but there was nothing wrong with rubbing their hands together, and someone in the rear rank had even gone so far as to stick his deep into his greatcoat pockets.

Only the front rank, exposed as it was to the full glare of publicity, was unable to do anything but maintain the correct at-ease position. Some actually managed to give the impression that they were staring sorrowfully at the coffin. But in fact they were doing no more than noting the details of the construction—the imitation oak (pine presumably), the shoddy metal fittings, the drab paint and the crudely made feet. And for the umpteenth time they read the inscriptions on the wreath ribbons, most of which were red and bore a swastika. The inscriptions were printed in gilt or jet-black lettering:

To our beloved Comrade-in-arms Barkow—Rest in Peace —The Officers of Number 5 Officers' Training School.

An unforgettable instructor—with respect from his grateful pupils.

“God knows what sort of section officer we'll get now," said one of the cadets, gazing thoughtfully out across the confused landscape of crosses, headstones, mounds and bushes which made up the cemetery.

“Ah, what the hell!" said another harshly. “We’ve put paid to Lieutenant Barkow and we'll put paid to anyone else who comes along. The main thing is for us all to stick together—we can do what we like, then!"

“There’s nothing I wouldn't put beyond these fellows," declared Captain Feders, the extremely knowledgeable and perceptive tactics instructor, to the world at large. “I wouldn't put it beyond them to blow their own section officer sky high. Lieutenant Barkow wasn't a fool, and he wasn't tired of life. What's more, he knew that equipment inside out. It was only his pupils he doesn't seem to have known, and perhaps that was where he made his mistake. I warned him several times. But there's no hope for that type of obstinate idealist—they understand nothing of life as it really is."

“He was a first-rate officer," protested Captain Ratshelm energetically.

“Exactly!" said Feders, kicking laconically at a stone. It rolled into the open grave.

Ratshelm was unfavorably impressed. “You don't seem to have much reverence," he said.

"I hate the vulgarity of this whole official-funeral business," said Feders. “And all this endless petty lying over the body of a dead man makes me sick. But at the same time I keep asking myself: what's in the General's mind? He's up to something or other, but what is it?"

“I’m no general," said Ratshelm.

“You’ll soon be one, though," said Feders aggressively. “The rottener the times, the easier it is to get promoted. Just look at this bunch of officers—they do everything they're told. All with the fine precision of machines, whether in the mess, the classroom or at the cemetery. Utterly reliable—that's the only thing to be said for them. You can rely on imbeciles too, in a way."

“You’ve been drinking, Feders," said Captain Ratshelm.

“Yes, I have, which is why I'm so mild and agreeable. Even the sight of Captain Kater engenders friendly feelings in me to-day."

Captain Kater was walking restlessly up and down among the tombstones like a cat on hot bricks. He was trying to think how he could get on top of the situation. He felt almost inclined to appeal to heaven, and indeed to that very department which concerned itself with the affairs of the padre's particular faith. But he soon abandoned all hope that the Lord Himself would set His servant's ankle to rights in time.

He kept gazing longingly at the entrance to the cemetery. Finally he asked Lieutenant Krafft: “Do you think there's any chance of the padre turning up in time?"

“Not much," said Krafft amiably.

“But what the hell are we doing here, then?" cried Kater in desperation.

“Well, my dear fellow," said Captain Feders, “you have, as always, a number of alternatives open to you! For example you can extend the break. Or you can postpone the funeral. Or you can find a substitute for the padre. Or you can tell the General that you have nothing to tell him. On the other hand, you can quite simply drop dead, and thus be rid of all your troubles."

Kater looked about him savagely like a wild boar at bay. The officers regarded him with considerable interest; after what had happened here at the cemetery, he no longer seemed such a formidable figure. Lieutenant Krafft, it seemed to them, had maneuvered Kater into a position from which he would find it difficult to emerge unscathed. Presumably Krafft was after his job. After all, this was the way things usually worked; one man profited from another's mistakes.

