Authors: Willi Heinrich
"General?"
inquired the colonel blankly. "We haven't got a general. I can offer you six captains, three majors and my humble self; but with the best will in the world we can't supply a general."
The disappointment was like a blow in the face, and it took Schmitt a full minute to recover. Then he ordered Baumgartner to have the platoon fall in.
"Here, wait a moment," the colonel interjected. "Aren't you going to give us any explanation?"
"Haven't time, I'm afraid. My orders are to find our missing general, and find him now, I will, as sure as my name's Schmitt."
"One way of introducing yourself. But seriously, Herr Schmitt, what do you think's going to happen to us?"
"If you follow our tracks back the way we came, you'll be in Szomolnok in four hours. My command post is there."
"Fine, fine." The colonel nodded sarcastically. "And what do you think of that?" He looked up at the sky, from which snow was falling in large flakes. "If we need four hours, we won't find much of your tracks, eh? Ill make you a suggestion. You look for your general with one half, and give us the other."
"Half of what?"
The colonel looked astonished, and his voice hardened. "Are you really so dense? Half your men, of course."
Schmitt became reckless. "The upper half or the lower?" The colonel's face turned the color of a beet, and in order to forestall his outburst, Schmitt continued quickly: "You seem to have misunderstood me. I have orders to look for the general; for that I need my men. I can give you one, but that's all."
The colonel seemed about to explode, but now a major joined in the discussion. "Perhaps I might make another suggestion," he said to the colonel. "Let Herr Schmitt keep his men, but instead give us four or five tommy-guns."
The colonel nodded, and the swollen veins on his neck went down. "Good idea. We'll take a guide with us, of course. Have the guns collected," he told Schmitt.
The peremptory tone made Schmitt see red. He said coldly: "We have no spare guns."
"Who's saying anything about spare guns? You give us half your guns, then well have five and you'll have five. Fifty-fifty, eh?"
"You think so? Only with the small difference that you'll be bound for Szomolnok and we have to go after partisans. Am I supposed to arm my men with sticks?"
"With pine cones for all I care," the colonel answered furiously. "You don't seriously suggest that we go through partisan country like this?"
"We did."
"But not unarmed. Stop this nonsense, Captain. I'm not letting myself get captured again just to please you."
"If we hadn't found you, you wouldn't have had the chance to let yourself get captured again. Why don't
you
throw pine cones if necessary?"
There was a stir among the officers. "Preposterous!" snorted the major, and went up threateningly to Schmitt. The colonel waved him back. "Leave it, thank you, Herr Jung. We'll do this another way." He turned to one of Schmitt's men. "Give me your gun."
"No you don't!" shouted Schmitt, pale with anger. "Corporal Baumgartner, choose a man to go with them to Szomolnok. All the rest come over here."
The men rushed past the officers and took up position behind Schmitt. The colonel's face went livid once more. He took the major by the arm. "Collect the guns, Herr Jung."
"I wouldn't try if I were you," said Schmitt.
The officers behind Major Jung moved grimly nearer. "You'll be shot for this," gasped the colonel.
"Take care you aren't shot yourself before you get back to Szomolnok," retorted Schmitt, aiming the barrel of his tommy-gun at Major Jung, who had meanwhile come still closer. "Don't do anything foolish, Major. I've given my men an order."
"You soon won't be giving any more," said the major with white lips. He was almost close enough to put out his hand and take the gun. Schmitt curled his finger round the trigger. He scarcely recognized his own voice as he cried hoarsely: "If you haven't disappeared in one minute, I’ll give the order to fire."
The major goggled at him. For an instant it looked as if he were going to hurl himself at Schmitt; but again the colonel's sharp voice brought him to his senses. "Let it go, Herr Jung. Don't you see that we've got a madman to deal with? We'll make sure afterward that he's put out of harm's way. Come over here."
The major turned without a word. They spoke to the man who was to guide them, and soon they followed him across the clearing and disappeared behind the bend in the valley.
Scowling, Schmitt gave the signal for marching off.
It was snowing hard, but the partisans couldn't be more than twenty minutes ahead and even if the snow went on falling like this their tracks would be visible for some time. Schmitt felt a growing impatience, the thrill of the hunt had caught him and he would now have made the same efforts if they had been searching for a mere private.
