Court Martial (28 page)

'What the devil would anybody want with a wildcat up here at the Arctic Circle?' asks Muller in wonder.

'If you've got any enemies it'll fix 'em in two shakes. If it gets any madder than it is now it'd put an infantry division to flight. Wait here and keep your ear to the phone!'

A little later the sound of hissing, spitting and snarling comes through the earpiece. 'What d'you think of it?' asks Sally proudly. 'Hear how mad he is? And that's just his normal temperament. Tease him a bit and I'm the only one who dares to stay inside HQ. If he once got out of his cage there'd be no garrison left in Paderborn before we knew where we were. Shall I send him up to you lot? Save you placing guards at night!'

'We don't want any wildcats here,' shouts Hofmann. 'Tell him we're sending the whisky today!'

'
We
?' growls Wolf, condescendingly. 'As if
you
had any whisky to send!'

'Wildcat,' says Porta, rolling the world around his mouth. 'Is that one of those beasts with the pointed, triangular ears?'

'Right,' replies Wolf, 'good animals to stay clear of. Throw one of 'em into Hell and the Devil and his grandmother too'll take it on the lam and leave the place to the wildcat!'

'I think I've got an idea,' says Porta, looking even more intently at his reflection in the mirror. 'Wildcat! Not so bad, not so bad!'

'No wildcats,' shouts Hofmann, nervously. 'Did you understand me, Porta? That's an order!'

'Very good, Herr Hauptfeldwebel,' barks Porta. 'Wildcat,' he whispers to himself a little later and looks at Wolf, who winks back at him.

'Got any other hook-nosed friends in Paderborn, Muller?' asks Hofmann, marching nervously up and down the floor. 'Then ring up and get them together. You know the doctrine. Don't disperse your strength.
Klotzen, nicht lockern
, as Panzer-general Guderian has taught us.'

The whole of the afternoon and most of the evening goes by on the telephone. But despite all the activity their only hope remains Wachtmeister Sally.

Hofmann sits down in his swivel chair and puts his feet on the desk.

The following day a heavy silence hangs over the company office. Every time the telephone rings we all jump. Black and menacing, it stands in the middle of the desk in front of Hofmann.

'Even if the Fuhrer wants to speak to me personally on any subject,' roars Hofmann, 'I'm not here! You don't know where I am and you don't know when I'll be back. D'you understand me, you dogs?'

Just before midday the telephone rings loud and shrill for the umpteenth time.

'Fifth Company here,' I answer it.

'How's everything with you?' asks an oily voice, which I feel I ought to recognise.

'Who is calling?' I ask.

'Can't you guess?'

'No, but I know your voice.'

'I'm glad to hear you can recognise the voice of an old friend. Is Hofmann there? Tell the shit there's somebody wants to talk to him.'

I point to the telephone and look inquiringly at Hofmann, who shakes his head violently and points out of the window.

'No, the Hauptfeldwebel isn't here. Is there any message?'

'Yes, tell him that your arses may be burning now but if I don't play the part of a good comrade and keep my mouth shut about what I know they'll be that hot you could fry eggs on 'em!'

Suddenly I realise who it is I am speaking to. I'd know that laugh amongst a thousand. Staff QM Sieg!

Hofmann goes white. He has obviously guessed who it is on the telephone.

'Is that Staff QM Sieg?' I ask, uneasily.

'Inspector, Field Security Police,' he corrects me. 'I have been posted to Gefepo
49
. That is what happens when a man is good at his work and pulls in criminals to receive their just punishment. How are my old friends, Wolf and Porta, getting on? Still falsifying papers in cahoots with Hofmann are they? I hear they've changed your flashes to the Star of David!'

Hofmann bangs the desk silently several times. He is almost green in the face from suppressed rage.

'I don't understand what you mean.'

'Oh yes, you do! You understand me very well. Don't you think I found out what kind of games were going on while I was serving with your stinking company? You can tell the others, if they don't already know it, that it's the death penalty for letting a Jew stay alive on a dead German's papers!'

'What's this to do with us?' I ask, with dreadful forebodings.

'Don't play silly buggers!' Sieg grins, wickedly. 'You know damn well you're on thin ice! If I pass that story on you'll be lucky if they only let you keep your heads! In any case you'll be permanent inmates at Torgau!'

