Officer Factory

They kept in step as they walked along. The barracks lay behind them in the pale light of evening: a broad, bulky shadow dominating the horizon. The houses of the town looked tiny by contrast, like formations of coral that had attached themselves to a rock. The fact that the town had been there several centuries before the barracks was no longer evident. Mountains of cement had desecrated the landscape, and the modern concrete piles of a number of business houses and blocks of flats were beginning to destroy the lovable old face of Wildlingen-am-Main.

“Tell me, my dear Krafft, you're quite a dab at the hand kiss, I expect?” said Captain Feders.

“Is this a military training school or a dancing academy?” asked Krafft.

“You are naïve, my dear fellow,” said Feders with a smile. “You don't seem to realize why Major Frey, our officer commanding Number Two Course, has invited you.”

“Well, not to give any pleasure to me, I'm sure of that. But perhaps he merely wanted to fulfill his social obligations.”

“Hell!” said Feders. “The man just wants to put you through your paces, that's all.”

“And for this purpose he introduces me to his wife?”

“Exactly. He wants, among other things, to test your manners as an officer. Because in the Major's view it is only officers with impeccable manners who are fit to instruct officers of the future. But it's the Major's wife who has the last word. Which is why, my dear fellow, a full-blown formal hand kiss will be not only an act of politeness but also a first convincing proof of your social capabilities.”

“Quite funny that,” said Lieutenant Krafft cautiously.

“You’ll be finding plenty of other things to amuse you here before you're through, you can be sure of that. Officially the hand-kissing is quite optional, but in Major Frey's eyes it is a natural obligation. Particularly where the Major's wife is concerned—she was a von Bendler-Trebitz, you know. Right, then—the charming lady will extend her tiny hand towards you. You grasp it, but without exercising undue pressure. Then you bend over it, Krafft, and for God's sake, and the Major's, doesn’t make the mistake of drawing this charming tiny hand towards you as if you owned it, this would be looked upon as little short of an attempt at rape. You bend over it then and keep yourself at a distance of at least three feet from the lady. You then click your heels and without pursing the lips or even wetting them, sketch out a hand kiss. Somewhere between a quarter and an eighth of an inch is regarded as the correct distance. Now have you got that, my dear fellow try it out today? For sooner or later you'll have to teach it to your cadets in the etiquette class, it’s all part of the curriculum, you know.”

“I’m afraid you're right,” said Lieutenant Krafft. “We’ll be having a lot of fun together.”

“I never cease to admire you, Felicitas,” said Major Frey to his wife. “It’s really fabulous the way you manage to arrange everything,”

Frau Frey lowered her eyes modestly. “Oh, it's really nothing,” she demurred.

This was true—it really wasn't very much. The table was laid, the wine stood ready, all just as usual, and, as usual, none of these preparations were the work of Frau Frey, but of her niece, as the Major knew perfectly well.

This niece, a poor relation who looked like one and on whom Frau Frey had graciously taken pity, worked in the Frey household as a servant. She was a capable, willing, undemanding sort of girl, and although Frau Frey didn't actually pay her any wages she hoped to find a husband for her, an officer, in due course.

“What sort of man is this Lieutenant Krafft?” asked the Major's wife.

Frey didn't quite know the answer to this, though this didn't prevent him from telling her. Average,” he said. “Possibly a little above the average. We'll manage to make something of him. Sooner or later everyone comes to heel.”

“Married?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“I’ll take a closer look at him,” said Frau Felicitas.

The Major nodded meekly. He knew what that meant. She would take a closer look at this fellow Krafft to see if he would do for their niece, Barbara Bendler-Trebitz.

“Barbara!” cried Frau Felicitas peremptorily, and their niece appeared at once.

She had a round, friendly, innocent moon face with shy eyes. “Here I am,” she said agreeably in a soft chirpy voice.

“For goodness' sake, take that apron off before the gentlemen arrive. You should take more trouble with your appearance, child. Wear a white apron. And try and move gracefully.”

