Crack of Doom (12 page)

Hepp shrugged his shoulders. "Not to Durkov then, report to Lieutenant Colonel Hopper . . . yes, in Slancik, his command post is there . . . what was that? . . . Oh, I see—hold on a moment." He looked round. "Herr Fuchs asks if you've found the general yet?"

"Tell him to mind his own damned business."

Hepp grinned. "Did you get that?" he asked into the receiver. "Yes, you're to mind your own damned business . . . no, of course, not me . . . thank you, I’ll tell him." He returned from the phone, still grinning. "Herr Fuchs wishes you every success."

Giesinger turned on his heel and left the room. In the next half hour he was not given a moment's peace. Kolmel rang through at progressively shorter intervals. Colonel Conrad from the artillery regiment was in a steam about the missing ammunition. "We'll run out in five minutes when things start here," he yelled. "Then they can fight this goddamned war without us."

"That's all right with me!" His face scarlet, Giesinger banged the receiver down, only to be recalled for a conversation with Colonel Wieland.

"Look here, Giesinger, what the devil's going on up there? I want to talk to the general."

"He's at corps, sir," said Giesinger with effort.

"Then put me on to corps."

"That wouldn't be any good. He's already on his way back here."

"It's about time he returned. And Colonel Schnetzler?"

"With the general."

"Then tell them my gun's been knocked out—direct hit in a broadside."

"Colonel Kreisel is on his way with eight assault guns."

"To me?" asked Wieland in a relieved voice.

"To Durkov, which is very near you."

"Then you could just as well have sent him straight to my command at Rozhanovce."

Giesinger suppressed his anger. "We've also got to think of Herr Hopper. From Durkov the regiment can reach Slancik just as quickly as Rozhanovce."

"But the main road runs through Rozhanovce. Friend Hopper shouldn't make such a fuss, the chief fire is in my sector."

"Colonel Hopper says just the same about his. We must . . ."

"You'll soon see what you must," Wieland interrupted. "When the general comes, I want to speak to him at once."

"So do we all," Giesinger murmured wearily. He replaced the receiver and looked toward the door, where Pfeiffer had come in, waving a piece of paper. "Captain Schmitt's command post in Szomolnok reports no contact with him for twenty minutes."

Giesinger was too tired to get excited about this. His head felt like a lump of lead. He took the paper limply from Pfeiffer's hand, and gazed down at it for a moment or two, then said in a resigned voice: "Just wait a bit, he'll come through again very soon now."

"Our receiving sets are working continuously," declared Pfeiffer.

When he had gone, Giesinger sat down at the table. There was a constant roar from the front, and though it was muffled by the closed window, he felt it had become more violent. Wieland came on the phone again, his voice sounded indistinct and distorted, floating like a thin bubble on a seething whirlpool. Giesinger plugged the other ear with his hand and shouted: "I can't hear you properly, sir." Suddenly there was a silence on the line. He bent desperately over the phone. "The connection's gone, sir," the switchboard announced.

"Then find out what's wrong and get it repaired," he cried, and dashed into the signals office, which was in a turmoil, with a dozen voices yelling across each other. He hunted for Pfeiffer and found him with the men at the switchboard. "What's happened to Wieland?"

Pfeiffer gave a helpless shrug. "We've got three repair crews off to see, I don't know. . . ."

A man came running up to him: "Radio signal from Colonel Hopper, sir."

Giesinger tore the paper out of his hand.

"Something bad?" asked Pfeiffer in anxious tones.

Giesinger looked up distractedly. "Read it yourself."

Pfeiffer studied the signal, and his face went pale. Then he gave it back. "What'U you do, sir?" he said.

"I don't know yet. Rut I was always afraid the Russians would break out first in Hopper's sector. Where's Kreisel?"

"He should be in Durkov soon, sir."

"Signal him to make for Slancik as fast as he can."