'What's it cost to stop your tongue from wagging?' I ask, sharply.

Hofmann slaps his forehead, and looks as if he could eat me.

I offer him the telephone but he recoils from it as if it were red-hot.

'Now you're being sensible. I want fifty thousand Reichsmarks to forget my duty to National Socialism, and I want them inside twenty-four hours. One of you'll meet me with the dough on the little path behind the fort. But don't try anything!'

I look inquiringly at Hofmann, who is whispering conspiratorially with Porta and Wolf.

'Now then, what's it to be?' asks Sieg, impatiently. Will you pay up? Or do I come and pick up the circumcised prick?'

I appeal to Hofmann again. He nods with unconcealed distaste.

'Okay,' I answer him. 'You'll be informed when we'll be there with the ducats. We've got to collect them first!'

'You'd be wise to get hold of 'em
fast
!' Sieg rings off with
a
demonstrative clatter.

'That dirty jackal,' bawls Hofmann, banging his fist on the desk so hard that the telephone dances. 'That wicked shit's got to be put out of the way! He's
dangerous
!'

'Herr Hauptfeldwebel, sir, now we must bite on the bullet and keep our heads clear,' shouts Porta. 'Perhaps we
do
need a wildcat,' he says, thoughtfully. 'A creature like that can make mincemeat of a man, before you can say Jack Robinson!'

'Wouldn't it be wiser to pay him?' says Hofmann. 'We can scrape fifty thousand together!'

'I can, but
you
can't,' says Wolf, superciliously.

'Don't forget I'm in this too,' remarks Porta, drily. 'If there's money to be put out I'm going to get stuck for half of it. But in principle I don't
like
paying out blackmail. That Kaffir bastard'll not be satisfied with the fifty thousand. He's insatiable. We'll wind up being his slaves!'

'Emil Sieg is a wicked old rambag,' shouts Tiny, indignantly. 'Let's go an' shoot 'oles in 'im now! These kind of things've got to be fixed quick!'

'The sneaky rat thinks he's smart,' says Porta, spitting on the floor.

Hofmann has difficulty in controlling himself. Nobody has ever dared to spit on his office floor before. In helpless rage he kicks out again at the company cat, but as usual misses her.

'He was a shit then, when we were encumbered with the bastard in this company,' continues Porta, taking one of Hofmann's cigars without being invited.

'That's enough,' growls Hofmann warningly, locking the cigar box in a drawer of his desk.

'What if he was to tell Sieg as how old men are sometimes better off dead,' grins Tiny, smoothly, 'then maybe' is better judgement might make 'im ask for a postin' to some far-off spot?'

'All this nonsense for the sake of a shitty
Yid!
' says Hofmann, bitterly. 'Porta! For Christ's sake find a way out. You're quick enough on the uptake as a rule!'

'Let's have a cup of coffee,' suggests Porta, and without being asked goes and finds Hofmann's valuable reserve of beans.

'Coffee clears the brain!'

Tiny hands round the cups. He salutes Hofmann as he goes past him.

Porta takes a long swig of coffee and looks around him, pleasantly.

'We could invite Emil out some evening. One of those places with Lapland girls. You know 'em. Up with your glass an' down with your trousers! On the way home after the party we knock him on the head and push him down one of the sewers. That does for him and his corpus delicti at one fell swoop!'

Tiny bends over, roaring with laughter at the thought of Emil down a sewer.

'On the Reeperbahn we'd a nose by the name of Emil. Emil the Dwarf we called 'im, 'cause 'e was one! We put Emil down a sewer in Davidstrasse. We'd thought of droppin" im in the river first of all but one of the bints 'ad the bright idea of usin' the sewers. When 'e went down there was a great big suckin' noise like
when
a stopped-up water closet goes loose.'

'You seem to know all about that sort of thing. What about you and Gregor doing the job?' suggests Wolf, insidiously.

'Why don't you go along?' asks Gregor, rocking nervously on his chair. 'How'd you think it ought to be done?'

The sewer idea ain't bad,' says Wolf, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 'You could, of course, go straight into his pigsty and let off at everybody in sight. You'd be certain to hit Sieg together with all the rest.'

'Count me out,' decides Tiny, categorically, ''ow do we get away when the shooters are empty?'

'Something'd turn up while you're doin' the job,' Wolf rallies him.

