Officer Factory

The four cadets who lived here were in fact asleep, or at least showed no signs of not being asleep. One was even snoring in his bunk, while the others lay there like logs, paralyzed with exhaustion, dead to the world. Anyhow, Ratshelm's expert glance noted at once that the room was nice and tidy, and his eyes shone with appreciation. He flashed his torch across the beds, and found himself looking into a pair of eyes that stared back at him wide awake and radiant.

"Aha, Hochbauer," said Ratshelm softly, going closer, “so you're not asleep yet?"

“I’ve only just stopped working, sir," replied Hochbauer equally softly.

The Captain smiled to himself rather as an art expert smiles on finding himself before the most valuable picture in a gallery. He considered himself fortunate to be entrusted with such magnificent specimens of humanity.

“What have you been working at so late, Hochbauer?" he asked with interest, and his pleasant baritone voice was full of fatherly good-will.

“I’ve been reading Clausewitz," said the cadet.

“Admirable stuff," commented- Ratshelm with approval.

“I’m afraid, though, sir," said Hochbauer confidentially,” that there are one or two things I'm not quite clear about. It's not Clausewitz's fault, but there are just a few points I don't quite understand."

“Well, my dear Hochbauer, you can always come along and see me about them. Any time, after duty. To-morrow evening would suit me. You know where I live. I'll be only too pleased to help you. That's what we're here for!"

“Thank you, sir," said the cadet happily, and throwing out his chest he braced himself in the bed as if coming to attention. His night-shirt opened across his chest revealing his identification discs and the glistening texture of his skin.

Ratshelm nodded and left, seeming suddenly to be in a great hurry. Probably it was his sense of duty that called him.

Major-General Modersohn sat at his desk, with the harsh light of a lamp falling across his angular features. It was almost as if a wax figure were sitting there in his place. But the General was working on a file in front of him on the cover of which the words “KRAFFT, KARL, LIEUTENANT" were written in large capital letters.

Modersohn occupied two rooms in what was known as the guest house, adjoining the officers' mess. He used one of these for work and the other for sleep and in all the time he had been there had never once used either room for anything other than the purpose for which it was designed.

The General sat at his desk fully dressed. It was difficult to imagine him with his shirt open or his sleeves rolled up. Even his batman seldom caught a glimpse of Modersohn in his braces or his socks. As far as the General was concerned, soldiers were either dressed or undressed: “improperly dressed “was a term that simply had no meaning for him. Thus for him it was the most natural thing in the world that he should be sitting alone in his room in the middle of the night as impeccable in appearance as if he were on parade or on a tour of inspection.

The General's tunic, which was made of worsted and was slightly worn at the elbows, even a little shiny in places, was nevertheless immaculately clean and buttoned right up to the neck. The golden oak leaves on both sides of the collar of his tunic seemed to glow magically in the light of the lamp. The German eagle on his left breast looked worn and faded. No decorations were visible, although Modersohn possessed almost every one there was. But the General preferred to make his authority felt by his personality, rather than by getting himself up like a Christmas tree.

Yet there was a subtle difference in the General's expression now, a bleak acknowledgment of the fact that he found himself completely alone. He seemed almost lost in thought as he gazed at the documents before him.

Carefully he read through each of the personal reports of which they consisted, before comparing them together. Then he came to the conclusion that a lot of bunglers had been at work here. For according to these reports, the man who was now Lieutenant Krafft had always been quite unexceptionable, a good soldier—almost one might say a fine one—always keen and reliable. But there must be something wrong with that.

The General read the reports through again, this time systematically searching for specially revealing turns of phrase and oblique marginal references, which in due course he found. Almost imperceptibly he smiled.

For example in his report on Krafft as a corporal he found the words: ... remarkable for his obstinacy—his feeling for discipline still leaves something to be desired—determination is his strong point ... And in the report on Krafft as a lieutenant were the words: ... good at solving problems on his own —very self-willed—plenty of energy but not always put to the best uses—a first-class leader of men with the ability to render really outstanding service under a superior officer who knows his job . . . The last report written shortly before Krafft's transfer to the training school offered the following instructive comment: ... of a rather critical turn of mind an extremely useful if not altogether comfortable subordinate with a strongly developed sense of justice ...

Only a few words extracted from a superfluity of neutral meaningless formulas, cheap generalities and empty clichés. But these few words made it clear that Krafft was something out of the ordinary. He had been posted suspiciously often, and yet almost always with words of commendation. It looked as if people had praised him highly in order to be rid of him the more easily. And now he had landed here at this training school—in the domain of Major-General Modersohn, popularly known as the iceberg or the last of the Prussians.

Modersohn closed Krafft's personal file. The notebook which lay ready to hand remained empty. The General closed his, eyes for a moment as if to rest them from the harsh light of the table lamp. His face still revealed nothing of what he was thinking. But the ghost of a smile remained.