But an expectant hush suddenly settled over the mourners. For Major-General Modersohn had turned back towards the funeral party, letting his shark's eyes sweep over them until complete silence reigned. Then he stared straight at Captain Kater.

“Break over!" cried the latter immediately.

The General nodded almost imperceptibly. The officers fell in again and the cadets froze in their positions. Otherwise at first nothing else happened at all.

A silence which was not indeed without a certain solemnity now settled over the funeral party. Only Captain Kater could be heard, breathing heavily beside Lieutenant Krafft.

“For God's sake, then!" said the General.

Kater started with dismay. The ceremony was his responsibility but he couldn't think what should be done with it. Feeling increasingly inclined to hand the solution of this problem over to Krafft, he turned on him a look at once peremptory and imploring. “Carry on then, Krafft!" he whispered, and as if to give further emphasis to the order, for there could be no doubt that this was what it was, he pushed Krafft to the fore.

Once again Krafft almost stumbled into the open grave. But he pulled himself up just in time, and said to the cadets stationed beside the coffin: “Let him down!"

The cadets immediately obeyed. The coffin rattled down into the grave, and frozen earth fell on top of it, while those present followed this utterly unexpected turn of events with mixed feelings.

“We will now join in silent prayer," proposed Lieutenant Krafft. Fortunately this rather vague formula had the suggestion of an order about it. And the mourners seemed to adapt themselves to the proposal at once. They lowered their heads, stared at the ground, and tried to maintain suitably solemn expressions.

Hardly any of the officers thought for a moment about Lieutenant Barkow lying in the now almost invisible coffin, for few of them had ever seen much of him. Lieutenant Barkow, like many of the instructors, had only been at the school a fortnight. He had been an erect, rather aloof figure, with an expressionless youthful face, fishy eyes, and a mouth that was always tight shut. An officer of the sort you find in picture books: the faithful youth of Germany—resolute, prepared for anything. Even for this. What could be more logical?

One of the cadets muttered: “He asked for it anyway." From a distance at any rate, it sounded almost like a prayer. “Amen," said Lieutenant Krafft loudly.

“Dismiss!" said Major-General Modersohn.

This order of the General's caught everyone completely by surprise. It was like a pistol shot fired at point-blank range. The mourners looked up, some rather put-out, others genuinely disturbed. The order was not without its resemblance to an unexpected kick in the pants. Moreover it was issued to people who were ostensibly saying their prayers.

Only slowly did the utterly unheard-of nature of the order begin to dawn on the more experienced members of the funeral party—it was an order directed against the ceremony itself. For the earth had not been thrown in, the wreaths had not been laid, and the volley had not been fired over the grave. The procedure which had been so carefully planned and rehearsed four times had been abruptly broken off at a single word.

A word, however, to which there was no gainsaying.

"The officers are dismissed." As second-in-command, the officer in command of Number 1 Course gave the order without delay. It was a good chance to display initiative. It would not escape the General's attention, for initiative was something to which he attached particular importance. “Cadets will return to their billets. Further duty as per time-table."

The funeral party broke up almost at once. The officers moved off in ones and twos towards the entrance to the cemetery. Captain Ratshelm immediately took over command of his company.

Captain Kater stood there for a few seconds rooted to the spot. Then he moved off in the wake of Lieutenant Krafft for whom he was planning a massive rebuke. For how was Kater to continue to exist in this training school if he couldn't find a scapegoat? He had never failed to find one before.

Major-General Modersohn alone remained behind.

The General took a few paces forward and stared into the grave. He saw the dark brown wooden planks on to which the earth had fallen. All round him lay dirty, trampled snow. Somebody's heel had ground a scarlet wreath ribbon into the slush. It lay there encrusted with mud.

The hard, inscrutable face of the General gave nothing away. His lips were set in a thin, straight line. And his eyes were closed, or so it seemed. As if he wanted no one to see what he was thinking.

As the officers and cadets marched down into the valley towards their barracks they looked back from the great bend in the road and saw their commanding officer still standing in the cemetery in the distance — a clear, slim silhouette, menacing against the ice-cold, snow-blue sky, as if frozen in his unapproachability.