No good,' Gregor rejects the idea with decision. 'Dangerous as all get-out.'

After a long conference Tiny and Gregor agree to go into Petsamojoki and do the job quickly and efficiently.

'Every evening Sieg leaves his place of duty, and returns to his quarters in Starja Street,' Porta explains. 'The shit's usually on his own. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to knock him off when he's on his way down Jyvaskula Alley. If both of you let go at him at the same time one of you's sure to blow his candle out!'

'What about if he's got one of these Lapland whores with him?' asks Gregor, worriedly.

'If she's in the way, knock her off, too,' decides Wolf, loftily. 'Women like that have got to learn it's dangerous to run around with Germans, and particularly dangerous if they're MPs. It might even be of preventative value, so the MPs can't get hold of cunt any more, and
that
I would be happy to see.'

'I don't like it,' says Gregor, uneasily. 'My primitive instincts tell me it's wrong. What if there's a lot of trigger-happy types around? Bullet's ain't choosers. They don't give a sod who they perforate.'

With some anxiety they scramble into an amphibian, which Wolf has organised for the job.

'Take him when he turns into Starkaja Street,' suggests Hofmann. 'It's black as the inside of your hat there. You can knock him off easy as a cannibal pickin' a banana!'

'
Do
cannibals eat bananas?' asks Tiny, with a simple look on his face.

'Don't ask silly questions, Creutzfeldt,' says Hofmann, sharply. 'Off you go and reduce our load of troubles by one!'

As they swing down Tolo Street, they catch sight of Emil Sieg.

'Holy Mother of Kazan, there's our mark,' screams Gregor, excitedly. In a colossal jump he is out of the vehicle and goes at Sieg like a tank aiming to run over a frog.

Tiny swings the amphibian up on to the pavement immediately in front of Sieg, who has to jump quickly to one side to avoid being crushed against the wall. The amphibian crashes into the wall.

'Why don't you stand still, you cowardly sod?' shouts Tiny, indignantly.

Sieg lets out
a
hoarse scream and looks round despairingly for help.

'Oh Cripes!' roars Tiny, jumping from the amphibian with his pistol ready in his hand.

Sieg whirls round. He knows what is happening and tears at his holster, but it is one of the new, elegant types which is not easy to get open.

Tiny lifts the Nagan and stretches his arm towards him.

'Now you're goin' to die, you twisted son of a bitch,' he screams, murderously.

Sieg drops down like lightning and rolls under a parked lorry.

'Send for the undertaker, he's a corpse already!' howls Gregor enthusiastically, going down on his knees to liquidate Sieg whom he thinks is under the lorry. But all he sees is Sieg's officer's boots, drumming through the half-melted snow so that it spurts to all sides.

Without regard for passers-by Gregor fires at the boots, but only succeeds in hitting the tyres of a Finnish artillery lorry. The whole street is in an uproar. Three MPs drop down and open fire in the wrong direction.

Some Supplies Corps soldiers say they have seen five Russian paratroopers running through the streets pulling a German General after them on the end of a rope.

Tiny and Gregor jump into the amphibian and drive after Sieg, who is now a good distance away.

He runs down an alley which is too narrow for the vehicle to enter.

'Now we've got him,' howls Tiny, looking like a bulldog which has found the bone somebody had stolen from it.

On foot they go after Sieg, who is in no doubt that he is running for his life. He curses himself for having gone into the blackmail business.

Behind him come the two assassins, thundering down the alley like a couple of express trains on their way through a tunnel, and ready to spread death and destruction around them.

'Come out, you crooked dog, so I can put a bullet in you,' Tiny bawls. 'We're gonna fix you
right
! Count on
that
!'

A couple of shots crack down the alley and bullets ricochet from the walls of the houses. The alley is a long one, but some way down it there is an elbow, with a little passage into which a man can disappear if he knows where it is. Sieg knows. A few days ago he caught a deserter in that same passage.

He checks and almost flies through the air as, at the last minute, he turns the corner into the passage.

Two and a half seconds later Tiny and Gregor blunder past, splashing melted snow up the walls from their boots.

Sieg just catches sight of Tiny's pale-grey bowler, which is pressed firmly down on his head.

The alley ends in a wall, the end wall of a five-storey building. They brake to a halt, their studded boots striking sparks from the stones, and stare in amazement at the impassable wall.