Then Modersohn rose and went into his bedroom, where there was an army bed, a chair, a cupboard, and a wash basin—but that was all.

The General unbuttoned his tunic and pulled out a wallet, which he opened. He stared at a photograph, about postcard size, which was the portrait of a young man—an officer with an angular face and large, frank, inquisitive eyes. It was a solemn face, but one which at the same time evinced a quiet determination.

When the General looked at this picture something approaching warmth came into his eyes, and the severity of his expression was replaced by a look of distant sadness.

This was a picture of Lieutenant Barkow, who had been buried the day before.

Lieutenant Krafft was also unable to sleep that night. However, it wasn't his conscience that kept him awake, but Elfrida Rademacher.

“I hope no one saw you come," said Krafft rather nervously.

“What if they did?" replied Elfrida with apparent indifference, sitting down beside him on the bed. She thought she knew what men liked—cheerfulness, brightness, and above all no fuss and bother.

“What will the other girls you live with say?"

“Just what I say about them when they don't sleep in their own beds. Nothing at all."

Krafft listened to the night, but there seemed no risk of being disturbed except by Elfrida, who now began to take off her clothes.

Krafft found the moral atmosphere prevailing in these barracks really quite remarkable. The remarkable thing was that such an atmosphere should be possible in the domain of a man like General Modersohn.

“They haven't invented a cure for it yet," said Elfrida, pulling her petticoat up over her hips. She did this as if it were the most natural thing in the world, which, Krafft reasoned, seemed to show that she'd had a certain amount of practice.

He found it difficult to make this girl out. It was true that everything had been quite simple from the beginning, completely uncomplicated, delightfully straightforward. But Krafft could sense that she wasn't quite what she pretended to be. He was always catching himself thinking about her. Well now, he said to himself, it was possible that she wasn't so much seeking pleasure for herself as wanting to do him a favor. There was a suspicion of charity about the whole thing.

“Haven’t you any misgivings?" asked Krafft.

“Why should I have?" she replied. “We like each other. That's quite enough."

“Quite enough for me certainly," said Krafft. “But what if Captain Kater finds out how you're spending your nights? After all, he's officially responsible for you and the other girls."

Elfrida began to laugh. It was a completely frank laugh and dangerously loud at that. “This fellow Kater is the last person who can afford to set himself up as a guardian of morality!"

“Have you had some sort of experience with him then?" asked Krafft, noting with astonishment that the idea made him slightly unhappy.

Elfrida paused for a moment. She straightened up slightly, before turning her dark eyes on him and saying: “I’ve been here for two years now, ever since this training school was started. I'm living here with more than forty other girls in a special separate corridor of the headquarters building—we even have our own entrance, in fact. All day we work in the stores and in the workshops. We are women civilian employees called up for military service. We come into contact with men day after day; there are a thousand of them all round us. So it's hardly surprising that from time to time we feel the need to spend our nights with them too."

“Well, all the same, I'm glad you selected me from the thousand or so others."

“I did so for a number of reasons," said Elfrida, taking off her stockings. “First because your billet and mine are in the same building, which makes matters a lot easier. Then because the two of us work in the same place, in the headquarters company, which makes it easier for us to arrange to spend our free time together. And then there's another reason, Karl, a by no means unimportant one—I like you. That doesn't necessarily mean I love you. I'm against big words like that, and anyway they've become very small in these times of ours. But I do like you very much, and that's the only reason I'm doing what I am doing. In any case Captain Kater has no place on my list which isn't all that big—and he never will have."

Almost hurriedly, Elfrida stripped off her brassiere. Krafft looked at her longingly, burning with desire and wanting to stretch out his hands and seize hold of her at once, but she pushed him away and looked at him almost sadly.

“I’m not exactly a model of virtue," she said, “I don't need to tell you that. But I don't want you to think that my being here and the ease with which everything has developed between us is all just a matter of course. There's more to it than that."

Her breath was coming in short gasps and he misinterpreted the sign. “Come on 1 " he said impatiently.

Elfrida shook her head.

“There’s more to it than just that," she repeated with a slight huskiness in her voice. “I feel something almost like fear. I know it sounds silly to say that, but from the very first I had the feeling that we only had a short time together. Don't laugh at me, Karl. I know nothing can last for long in this war. Everything comes and goes; one loves and is unfaithful, wants to forget and is forgotten. All right, one has to accept that. But it isn't just that, not this time."

“Come on," he repeated, and put his arms round her.

And so he never heard her when she said: “I’m afraid for you."