He rushed over to Hepp, who was telephoning. Giesinger waited impatiently till he had finished, then flung the signal down on the table. "Here you are. Hopper needs immediate reinforcement. I've redirected the assault regiment there."

"To Hopper?"

"Where else? His sector's getting a terrific pasting."

"Wieland's is having it just as badly. Besides, you've already sent the reconnaissance unit to Hopper."

Giesinger gaped—he had forgotten that. He struggled to regain his composure. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Wieland had two light guns on the road and the twenty-five pounder."

"That's been knocked out," said Hepp laconically. "Didn't you know?"

"Of course I knew." Giesinger cursed his thoughtlessness, and it took him an immense effort to add: "He still has the two light guns."

"They may equally well be knocked out. We've no contact with Wieland at present. I imagine he's taking up new positions."

"New positions!" Giesinger started. "You're not serious, are you? But that would mean. . . ."

"That the Russians are through in his sector," nodded Hepp. He got up and opened the window. "Do you hear! No more artillery. I'd give the hell of a lot to have Schmitt here now. Wouldn't you?"

Giesinger moved his lips, then reached for Hepp's phone, and asked for Colonel Conrad.

The artillery commander answered at once, but he was almost speechless with rage when he heard Giesinger's instructions. "I'm to fire, am I? I can't fire with empty cartridges. I'll be glad enough if I can get my batteries out safely—everyone's retreating up forward."

"Who says so?"

"My observers, in case you don't happen to have heard yet."

"Then pull your guns back behind the high point of the pass, and take up new positions. The assault regiment has moved up to counter-attack."

"Without ammunition. . . ."

"You'll get your ammunition if I have to bring it up in person."

Feverishly Giesinger got on to Schnetzler's deputy. "All vehicles, I said," he yelled, when the lieutenant began protesting. Then he phoned corps. "Your pioneer battalion," said Kolmel. Giesinger dropped into a chair, he had forgotten the pioneer battalion too. "I gave it to the assault regiment," he said in a hoarse voice.

"General Stiller?"

"Still not here."

"Thanks." Kolmel rang off abruptly.

Giesinger turned to Hepp. "The pioneer battalion."

"To Hopper?"

"To Wieland," cried Giesinger. In the passage he ran into Pfeiffer. "Signal Kreisel," he ordered. "He's not to go to Slancik, but to counter-attack at Rozhanovce on both sides of the road. Fuchs too," he yelled after him as Pfeiffer dashed back to the signals room. In his own room Giesinger phoned Schnetzler's aide once more. "We need four or five trucks to send up the pioneer battalion."

"The artillery ammunition...." began the lieutenant.

"I said four trucks," Giesinger cut in, and banged down the receiver. He tried to light a cigarette, but his hands were trembling and he used six matches. If only the general would come, he thought for the first time. He was not even allowed to smoke his cigarette, for Pfeiffer burst in to say: "Signal from Hopper, sir. The Russians are through in Wieland's sector. He wants to know if he can pull out."

Giesinger tore the paper out of his hand. "Hopper stays where he is," he said savagely.

Pfeiffer looked at him in horror. "But if Wieland's gone, that leaves Hopper isolated."

"Then he'll just have to dig himself in," cried Giesinger. He remembered Schmitt, and fought against it, but he had been worn down. "Signal Schmitt, he's to reassemble in Szomolnok at once," he said hastily.

"The radio center in Szomolnok has no contact with Captain Schmitt, sir," Pfeiffer reminded him.

Giesinger almost burst into tears. "If the bastards haven't got any in five minutes, I'll have them court-martialed," he cried.

He left Pfeiffer standing and dashed into Schnetzler's room. "Four trucks to Szomolnok." The lieutenant leaped into the air, his face scarlet. "But you ordered. . . ."

"I ordered you to send four trucks to Szomolnok," shouted Giesinger, with the last strength he had left. He went back to his room, threw himself into a chair, and buried his head in his hands. When the telephone rang shrilly, he did not move. He had had enough.