“There’s going to be a damned cold wind blowing in the next few days," said Captain Feders. “Because, I don't care what anyone says, there's something odd about this whole business. The General isn't the sort of man to mind about ordinary, everyday stupidity. If he shows he's angry, then it means that some really gigantic row is brewing. But what, exactly? Well, we'll be finding out all too soon."

2. A MATTER OF RAPE

“My dear Lieutenant Krafft," said Captain Kater, who was making his way through the barracks with his company officer towards the headquarters building, “a training school is a highly complex organization. And compared with our General the Sybil herself was little more than a slick fortune-teller."

“That’s why I can't understand how you of all people got here," said Lieutenant Krafft frankly.

“I didn't choose this post," said Captain Kater with a somewhat weary smile,” but since I'm here, this is where I intend to stay. Do you follow me? I wouldn't like you to build any false hopes in that respect. For that would make things too unpleasant for you and too exacting for me. If you're wise, then you'll try to get along with me."

“What else can one do?" said Lieutenant Krafft cheerfully. “I’m neither clever nor hard-working. I have no ambitions and I'm all for a quiet life."

“A bit of a one for the girls too, I dare say," the Captain suggested with a wink. He mistrusted Krafft, as he mistrusted everybody on principle. People were always trying to get things out of him. The General wanted discipline and a knowledge of the regulations, the officers wanted bottles of schnapps and extra rations, and this fellow Krafft, it seemed, wanted his job. It was difficult to hold younger, inexperienced officers back when they saw a chance of treading on their superiors' heels. And the officers of the military training school were an elite who were not only burning to make a career for themselves but also had it in them to do so. However, there were always girls.

“We shouldn't exaggerate," said Krafft. “'Girls' is going too far. One's quite enough for me. Every now and again."

“You will find me quite human about that," the Captain assured him. “And I always say: every man to his own tastes. But let's get one thing straight: I am in command of the headquarters company and you're allotted to me as company officer. We're clear about that, aren't we?"

Together they walked through the orderly room of the head-quarters company with Captain Kater leading, as was only right and proper. The clerks, a corporal and two lance-corporals, rose to their feet. The one member of the female staff, however, remained seated, and in a most provocative manner too. Kater pretended to take no notice of her.

Yet it did not escape him that this attractive girl—a certain Elfrida Rademacher—had eyes for no one but Lieutenant Krafft. She smiled at him with such direct intimacy that he and she might have been the only two people in the world. Kater looked away.

“A cup of coffee?" asked Elfrida. She said this in the direction of Captain Kater, but winked at the Lieutenant or she did so. Krafft winked back. Slowly the icy cold of the cemetery began to thaw from his limbs.

“Yes, fine, make some coffee," said Kater generously. “Put some cognac in mine, please."

In this way Captain Kater demonstrated his individuality of taste. He never let slip an opportunity of reminding his associates of his individualism—at least in respect of his choice of drinks.

“I’m badly in need of a cognac," he continued, collapsing noisily into the chair at his desk. He motioned Lieutenant Krafft to a chair beside him. “After that farce at the cemetery I need something to fortify me. Though I say so with the utmost respect, the General's becoming a bit of a nightmare. What is it he wants? If we were to make as much of a fuss as this over everyone who got killed we'd hardly be able to get on with the war. And without cognac, life would be utterly impossible."

“Yes," said Elfrida brightly, " the war gets harder and harder every day." She spread a cloth out on top of the desk and brought in two cups of coffee. “The best thing will be if I just put the bottle of brandy down as it is."

“What do you mean by that, exactly?" asked Kater, suspicious as ever. The eagerness with which Elfrida made the suggestion led him to fear the worst. “Has something else gone wrong?"

“Trebly wrong, you might say," said Elfrida frankly, arranging the glasses and beaming across at the Lieutenant.

The Captain managed to overlook this. His seat creaked beneath him. The air reeked of old cigarette smoke, and the foul smell of soap and water and rotten floor-boards was all about him. Somewhat nervously he adjusted his stomach and folded his fat little fingers over it. Then for the first time he looked straight at Elfrida Rademacher, his excellent, multi-purpose secretary, with an expression of weary exasperation.

