Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