“Yes, of course,” said Barbara, and disappeared.

The Major watched her go with a sad shake of his head, which wasn't intended as any reproach to his wife. This would have been unthinkable, for he had nothing but gratitude and respect for her. She came from a really high-class family and was the owner of a sizeable property in Silesia, which was being run at the moment by an impoverished relative who was exempt from war service.

Frey had in fact a great deal to thank his wife for. For instance it was positively touching the way she helped him in his career. No commanding officer could have had a more devoted wife. And then again, there was the loving care with which she had furnished this house: Wildlingen-am-Main, Marktplatz 7. An old, elegant, romantic building in the Franconian style, solid and sound, and yet at the same time cozy and with a charm all its own, it might have been built specially for Felicitas Frey, née Blender-Trebitz.

“This girl Barbara,” the Major ventured to remark. “She’s a nice girl, but remarkably uncommunicative, don't you find?” “She’ll make a good wife and mother.”

“Oh yes, of course, of course,” admitted the Major. “But she ought to dress with a little more style. I mean her figure really isn't bad at all—quite the contrary, in fact.”

“Archibald,” said the Major's wife, “you don't mean to say you've been eyeing the girl?”

“Not intentionally of course,” the Major reassured her. “But after all she is running around under my nose all day long. Besides, I'm thinking of her future too, and if I'm to be quite frank, I think Captain Ratshelm would be preferable to Lieutenant Krafft.”

“Don’t you worry your head about that,” said Felicitas Frey. “This is a woman's business. If Krafft turns out to be a man of the world with really decent manners, why shouldn't we bring him into our own little inner circle?”

“I’m afraid, though, that this fellow Krafft isn't really a man of particularly fine feelings. He's more Captain Feders's type.”

“That wouldn't do,” said the Major's wife. “And if that's so, then obviously you can't have the two together in the same section, the one as tactics instructor and the other as section officer. Anyway Captain Feders hasn't got anything to give himself airs about with his wife leading that sort of life. It's disgraceful, really disgraceful. You can't have that sort of thing in an officers' training school. But we'll have to discuss that later. We mustn't try and take on too much at once. First of all I'll take a good look at this man Krafft.”

“Welcome, welcome to my humble hearth!” cried Major Frey. “So glad you could come. Come in, gentlemen. Take your coats off. Make yourselves at home.”

The Major was wearing a simple field tunic, which both conveyed an impression of sterling worth and at the same time demonstrated the extent to which he felt at ease. His Knight's Cross with oak leaves flashed brilliantly even in the lighting of the hall, and his face was beaming with good-will.

Feders and Krafft took off their things and Krafft was introduced to the Major's niece. He shook a hot, damp hand and, smiling pleasantly, looked into a face paralyzed with embarrassment. Feders made a jovial remark or two and the girl ran off giggling.

“Captain Ratshelm was just ahead of you, gentlemen, so that now the party is complete. Do come in. My wife is most anxious to get to know you, my dear Krafft.”

“The feeling is mutual,” declared Feders, noticing with delight that at this the Major looked slightly annoyed and Lieutenant Krafft extremely embarrassed. An amusing evening seemed to lie ahead.

The Major piloted the two gentlemen into the drawing-room, where Captain Ratshelm stood gesticulating animatedly to the Major's charming wife Felicitas Frey née Blender-Trebitz.

“Right, in you go!” whispered Feders, pushing Krafft forward.

The Major's wife smiled graciously at Lieutenant Krafft and immediately held out her hand expectantly, a stately, elegant figure, standing beneath some sort of ancestral portrait. She had a face like a sheep's and the bold curve of her fleshy nose was something which was impossible to overlook. Her eyes gleamed with the weary majesty of some mountain eagle. Her skin was faded, but a lot of make-up had lent it a dull, silky gloss which gave the impression of extending over her entire body and certainly was in evidence on her hands, one of which, having been so briskly extended towards him, was now seized by Lieutenant Krafft. He gave it a relatively gentle squeeze and even shook it slightly. His bow seemed to him quite adequate. An icy glint came into her eagle eyes.

