Luke McCallin - The Man from Berlin

He glanced backwards, seeing that twist to Ascher’s face as he watched the general. The colonel looked at him, balefully, then back to the general. ‘Thank God this will be over soon,’ Ascher muttered.

Reinhardt twisted in his chair. ‘The operation?’

‘No. This. ’

‘Piening’s wife just had twins,’ announced Verhein. ‘Boys. If you can’t celebrate that, what can you celebrate, eh?!’ He revved the engine, slewing the Horch around in front of the soldiers, who cheered him on his way. ‘Where were we, then?’ said Verhein, as he settled the Horch back on the track. The light that fell through the trees overhead flickered and flashed across them. ‘Leading from the front. I don’t know any other way to do it. Certainly not from behind a desk, which is where some want to send me. Including some – eh, Clemens? – who ought to know better.’

‘Yes, General,’ said Ascher. ‘I have only your best interests at heart.’

‘“My best interests”, it’s what he always says,’ snorted Verhein, leaning over to Reinhardt as if to draw him into this particular relationship. Reinhardt glanced around as Verhein said that, catching again that sour look on Ascher’s face as the light streamed over it. Like an exasperated housewife, thought Reinhardt. ‘As if I’d be a damned bit of use pushing paper around, farting around in offices and poncing around in dress uniforms.’

‘General,’ interrupted Ascher. ‘You know that your transfer to headquarters has been ordered by the highest authorities…’

‘I don’t give a damn.’

‘… who must therefore see some quality that you can bring to high command…’

‘I don’t give a damn.’

‘… and I must object, sir, to your discussing this in front of people not familiar to you…’

‘I don’t fucking give a fucking damn !’ roared Verhein, without taking his eyes off the road. Reinhardt felt a flush of embarrassment for Ascher. That image of a housewife came again. Long-suffering, overlooked… ‘Over my dead body… Good luck to you, too, shy;soldier!… Over my dead bloody body will they drag me off to bloody Berlin. What do you think, Reinhardt? Is there anything – anything – to compare to combat?’ The car hurtled around a corner, more troops scattering left and right into the trees along the track. ‘The sights. The sounds. The smells. That exhilaration. Is there anything like it?’

‘There’s nothing like it, sir,’ replied Reinhardt, desperately uncomfortable, like a child faced with the reality of the sourness of its parents’ relationship. ‘But I wouldn’t say it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Each to his own, Reinhardt. Eh, Clemens?’

‘Subject to higher exigencies,’ sighed the colonel.

‘Higher powers?’

‘Exactly, sir.’

‘You and your bloody philosophy, Clemens. Bad enough you have to meddle in politics, but there’s entirely too much of that popish mumbo jumbo in you still. And Christ knows I’ve done my best to thrash it out of you. Did you ever meet Marija Vukic, Reinhardt?’

Reinhardt looked askance at him, taken aback by the sudden shifts of conversation. ‘Once, sir.’

‘And? What did you think?’

‘She was… quite something.’

‘She bloody well was. God’s own handful. The sexiest, most passionate, most infuriating creature there ever was. Never a dull moment with her around. Was there, Clemens?’ he asked, peering into the rearview mirror.

‘Never, sir,’ rasped the colonel.

‘Saint and sinner all wrapped up in one delectable package. By Christ, she could stand you on your head. Make you see black when it was white. Day when it was night.’

‘General, if I may?’

‘You may not, Clemens.’

‘Are you trying to tell me something, General?’ asked Reinhardt.

Ascher jerked forward from the back. ‘What the general’s trying to say…’

‘What the general is saying,’ snapped Verhein, whipping his head around to stare back at Ascher, ‘is that what happened to her is the last thing I wanted.’ He braked the Horch outside a wooden-walled house that stood at the edge of a clearing, with the hill pushing up beyond it. A canvas awning hung along one side, overshadowing a trestle table with a radio and other equipment on it. Trucks and cars were parked around the clearing, a field kitchen was dispensing coffee, and a battery of heavy mortars were set up on the far side. The place had the feel of a forward headquarters.

Verhein stayed at the wheel, both hands on it, staring forward as if at nothing. Reinhardt looked at him, forcing himself to ignore Ascher and Mamagedov behind him. His heart hammered that he was suddenly, apparently, so close to the end. ‘But something did happen to her,’ he prompted, quietly.

Verhein seemed to slump in on himself. ‘I know,’ he said, softly.

‘What happened?’

Verhein seemed to revive himself. ‘I lost it, Reinhardt. What else?’

‘Sir…’ began Ascher, again.

Verhein lifted a hand. ‘Leave it, Clemens, please,’ he said. All the fire seemed to have gone out of him.

‘I will not ! Mamagedov, take the captain under arrest and -’

Verhein hunched around in his seat as the Kalmyk began to draw his pistol. ‘Disregard that, Mamagedov. Think of it as confession, Clemens,’ he said, swinging his gaze onto the colonel. ‘God knows, I’ve confessed enough to you over the years, no?’ He began picking up his equipment and looked at Reinhardt, gesturing at Ascher with his head. ‘You know we sometimes call him Father Superior? Half the time, I think he ought to have stayed a chaplain.’ He stepped out of the car, looking back at Ascher. The colonel was white-faced, his chin bunched tight at the end of his jaw. ‘Would’ve made things a bit easier, sometimes. This time, I’m not confessing to you, Ascher. But maybe the penance won’t be what you fear it will be. Now,’ he said, ‘Reinhardt and I will have a talk. I need you to check in with Oelker and get an update.’ He looked up the hill at a sudden crackle of gunfire, then at Reinhardt, frowning. ‘You coming or not?’

Reinhardt had gone cold, as if he had been doused. A piece of the truth had suddenly flared and bloomed here, and the pattern of the case as he understood it had shifted. Reinhardt knew his confusion was showing, but he could not help it, and he saw something sparkle in Ascher’s eyes. A part of the truth was here, right here among them. Reinhardt could feel it, feel the way into that explanation that was bunched tight and only needed the right tug on it to unravel, but the way was fading, the shape of the case slumping back into the dull glow of its embers.

Reinhardt followed Verhein under the awning. An aide-de-camp offered the general a clipboard covered in signals, which he glanced at cursorily before telling him he did not want to be disturbed. He went inside the little house, dropped his PPSh and the signals on a table, then walked to a window, just an empty frame of splintered wood. The sound of gunfire came again, staccato bursts, the dull crump of explosions. He put his hands in the small of his back and stretched, sighing, then turned to Reinhardt, the light washing over his mane of white hair. ‘You know, in a way, I’m glad you came. It’s been… difficult.’ He stared at Reinhardt, waiting as if for a reaction. Reinhardt could see that, but he was still feeling his way cautiously around the new shape of the investigation.

‘Sir, why don’t you just tell me what happened?’ he managed after a moment.

‘You know I met her in Russia?’ Reinhardt nodded. ‘We quarrelled there. Over… an incident. It’s not important.’