This girl Elfrida Rademacher was certainly not uninteresting to look at, though she was a little full in the figure and her dress bulged prominently in a number of places. She was a little like a horse, though perhaps with a rather cow like temperament. In any case there was a full-blooded rustic quality about her, suggestive of haystacks and rustling woods —all things, admittedly, to which Captain Kater attached little importance, for he was a pretty cold fish. He was, alas, no longer in his first youth, though this sometimes lent him a spurious air of virtue.

“Out with it, then, Fräulein Rademacher," he said, lighting a cigar—an especially mild Havana. “You know I'm a very understanding sort of person."

“Well, you'll need to be, this time," Elfrida assured him, winking at Krafft again, and running her tongue quickly over her lips.

“Come on, Fräulein Rademacher," said Captain Kater impatiently, “fire away."

And quite casually, if she were talking about the most natural thing in the world, she said: “Someone was raped last night."

Captain Kater winced. Even Lieutenant Krafft pricked up his ears, though he had long ago resolved never to be surprised by anything that this war for the glory of Greater Germany might have in store for him.

“It’s disgraceful!" cried Captain Kater. “Utterly disgraceful the way these cadets behave!"

“It wasn't one of the cadets," Elfrida Rademacher informed him amiably.

“Not someone from Headquarters Company, I hope?" asked the Captain, even more perturbed. Rape committed by one of the cadets would have been just tolerable, inasmuch as these were not directly under his command. Presumably the girl would concern him, for all civilian employees were his responsibility.

But if the incident should turn out to involve a member of the headquarters company, it would be disastrous. In fact it might seal his fate altogether. Coning on top of the events at the cemetery it might even get him a posting to the front.

Kater therefore glanced straight at Krafft, automatically preparing to implicate him in his troubles. The situation was grave indeed. First a man of God who sprained his ankle at the crucial moment; then a defender of the Fatherland who was foolish enough to be caught in the act of rape!

“What’s the name of the fellow who's done this to me?" he demanded.

“Corporal Krottenkopf. He's the one who was raped," announced Elfrida Rademacher, smiling with genuine pleasure.

“I’m always hearing about this Corporal Krottenkopf!" cried Kater desperately. “But really it's absurd! It's just not possible."

“It’s the truth," said Elfrida. She was obviously thoroughly enjoying herself. “The rape of Corporal Krottenkopf took place sometime in the early hours of this morning between one and three a.m. In the basement of the headquarters building too, in the communications center, by three of the signal girls on duty there."

“But it simply can't be true!" cried Captain Kater. “What do you say, Lieutenant Krafft?"

“I’m trying to envisage it from a practical point of view, Sir," declared Krafft, shaking his large bucolic head in amazement. “But I'm afraid my imagination doesn't seem to run to it."

“Disgusting!" cried Kater, meaning not so much the incident itself as its possible consequences. “What was this Krottenkopf fellow doing at night in the communications center anyway, even though he is the signals corporal? And how is it that three of these women were all in the communications center at the same time? There are never more than two on duty at once at night. And why did they have to pick on Krottenkopf? Aren't there enough cadets in the barracks who would be only too glad to satisfy their demands? Quite apart from which, why did it have to happen in duty hours!"

Captain Kater refilled his glass to the brim, and his hands were trembling so much that the cognac spilled on to a document on his desk, forming a tiny aromatic lake there. But Kater couldn't have cared less about the document or the lake of cognac. All he could think of was this appalling affair of the rape and the complications it was likely to lead to. He knocked back his glass, but its contents might have been water. There was nothing he would have liked better than to get drunk on the spot. But he had to take a decision first, and it had to be the best possible one in the circumstances. In other words it had to be a decision which would save him work and worry, and enable him to shift the responsibility from himself on to someone else's shoulders.