CHAPTER

6

After the staged search for the deserters, Schmitt and his battalion had returned to Szomolnok for the night and sent the empty trucks back to Ko§ice.

The next morning Schmitt called together the company commanders and ordered them to divide each company into three platoons, each leaving one platoon behind in Szomolnok with Lt. Menges.

"You, Kaiser, will go north with your other two platoons and turn back when you've gone six miles. You, Roos, will march due west with one platoon and from there climb the Golden Table, meeting me there with the second platoon which will go straight up the mountain." After giving the other two sergeants their instructions, he turned to Sergeant Werner:

"Keep one radio here. I've decided to go with Corporal Baumgartner and we'll take the other radio with us." He turned to Lieutenant Menges. "You'll be in continuous radio contact with me. Let me know if you come up against anything serious but don't act on your own initiative unless it's an emergency."

Menges nodded sulkily. The last remark was quite superfluous.

The men were standing about in small groups; the snow was up to their calves. It was still dark and hardly anything could be seen of the mountains. The single-story houses on both sides of the street crouched under the masses of snow on their roofs and the snow flakes dropped from the vast chimney of the night like flakes of soot which grew lighter and lighter as they neared the ground.

Schmitt's sharp voice rang out. "If you can't get your men to fall in I'll do it myself in the future." He told Roos to collect his men and sent the other three sergeants off. Roos returned with about twenty-five men.

"Is that all?" asked Schmitt. "All right, you take half this lot with you, I'm going with the other half. We'll meet on the Golden Table."

Roos quickly divided the men into two platoons and marched one way. Schmitt ran his eye over the men left behind. "Corporal Baumgartner—you go at the rear and make sure nobody gets lost."

The corporal nodded. He had a lean face with a rather crooked nose which hung peevishly over a thin-lipped mouth. Schmitt noticed his orderly who came running out of the command post.

"What on earth do
you
want?" he asked.

The man brought his short bow legs together—one could have stuck a head between them. He had the fond, submissive eyes of a spaniel and looked at Schmitt pleadingly.

"You're staying here," said Schmitt. He saw the spaniel's eyes grow sorrowful. "Do you have to stick your nose into everything?" he cried. "You're staying here, I said. You can tidy up my things."

The man turned round and crept off to the command post like a beaten dog. Schmitt bit his lip. It was always the same, and he cursed his own weakness as he called: "Corporal Teltschik."

"Yes, sir." The bow legs tried again to join forces.

"Come here," ordered Schmitt. The man stumbled over, his wrinkled face beaming. "If you do anything to annoy me on the way," Schmitt said bitterly, "you'll be sorry forever."

"Yes, sir, forever, sir."

Schmitt turned away and the men grinned.

He led them out of the town on the road going north. There they left the road and struck out northwest to the foothills of the mountains, which were only about two hundred yards from the last houses and stood out against the dark sky like a white wall. Day was slowly dawning. The men went into the snow up to their knees, but Schmitt did not seem to notice, nor did he reduce speed when they started struggling up a steep slope. It was not till they reached the edge of the road that he stopped for the first time and looked back.

Right below lay the houses of Szomolnok. In the dull grey light of the morning they looked like a herd of game which had taken shelter from the cold, crouching in a snow drift. There was nothing to be seen of the other platoons. Schmitt checked the direction, then stamped off into the wood. There was not much undergrowth, and since the snow was also less deep than it had been on the unprotected slope, they made good progress. Most of the trees were beeches; their smooth trunks and tall, curving crowns made them seem like ancient columns. Schmitt let his men extend in a long line, but told them all not to lose sight of the man ahead.

The wood ahead was beginning to clear: a group of young pines skirting it had been practically flattened by die weight of the snow. The platoon went through them, and reached a gorge which was almost sheer, with a mountain stream some seventy feet below, foaming along amid ice and snow.

