Арнольд Цвейг - Outside Verdun

His voice, so emphatic under the sounding board of the low roof, was silent for a moment. He seemed to hold his breath as he listened to the other man. ‘Thank God,’ he said in relief, and then twice in succession, ‘Thank God.’ He said he would pass this explanation on to the Saxon officers. There would definitely be pockets of resistance above the village of Douaumont, and so they should assemble to the east and to the rear. Could he pull in any ASC men he might meet? All hands would be needed to prepare the roads, clear the rubble and rebuild the dugouts. Then, in a concluding tone, he promised the captain that he would do his best and would report from somewhere should he get through. In the meantime, he thanked Captain Lauber for his help and bid him farewell. He sat motionless for a moment, then slipped the headphones off and turned in his stool to face Bertin, shoulders hunched, arms hanging between his long legs. ‘Have you got any tobacco, Bertin?’ he asked and filled his big, round pipe.

The blockhouse had small windows, and it was dark inside. But Kroysing’s bright eyes still flashed in his mud-splattered face. Bertin knew that he was about to receive a private report. ‘What about Captain Niggl?’ he asked quietly.

‘Escaped,’ said Kroysing. ‘Temporarily escaped. Without signing. Imagine that.’ The flame from his lighter momentarily lit up his steely face. ‘I’m telling you, he was as small and used up as cigar ash after that last month and especially the last four days. We had a little private chat. Everything was looking good, and it seemed my family’s reputation would be restored. The blighter told me he was going grey. Gave me some sob story about his children and begged for mercy. I offered to set him free with his men as soon as the French stopped firing in return for his signature. Then came the order to evacuate, and he skedaddled. He escaped from me just as I was about to finish the business off. I don’t understand it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Did those bastard French really have to help that swine out as well as giving those numbskulls at the rear such a fright that they evacuated Douaumont? But—’ and he drew himself up to his full height, fists clenched— ‘he won’t get away from me. I’m not dropping out of the race yet. He can’t have gone far. Even if I have to grab him by the scruff of the neck, I’ll get him back. But first I have to settle some scores with those gentlemen over there who smoked me out of my own private little hell. Why did they have to fling their blasted regiments upon my domain? Well, they’ll be sorry,’ he finished, straightening the heavy pistol on his belt, ‘I’ve got a crate of hand grenades waiting for them somewhere. I’ve always wanted to get them back for killing Christoph, though obviously I’d have preferred to do it after I had the signature. Now I’ll have to change the order. Why don’t you walk towards the front with me for a bit, Bertin? Don’t you have a childhood friend there?’

Bertin stood up and scratched behind his ear. A knock at the door stopped him from answering. Two soldiers in steel helmets walked in, followed by young Süßmann, whose boots were dripping water. ‘This is the man, Lieutenant,’ he said.

‘Bit dark,’ said a young voice, which Bertin thought he’d heard before. He fetched Friedrich Strumpf’s candle and lit it: two field artillerymen, a lieutenant and a staff sergeant whom he’d seen at the depot.

‘Got it nice and comfy here, lad,’ the lieutenant said to Kroysing before realising his error. The officers then introduced themselves as if the blockhouse were a railway compartment, which one of the them had just entered. The young gunner with guard’s stripes on his uniform was looking for his guide. Kroysing laughed and said he must mean his friend Bertin who’d arrived with the artillery ammunition half an hour earlier.

‘That’s right,’ said Lieutenant von Roggstroh. ‘It’s you I’m looking for. The sergeant said you’d show us the quickest way up to a battery position: 10.5cm field howitzers. Can you do that?’

Bertin replied that he’d just been discussing it with Lieutenant Kroysing and was ready to go with them but had just received an order from his company to head back at once. He said he’d put the lieutenant through to the depot so that he could quickly explain. He plugged in and tried to get through: the equipment depot was engaged.

‘Never mind,’ said the gunner. ‘We’ll write you some bumph to take back. Is there a pen and paper here?’

The men from Baden hadn’t had much time to pack, and an unfinished letter (‘Dear Fanny’) lay in the drawer. Von Roggstroh pulled his glove off and in clear, German handwriting wrote: ‘I requisitioned the carrier as a guide.’ He signed his name and rank, and folded the ‘bumph’ up. Bertin stuck it in his cuff.

Kroysing searched Bertin’s face as he squeezed into his wet coat, fastened his buckle and got ready to go. ‘Take a look at this ASC private. We’ve been knocking around together for the past month, but I don’t seem to have rubbed off on him, do I?’

Von Roggstroh looked from one of the two entirely different men to the other. Men said a lot of things the night after a battle, even in front of strangers. ‘It takes time to rub off on someone,’ he said soothingly.

Kroysing examined his torch. ‘Too long,’ he muttered. ‘In due course, he should be taking the kind of orders my brother took.’

‘That’s just a whim of yours,’ countered Bertin.

‘Ah.’ Roggstroh looked up. ‘Do you mean your friend should register for further training?’

‘Exactly.’ Kroysing stared absently past Erich Süßmann’s reproachful face to the corrugated iron roof.

Bertin had a creepy feeling. Was he to stand in for Christoph Kroysing, then? ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.

Kroysing stared at him and shrugged. Then on the threshold, he turned. ‘What I mean is that you owe it to the Prussian state,’ and he pushed open the door, which creaked on its hinges.

They all stepped out into the cold, damp air of the gorge where a fire burned on the left bank. Bertin saw indistinct shadows pass and the outlines of men crouching and warming themselves. The three Saxon officers were no longer lying on the ground; they sat on the broken branches smoking and shivering. Kroysing, hand on his helmet, went over and negotiated with them. Then whistle blasts rang out and soldiers ran over and gathered in groups on the right bank of the stream. Kroysing returned relieved and with renewed drive. ‘The officers have decided to reconnoitre towards Douaumont with my sappers, clear things up in the great hollow if necessary and try to make contact with the ridge,’ he told Roggstroh. ‘They have over 100 rifles. We can get somewhere with that. I have one request for you, comrade: if you find a gun intact, let it loose on Douaumont. It doesn’t matter if the range is 1,500m, 1,700m or 2,000m – whatever’s possible. Imagine if we could get the old shack back!’

‘Do you think that’s possible?’ asked Roggstroh.

‘Anything is possible,’ said Kroysing, ‘with a bit of courage and a lot of luck. On you go, Süßmann,’ and he turned to the wee lad. ‘You know the lay of the land. You lead – taking all due care, of course.’

Süßmann made as if to click his heels. ‘Cheerio, Bertin,’ he a said, extending his hand. ‘I wonder where we’ll meet again. I’m going to bestow this pot on you as a parting gift,’ and he took off his helmet, held in the tips of his fingers, placed it on Bertin’s head and shoved Bertin’s oil-cloth cap under his arm. ‘I’ll have plenty of helmets to choose from up front – and you need to preserve that brain of yours.’ And off he walked, looking very boyish with his short hair.