“Krafft," he said, “I hand the investigation of this affair over to you. The whole thing seems to me utterly incredible, but we've got to try and get to the bottom of it. I hope you follow me. I simply cannot believe that anything like this could possibly take place in my headquarters company. Biologically speaking its improbable enough, but militarily it's unthinkable. It must be a mistake."

Having said which, Kater prepared to leave, confident that officially he hadn't put a foot wrong so far. He had taken the requisite steps for an occasion of this sort, handing the matter on to someone else and seeing that it was properly investigated. If mistakes were made now, the responsibility would no longer be his. And if Krafft were by any chance to come a cropper in the process, so much the better.

Yet before Kater finally left he turned to Krafft and said: “There’s one point you oughtn't to overlook, my dear fellow—and that's this: why does Krottenkopf wait until this afternoon, before reporting this filthy business? Regulations say he should have done so first thing this morning at the latest. What does the fellow think he's doing? Who does he think he's dealing with? See that he's severely reprimanded! A man who breaks regulations like this is always a suspect."

Krafft felt a certain respect for Kater as he watched him go. He was certainly a cunning creature—though there was really nothing so surprising about this, for how otherwise would he have managed to hold his job at the training school?

Kater's suggestion that Corporal Krottenkopf, the plaintiff, had broken the regulations was as low as it was cunning, for it put Krottenkopf at a disadvantage from the start.

“I really feel like throwing the whole thing back in Kater's face!" said Lieutenant Krafft.

“Is that all you feel like doing?" said Elfrida, sidling up to him.

“Perhaps we ought to close the door!" suggested Lieutenant Krafft. He was standing very close to Elfrida.

“What’s the use?" she said with a slight huskiness in her voice. “It hasn't a lock."

“How do you know?" he asked quickly. “Have you tried it before?"

She laughed softly and snuggled up close to him as if to stop him from asking any more questions.

He put his strong arms around her and her body yielded willingly. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the C.O.'s desk, at the same time pushing the coffee cups to one side with an unfaltering hand to prevent them falling to the floor.

“No one will come in without knocking," she said. “And Kater's in the officers' mess by now."

Lieutenant Krafft looked down past her to the desk, where there was a writing-pad with a note scrawled on it: “Call RO 25/33." Presumably this meant: Call Rotunda, the land-lord of The Gay God, and get him to deliver twenty-five bottles of the '33 vintage. But Krafft closed his eyes as if to forget the letters and figures, as if to forget everything except the strength of the life within him.

They were soon panting desperately, while outside a group of cadets could be heard singing: “There is no finer country in the world." With its sturdy ground bass of tramping boots, this song made a good deal of noise, and this was helpful, for barrack walls, not being built for eternity, are usually pretty thin.

"I can't wait for to-night!" said Elfrida.

But all Karl Krafft could do was nod.

Corporal Krottenkopf, the alleged victim of the rape, was waiting for Lieutenant Krafft in the corridor. He gazed up at his superior officer with a tortured expression, and then, stooping slightly, bowed his head in shame.

Yet this Corporal Krottenkopf was no sensitive plant, no delicate youth or mother's darling. He was a man with a protuberant nose, full fleshy lips, apelike hands, and the powerful hindquarters of a stag.

“They called me up in the middle of the night," he related mournfully and with a great show of indignation. “They called me up and told me that the external exchange was out of order. I told them they could go and get—well, you know. . . . They said: Well, not down the telephone. That should have put me on my guard. But I was thinking solely of my duty, of the fact that the exchange was out of order, and of what the General might say if he wanted to telephone. It just didn't bear thinking of. It's the sort of thing that can get a man sent to the front. Well, anyway, along I went, for duty is duty, after all. No sooner had I reached the basement, though, than they set upon me. All three of them, like wild animals. They simply tore the clothes off me, boots and all. And that had them panting a bit, because my boots are damned tight—anyone who hasn't the knack has to pull like hell to get them off. But these women stopped at nothing!"

“All right, all right," said Krafft, who had no wish to go into any further details. “But why are you only coming to me now? It must have occurred to you first thing this morning that you'd been the victim of a brutal rape?"

