Hans Kirst - The Night of the Generals

“Ah, General, there are corpses and corpses. This one was literally perforated like a block of postage stamps—by hand, too.”

The G.O.C. raised a well-manicured hand. “How ghastly,” he murmured.

Tanz said coolly: “We all have to die some time.”

“And even death has its funny side.” Kahlenberge refilled his glass to the brim with cognac. “Even gentle Juliet and sweet Desdemona finished up as cold as wet flannels on a winter’s night.”

Major Grau regarded General Kahlenberge with bright, inquisitive eyes. “You sound preoccupied with death, sir.”

“I occasionally do some reading,” replied Kahlenberge sardonically, “Shakespeare included.”

Grau smiled faintly. “This is a case which appears to fall outside the usual run of murders.”

“Let’s abandon the subject,” suggested General von Seydlitz-Gabler. “In my opinion, the dead only die once and should be buried as quickly as possible.”

“But every death has a cause.”

“And every victim has a murderer,” Kahlenberge put in. “The dead already number millions in this absurd age of ours, Grau. What about their murderers—perhaps millions of murderers?”

Von Seydlitz-Gabler shook his head disapprovingly. General Tanz gazed into the distance with apparent indifference.

“The dead woman worked for us,” said Grau. “She was useful to us. The question is, should I let someone murder one of our agents and get away with it?”

“Splendid!” cried Kahlenberge, reaching for his glass of brandy. “How comforting to know that even in this day and age there are people who don’t bite the dust unavenged.”

“In this particular case,” Grau continued, “something quite extraordinary and entirely untoward has come to light. I can assure you that our findings are accurate and based on inquiries conducted by men of professional integrity. In brief, these experts have unearthed a credible witness who informs us that the murderer may be… Gentlemen, I am reluctantly compelled to inform you that the only possible suspect is a general. A German general.”

Von Seydlitz-Gabler again raised a protesting hand, his fleshy face pale as ashes. Kahlenberge ventured a laugh, but it was more like the yelp of a dog in pain. Tanz seemed turned to stone. One of the brandy glasses fell over and its contents spread across the table-cloth like blood.

The G.O.C. was the first to speak. “A joke in poor taste,” he said with an effort.

Kahlenberge mustered up a half-hearted smile. “All things are possible.”

“An outrage,” declared General Tanz in glacial tones. “An outrage such as only a cretin could devise.”

Major Grau looked the generals over like a row of dustbins, savouring his triumph. A moment like this seldom came twice in a lifetime.

“A most entertaining story, Major,” said von Seydlitz-Gabler. “We appreciate your telling us, but we mustn’t detain you any longer.”

Major Grau rose gracefully to his feet, bowed and left the room, confident that he had left behind a time-bomb of mammoth dimensions.

Back in the Blue Room, the three generals eyed each other in silence for a moment.

Kahlenberge screwed up his eyes and peered through an imaginary pall of smoke.

Von Seydlitz-Gabler muttered: “It can’t be true!”

And Tanz snapped: “That’s the end of Grau as far as I’m concerned.”

“God Almighty!” Major-General Kahlenberge said mildly. “Who do you think you are—a knight in shining bloody armour? I’ve never heard such concentrated tripe all my life.”

“I can only tell you what I know, sir.” Lance-Corporal Hartmann sounded eager to please. “And I really don’t know any more than I’ve told you already.”

Rainer Hartmann was a fresh-complexioned young man whose head sat a trifle crooked on his shoulders. This was not a congenital defect but the result of a neck wound received some weeks earlier. For a long time he had been unable to do more than croak—a circumstance which had saved his life—but the danger of his position had increased with every step he took on the road to recovery.

“Must you shoot off your mouth, Hartmann?” asked General Kahlenberge. “Or are you absolutely hell-bent on self-destruction? There are people like that, I know. But what’s the point of it?”

Hartmann blinked as though the sun was shining straight into his eyes, but he preserved the immobility of a statue in a city park. His youthful face was handsome but lacking in animation, his brown, gently waving hair fell appealingly on to a high forehead and his body looked well-proportioned even in its graceless sack of a uniform.

Hartmann’s trouble was that he had survived what he regarded as an epic ordeal with flying colours and could not understand why no one seemed ready to take an equally uncomplicated view of the matter.

“He doesn’t get the drift, sir,” asserted Otto the Fat, who was standing in the background. “He’s a good-hearted lad, that’s why he behaves like a clot sometimes.”

“A valid enough excuse, Otto, but I’m afraid your views aren’t going to do Corporal Hartmann much good.” General Kahlenberge tapped the document lying before him on the desk with distaste. “This piece of bumf is as good as a death warrant. It’s all very well for you to believe in Corporal Hartmann’s innocence, but there’s no getting away from the fact that he’s got to prove it.”

Otto hung his pink and porcine head in apparent dejection, but knowing his General he felt that all was not lost. Hartmann opened his mouth as an aid to breathing, rather like a fish caught in a swirling torrent of muddy water.

“If I’m forced to pass on what I have here unaltered, Hartmann will be handed over to the S. D. Once they get their claws on him it’ll mean curtains.” Kahlenberge’s left shoulder twitched a little. Almost inaudibly, he went on: “And I don’t want that. Why should I do their dirty work?”

Hartmann’s head drooped. It was a weary but graceful gesture. “I really don’t know what they could accuse me of. I’m not aware of having committed any crime.”

“As though it mattered two hoots what you think, man!” Kahlenberge leant back in his chair. “All I know about you, Hartmann, is that you seem to have had a lot of bad luck. For some peculiar reason you’re still alive. That’s neither to your credit nor the reverse. You’re obviously a wide-eyed innocent, but what’s to be done with a curiosity like you?” He smiled grimly. “Well, you’re lucky in one respect. We don’t propose to hand you over—not because of your big blue eyes but because it doesn’t suit our book. Do you follow me? No, of course you don’t. Never mind, it’s just your good luck. Remember one thing, though. There can’t be many people as dumb as you still in the land of the living.”

Kahlenberge once more bent over the transcript of Lance-Corporal Rainer Hartmann’s statement. He saw no reason to concentrate on details but merely absorbed what seemed important. The gist of the story was as follows: “… I was assigned to a unit which had the job of transporting supplies to the forward troops. We were a party of six under a sergeant whose name I don’t know. The convoy consisted of three medium-sized trucks—four-tonners. When we reached a place whose name I don’t remember we were suddenly fired on by Soviet troops. All the vehicles went up in flames and all the members of my unit were killed except me. I crawled off somewhere half-conscious and eventually fainted… “… Finally—I don’t know how long afterwards—I came to in a barn which was being used as an emergency hospital. I was surrounded by Russian soldiers. My uniform had gone and I was bandaged to the neck and wrapped in blankets. I couldn’t speak, so the Russians treated me as though I was one of theirs… “… Some days or weeks later the hospital fell into the hands of our troops. I wasn’t able to keep track of time. I had a high temperature and was always drifting off into unconsciousness, but I know I regained my voice almost as soon as our chaps arrived. I was released and managed to find my way back to my unit.”