“It just goes to show," said Captain Kater, thoughtfully. “One doesn't hesitate to do one's duty, yet how is one rewarded? With misunderstanding! One finds oneself in trouble! And all because a certain person likes to think of himself as the last of the Prussians and to attach more importance to military regulations than to ordinary human qualities."

Captain Kater was sitting in the far corner of one of the rooms at the back of the officers' mess, with the soft light from a standard lamp shining full on to his moonlike face. A well-rounded bottle of red wine stood before him, while opposite sat Wirrman, the Judge-Advocate. Both looked worried, and stared morosely at the bottle of red wine, which deserved happier faces, being one of the noblest Pommards ever ripened in the sunshine of France. Kater still had a few more cases in the cellar, but he was tortured by the fear that he wouldn't have the chance to enjoy them.

For the General seemed unwilling to leave him in peace. In his own eyes, Kater was a good-hearted fellow and a successful organizer. But Modersohn seemed unable to appreciate that sort of quality. There probably wasn't another man like Modersohn in the entire Wehrmacht; and yet he of all people had to be the commanding officer of the training school at which Captain Kater had the headquarters company!

“The General seems a very self-willed man," said Wirrmann, using the formula with the utmost circumspection so that it seemed free of both provocation and reproach.

This was typical of Wirrmann's tactics. He was always very careful in his choice of words, nearly always sticking pretty close to protocol. But the underlying tone made it clear to Kater how Wirrmann was thinking.

Judge-Advocate Wirrmann, seconded to training-school inspection duty, an experienced lawyer and trustworthy servant of the Reich, a naked sword of justice with more than two dozen death-sentences to his credit, he of all people had been humiliated by Modersohn as if he were no more than some incompetent petty official. And in front of all the other officers too! Kater could hardly help seeing in Wirrmann a potential ally.

“Between ourselves," said Kater, leaning forward confidentially, the General isn't only self-willed—there's simply no telling what he'll do. Though I say so with respect, he seems utterly unappreciative of the joys of living. The finest wines, the best cigars, mean nothing to him, nor does he cheer up in the slightest at the sight of a pretty girl—"

“But you can't help noticing the interest he takes in certain young officers," interjected Wirrmann. And he smiled knowingly as he said this—a smile, as he thought, of extreme subtlety and of the greatest gentleness, as if he imagined himself to have lifted a sad corner of the truth.

Captain Kater choked, so that the wine spilled on his uniform, but he took no notice of it. He was thinking hard. The Judge-Advocate's comment had sounded harmless enough, but something about the way in which he obviously intended it to be taken put him on the alert.

Warily Kater asked: “You mean ?"

“I don't mean anything," said Wirrmann at once. “I wasn't even hinting at anything. I was merely turning over in my mind the thought that, with the exception of course of our Führer, no human being's decisions are impeccable, unless of course he should be fortunate enough to have the law to guide him. All I was really getting at was this: even generals cannot be devoid of certain human sympathies."

“And these have their dangers. Yes, you're right there." Kater nodded agreement. “Quite often to the disadvantage of decent, honorable men, sound reliable officers for example. In my own case there's the additional factor that this man Krafft is after my job as C.O. of the headquarters company. It's the only explanation of his behavior."

“Well, yes," said Wirrmann slowly. “The General isn't your friend exactly. And this Krafft seems a fairly cunning and ruthless fellow. He may even succeed in pushing you out —a key job like yours is well worth having. But if Krafft is in fact to be your successor, then it can only be with the General's approval—that is, it can only be something he himself wants to happen."

“Which isn't altogether out of the question," admitted Kater. “For what does the General know of my particular abilities? I do my duty at least as thoroughly as he. But he seems quite unable to appreciate the fact. The man has his limitations—of course I'm speaking quite confidentially between ourselves. All right—he knows a thing or two about strategy and tactics. But he hasn't grasped the simple truth, valid for thousands of years—for as long as soldiers have existed, in fact—that a soldier who is hungry and thirsty is only half a soldier."

The Judge-Advocate disapproved of the crude hints Kater was dropping, of his carelessness and lack of restraint, but he didn't hesitate to exploit the situation.

As if savoring the heavy bouquet of the wine, he said: " Things would certainly be very different—and not for you alone—if this training school had a commanding officer with whom one could collaborate more pleasantly."

Kater stared at the Judge-Advocate. Hurriedly he filled up his glass and drained it at a draught. His moon face shone with new hope. In his mind's eye he could see the crates of wine he had stocked up for the benefit both of his brother officers and of himself, and imagined himself enjoying the fruits of his industry and ability, undisturbed and free from care. And he asked: “You think that might be possible?"

“It depends," said the Judge-Advocate casually.

“On what?"

“Well," said Wirrman carefully, " I'm assuming of course that you realize that the only thing I'm interested in is the pursuit of justice."

“Of course, that's taken for granted," agreed Kater readily.

