Wheels of Terror (6 page)

'Well, Unteroffizier, that's what you think!' He brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his big coat lapels as he received his pistol and holed cap from Pluto, who was openly grinning.

Without a sound the commandant walked on his rubber-soles across to the table, he pointed to Reinhardt's improvised bedclothes and ordered into thin air:

'Get it away!'

Ten recruits as well as Reinhardt flew forward to carry out his command. The coat and pillow disappeared like magic.

Slowly the commander unbuttoned his coat. His little grey-covered book came out from his left breastpocket. Ceremoniously dusting himself, he brought out his silver pencil with a flourish. The book was placed on the table at the angle prescribed in the junior schools when lessons in hand-writing are being given. As he wrote he thought out loud:

'Unteroffizier Reinhardt, Hans, serving with No. 3 Company, detailed as guard commander under special circumstances, was found improperly dressed on duty. His tunic was unbuttoned. His belt with pistol was beyond his reach, so it would have been impossible for him to use his own firearms in an emergency. This violates Regulation No. 10618 of April 22nd, 1939, concerning guard duty. Furthermore Army Regulation No. 798, same date and year, was grossly violated as he was found sleeping on the table in the guard-room. Still further, he used the army's greatcoat as a blanket. At the same time an instruction issued by Oberstleutnant von Weisshagen as a Depot Order on the 16th June, 1941, has been broken. It concerns the identification of persons found in the barracks area after 10 p.m. The guard commander takes no decision on such an occasion but sends instead for the orderly officer.'

With a jerk he turned to the gaping Reinhardt:

'Well, Unteroffizier, anything to report?'

Reinhardt was dumbstruck. The commandant adjusted his belt and polished his monocle on a snow-white handkerchief. Then he snapped:

'Obergefreiter Eicken and Fahnenjunkergefreiter Hassel! Take Unteroffizier Reinhardt to the cells! He is under arrest for gross indiscipline on guard duty. The matter will go forward as evidence for a courtmartial. To-morrow he shall be transferred in custody to the 114th Grenadier Regiment Standorts prison. Until relieved of duty Obergefreiter Eicken will serve as guard commander. The patrol carried out their orders correctly and with zeal.'

On his silent feet, he walked out of the guard-room.

'Come along,' Pluto grinned at Reinhardt. 'Any attempt to escape and I use my bayonet!' At the same time he noisily brought his rifle to the ready.

All three of us marched down the passage to the cells. Pluto enthusiastically dangled the big bunch of keys. The dog from cell No. 78 caused Pluto to bellow:

'Shut up! Silence after 10 p.m.!'

With unnecessary noise we shot the bolt back from cell-door No. 13 and pushed Reinhardt in.

'Undress, prisoner, and put everything on the bed,' ordered Pluto taking great pleasure in his role as prison warder.

A few minutes later the broad-chested Reinhardt stood before us as God had made him. A fat peasant of no consequence, robbed of the cords and ribbons without which he was what he had been created: a bewildered, thick-skulled farm labourer.

Pluto was determined to carry out every regulation in the book.

'Prisoner, bend forward,' he ordered, aping Sergeant-Major Edel's roar.

As carefully as any scientist he studied Reinhardt's upturned behind.

'The prisoner has nothing concealed up his backside,' he established with delight.

He then examined the ears of the lost and gaping Reinhardt and announced gleefully:

'Prisoner, do you know the regulation concerning personal cleanliness? This hayseed doesn't know how to shovel the muck out of his ears. Write: the prisoner was found on arrest to be in an extremely dirty condition. His earholes were bunged up with filth.'

'Do you expect me to write as you say?' I wanted to know.

'By God I do! Aren't I guard commander? Haven't I got responsibility for the prison register?'

'Oh shut up, you stupid swine,' I replied. 'As far as I am concerned I don't mind putting your tripe down, but you'll sign it.'

'Yes, sure. Why make all the fuss?' said Pluto.

We examined Reinhardt's uniform miscroscopically. His address book was read through. Pluto was also very interested in a round packet of cigarettes. He sniffed one or two. Then he bawled:

'The prisoner is bloody well in possession of opium-cigarettes! Shall I take care of them, you criminal? Or shall we make out a report? Then you can hear what the court-martial has to say about an NCO who carries narcotics about with him. Well, what do you want done?'