But Lieutenant Krafft merely said: “Good evening, Frau Frey.”

“Splendid,” said Feders with enthusiasm. “Quite the real thing!”

“ Our friend, Lieutenant Krafft,” said the Major, trying to act the man of the world, “ will have to find his feet here of course, but I don't think that'll be too difficult for him, with the spirit prevailing under my command. Aren't I right, my dear Ratshelm?”

“Yes indeed, Major,” confirmed Ratshelm instantly as one might have expected. “We’re very proud that we can teach the young cadets here a good deal more than the mere basic principles of their trade. We make it our endeavor to grasp and mould the entire personality. Krafft will soon get the hang of this.”

“Anyhow,” said the Major with friendly condescension, “I want to welcome Lieutenant Krafft most sincerely to our ranks, as a fellow fighter for our great and good cause under what one might call our training school slogan: Officers First and Foremost!”

“What can I offer you, gentlemen?” asked the gracious lady of the house, who had turned slightly pale but had lost none of her air of majesty. “Would you care perhaps for a small glass of port?”

Captain Ratshelm thanked her humbly, signifying that this would be most acceptable. Captain Feders announced enthusiastically that the charming lady's offer was an extraordinarily happy idea. Krafft merely managed to nod.

And Major Frey remarked: “A true German mistrusts everything foreign, unless of course it's something to drink!”

Captain Ratshelm laughed heartily at his course commander's witticism.

The dinner was, as they had been told, a modest one. Lieutenant Krafft had the honor of sitting next to the lady of the house. That was not altogether a pleasure, though, for while the other guests were able to devote themselves to their platefuls of sausage and share such butter as was available among themselves; Lieutenant Krafft found himself subjected to a barrage of questions.

“Are you married, Lieutenant?”

“No, Frau Frey.”

“I should say, from your age, you really should be by now. You must be almost thirty, aren't you? Here we always say that a family tie does an awful lot for a man's moral standing, and if it's up to an officer to set an example, how much more must this apply to those who train officers! Now tell me, are you engaged? Do you by any chance carry a picture of your fiancée on you? I always, think that's such a nice thing to do. I'd love to see it, if you have one.”

“I’m afraid I'll have to disappoint you there, Frau Frey,” said Krafft evasively, not hesitating to shelter from all this curiosity behind what he regarded as a white lie, “I was indeed once as good as engaged, and the girl came from an excellent family. But the tie was brutally sundered by the war.”

Captain Feders choked and spluttered and Captain Ratshelm regarded him with disapproval. But the Major just went on eating. Since his wife was paying no attention to him he had no need to conform to her dietary regulations.

“The young lady died, then,” declared the Major's wife. It was obviously difficult for her to imagine anything but death sundering such a tie.

Lieutenant Krafft choked on his slice of bread, which under the penetrating glance of his hostess he had dared only to spread with the thinnest layer of butter. As he choked his Head went forward, and she accepted this as tacit confirmation of her assumption. He felt certain that she would express her sympathy for him. As indeed she did. But she went further than that, for after all she was more than just a woman, she was the wife of a senior officer, and known to the cadets as “the Commanderess.” So to her conventional expression of sympathy Frau Frey added the following remark: “It must be very sad for you of course, but this mustn't make you despondent or prone to that numb state of helplessness which I believe is usual among vulgar people and ordinary rankers in their distress. However, so long as you remain one of my husband's officers and colleagues I shall of course take you under my wing.”

“I’m most obliged to you, Frau Frey,” said Lieutenant Krafft warily.

“Every week I hold a social gathering at which those officers who are still bachelors can meet the young unmarried ladies of good family of Wildlingen. You must come to them in future, Lieutenant.”

