Hans Hellmut Kirst - Officer Factory

After just half an hour, most of which he spent smoking in the lavatory, Krafft received the anticipated summons to the General. Surprisingly enough, Modersohn didn't insist on the Lieutenant reporting to him in the usual way in full dress uniform. The Major-General merely wished to speak to Krafft on the telephone, and it was to be a telephone conversation of bewildering brevity.

“I understand," said Modersohn without further ado,” that you have refused to allow Judge-Advocate Wirrmann to take part in an investigation you're engaged on."

“Yes, General."

“Why?"

“Because I didn't think the Judge-Advocate had the authority to act in this particular case, General."

“Good," said Modersohn. And that was all, for the present at least.

The youthful voices of the cadets rang through the gymnasium, where a powerful smell of male sweat hung in the air. Captain Ratshelm, the officer commanding Number 6 Company, was personally supervising the three sections under his command, as he always did when they were down for sports or games. Dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt he cavorted happily about among his cadets, lending them encouragement and, in so far as he could, setting them an example. For he had a slight tendency to corpulence, and the rosy pinkness of his skin stood out in contrast to the brown sinewy torsos of the cadets.

H Section was the one he was particularly interested in. For it had been bereaved by the sudden death of Lieutenant Barkow and was thus temporarily without a section officer. Until the General appointed a successor to the dead man the company commander voluntarily took on the job himself.

Ratshelm was always happy when he could get into slightly closer contact with his young cadets, being particularly fond of a game of handball, in which he would hop around, grabbing the ball for himself and barging one of his young comrades out of the way in order to get a better shot at the goal. With their damp glistening torsos rubbing against him and the sharp animal tang of their sweat in his nostrils, he felt his heart full of strength and joy and a deep sense of comradeship. And this was particularly true whenever his eyes lit upon Cadet Hochbauer.

“A lovely pass!" he shouted across at him. “More like that one!"

“This fellow Hochbauer's in training all right," said Cadet Mösler knowingly. “For a creep up the C.O.'s arse."

Cadet Mösler had a reputation as a wit. The advantage of this was that almost everything he said was taken as a joke, which saved him a good deal of trouble one way and another.

“Hochbauer’ll have to look out, though," said his neighbor Cadet Rednitz thoughtfully. “There’s plenty of competition."

“Yes, you have to make certain sacrifices to become an officer," declared Mösler, not forgetting to grin inanely.

They were standing rather out of the limelight, right at the back of the field. Mösler was a wiry little fellow with darting eyes which spent most of their time on the look-out for anything in skirts, while Rednitz was a medium-sized, slim figure who however moved like a bear and was almost always smiling about something, though hardly ever laughing. He had already learned not to do that.

“Scandalous we don't have women training to be officers," said Mösler. “I’d be only too willing to play games with them!"

“Bad enough with some of us carrying on like women," said Rednitz. “Or do you want to sleep your way into a commission?"

“It depends on whom with," said Mösler, grinning. “I wouldn't mind a comely young major of thirty or so. It wouldn't be the worst sacrifice one could make for one's Fatherland."

“Half time!" cried Captain Ratshelm. “Change sides!"

The two teams changed sides, and Mösler and Rednitz promptly found their way to the rear again. They had no objection to leaving the main part of the field to the keener sportsmen.

Though Mösler and Rednitz were both only twenty-one, they had already acquired a certain amount of military experience, having developed a sixth sense which told them when their superior officer's eye was upon them. They instinctively positioned themselves where the danger of being spotted was light. Captain Ratshelm was now out in front of them, pleasantly distracted from his supervisory duties by the game and his sporting companions, and Mösler and Rednitz found his back a comforting sight. Now and again they would make a perfunctory move in one direction or another, even occasionally actually pursuing the ball. But this was only because the cold January air left them little option. They had no wish to work up an unnecessary sweat, but they had no wish to freeze either.

“Hochbauer’ll get his commission all right," said Mösler.

“Could become a general," agreed Rednitz, “if the war lasts long enough and he finds enough superior officers to fall for him."

“Coming over, sir!" cried Cadet Hochbauer, in clear, ringing tones. “Into the center!"

“Right!" cried Captain Ratshelm. Skipping forward with what he imagined was remarkable elegance he caught the ball and sent it hurtling into his opponents' half of the field, where for some reason or other one of the cadets dodged aside and the ball went into goal.

Yet another point scored. The Captain's team was well ahead, as was only to be expected. Once again Ratshelm felt that his own remarkable versatility had been overwhelmingly demonstrated.

“They can't beat us now!" cried Hochbauer happily.

“Our opponents are putting up a great fight, though! All honor to them!"

This man of honor, Captain Ratshelm, a professional soldier and an officer out of deep conviction, was utterly dedicated to the training company under his command. He had three sections under him in all, G, H and I, each of which had on its strength forty cadets, one section officer and one tactics instructor. It was Ratshelm's gift to be able to unite in his own person all those qualities required to produce the officers of the future. There was no field in which he was not an expert; he was planner, instructor, educator, all rolled into one, and above all a true comrade-in-arms. Although himself only a few years older than his cadets, he felt like a father to them, and the love which he so devotedly bore them was a father's too; or so at least he convinced himself.

“Well done, Hochbauer!" he cried, puffing slightly as he scored yet another goal. “A lovely pass!"

“You were beautifully placed again, sir!" replied Hochbauer, his eyes shining with admiration.

It would never have occurred to Captain Ratshelm to feel flattered, it was enough for him that he was appreciated. True he had a fatherly love to bestow, but in return he looked for nothing but respect, and he never had the slightest fear that the depth of his affection might in any way constitute a threat to discipline.

Just then the ball hit him full on the side of the head. He swayed slightly, and for a moment it looked as if his legs were going to buckle under him. However, though his head was throbbing fiercely he managed a sporting smile in the best officer tradition.

“Sorry sir," called out Cadet Weber from the other side of the field. “I didn't mean it to be so hard."