'Bloody well keep them, and stop blowing yourself up any bigger,' answered Reinhardt bitterly.

'Quiet, prisoner, and don't get fresh. Otherwise we'll have to see what the regulations say about obstreperous and difficult prisoners. When you address me it's 'Herr Guard Commander'. Remember that, you cow-pat!'

Grinning, Pluto stuffed the packet of opium-cigarettes into his pocket. Then he gathered up the fallen hero's effects. Everything except his underwear and uniform went into a bag. Pluto pointed to the list I had made out from his dictation:

'Sign here as witness that all your belongings are here. There'll be no nonsense then when in the distant future they turn you loose.'

Reinhardt wanted to check the list, but Pluto cut him short:

'What the hell, do you imagine you'll be allowed to study in prison? Just sign, at once. Then dump your rags outside the door so we can shut you in as the commandant ordered. What a bloody cheek!'

Without protesting Reinhardt did as he was told.

'If you want to use the bucket do it now,' announced Pluto.

'No, Herr Guard Commander,' came reluctantly from Reinhardt. He stood stark naked under the little cell window.

'I hope not for your sake,' said Pluto, 'and God forgive you if you ring during the night. We want peace to think over the serious events which happened tonight.'

'Certainly, Herr Guard Commander!'

Triumphantly Pluto peered into the bare cell before he ordered:

'Good, prisoner. Go to bed, and stay there till you hear reveille.'

He walked out of the cell, banged the door shut, turned the huge lock twice and with exasperating slams shot the two bolts home.

Pluto loved the keys so much that he placed them on the table in front of him in the guard-room. He had often been behind bars himself, and for the first time in his life he was in possession of the keys of a cell. A little later with great delight he started ringing up all the other NCOs on duty in the company billets. He wanted to know the numbers on their nominal rolls. That was a privilege the guard commander was entitled to avail himself of. Every time he got connected to a company he inquired:

'Your voice sounds sleepy. Have you been sleeping?' (Of course they all had.) 'I'll consider if it is my duty to report to the orderly officer about these slips of yours. What's that? "Who is talking?" The guard commander, of course. Who do you think?'

When he had talked to every one of the eight companies, he started at the beginning again. This time he asked the confused NCOs about the state of their sick-parades. Also for a list of the company's arms and ammunition stores; the list to be delivered at the guard-room by 8 a.m. That gave the poor NCOs more than enough work for the night.

Tremendously satisfied with himself Pluto leaned back in the big chair, threw his enormous feet on the table and grabbed the pornographic literature. He was just about to light an opium-cigarette when two recruits came crashing through the door. Between them was a very excited figure in a flowered cotton dress, a scarf on its head and infantry boots on its feet.

'Herr Guard Commander,' announced one of the recruits. 'Tank Gunner Niemeyer humbly reports that in the course of our patrol we arrested this person trying to scale the barracks wall by No. 3 Company billets. The person refuses to give any information and gave Tank Gunner Reichelt a killing punch in the face. His eyes and jaw have swollen dreadfully.'

Pluto blinked a little, but quickly pulled himself together. We had at once recognized Porta, Pluto pushed a chair forward and said with a smile:

'Madam, will you take a seat?'

'Shut your fat gob, or I'll shut it for you!' was Porta's disrespectful answer to the newly promoted guard commander.

Pluto waved the threat aside and shoved Porta into the chair.

'Excuse me, madam. Are you by any chance looking round for your husband? My name is Obergefreiter Gustav Eicken, guard commander, husband-collector, in whose sensitive hands the security of this barracks lies. Or perhaps, madam wishes something else?' With a sudden movement he flung up Porta's skirts so that his sharp knees were revealed in his long army underpants.

'Ah, the latest in Paris fashions no doubt? Very charming, madam. Not every lady possesses such dainty things.'

Porta hit out drunkenly at the big broad-grinning docker, and missed. Abruptly he gave up the struggle.

'God, I'm dry! Bring some beer.'