“Oh that's really too much, Frau Frey,” said the Lieutenant, overwhelmed. No woman had ever tried to assert such a vigorous and possessive hold over him before. This was more than mere friendly sympathy; it was social welfare positively being thrust down his throat. The Lieutenant swallowed the so-called pudding which followed the “cold plate,” a tart of some sort or other, and as he did so he looked irritated across at Captain Feders, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Lieutenant Krafft leant forward slightly; spread his legs apart under the table rather like a Japanese wrestler searching for a hold. As he did so his right foot struck the table leg. That's to say Krafft thought it was the table leg. But shortly afterwards he became aware of a certain warmth and then a yielding quality, whereupon he drew back sharply. It was not the table leg at all but the leg of the gracious lady herself with which he had come into contact.

Frau Felicitas never flinched. Her self-control was astonishing. She merely lifted her fine sheep's nose slightly, as if smelling a bad smell.

“So sorry, so sorry,” said Krafft in embarrassment.

“I think,” said Felicitas Frey loftily,” that it's now time for the gentlemen to have their smoke.

“A good soldier,” the Major assured everybody,” is never off duty. Which is why, gentlemen, you will hardly be surprised if I take this opportunity to talk a certain amount of shop.”

“No indeed, that doesn't surprise us at all, Major,” Feders assured him.

The gentlemen were sitting in venerable leather armchairs which creaked painfully every time anyone moved. Beneath their feet was a carpet lavishly adorned with a pattern of roses. They were surrounded by plush and excessively heavy and ornately carved dark brown furniture—no mistaking this for anything but a smoking-room.

As a pure matter of form the Major held out to the officers an ornate silver-plated rosewood box well stocked with cigars. Captain Ratshelm and Captain Feders, both of whom knew the form here, declined with thanks and asked permission to smoke their own cigarettes. Only Krafft grabbed mechanically at the box. To make matters worse, once there he seized on one of the Major's show-piece cigars. The Major managed to keep his hospitable smile intact. He merely frowned slightly at the same time. Yet as Krafft bit off the tip of the cigar with his teeth and spat it thoughtlessly out on to the carpet, the Major shuddered. Not for the sake of the carpet, but because such a degree of contempt for good manners hurt his finer feelings.

“I’m so sorry,” said Lieutenant Krafft, “but sometimes I find I completely forget the difference between a drawing-room and a fox-hole.”

“When I was at the front,” said Captain Ratshelm, “I had a C.O. who always used a snow-white napkin at meals even in the front line itself. Whatever happened he never ceased to be a man of culture.”

“When he dies a hero's death he won't exactly smell of eau de Cologne,” said Feders.

“Gentlemen,” said Major Frey, “I find that there are certain things which can't be joked about. In particular those things that are what one might call sacred to us.” And he fingered his Knight's Cross with oak leaves as if to reassure himself (a) that it was still there, (b) that it was straight and clearly visible, and (c) that it could therefore be admired.

“Let us never forget, gentlemen that the high moral purpose which is one of the fundamental tenets of soldiering should be with us at all times, for once a soldier always a soldier. And an officer of our stamp is the soldier par excellence, but to get down to business. On my course, my dear Krafft, there are three companies of three sections each, and each section has one tactics instructor and one section officer. And I may say that my officers are among the finest in the entire Wehrmacht. You are now about to take your place among them, since to-morrow morning you will be taking charge of Section H for Heinrich. And I venture to suggest that it is one of the finest sections of the whole company. Aren't I right, Captain Ratshelm? As company commander you must be in the best position to judge.”

“Oh yes, that's so, Major. I'd even say it's the finest section we've had for a long time. There are a number of first-class men in it on whom I pin great hopes. As tactics instructor, wouldn't you agree with me, Feders?”

“Oh, completely,” said the Captain. “Section H for Heinrich consists of a lot of stupid, arrogant, underhand oafs. They're lazy, greedy, cheeky, stupid, mad for women and decorations. When I'm teaching them they can't tell the difference between a hand-grenade and a field kitchen, a machine-gun and a ration pack, orderlies and orders. They're interested primarily in food, and only secondarily in ammunition. And their faith in a certain former Corporal seems more important to them than any proper appraisal of a given situation.”