Schmitt looked around searchingly. A bit to the right was a place which looked suitable. The descent was equally steep, but there were some shrubs growing to which one could cling. He climbed down first, and the men above watched him feeling for a foothold with his boots as he clambered yard by yard into the gorge. Once he almost lost his balance when a great ridge of snow came loose and slid down, but he was able to grip the bushes in time. The gorge was about ten yards wide, with a narrow channel in the middle where the water had eaten through the snow and uncovered the icy boulders. He felt his way carefully across, creeping on all fours from one boulder to the next. It was an odd sight, and the men above could not help grinning. Now he was over the dangerous middle part and climbed swiftly on to the other bank.

Schmitt called out to the rest of the platoon to follow in single file. He had just lit a cigarette when the man carrying the radio lost his balance. He tried to break his fall by gripping a bush as Schmitt had done, but the branch he had hold of snapped, and he fell headfirst all the way down into the stream. The heavy radio set came off his back during the fall, banged violently on a rock, bounced away and disappeared into the snow.

For a second no one moved. Then Schmitt slid down the slope, and waded recklessly through the water till he had reached the man. He pulled him up by the seat of his trousers. Some of the others had followed, and together dragged him back to the bank, where they laid him on the ground. His face was distorted with pain. They took off his camouflage coat and jacket; with each movement he clenched his teeth and groaned. Then they saw that his right arm was broken above the elbow. Schmitt asked him whether he could walk. When the man nodded, Schmitt had someone find a thin branch, with which he set about splinting the broken arm. "Send two men back to Szomolnok with him," he told Baumgartner.

It was hard work getting the heavy man up the steep bank of the gorge; only after the men had cut steps into the snow with their trench picks did things begin to go better. We should have done that at once, thought Schmitt. The incident had taken the verve out of him; he had already come to the conclusion that it was impossible to fulfill the objective of the operation. For a moment he seriously considered turning back and giving up the whole business, but in the end he decided to send off an appropriate signal to Giesinger that evening. He went over to the place where the radio set had fallen into the stream. It was lying deep in the water, and when he pulled it out, he saw that the front of it was smashed in. He let it drop back and turned to the man with the walkie-talkie. "Can you get the battalion with your set?"

"It's too far, sir. In this sort of country we can't do more than a mile."

"Can you at least get Sergeant Major Roos?"

"I don't think so, sir. Shall I try?"

"Yes." Schmitt climbed back to the other side of the stream, sat down and took off his boots. Teltschik came over to him. "Clean socks, sir."

Schmitt gazed incredulously at the pair of dry socks he was being offered. "Where on earth did you get them from?"

"I brought them along, sir."

Schmitt tried not to show how touched he was. "Sometimes you're an angel, Max."

"Yes, sir!"

"You needn't take everything I say so literally."

"No, sir—not so literally, sir."

Schmitt put on the socks, and told the rest of the platoon to get ready again. The man with the walkie-talkie had failed to make a connection. "I thought so," he said with a shrug. "There's too much wood in between, and these things are no use beyond the sight range."

"Fat lot of good they are then," said Schmitt angrily, as he led the platoon off again through the pines and into the forest. He was feeling the strain now, and his muscles no longer responded properly. Later, when the climb was over, things improved a little. Schmitt noticed a good many game trails on the ground, but his thoughts were elsewhere. According to his calculations they should soon be reaching the valley, and he was growing impatient. Then he noticed that the ground was gently inclining and ten minutes later they had arrived at the base of the valley. It was about fifty yards wide and wound northwest with many twists. There was wood on both sides. The trees looked like silver-plated organ pipes and in their branches the snow lay a foot high.

The valley now wound gently round a protruding mountain ridge. He led his men to the edge of the wood, where he gave them a short break and asked the signalman again about contact with Sergeant Major Roos.

"Not yet, sir."

"Then try your damnedest," said Schmitt impatiently. "If you'd told me at once that the things were so little use, I shouldn't have taken them along at all."

They marched off again. The valley became a good deal broader. It went steadily down-hill, so they kept up a fair pace, and after an hour and a half they joined another valley. From here they had to march westward, where the valley climbed steeply, narrowing at the end.