“Yes, well," said Krottenkopf, grinning to show that he was speaking as man to man, “I’m not inhuman. I'm not a petty-minded sort of fellow, you know; never have been. I enjoy a visit to a decent brothel like the next man, and when these women set upon me like this I thought to myself: Now then you're not going to have any hard feelings about this. When someone's had more to drink than is good for them, it works on the brain and makes them randy as a rattlesnake. Right, then, I said to myself, forget all about it. It's a hard war, and casualties are inevitable in war. I'm an understanding sort of fellow, you see. The unpleasant part of the business only developed later. Now these beauties won't address me by anything but my Christian name: Waldemar they call me! And that's going too far. They've lost all sense of discipline. They spend their whole time giggling and making personal remarks and actually laughing at my orders. They call me darling! Would you believe it? They call me darling in front of the rank and file. And not just the three who were involved yesterday evening either, but all the rest of them as well! The entire communications section! And as a corporal, even as a man, I'm not prepared to stand for that."

“Right," said Lieutenant Krafft, " look into it, that is if you really insist on pressing the charge, Krottenkopf."

“I’m not insisting on anything," the corporal reassured him. “But what else am I to do? The whole barracks is laughing at me, and calling me Waldemar! . . . And my real name's Alfred! Please do something about it, Lieutenant."

“You don't think you might possibly have made a mistake?"

“You’d better ask the three harpies themselves about that. They know best, after all."

Captain Kater had retired to the officers' mess in search of strength and succor. The mess was his own undisputed territory: kitchen, cellar, and all the personnel here, were his direct responsibility in his capacity as the officer commanding the headquarters company. Apart from him, the only other person who had the right to give orders here was the General—though there was little danger of his putting in an appearance during the afternoon.

“Well, now, gentlemen," said Captain Kater briskly,” what can I offer you? Don't be shy; just tell me what you'd like. A funeral like that takes it out of you—you need something to pull you round afterwards. Personally I'd suggest an Armagnac, straight from the cask—twenty years at least in the wood."

The officers took his advice, for at least Kater knew something about drink, having spent a good deal of time in France.

Kater insisted on paying for the round. It didn't cost him much, for there weren't many officers in the mess at the time, only a handful of tactics instructors and a few company commanders. And, in addition to them, the training school's guest of the moment: a certain Wirrmann, judge-advocate by profession, temporarily seconded to the Inspector of Training Schools and posted to Wildlingen-am-Main to investigate the death of Lieutenant Barkow.

This pillar of military justice was a spry little fellow who seemed more interested in the contents of the officers'-mess cellar than anything else. Thus he and Kater got along famously, and Wirrmann found himself with a glass that was full to the brim.

"Well, gentlemen," said Kater, joining the officers,” what a funeral this afternoon! I don't know who one would prefer to find oneself up before—one's Maker or the General."

“I must say you'd make a splendid corpse," said Captain Feders cheerfully. “No question of it—the funeral would make a most happy affair. One's only got to think of all those supplies of yours that would be automatically released."

“Captain Feders," said Kater icily, " I'm surprised to find you in the mess at this time of day. Besides, you're a married man and your wife may be waiting for you."

At this, Feders seemed on the point of losing self-control altogether. All trace of humor vanished from his face. The officers eyed him warily, for everyone knew his Achilles heel though few would have risked wounding him there. Kater had acted carelessly, to say the least.

Feders began to laugh, but there was a raw, dangerous edge to the sound.

“Kater," he said, “if you're surprised to find me in the mess at this time of day, all I can say is that I'm even more surprised to find you here. Normally you should be in that pig-sty of yours by now, trying to keep some sort of order there, to put it mildly. But presumably you've delegated the job to someone else—this fellow Krafft, I suppose. He's got a broad back certainly, so broad in fact, Kater, that he could quite easily carry you off altogether if he felt like it. This fellow Krafft's no fool, I should say, and if I were in your shoes, Kater, I wouldn't be feeling too happy at the moment."