It all ended by us stowing Porta away in an empty cell. He was too tight to be transported to the company billet. He had been touring a series of shady pubs, from the 'Red Rose' to the 'Merry Cow'. According to him he had had enough girls to last him for two years. In his manoeuvres with the last girl he had had his uniform stolen. The only things left of his kit were his long underpants and infantry boots. These he swore he wore in bed. Somebody had written with oil paint 'Merry Cow' on his bare bottom.

Pluto put him in the guard-book as in by 11 p.m., one hour before the night passes ran out. That at that time he had not yet been promoted to guard commander he completely ignored.

The remainder of the night we played pontoon with our prisoner's money. As Pluto said, Reinhardt didn't need money now.

Guard inspection by the orderly officer came at 8 a.m. and most of the twenty minutes were taken up by explaining what lay behind Pluto's report.

When at last Lieutenant Wagner got the facts into his head, he fell nearly weeping into his chair and signed his name helplessly under Pluto's long description in the guard-book of one of the most eventful nights in the depot's tedious history.

The dangerous point for Wagner was that he had not heard the shot. He must have been either asleep or absent without permission. His knowledge of Colonel von Weisshagen convinced him that the latter had been sitting patiently for hours waiting for the report that he as duty officer, should have given at once in such circumstances either to the commandant or his adjutant. And it was now six hours since the rifle had been fired. Lieutenant Wagner would be posted to a combat-unit now as sure as eggs were eggs.

As the tragedy dawned on him, he opened and shut his mouth without uttering a sound. But he let out a bellow like a bull's when Pluto smiling reported that the commandant had been well pleased with the patrol, and that this fact would have to be endorsed in the book by the orderly officer. Gnashing his dentures together, the broken Wagner staggered away to face what the day held in store for him.

4

One sunny morning we collected them from the prison. In a bumping lorry they took their last ride.

They helped by pushing the vehicle free when it stuck. They seemed to push their bodies forward to help the twelve bullets find their way.

It happened in the name of the German people.

State Murder

Porta was the last one to crawl into the big Krupp diesel lorry. The vehicle creaked and grated as the gears changed. We swung out from the company billet and made a short halt at the headquarters guard to collect the driving-permit.

On our way through the town we shouted and waved at girls. Porta started telling a dirty story. Moller asked him to shut up. A short but violent quarrel sprang up. It was interrupted as we drove into the infantry's barrack square. We halted in front of the Standort guard-room.

Sergeant-Major Paust, in charge of our party, jumped out of the driver's seat and rang the bell. Six of us jumped out and followed Paust into the prison's reception office. Here we found a couple of pale infantrymen who served as prison warders. Paust disappeared into an office to get the papers from the infantry sergeant-major. He was a huge bald fellow with nervous twitches around his eyes.

Interested, Porta asked:

'What do you fellows do in the can here to pass the time?'

'I shouldn't worry yourself, if I were you,' ventured an old fifty-year-old corporal. 'Your job in this profession lasts only for a moment. We work here day after day. We have known this lot for months. We've nattered with them for hours. They've sort of got to be friends. If only they were the last ones - but to-morrow there's another batch due. And so it goes on. It's just crazy.'

'Karl, you talk too much,' warned another middle-aged NCO. He pushed his friend aside and eyed us cagily.

Curiously, we looked round the small guard-room. Dirty cups and plates stood on the table. On one wall hung a blackboard with the names and numbers of the cells and the prisoners. Every name marked with green meant that its possessor was condemned to death. I counted twenty-three. Red marks denoted prisoners awaiting confirmation of their sentences by court-martial. There were plenty of them. Blue marks meant the prison-camps; there were only fourteen of these.

On the opposite wall hung two big photographs of Hitler and Keitel. They stared indifferently at the board with its record of the doom of human beings.

'What the hell's happened to them?' Schwartz wanted to know. 'It's yellow peas for dinner to-day; if we're late we'll be gypped out of our rations and get landed with the left-overs.'

'You're a fine lot,' said the elderly corporal. 'Thinking of food when you've this job to do. I've been to the pisshouse twenty times since yesterday because I'm so nervous. And all you can think of is yellow peas, God help you!'

'And why not, Grandad?' grinned Porta. 'Behave yourself. You foot-sloggers are too soft.'