The Major smiled. And Captain Ratshelm tried to do the same. Lieutenant Krafft was merely astonished. Captain Feders's utterly uninhibited statements bordered on high treason. Krafft sucked pleasurably at his cigar.

“Our beloved Captain Feders,” said the Major with a curt laugh, though his eyes were like pinpoints and his smile frozen as his voice grew sharper and sharper, “Our beloved Captain Feders is very fond of using bitter words and cutting expressions, and in fact has quite a reputation for them. But all of us who know him well realize how he means these things to be taken. He likes to pile on the irony, so to speak, rather as Blücher and Wrangel used to do. He has, however, sufficient tact to confine such remarks to a most intimate circle, which is really a sort of proof of his confidence in us. His prodigious capabilities as a tactics instructor help us to be indulgent to- wards him. If I've understood you correctly, Captain Feders, what you mean is this. The cadets of Section H, whose tactics instructor you are, are still deficient in a number of soldierly qualities and riddled with human weakness.

They're badly in need of some first-class tactical training, which after all is the point of an officers' training school. Their faith in our Führer is gratifyingly pronounced—an indispensable prerequisite indeed for their careers as officers—yet this cannot be regarded as enough in itself. Isn't that so, Captain Feders —isn't that what you meant by your remarks?”

“Yes, Major, exactly,” said Feders impassively.

The Major smiled indulgently. He could hardly help admiring himself He was more than just a soldier; he was a diplomat as well. He might well be on the threshold of a great career. His work at the training school would be an excellent first step towards it. “Well, my dear Krafft, how were you thinking of handling your cadets?”

“Strictly, but fairly,” said Krafft, unable to think of any other platitude just at that moment.

“What methods of instruction were you thinking of employing?”

“Whatever methods are currently in use here and you consider correct, Major.”

The Major nodded. The last part of Krafft's answer was particularly gratifying. The fellow was adaptable or at least was prepared to be, which was always the essential prerequisite for good, fruitful co-operation. But what the Major liked to think of as his restless spirit of inquiry wouldn't leave him alone. “Which method do you prefer, Krafft?” he asked. “Skillful persuasion, instruction by example, or drilling things into people by force?”

“Whichever seems suitable in any given instance, Major.”

Again the Major nodded. This time he wasn't exactly displeased by Krafft's answer, but he wasn't particularly happy about it either. The fellow was suspiciously evasive and simply wouldn't allow himself to be pinned down. The Major would have to be careful. The existence of one Captain Feders among his officers was unsettling enough. Two such people in one and the same section spelt trouble.

However, the Major was spared further speculation, because at that moment his wife, Frau Felicitas, poked her by no means insignificant sheep's nose into the room, smiled, and said quite brazenly: “What a pity you gentlemen have to leave so soon! But of course you have a heavy day tomorrow.”

“Archibald,” said the Major's wife, “I don't like this man at all.”

“I can't say I'm exactly enthusiastic about him either, Felicitas dear,” agreed Frey with alacrity. “But unfortunately I can't always choose the people I work with. And the fellow has been positively forced on me.”

The Major suppressed a yawn and tried to look interested. -He usually took notice of her advice, though it wasn't always possible for him to follow it. But one thing was clear: Felicitas was remarkably good at sizing up how useful and valuable a subordinate was going to be. The quality was inbred in her, so to speak, for several of her ancestors had been generals, important landowners and ministers of state.

“The man has no manners, Archibald. He doesn't know how to kiss one's hand, and he has no conversation. He eats untidily, scatters ash all over the place, and never once addressed me as ' ma'am '.”

“Most regrettable,” said the Major.

“Not that I overestimate the value of social conventions, Archibald. But you know my view: people with properly trained minds have good manners as well. This man Krafft may well be very capable, but then so are a lot of artisans. A true officer needs to be more than just capable. In short, Archibald, I have considerable misgivings.”

“So have I, Felicitas, my dear! But what am Ito do?”

“You could talk to the General; it's still not too late. To-morrow, though, when this man takes over the section, it could be too late.”