They went on until Schmitt stopped the men in order to study the terrain. About twenty yards ahead of them the wood climbed to a plateau, on which there was a heavy growth of young pines. The tracks led in that direction and Schmitt suddenly felt certain that the partisans were waiting up there.
He called the platoon over to him and divided them into two groups. With one of them Corporal Baumgartner disappeared among the trees on the left, while Schmitt circled to the right with the other until he decided there was plenty of protective forest between them and the partisans. Then they started climbing, through trees growing so close together that at first glance there seemed no way through. In time they worked their way through the growth and came upon the partisans' tracks.
The footprints were plainly visible, and Schmitt was annoyed at having lost valuable time. He called the signalman over and told him to try for contact again, and at the same time detailed a man to find Baumgartner. Schmitt stared uneasily between the trees. At last the signalman looked up. "I've got them," he said eagerly.
In three strides Schmitt was with him. "Who have you got?"
"Sergeant Major Roos, sir," the signalman answered.
"Excellent." Schmitt felt tempted to pat him on the back. "Ask him where he is, and if he's in touch with their platoons." He watched with excitement as the man busied himself with the set. "No contact with other platoons," the man told Schmitt "They'll soon be at the top."
"Right." Schmitt pulled the map out of his pocket, and worked out the new position and course for Roos' platoon. Baumgartner and his men joined them and gathered around Schmitt, watching tensely as he gave instructions to the signalman. "They can't be more than a mile and a quarter as the crow flies," Schmitt said to Baumgartner. "If they step on it, they'll be here in half an hour. Leave a man here with a Very pistol. In exactly half an hour he's to start firing a red Very light every five minutes. The rest of you: ready to move." The men threw away their cigarettes. "Keep your distances," he ordered, and they set off again.
They followed the partisans' tracks through thick forest and dense scrub, making slow progress through the continuing snow storm. Watching the tracks, Schmitt observed that they had not lost any ground on the partisans. He was not surprised; probably the partisans had worn themselves out at the start, as he could guess from his own condition. He was a tough marcher, and had been on many hikes and climbs before the war, yet he could feel his reserves of energy draining away. The wet boots hung on his feet like ton weights, and his tommy-gun bothered him. He turned to the man behind him and said sardonically: "Good exercise, huh?"
"Yes, sir," said the man, and fell flat on his face. Submachine guns barked off in the wood and Schmitt and the others threw themselves to the ground. Shots whined through the air, plopping against the trees and hissing into the snow. Schmitt pressed his face to his arms, his heart contracted in the grip of a cold hand, and for a second he seemed to be choking. Raising his arm, he described a circle; the platoon understood the circle, for he could hear movements behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw dark objects fly through the air, and a few moments later sharp explosions sounded through the wood. Baumgartner and two other soldiers raced through the trees toward a dense growth of scrub, their heads down, their guns firing continuously.
Now Schmitt was firing too. The butt of the gun drummed against his shoulder. The magazine with its slightly curved front lay cool and supple in his hand, giving him a feeling of security. He could think clearly again: the partisans' fire had ceased, there was only a tommy-gun barking.
He got up, gave his men another signal, and cautiously went over with them to the scrub where the partisans had been hidden; they reached it unmolested. As he moved into the undergrowth, he almost fell over a man's crumpled body when Baumgartner panted up. "Got away," he gasped. Then his eye fell on the corpse, and he whistled softly. "Except one apparently. We saw the others, but they were already too far away."
"That's all right," said Schmitt. Numbly he watched the men attending to the casualties. The face of one was disfigured beyond recognition, a second had his legs drawn up to his stomach and was groaning.
"What do we do with the dead?" asked Baumgartner. "Dig a hole for them here?"
"A grave, you mean," Schmitt shouted at him. "Take your men to intercept Sergeant Major Roos. Tell Roos he's to send four of his men back to Szomolnok with the wounded; then you return here with him as quickly as you can. You stay here," he ordered Teltschik, and set out alone to follow the partisans' trail. He simply had to do something; the sight of the dead filled him with revulsion and he could not escape a feeling of personal responsibility. Give up now, he thought, it's no use going on.
He glanced ahead, and saw something surprising. The tracks curved off at a sharp angle, the partisans had suddenly gone off in another direction as if they had bounced off an invisible wall. The trail now led due north, whereas before it had been going westward all the time.
