Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

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СКАЧАТЬ All in all it was better to avoid a clash with him, for Feders was a dangerous man.

      Or at least Feders had a dangerous way of putting apparently disarming questions. He always wanted to know everything, including whether the person he was asking really knew anything at all.

      “Has the object of the exercise been announced yet, sir?" “No," said the latter.

      “Do we know how long it's likely to last?"

      “No, we don't," said Major Frey crossly. With two completely innocent-sounding questions Feders had demonstrated to the rest of the officers that the Major was little more than an office boy as far as General Modersohn was concerned.

      “Right, then," said Feders. “Let’s all go back to school again. One thing's certain at least: the chances of a good night's rest are just about nil. Once the General starts this exercise he won't stop until quite a number of heads have rolled. Well all I can say, gentlemen, is enjoy your dinner!"

      The officers assembled in the mess ante-room looked thoroughly gloomy. There were more than forty of them in all, including the two course commanders, the company commanders, the tactics instructors, the section officers and the administrative group of planners and organizers. The General's lightning decisions seemed to hang over them like menacing storm-clouds.

      Knight's Crosses were flashing all over the place. Not a chest in sight that didn't boast an Iron Cross at least. Close-combat clasps, anti-tank badges, campaign ribbons, war service and long service medals—such things were a matter of course. The German Cross in Gold was nothing out of the ordinary. And the faces above this brilliant splendor were mostly serious and grimly professional, marked by certain uneasiness, sometimes even anxiety, about the eyes, though seldom indifference. -

       “Gentlemen," said Captain Feders, “I suggest we start. After all, the General always begins his meal punctually regardless of whether everyone's there or not."

      “Not very funny, Captain Feders," said Major Frey, commanding officer of Number 2 Course, sternly. None of the other officers seemed to think it funny either. Even in the bright electric light their faces looked black.

      The most silent group of all was that in the immediate vicinity of the dining-room door, where the victims of the evening's placement were standing. This placement was worked out in the most intricate detail before every meal by the A.D.C., in collaboration with a corporal who had been a schoolmaster in civilian life. The principle was that every officer should take his place at the commanding officer's table in strict rotation. It was an honor which no one was spared. Only occasionally did the General choose his own dining companions, and then always to the considerable disquiet of those concerned. This was exactly what had happened now.

      Captain Kater felt a weakness at the knees and queasiness in his stomach, for the place on the General's left had been reserved for him. One glance at the rest of the placement made the special significance of this clear. Judge-Advocate Wirrmann was seated on the General's right, while another place was reserved for Lieutenant Krafft immediately opposite.

      “Well, gentlemen," said Captain Feders, going up to the victims with a show of interest, “what’s it feel like to be on the menu this evening?"

      “I’m pretty tough," said Lieutenant Krafft. “Quite a mouthful for anyone, I think."

      Feders looked Captain Kater up and down with some hostility. “I must say if I were the General I'd prefer a nice streaky slice of wild boar myself."

      “However, you're not the General," muttered Kater angrily. “You’re simply a tactics instructor here, and a married man, what's more."

      “But what's all the fuss about, gentlemen?" pleaded Judge-Advocate Wirrmann. “Anyone would think this placement was an affair of state."

      “It’s a rather special situation here," said Feders. “You must know that one glance from our General may easily be the first step on the road to a state funeral. You're up against serious competition here, Wirrmann. You merely apply the law. The General makes it."

      “Not for me, he doesn't," said Wirrmann, permitting himself a slightly condescending smile.

      At a signal from the mess senior sergeant the orderlies appeared with the soup, and carried it past the officers into the dining-room.

      This was a sure sign that the various scouts posted along the route had spotted the General's approach. The few people who had managed to engage in conversation fell silent. The officers fell in, the junior ones automatically stepping to the rear while the more senior prepared to confront the General.

      “Gentlemen, the General!" cried Major Frey. It was a superfluous announcement. The gentlemen were already standing rigidly to attention as if turned to concrete by their sense of discipline.

      Major-General Modersohn approached with measured strides, accompanied by his A.D.C., to whom no one seemed to pay the slightest attention. The officers had eyes only for their General, who came to a halt exactly one pace inside the threshold and surveyed the assembled company. It was as if he were thinking of counting them and registering them individually. Only then did he bring his hand up to the peak of his cap and say: “Good evening, gentlemen."

      "Good evening, sir!" the officers replied in chorus.

      The General nodded, not so much acknowledging the greeting as ratifying it. For the voices had been nicely in harmony, and adequate in volume. “At ease, please," he said, and the officers complied immediately. Or at least they relaxed sufficiently to push the left foot slightly forward and to one side. But no one dared to speak.

      Major-General Modersohn now took off his cap, and unbuttoned and removed his greatcoat, handing first one and then the other to an orderly standing stiffly at his side. The General utterly refused to allow himself to be helped in any mundane activity of this sort.

      The officers followed their General's every movement with the keenest interest, and watched him take a sheet of paper from his cuff, unfold it and read it. It seemed almost as if he were taking in one of those telegrams which start wars. Finally the General looked up and said: “The subject for to-night's tactical exercise will be a major outbreak of fire in the barracks."

      And with that, consternation really set in. This was a subject full of all sorts of hidden surprises—the more experienced officers realized that at once. If it had been a question of organizing a raiding party, maneuvering companies into position, or if necessary even bringing up whole divisions, they could have managed it. But a major outbreak of fire in barracks had no place in the training curriculum at all, nor had they ever had the slightest practical experience in this field.

      “Well, I hope you've all made your wills, gentlemen?" said Feders delightedly, under his breath. "Because I'm afraid this major outbreak of fire in the barracks is going to cook quite a number of people's geese for them."

      The mess sergeant appeared, a sort of head waiter with military training. Behind him two orderlies opened the swing doors leading into the dining-room, whereupon the sergeant stepped up to the General much as if he were approaching royalty. He came to a halt, thrust out his chest, laid his fingers down the seams of his trousers, and said: “I beg to inform the General that the soup is on the table!"

      Modersohn nodded briefly with that touch of affability СКАЧАТЬ