“My dear Captain Kater," said Judge-Advocate Wirrmann,

“what we need is something to go on. Just something to start with will do. The very possibility of an offence is sufficient grounds for opening a case, and once a case has been opened it usually means that the man is automatically relieved of his duties. There are two points in particular I have in mind. First: the person of whom we are speaking has never categorically indicated his enthusiasm for our political system and our Führer. This could prove of considerable significance. Secondly: the person in question shows a remarkable interest in everything connected with Lieutenant Barkow, that's to say personally connected with Lieutenant Barkow. Now why is that? What lies behind it? Have we something we can go on here? Give the matter your attention if you're seriously interested in remaining in charge of the headquarters company here!"

“Follow me, men!" whispered Cadet Weber. "No hanging back. A potential officer must be a match for every situation." Cadets Mösler and Rednitz slunk across the camp with Cadet Egon Weber threading his way through the darkness about ten to fifteen yards ahead of them. All three were keeping in the shadow of the transport sheds, avoiding the main thoroughfare of the camp and the sentries' patrols, as they headed for the Kommandantur building.

They groped their way through the night, bent double. Their pockets bulged, for they were loaded down with bottles, and one of them cupped a burning cigarette in the hollow of his hand.

“Steady, men," said Cadet Rednitz, not bothering to lower his voice particularly. “We mustn't overdo it; let's have something to keep our strength up first."

“We’ve lost too much time already," objected Mösler. “We shouldn't have bothered about Hochbauer. Why did you have to go and tell him what we were doing! You know he's against this sort of thing."

“One needs to keep in with Hochbauer," said Weber approvingly. “He’s bound to be our next section senior and he'll be twisting Captain Ratshelm round his little finger in no time."

“Man," said Mösler thoughtfully, “when that day comes we're for it."

“Hochbauer’s all right," Egon Weber insisted.

“And you, Weber, are a damned fool," said Rednitz amiably. “As you'll find out for yourself one of these days. Want a bet?"

They paused when they reached the cookhouse. Standing in the shadow of a supply shed they looked across at the Kommandantur. The moon obligingly hid itself behind a bank of clouds.

Cadet Egon Weber uncorked a bottle and took a mighty swig. Then like a good comrade he passed the bottle on, while Rednitz kept a look-out for the enemy—a patrolling sentry or an officer.

“What are we going to do if we're caught?" asked Cadet Egon Weber.

“Look silly," said Rednitz.

“And what are we going to say?"

“Anything that comes into our heads—anything but the truth, that is." Rednitz liked to turn everything that happened into a joke. Mösler on the other hand was a person who spent his time systematically in pursuit of pleasure and wasn't particularly choosy where he found it. Cadet Weber simply did everything he was called upon to do from attending church parade to visiting a brothel. All that was needed was to appeal to his sense of comradeship and his physical strength, and then there was nothing he wouldn't do. As a result he was remarkably popular with everyone and his commission was a virtual certainty.

For instance what if we run into the duty office?" asked Egon Weber.

“Then," said Rednitz, reaching for the bottle, “the best man among us confronts him and sacrifices himself for the others. I imagine that will be you, Weber, because I don't expect you'll want to let anyone else deprive you of the honor."

“All right," said Egon Weber, quite undismayed, " let's suppose that happens. Then the duty officer will want to know what I'm doing here."

“You’re sleep-walking of course, Egon."

“With a bottle?"

“But that's the whole point!" insisted Rednitz. “Without a bottle there wouldn't be anything odd about you."

“What’s all the nattering about?" said Mösler impatiently. “Why are we hanging about like this? Let's get on to the girls."

“Steady now," warned Rednitz. “If we don't think things out carefully and watch what we're doing we'll be in trouble. I'll go ahead and see how the land lies."

“You just want the best girl for yourself," said Mösler suspiciously. “That’s not playing fair."

“And anyone who doesn't play fair," said Egon Weber, Section H's champion wrestler and always spoiling for a fight,” will have me to reckon with."

Rednitz found himself powerless against such arguments. He had no alternative but to act in accordance with the principles taught him by Captain Feders: every operation once set in motion is to be carried through to the bitter end, provided no decisive alteration of strategic considerations demands a change of plan.

Alteration of strategic considerations “hardly came into it, for there wasn't an officer in sight and the sentries were all dozing in their various corners. But down in the basement of the Kommandantur sat the poor little love-sick maidens of the communications center.

The events of the night before had been all round the barracks by the late afternoon. Cadet Weber had learnt certain details from the man in charge of the sports equipment. This man had received his information from a corporal in the kitchen. He in turn was a close friend of the clerk in the orderly room, and the latter was himself a close friend of the raped corporal in person. In short, first-classes addresses, relatively accessible. To the rescue then!