This remark went home all right, and the Captain rose to his feet. “What an irrepressible fellow you are, Feders!" he said condescendingly in an attempt to laugh, but it didn't sound very convincing. Kater left, saying that he wanted to go and inspect some stores that were arriving.

No sooner had Captain Kater arrived in the officers'-mess kitchen and taken a shot of something to boost his morale with, than Judge-Advocate Wirrmann appeared on the scene.

"Anything worrying you, my dear Herr Kater?" he asked sympathetically.

"Nothing important," Kater assured him.

"Then," said Wirrmann, “you should find it all the easier to confide in someone who is well disposed towards you. You can rest assured, my dear fellow, that if it's justice you're after you've come to the right address."

“Now, ladies," said Lieutenant Krafft, beginning his interrogation, " I'd like you to try and forget both that I'm a man and that I'm an officer."

“That won't be easy," said one of the three girls.

“Do your best, all the same," Krafft advised them. “Imagine I'm a sort of neuter, a personification of the law, if you like. You can talk to me freely, without any false modesty."

“We don't have such a thing anyway," said another of the girls.

Lieutenant Krafft now found himself at what might be called the scene of the crime, that's to say in the communications center in the basement of the H.Q. building. Chairs stood in front of a row of switchboards, above which were circuit diagrams with the inevitable poster, “Beware! The enemy is listening!" There was a table in one corner on which stood coffee cups, a jug and an electric kettle. The latter was officially forbidden throughout the barracks, but since it was Captain Kater and not General Modersohn who was responsible for the ban, no one paid any attention to it. In another corner stood a camp bed—the corpus delicate, so to speak—a shabby, battered, rusty iron bedstead, with a mattress and some blankets on it.

Krafft confronted the three girls behind the switchboards. Their figures were well-developed and their faces pretty and innocent-looking. Their honest, friendly eyes regarded him with curiosity. Though the eldest of these girls was barely more than twenty, they were neither particularly embarrassed nor excited, seeming to have no sense of guilt at all.

“What can you have been thinking of, ladies?" asked Lieutenant Krafft warily.

“Absolutely nothing," said one of the girls, which sounded convincing enough.

“Right," said Krafft. “I admit the business demands no particularly strenuous intellectual effort, but some sort of thought-process is unavoidable. For example: why exactly did you have to pick on Corporal Krottenkopf?"

“Oh, anyone would have done," said one of the girls, managing to smile at Krafft, ”and this Krottenkopf just happened to be handy."

Lieutenant Krafft found he had to sit down. The whole affair seemed to him either fearfully complex or else amazingly simple, which sometimes amounted to the same thing.

“At any rate," said Krafft finally, “you did lay hands on him, didn't you?"

The girls looked at each other. They seemed to have come to a pretty careful agreement about what they were to say. Krafft couldn't really take objection to this. He had no particular wish to start a major judicial process. So he simply smiled encouragement at the astonishing creatures.

" It's true," said one of them, a pretty little thing, with a wide baby smile and frank honest eyes, and a sort of roguishness about her reminiscent of her grandmother's era in the First World War, " it's true we took his clothes off, but we then meant simply to throw him out as a sort of demonstration. The trouble was he wouldn't budge."

“You mean," said Krafft in amazement, “this was simply a sort of demonstration!"

“Exactly!" said the unbelievably innocent-looking girl. “Because it's time something was done about the situation in these barracks. There are nearly a thousand cadets and fifty girls here, and no one's allowed to take any notice of us at all. Wherever you go there's supervision and closed doors and we're surrounded by sentries. All we're asking for is a certain amount of social life. We just don't want to vegetate! But human beings mean nothing to this General, he doesn't take the slightest notice of us. And all this had to be said! That was why we picked on Krottenkopf—not because we wanted to start anything with him but because we wanted to draw attention to the situation. Now do you understand?"

Lieutenant Krafft was beginning to see the funny side of all this, though he was determined to tread warily.