He pulled the map hastily from his pocket and studied it. Yes, I'm right, he told himself: if they continue in the new direction, they're bound to come to Oviz, and that's where Kolodzi and his men are. For a moment the conclusion stunned him, then he came bounding back to Teltschik, who stood by the dead men and now looked toward Schmitt anxiously.
"When Sergeant Major Roos comes," he told Teltschik in breathless tones, "he's to follow my trail, as fast as he can."
"Yes, sir. As fast as he can, sir. Can't I . . ."
"You can stay here and bury the dead," said Schmitt and raced back into the wood. It was beginning to grow dark. He ran like a wild cat, with head thrown forward, gasping, sweating, like one possessed—he was propelled by a cold hatred which took away all weariness and drove him onward.
He ran for half an hour, then another, and then he came to the road—which must be the place where Kolodzi and the other two had gone off on foot the night before. The ground fell sharply away into the valley, and the lights down there were the lights of Oviz. Suddenly he heard shots. They came from the valley, they came in quick succession. He looked round tensely. Although it was dark, the partisans' tracks were still recognizable in the dim light that lay over the snow like a haze. They led straight over the road and across the wood; Roos couldn't miss them. Schmitt thought feverishly. Roos wouldn't arrive for another half hour, and by then it might be too late. The gunfire grew fiercer. When he reached the edge of the wood, he saw the fiery trails of tracer ammunition whizzing over the road, where they bounced off somewhere and shot up toward the sky. The sight surpassed his worst imagination.
As far as he could see, the battle was going on in the street at the right end of the village. He raced down, past dark houses, till he noticed a black mass standing in the middle of the street. As he cautiously approached, he saw that it was a vehicle. On the right side of it a man's lifeless arm was hanging out. Further on, also in the street, there was evidently another man lying. His body was covered by the snow. He must have been lying there for several hours. It was fifty yards to the two houses between which the tracer bullets were whistling back and forth. Schmitt would have liked to go up to the truck, but decided it was too dangerous. Instead he concentrated on the gunfire. In the course of the months he had learned to distinguish the rattle of a German tommy-gun from that of a Russian sub-machine gun, and he knew what he must do.
Turning he raced back into the wood: he needed Roos and his men to help him now or rather to help Kolodzi. Standing at the window, Vohringer watched the snow come down and wondered what he could do for diversion. Suddenly he remembered the sanatorium. It was too early for lunch and if he hurried he could be back in an hour. Perhaps he could get out of the house without Herbig noticing—then he could worry his head about where he had gone too. They had squabbled all morning.
The idea pleased him. Picking up his gun he crept to the door. Herbig must be in the kitchen, his muffled voice seemed to be coming from there. With a few strides Vohringer was in the open, running across the garden to the far side of the house, where the wood began. He stopped for a moment to look back, but there was no sign of Herbig. Then he happened to glance at the big house on the other side of the street, where he saw a swarthy man he had noticed before from the window. The door opened, and another man came out, stopping near the swarthy man; the two of them looked across the street at him.
What on earth are they gaping for, thought Vohringer nervously. For a moment he felt like putting his tongue out at them. "Be your age," he muttered under his breath, and turned into the wood. What did he care about these damned Slovaks? Let them goggle till their eyes dropped out; if they tried any tricks he'd always have his gun. He caught himself stroking the cold metal. By God, he was not one of those who enjoyed swaggering around with a tommy-gun, but with the Russians after one it was an extremely comforting thing to have.
The climb was hard, and he sweated. This was a good idea, he decided; a climb took one's mind off things. The hill became so steep he had to stop now and then for a breather; after a while he began to think he had missed the way, for surely he should have reached the sanatorium long ago. He wondered whether to turn right or left, and on a hunch decided on the left. The terrain was difficult, impeded by bushes, stunted pines and large boulders; besides which, the snow was falling harder and harder. None of this deterred Vohringer, whose despondent mood was passing now that he had something to do. In the silence, which lay over the wood like a shroud, his thoughts lost their bitterness. Sometimes he could look down into the valley through some gaps in the forest, and then he saw the houses of Oviz lying far below, with streaks of blue smoke rising from the chimneys into the snowy air, and the mountains on the other side disappearing behind the flaky veil of snow which the wind blew into the valley.