Irwin Shaw - The Young Lions

Hardenburg paid no attention to him and it was only because Christian knew him so well that he was sure Hardenburg was aware he was in the room, and waiting. Christian stood rigidly at the doorway, examining the Lieutenant's face.

As Christian watched Hardenburg, he knew that he hated that face worse than the faces of any of his enemies. Worse than Churchill, worse than Stalin, worse than any tank captain or mortar gunner in the British or Russian Armies.

Hardenburg looked at his watch. "Ah," he said, without looking round, "the Sergeant's on time."

"Yes, Sir," said Christian.

Hardenburg strode over to the paper-littered desk and sat down behind it. He picked up one of the papers and said, "Here are the names and photographs of three men we have been looking for. They were called for Labour Service last month and have evaded us so far. This gentleman…" with a slight, cold gesture towards the Frenchman in the Milice uniform… "this gentleman pretends to know where all three can be found."

"Yes, Lieutenant," the Frenchman said eagerly. "Absolutely, Lieutenant."

"You will take a detail of five," Hardenburg said, going on as though the Frenchman were not in the room, "and pick up these three men. There is a truck and a driver in the courtyard and the detail is already in it."

"Yes, Sir," said Christian.

"You," said Hardenburg to the Frenchman. "Get out of here."

"Yes, Sir." The Frenchman gasped a little as he spoke, and went quickly out of the door.

Hardenburg stared at the map on the wall. Christian felt himself begin to sweat in the warm room. All the lieutenants in the German Army, he thought, and I had to get Hardenburg.

"At ease, Diestl." Hardenburg did not stop looking at the map.

Christian moved his feet slightly.

"Everything in order?" Hardenburg asked in a conversational tone. "You have all the proper papers for your leave?"

"Yes, Sir," said Christian. Now, he thought, this is going to happen. It's going to be cancelled. Unbearable.

"You're going to Berlin first, before going home?"

"Yes, Sir."

Hardenburg nodded, without taking his eyes from the map.

"Lucky man," he said. "Two weeks among Germans, instead of these swine." He made an abrupt gesture of his head, indicating the spot where the Frenchman had been standing. "I've been trying to get leave for four months. Can't be spared," he said bitterly. "Too important here." He almost laughed. "I wonder if you could do me a favour?"

"Of course, Sir," said Christian, and then was angry with himself for the alacrity with which he spoke.

Hardenburg took out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked one of the desk drawers. He lifted a small, carefully wrapped package out of the drawer and locked it methodically again. "My wife," he said, "lives in Berlin. I've written the address down here." He gave Christian a slip of paper. "I've er… secured… a beautiful piece of lace here." He tapped the package gravely. "Very beautiful. Black. From Brussels. My wife is very fond of lace. I had hoped to be able to give it to her in person, but the prospect of leave… And the mail system." He shook his head. "They must have every thief in Germany in the post offices. After the war," he said angrily, "there should be a thorough investigation. However… I was thinking, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, my wife lives quite near the station…"

"I'd be delighted," Christian said stiffly.

"Thank you." Hardenburg handed Christian the package.

"Give her my most tender regards," Hardenburg said. He smiled frostily. "You might even say I think of her constantly."

"Yes, Sir," said Christian.

"Very good. Now, about these three men." He tapped the sheet in front of him. "I know I can depend upon you."

"Yes, Sir."

"I have been instructed that it might be advisable to be a little rough in these matters from now on," Hardenburg said. "As an example to the others. Nothing serious, you understand, but a little shouting, a blow with the back of the hand, a show of guns…"

"Yes, Sir," said Christian, holding gently on to the package of lace, feeling it soft under the paper.

"That will be all, Sergeant." Hardenburg turned back to the map. "Enjoy yourself in Berlin."

"Thank you, Sir." Christian saluted. "Heil Hitler."

But Hardenburg was already lost among the armour on the rolling plains on the road to Smolensk, and he barely lifted his hand as Christian went out of the door, stuffing the lace into his tunic and buttoning it to make sure the package would not fall out.

The first two men on the list were hiding out together in an unused garage. They grinned a little worriedly at the sight of the guns and soldiers, but they made no trouble.

The next address the Milice Frenchman directed them to was in a slum neighbourhood. The house itself smelled of bad plumbing and garlic. The boy they dragged out of bed clung to his mother and they both screamed hysterically. The mother bit one of the soldiers and he hit her in the belly and knocked her down. There was an old man who sat at a table weeping, with his head in his hands. All in all, it was as unpleasant as could be. There was another man in the apartment, too, hiding in one of the cupboards. Christian suspected from the look of him that he was a Jew. His papers were out of date and he was so frightened he couldn't answer any questions at all. For a moment Christian was tempted to leave him alone. After all, he had only been sent out for the three boys, not to pick up random suspects, and if it turned out the man was a Jew it would mean concentration camp and eventual death. But the man from the Milice kept watching him and whispering, "Juif, Juif." He'd be sure to tell Hardenburg and it would be just like Hardenburg to have Christian recalled from his leave to face charges of neglect of duty.

"You'd better come along," he said, as kindly as possible, to the Jew. The man was fully dressed. He had been sleeping with all his clothes on, even his shoes, as though he had been ready to flee at a second's notice. He looked blankly around the room, at the middle-aged woman lying on the floor moaning and holding her belly, at the old man bowed over and weeping at the table, at the crucifix over the bureau, as though it was his last home and death was waiting for him the moment he stepped outside the door. He tried to say something, but his mouth merely hung open and went through the motions of speech without any sound coming from the pale lips.

Christian was glad to get back to the police barracks and deliver his prisoners over to the Duty Officer. He made out his report, sitting at Hardenburg's desk. It hadn't been so bad. Altogether, the whole business had only taken a little over three hours. He heard a scream from the back of the building as he was writing, and he frowned a little. