Crack of Doom (9 page)

Kolodzi pushed the door a bit more open. Snow-covered bushes flashed past, telegraph poles and wood. "I think this is it," he said. "Get ready!" He pushed the door wide open and stood poised to jump. The engine reduced its speed with a sudden jerk.

Kolodzi leaned out. Signal lights flashed by, then a few houses with lighted windows: in the grey light they looked cold and hostile. There was now only a slight snow fall. The noise of the snow plow had stopped, the engine whistled shrilly, then the wheels rumbled over the switches. A chain of red lanterns appeared round a bend, and further on the glare of powerful searchlights.

Kolodzi swung round, knocking into Alfred, who stumbled back in alarm. "Now!" he hissed, and crouched to jump. But at that instant he noticed some men standing on the line and staring up in his direction. The engine braked sharply, to move past the lanterns at a walking pace. On the other side there were enormous holes torn out of the track. Near it lay the debris of a freight train, there were rails sticking up into the air, and in between many people running to and fro. The engine passed the searchlights, where about fifty men were struggling with a shapeless lump that had a tube sticking out of it. "What's that?" asked Alfred.

Kolodzi relaxed from his tense position. "What was it, you mean. A railway gun. Must have been an air raid. Bad luck for us."

"Because we missed the right moment. There's the station already."

Alfred tried to get past, but Kolodzi gripped him, saying sharply: "Stay here. Sit in your corner, and don't budge. We mustn't make a mistake now."

The locomotive stopped. Looking through the chink, Kolodzi saw the engineer climb down. In a moment he came running up and pushed the door open. "Out with you." He looked tensely around. "Make off across there," he said, pointing into the darkness. In case you're caught, you haven't been traveling with me. See the fence there—get away over that. Don't let them pick you up, all hell is loose here—they blew up the local HQ today."

"Our people?"

"Don't be a fool—the partisans, of course. Now get going!"

With his head bent, Kolodzi ran over the line to a board fence, where he stopped and looked back. He saw the engineer vanishing into a dark shed, followed by the fireman. Further to the right was the main station building, looking black and dirty in the clammy grey of the morning; only its roof was white. He waited, leaning against the fence and looking over toward the shed. He had just decided to lose no more time when he heard a movement behind him. Crouching down against the fence, he looked through one of the cracks. At the back of the fence was a road, and he could see two sentries, steel-helmeted and with tommy-guns slung over the shoulder; now they had passed on. Kolodzi waited a few seconds longer, then dashed over the line, round the engine and up to the car. He pushed open the door, and found himself looking into Alfred's face, which relaxed at once.

"Get out! We haven't much time."

They raced toward the fence. Kolodzi stood with his back to it and clasped his hands in front of him. "See if you can see the sentries, two of them, with steel helmets."

"Over there?"

"Where else?"

Alfred climbed on to Kolodzi's hands and pulled himself to the top of the fence. "Nothing," he whispered.

"Then over quickly."

The fence's boards were spiked, and Alfred got his coat stuck. Panting, he wrenched it free, and jumped down to the road, followed closely by Kolodzi—who got his bearings at a single glance. To the left, as he now remembered, the road went steeply downhill, curved sharply and disappeared in a tunnel, to come out the other side of the railway; the two sentries must have gone in this direction. To the right the road went straight along by the fence, while on the other side of it there was a row of trees. Behind them a white plain stretched as far as the mountains, which stood out against the grey sky more and more distinctly.

He stiffened up; from the right the sentries appeared again. They were striding along the fence, the tommy-guns ready in their hands, their faces dark under the tin helmets. Alfred had seen them too; he gripped Kolodzi's arm and hissed: "Let's run for it." They raced down toward the tunnel, and a voice yelled after them, but they kept running. They could not be the same sentries he had seen before, Kolodzi thought feverishly. At his side he heard Alfred panting. It was another fifty yards to where the road branched off into the tunnel. The main road continued on in the same direction, but to his left was the high embankment and on the other side the snowy plane which offered no cover: the tunnel was their only chance. The yelling behind them suddenly stopped. The crack of a tommy-gun shot sounded above their heads, then another, then more and more; they ran for their lives. They charged round the corner, and like a huge black maw the tunnel opened ahead of them, a hundred and sixty yards long. Without a moment's pause, Kolodzi dashed in; it was pitch dark. They kept close to the right wall, and ran as hard as they could go.

Behind them, the dry crack of another tommy-gun sounded, booming through the tunnel like a cannon; a ricocheting bullet whistled just above their heads, then all was quiet. Kolodzi stopped running so abruptly that Alfred bumped into him in the darkness. "What is it?" he asked, and receiving no answer, looked ahead, where the opening of the tunnel appeared like a smudge of grey. Out there one could hear several voices shouting back and forth. Alfred leaned against the wall. "They've got us," he said in a resigned voice.

"Not yet." Kolodzi took the tommy-gun off his back: he needed time to think. It was a novel situation for him, because this time it was not Russians but Germans who were after him. It was a paralyzing thought, and for a moment he felt like a man wrongly suspected of a crime. It was as if he only needed to reach the tunnel exit in order to clear up the misunderstanding with a few words. But then he remembered that he had a deserter with him and had himself left Oviz without leave. He might have been able to explain that, he thought: after all, he had Schmitt's movement order in his pocket, and he could surely try something with that; easy enough to think up a special mission he had been sent on. And he could say he simply had to get to the station so as to look out for a train; only then he oughtn't to have let himself be caught climbing over the fence with Alfred—because obviously the sentries saw them. You're a damned fool, he told himself furiously, why did you ever let yourself in for this at all? You knew it might go wrong.

It was pitch dark in the middle of the tunnel. At its exit, where the patch of grey had grown brighter, the noise had stopped. Kolodzi felt for Alfred's arm and whispered: "Back."

Although they tried to walk quietly, the nails of their boots crunched on the stone ground as if they were walking over splintered glass. They went down on their knees and crept forward on all fours. The ground was cold. Kolodzi felt as if he were crawling through a black pipe; only the patch of grey at the exit showed the direction. His brain was working feverishly, thinking of the two sentries who had fired at them.

Were they waiting outside the tunnel till it grew lighter? Were they getting reinforcements, would there already be machine guns waiting for them at each end of the tunnel?

. Kolodzi jumped to his feet, took his tommy-gun in his hand and began to run. Behind him he heard Alfred's scared voice, but he took no notice of that, nor did he remember any longer that it was German soldiers who were out for his blood. He thought of nothing at all now, simply ran fast and steadily, no longer worrying about the noise his boots were making. Schmitt's binoculars knocked against his chest, but he didn't register that either. His tall, sinewy body had become anesthetized by a single thought, and when a tommy-gun cracked off somewhere, he did not even bend his back. Bits of stone were torn up in front of him, but he only shook his head slightly and ran on steadily with a murderous determination. When he reached the tunnel exit, he saw five men race up the road as though the devil were after them, and further up what seemed a solid wall of soldiers was rolling toward them. He heard sirens shrilling, a tommy-gun barked, the shots came whistling through the cold air. At last he stopped and looked round.

Alfred came running out of the tunnel, looked along the street and then turned left. Kolodzi bounded toward him, yelling: "To the embankment!" They clambered up the slope, sinking up to their knees in snow, slipped back, gasped, clutched on to lumps of icy snow; then they were on top. Before them stood the fence, dark and threatening, nearly seven feet high. Kolodzi heard shouting on the road, shots whizzed near them, near his shoulder one bullet struck a hole into the fence; the hole was so big he could have stuck his finger through it. He threw his tommy-gun over the fence and pulled himself up. Taking in at a glance that there was no one on the other side, he jumped down. The snow broke his fall, he was on his feet again at once and retrieved his gun. Looking up, he saw that Alfred had not come over the fence.

He dashed back and pressed his face against a crack, just in time to see Alfred sliding down the embankment slope. Soldiers came running across the road, and it was already so light that he could see the badges on their coats: Military Police. More and more thronged behind them, the whole road was full of them. The first three reached the slope, and he saw Alfred kicking at them; one of them reached out with his gun and there was an ugly sound. Now they grabbed Alfred, and began battering him with their fists, kicking him in the stomach with their nailed boots, and left off only when he had stopped moving and lay in the snow, a lump of bleeding flesh. Then they came running up the embankment. Kolodzi saw their distorted faces, ugly grimaces under bobbing steel helmets: German soldiers. Half mad with terror he pushed the barrel of his gun through the crack and emptied the whole magazine. Then he was running away from the fence across the snow-covered tracks. He was crying but he did not notice it. All he could think was: that's how it is, and again: so that's how it is. Some men came toward him, he raised his tommy-gun with the empty magazine and they ran away in alarm. Instinctively he swerved off into another direction. He scrambled under a string of freight cars, crossed tracks and switches in great bounds, and came up against a wall. He vaulted over it not noticing that his hands were torn and bleeding from the glass fragments on top. He came out into a deserted street. Without reducing his speed, he ran as far as the next crossroad and fifty yards beyond; only then did he drop to a walk. Three civilians were standing under a door and stared at him. He did not see them. Blindly he marched to Maria's house. The front door was open, he went down a dark hall, and saw Maria. When Kolodzi came in, she looked up incredulously. "Yes," he said, "it's really me."

She jumped up and flung her arms round him. "What's happened, Stefan?"

"Nothing."

"That's not true. Just look at yourself."

"I'm all right." His knees were tottering, he dropped into a chair and asked: "Where's your father?"

"I don't know. What's happened? Do tell me, please." She pressed against him, panting. "What's happened, Stefan?"

Kolodzi did not answer. A red cloud hung over his brain, he could taste salt water at the corners of his mouth, and there was a lump in his throat so big he couldn't swallow it. But Maria was with him. Through the thin dress he could feel her trembling. He caressed her shoulders, her neck; and the warmth of her body enveloped him. Her mouth was against his ear, he heard her say something, but shook his head and pressed her to him still tighter. Somewhere there was the hum of boiling water, a clock ticked, a dull light crept through the kitchen window—it was already day.

CHAPTER

5

With Colonel Schnetzler and Captain Sitt the division had lost its two senior staff officers after the general; following the conference at headquarters, Captain Meisel also went off to an army hospital for treatment of his injured arm. For several hours the extensive and complicated machinery of division headquarters was wholly in the hands of Major Giesinger, the divisional adjutant. He was not completely at ease in his new role; he had failed to make the brilliant entrance he had previously imagined, and the quarrel with Fuchs had left him vaguely unsettled.

The HQ was housed in the huge villa of a Czech industrialist, now living with his family on the top floor, where the servants used to sleep. By Czech standards the house was luxuriously furnished. Giesinger's room possessed a wide projecting bay with a big desk, a smoking table and four comfortable chairs. Opposite, built into the paneled wall, there was an open fireplace with elaborate wood carving and graceful pillars on both sides, which had immediately aroused his enthusiasm the first time he entered the room: it was an exact replica of a fifteenth-century chimney piece he had once seen in Florence.

He was a passionate connoisseur, and his flat in Aachen had swallowed up over half the respectable fortune which his father had accumulated in thirty years of flourishing legal practice. On the other hand, it contained a good fifty treasures, collected from all over the world, any one of which was worth a small fortune: Giesinger stinted neither money nor effort to transform his residence into a private museum.

Now he was seriously considering whether there was any chance of dismantling part of the fireplace and packing it home in a big chest. He mentioned the idea to Captain Hardorff, whom he had invited over for a drink, when the latter arrived.

Knowing Giesinger's hobbyhorse, Hardorff, a lanky man with grey hair, smiled. "The pillars perhaps. Only I'm afraid they wouldn't survive the journey, traveling conditions being what they are."

"No, I suppose they wouldn't," said Giesinger. He took Hardorff by the arm and led him to the table where drinks were set up.

The room was at the back of the house, and had a view on to a large park, which formed part of the grounds. Giesinger went quickly over to the window and looked out. "It's snowing," he said in dismay.

"So it is. Bad for Schmitt."

Giesinger bit his lip. Then he drew the heavy curtains, saying: "Had to expect it." He got one of the bottles, filled the glasses and sat down. "You didn't open your mouth once the whole conference," he remarked.

Hardorff took a sip from his glass. "I know. But what can a dyed-in-the-wool bureaucrat like me say? I can figure out for you exactly the number of superfluous forms that are filled in the division on an average day, but if you ask me how to catch partisans, I'm out of my depth."

Giesinger was disappointed. He needed someone who could help him regain his self-confidence. "What would you have done in my place?" he asked.

"Probably the same as you. As to Herr Fuchs—but I needn't say anything against him, you can do that much better than I can. Only I feel you let
him
impress you too much."

"If that's what you feel, you're quite wrong. Herr Fuchs doesn't impress me one little bit. I'm not thinking of him, but the others. They're all against me."

"Appearances are deceptive, you shouldn't get wrought up like this. Hepp's with you, for instance."

"Did he tell you so?"

Hardorff nodded. "We discussed it afterward. I know that goes for Pfeiffer and Hartung too. You needn't care what the rest think."

Giesinger felt slightly relieved. He set great store by Hardorff's opinion. Since he discovered Hardorff s keen interest in his own hobby, he had several times invited him to share a bottle of wine, and they had agreed to continue their acquaintance after the war. Hardorff was a confirmed bachelor with a great taste for literature and art, and an amazing grasp of their history. Giesinger felt something almost like friendship for him; their conversations were seldom intended for other ears.

"You can't rely on their chatter," Giesinger said now. "They talk like that to you because they know you and I are friendly. Hepp, for instance, is typical. I know exactly what he thinks of me and how he usually talks about me. Let him—it doesn't matter in this kind of situation. What
does
matter is the fact that we have a bit more brain than the others. Look at our higher staff officers till now, they were brainy enough and yet. . . ."

The telephone rang. Giesinger went to the desk, and announced on returning to his chair: "That was Colonel Hopper. He says his battalions are hearing powerful engines, probably tanks, on the Russian side, and he wants to send out a patrol. He reports a lot of activity over there."

"In this weather?"

"That's what I said. The people up there may have been hearing anything. Our own artillery perhaps."

"Did he ask for the general?"

Giesinger nodded angrily. "What was I to tell him? Corps doesn't want it talked about."

"Colonel Wieland will be pretty staggered when he hears."

"He will indeed. He's known the general since 1916, they were in the first war together." He noticed that Hardorff had finished his glass. "Sorry, I'm a bad host-why don't you help yourself?"

"I think that's plenty," said Hardorff, stealing a glance at his watch. "It's three a.m. already."

"Oh, stay a little longer. When the new general comes, there'll be a load of work for me, and who knows when we'll have another chance for a chat. Besides I'm afraid. . . ." The phone rang again. Giesinger got up with an oath. "Ill never get any sleep this night."

Colonel Wieland from 318 Regiment was asking impatiently for the general's aide. Giesinger expressed his regrets. "Impossible at the moment, sir. Can I.. ."

"You can tell Schnetzler there's something brewing over here. It's not just imagination, I've been forward myself. If the anti-tank guns don't come, I can't be responsible for what happens."

"We're doing our utmost, sir. Don't you think that in this weather . . ."

"Weather!" yelled Wieland. "When did the Russians ever bother about weather? I need at least two guns for the road. How about that?"

Giesinger considered. He knew the anti-tank section had lost almost all their guns during the fighting in the Carpathians. But now he remembered that there was a platoon somewhere with a twenty-five pounder, and he promised the colonel this. "In two hours that gun will be with you, and two light guns as well." He hung up, and turned to HardorfF. "I'd like to hear how things look with Scheper. Wieland claims to have observed equally strong movements on the other side."

"That sounds bad," said Hardorff, and listened anxiously while Giesinger was phoning the regiment. "All quiet with Scheper," he told Hardorff over his shoulder. "But Lieutenant Scheuben from the artillery tells me his observers have also heard engines. I'd better inform Kolmel, just to be on the safe side ..." He asked for corps.

Kolmel answered at once, and directly he heard Giesinger's voice, said: "What's up in Scheper's sector?"

"He hasn't reported anything special. Seems to be more in Wieland's and Hopper's."

"Along the road then," said Kolmel. "Hold on a moment."

Giesinger heard him talking to someone, then he was back. "We're moving Flamingo forward to Ko-§ice. Look after their billets. In the east of the town, if possible." He gave a few more instructions, which Giesinger hastily scribbled on a pad. Flamingo was the code name for an assault regiment: this one was corps reserve, at present near Jaszo, its commander being Lieutenant Colonel Kreisel, who held the Knight's Cross.

After ringing off, Giesinger picked up the receiver again, and asked for Lieutenant Hartung. When he eventually came back from the telephone, he exclaimed in affected exasperation: "Damn it, am I a horse? If things go on like this, I shan't get a wink of sleep."

"You're divisional commander and general's aide rolled into one," suggested Hardorff with a smile.

Giesinger threw himself into the easy chair. The telephoning had been a strain, but also rather exhilarating. He was settling down in his new part, and though he wouldn't have admitted this to anyone, he began to enjoy it enormously. He shook his head. "Not my line, my dear Hardorff. I like my peace and quiet, and I'll be glad when the new general's here."

"Didn't Kolmel say anything about it?"

"Not a word, but they're sending Flamingo forward."

"That's good," said Hardorff, relieved. "Nothing can go wrong then."

Giesinger nodded. "Hartung's phoning the district HQ about billets," he said cheerfully. "I'm sure we don't need Kreisel, but still it's quite comforting to have him."

"Especially as Schmitt's not here."

"What's it got to do with Schmitt?"

"I only meant that if you have Kreisel, you certainly don't need Schmitt."