“Listen a moment," he said, “I want to tell you a story. When I was a boy and still lived in the country, some of our geese one day waddled across some relatively clean washing put out to dry by our neighbor, who immediately lodged a complaint. Now there were a number of possibilities. First, the geese themselves were wicked. Secondly, they had been deliberately driven over the washing. Or thirdly, they had simply strayed there. The last explanation was the simplest and the best and it wasn't difficult to make it sound plausible. After all, wicked geese or geese that had been maliciously inspired could lead to all sorts of trouble. Trouble of the sort that geese don't usually survive. Now is the moral clear? Or do I have to make myself still clearer?"

The girls eyed Krafft carefully, and then exchanged glances among themselves. Finally the innocent-looking one, who was probably the sharpest of the three, said: " You mean we should simply say it was some sort of mistake?"

" Well, not a mistake exactly," advised Krafft, " but you might perhaps have been playing a trivial if daring practical joke, an innocent sort of tease to get your own back on your tyrant Krottenkopf. Only unfortunately the tease rather got out of hand in a way you couldn't have foreseen. In this way you shift the blame from yourselves without actually putting it on to anyone else. If it was a sort of joke, well, perhaps a few long faces will be pulled about it, but no one's going to lose his head. If, however, it were a serious matter, if there were any question of assault, or something as perverted as rape—then good night, sweet ladies! That could end in jail. Which in certain circumstances can be even more unpleasant than life in barracks."

“How nice you are," said one of the girls gratefully, while the others nodded vigorously. They realized at once that they were lucky to have been allowed to jump back from the fire into the frying pan. “One could really get along with someone like you."

“Maybe," said Lieutenant Krafft. “But don't get it into your heads to pursue the matter further next time you find yourselves bored with night duty and in search of a little diversion."

When Lieutenant Krafft got back to his desk in the headquarters company he found someone waiting for him. This was a slight little figure of a man with the quick agile movements of a squirrel, a pointed nose and the darting eyes of some bird of prey.

“Allow me to introduce myself," the little man said. “My name's Wirrmann—Judge-Advocate. I am interested in the Krottenkopf case."

“Who told you about that?" asked Krafft cautiously.

“Your superior officer Captain Kater," explained the little man quietly but firmly. “Besides, it's all over the mess by now, and being discussed in a rather unsavory manner, which is hardly surprising. All the more reason for getting it dealt with and out of the way as quickly as possible. Your superior officer at any rate sought my advice and I was prepared to give him my fullest support. The case interests me, from both the legal and the human point of view. Perhaps you will let me know how your inquiries have been getting on."

Krafft had had just a little more human interest than he could take in such a short space of time, and now felt the urge to be human himself. Furthermore he found this man Wirrmann unsympathetic, and even though there was this squirrel-like quality about him, the man's sanctimonious courtroom voice jarred on his nerves. Krafft therefore turned on him straight out and said: “I don't regard you as having any authority to act in this case, Herr Judge-Advocate."

“My dear fellow," said the latter, and his eyes narrowed, “whether or not I have any authority to act in this case is hardly for you to determine. Apart from which I am acting with the consent of your superior officer."

“Captain Kater hasn't told me of this—neither verbally nor in writing. And until he does so I must act according to my own judgment. Which means that I'm working on this case alone until I receive further instructions—perhaps from Major-General Modersohn himself."

“Then you shall certainly have them, my dear fellow," replied Wirrmann promptly. And his voice now sounded like a rusty scythe being whisked experimentally through the air. “That is, if you insist."

Krafft looked at the wiry little man with a certain amount of apprehension. Not even the threat of Major-General Modersohn, the terror of Wildlingen, seemed to make much impression on him. These court-martial fellows were gluttons for punishment.

“Well what about it?" urged Wirrmann. “Are you going to let me in on your inquiries voluntarily, or do I have to bring the General into it?"

“Bring anyone you like into it!" said Krafft, losing his temper. “The Commander-in-Chief of the Wehrmacht, for all I care."

“Let’s start with the General," said the Judge-Advocate quietly, whipping round suddenly like a weathercock in a powerful gust of wind, and vanishing from the scene.

“I suppose I can pack my bags now," said Lieutenant Krafft to Elfrida Rademacher. “My brief stay at the training school seems to be over."