Schmitt told Corporal Baumgartner to see no one fell behind, then stamped off up the valley with long strides. It had started snowing again, and visibility became worse and worse. Schmitt kept close to the left edge of the wood, which followed the valley's bends. Further on, where the valley narrowed sharply, Schmitt saw that the wood went right across the valley. The snow storm made it impossible to see what was beyond that. The men seemed to be marching into a black cloud, which was spreading deeper and deeper into the valley, slowly swallowing it up. The valley had shrunk to a gorge, and Schmitt was afraid this would be a particularly difficult stretch. Luckily it proved otherwise. After only a few hundred yards they came to a narrow clearing, of which only a small piece was in view, because there was a bend to the right. After this bend the valley broadened out t» a longish oval, surrounded on all sides by food. At the far end stood a hut.

Schmitt stopped in his tracks and blinked incredulously, but the picture remained. In front of the hut a man stood motionless staring toward them. He wore a German winter uniform, and a flat fur cap pulled down over his ears, which looked more like the caps the Russians wore.

Schmitt felt a queer pricking under his skin; he knew his men were waiting for an order from him. For a few seconds his power of decision was checked by images which had almost the compulsiveness of a hallucination—he saw the men dashing up to the hut, heard the deafening rattle of tommy-gun fire, the shrieks of the wounded before they writhed in the snow with mangled limbs; he saw himself writhing there among them, the taste of bitter almonds in his" mouth and the corrosive smell of gunpowder in his nose.

With an abrupt movement he took the tommy-gun off his shoulder; at the same time the man by the hut also came to life. He ran around it to the right, where the door must be, and returned at once with three others. They had civilian clothes on and were holding sub-machine guns. As though in a kaleidoscope Schmitt saw the four men peering toward him and then disappearing into the wood with huge bounds. Then at last the brain clicked. He dashed off across the clearing, and panting, reached the hut, where he looked round for his men. They were approaching rather hesitantly. When Corporal Baumgartner started to run into the wood in pursuit of the partisans Schmitt recalled him sharply. They can't escape now, he thought, and at the moment their tracks were more important than their heads. Besides, he was glad things had turned out like this; heaven knew what would have happened if they'd shown a bit more courage. They were partisans—no doubt about that.

He told Baumgartner to post two men outside, then took the rest of his men and went into the hut. The room they entered had a small window looking out on the wood, with a snowed-up pine-branch hanging in front of it. Everything pointed to a very abrupt departure by the room's occupants. There were overturned glasses on the table and scattered playing cards. On the left wall, half torn from their hooks, hung three German winter uniforms, like the one the man in front of the hut had been wearing. Four wooden bunks built on top of each other stood in one corner and in the middle of the room glowed a small iron stove.

On looking round, Schmitt discovered a second door. He went up to it and kicked it open. His eyes widened in horrified surprise. Although the room had no window, there was enough daylight coming through the door for him to see the figures of ten or more men. Their unshaven faces stared at him. For a moment he stood in amazement, then he pulled up his tommy-gun and ten pairs of arms immediately reached for the low ceiling as if they had been puppets. In the half darkness Schmitt noticed the men's uniforms: they were German officers.

The realization took his breath away. He seized the nearest officer by the arm. "Who the devil are you?"

"We're prisoners," the officer said dejectedly.

Schmitt stared at him. He felt laughter welling up in his throat and his shoulders began to shake. The tension of the last minutes exploded. "You're prisoners, are you?"

His men behind him roared with laughter.

Schmitt turned and went back out into the open where he stood trying to recover his breath. The officers came rushing after him and, surrounding him, almost tore him to pieces. A fat artillery colonel kept banging him on the shoulder so hard that in the end Schmitt lost his temper and yelled abuse. But the colonel only laughed and slapped him on the back. "After this you can shout at me as much as you like."

"Where's the general?" asked Schmitt, looking keenly at their bearded faces.