Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

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      Hochbauer walked down the center gangway to the back of the room, followed by Kramer, the section senior. Two other cadets, Amfortas and Andreas, joined the procession, though more to cover the rear than for any other purpose. The room was poorly heated, but the temperature seemed to have risen appreciably.

      “Now what's all this melodrama so early in the morning!” cried Mösler, looking round for some way of escape.

      Rednitz had also risen. He looked rather pale but managed to convey a certain air of light-heartedness nevertheless. He waited until Hochbauer was standing in front of him and then made an effort to broaden his friendly smile. He wasn't afraid, being too well acquainted with the freakish twists of fate at the front to have any fear of this posturing youth. And although he was about the same age as Hochbauer, he felt himself almost an old man by contrast.

      “Rednitz,” said Hochbauer in an unmistakably menacing tone, “I don't like your nasty insinuations.”

      “You don't need to listen to them!”

      “I regard my honor as at stake over this,” said Hochbauer.

      “If nothing else,” said Rednitz. Cadet Rednitz looked round at the flat, pallid faces of his companions, and found little support there. But he was grateful for Mösler's hand on his arm, and noticed that the bull-like Weber, Egon, was maneuvering into position, though less out of loyalty than at the prospect of a fight for its own sake. The net effect, however, was likely to be the same.

      “You will apologies to Hochbauer,” Kramer ordered Rednitz, and Amfortas and Andreas nodded energetically. “This has gone beyond a joke.”

      “I think we both agree on that,” said Rednitz. “The problem is to convince Hochbauer.”

      The cadets watched the dispute with rising misgiving, sensing unnecessary complications. Things were difficult enough as it was, on the course, without having dissensions in their own ranks which were just a dangerous waste of time.

      The majority of the cadets respected Kramer as their section senior. He had spent a good deal of time as a corporal and thus had the necessary experience for the job without being clever enough to rule by intrigue. He was in fact a relatively decent fellow, a real plodder, and they could hardly have found anyone better.

      But the cadets also tolerated Hochbauer as deputy section senior, having quickly realized that he was one of the ambitious ones of this world. There was no way of stopping him or placating him except by letting him have his own way. That he also happened to be a powerful athlete and an expert in ideology were additional reasons for letting him have his head.

      These, then, were the basic considerations in the minds of the cadets. The line of least resistance was their chief concern: and life simply had to be taken as it came. This was why the provocative attitude of Rednitz and Mösler seemed nothing short of irresponsible. The instinct for self-preservation alone demanded that such outsiders should receive no support.

      “I’m waiting,” said Hochbauer, looking at Rednitz as if he were some sort of louse.

      “As far as I'm concerned,” said Rednitz, “you can wait there till the cows come home.”

      “I’ll give you five seconds,” said Cadet Hochbauer. “After that my patience will be exhausted.”

      “Be reasonable, Rednitz I” implored Kramer. “After all we're all comrades here, all in the same boat. Apologize and it'll all be forgotten.”

      “Out of my way, Kramer!” cried Hochbauer firmly. “One has to talk plain German with people like this!”

      Kramer still wanted to act the peacemaker, but Hochbauer pushed his way forward, followed by his bodyguard Amfortas and Andreas. Then everyone stopped where they were and listened.

      “Look out! He's coming!” cried a hoarse, excited voice.

      This was Cadet Böhmke; a poetically inclined individual who in consequence found himself allotted every sort of dreary special duty. This time he had been posted as look-out.

      “Look out!” he repeated.

      “Attention!” cried Kramer with relief. “To your places, men!”

      Captain Ratshelm walked into the classroom followed by Lieutenant Krafft. Cadet Kramer reported: “Section H for Heinrich—forty men all present and correct, sir.”

      “Thank you,” said Ratshelm. “At ease please!” “Stand at ease!” cried Kramer.

      The cadets pushed their left feet forward and sideways and waited. Each knew perfectly well that the order Captain Ratshelm had just issued was an imperfect one. But he could afford to do that sort of thing: he wasn't on the course.

      He corrected himself: “You may sit down.”

      “Be seated!” cried Kramer.

      The cadets sat down very correctly, with their hands on the desk in front of them in the prescribed manner for the presence of officers. They now began to cast a wary eye on Lieutenant Krafft, without, however, for one moment forgetting to give the impression that their whole attention was riveted on Captain Ratshelm, the senior officer present.

      Captain Ratshelm now addressed them with gusto. “Gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce to you your new section officer, Lieutenant Krafft. I know you'll give him your full respect and confidence.”

      Ratshelm looked about him with a challenging air of optimism, concluding with the words: “Lieutenant Krafft, I hereby hand over to you your section and wish you every success.”

      The cadets watched the ceremony with mixed feelings, noting the exchange of handshakes between the two officers, the radiant look on Ratshelm's face and the tough smile on Krafft's. Then Ratshelm strutted from the room, leaving H Section alone with its new section officer.

      The cadets couldn't make much of him at first. Outwardly he bore a certain resemblance to a bull. His face wore a serious expression, and his glance seemed to sweep over them indifferently. He seemed to have no particular quality that one could pick on, which rather increased their uneasiness. They had no idea yet who it was they had to deal with. And yet everything seemed possible, including of course the worst.

      Lieutenant Krafft saw forty faces staring up at him, forty vague, colorless, identical faces in which he found it quite impossible to make out the details. Somewhere in the back row he thought he discovered a pair of friendly eyes for a moment, but couldn't find them again when he looked for them. Instead he saw passive indifference, watchful reserve, and cautious mistrust.

      “Right, gentlemen,” said the Lieutenant. “We must get to know each other. I am your new section officer, Lieutenant Krafft, born in 1916, at Stettin, to be precise, where my father was an official of the post office. I worked on a large agricultural estate as farm foreman and as accountant in the estate office, and was then called up in the Wehrmacht. And that's about all. Now it's your turn. Let's begin with the section senior.”

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