"Don't tempt providence," said Giesinger in sudden anxiety. He went back to the telephone and spoke to Lieutenant Pfeiffer. "The radio connection's working," he told Hardorff, "I can get Schmitt any time." Despite his confident words, he seemed on edge now, and lit a cigarette.

There was a knock at the door, and Lieutenant Schreiber came in. Giesinger regarded him coldly. "What is it?"

"The trucks that took Captain Schmitt are back, sir."

"Not till now! Why so late?"

"The roads are partly snowed up. Also Captain Schmitt went further on than Szomolnok. The drivers report that the battalion was looking for three German deserters in Oviz."

Giesinger turned to Hardorff in surprise. "What do you say to that?"

"Perhaps three men ran off on the way and went . . . but no, they can't have."

"Impossible. If he's been looking for deserters in Oviz, they must have already deserted in Kosice." Giesinger's eyes narrowed, and his face set in determination. "Well, we'll soon see." He moved quickly to the telephone.

As he was picking up the receiver, the window panes blew into the room. There was a tremendous roar, more glass could be heard shattering somewhere, then all was quiet. Hardorff slid off his chair onto the floor, Schreiber ducked out of the room, and Giesinger stood motionless, gazing toward the window. Then he jumped to the door and switched off the light. He dashed back to the window, crunching glass beneath his feet. He pulled the curtains apart, and started out into the park through the empty window frames, but could only see the trees and the snow falling in big flakes from a black sky. Somewhere a tommy-gun barked, and there were sounds of commotion in the building: doors being torn open, confused voices shouting. Then Hardorff was at the window too, leaning out. "Can you hear anything?" Hardorff asked tensely, listening to the sky.

"Planes, you mean?"

"Yes."

"There won't be any planes in this weather. It must have been the District HQ. Wait a moment." He groped for the telephone and asked for the district headquarters. "Out of order," he told Hardorff. "We must find out what's happened."

They ran into the passage, where a few excited officers were standing about. They noticed Giesinger, and Captain Hepp came over to him. "The District HQ," he said nervously.

"Partisans?" asked Giesinger.

"Seems like it. What shall we do?"

"Go and see."

The district headquarters was in the next street parallel to theirs, and also had a large garden at the back. The grounds of the two houses were separated by a wall, in which the general had had a hole made for direct communication. The officers went through this hole, and after two hundred yards they could make out the other building. At first glance they didn't notice anything unusual, but when they reached its opposite side, they stopped in horrified amazement. The whole front of the house had gone. Where the entrance had been, there was an enormous gaping hole. All the way across the street lay a heap of rubble, remains of furniture and shattered beams. Amidst all this a crowd of soldiers were trying to rescue the occupants of the house. Giesinger saw three of them pulling the upper half of a man's body out of the rubble, while others dragged a bloody bundle across the street, and put it with four others lying there; the sight sent the blood to his head. He swung around, shouting for Captain Hepp, but not finding him, climbed over the rubble to the other side of the street, where wild confusion reigned. Giesinger pushed his way through regardless, and then saw Hepp. The captain stood facing two civilians with blood-smeared faces who were leaning against the wall of a house. "What's up here?" Giesinger demanded.

Hepp turned. "We've got three of them, the sentries saw them when they were trying to run away."

"Where's the third?"

"Lying there."

Giesinger saw a man on the ground with twisted limbs. "Is he dead?"

"Not yet. He's got a bullet in his back."

"Where are the sentries?"

"Here, sir," said a voice.

Giesinger looked into the anxious face of a soldier, who had come up to him with three others. "You were asleep."

The man turned pale. "No, sir. We were . . ."

"Asleep," cried Giesinger. He turned to Hartung at his side. "Have these four arrested and sent to field headquarters at Dobsina—they can do what they like with them. And now to the scum here." He went over to the two civilians. One was young—Giesinger put him at about twenty-five—and looked stubbornly at the ground. The other had a dark face, prominent ears and a red beard; his glance traveled fearfully over the numerous soldiers who had come up and were standing behind Giesinger in a semi-circle.

"We'd better take them to HQ, hadn't we?" said Hepp. "What shall we do with the wounded one?"

Giesinger went over to the man on the ground. He lay on his side and groaned. Looking at the man, Giesinger felt a cold rage rise in him. He glanced round; there were two trees in back of the destroyed building. He pointed to them. "Hang him."

Four soldiers ran off to the next house, and soon came back with a rope; dragging the man under one of the trees, they put the rope round his neck. "Get going," ordered Giesinger.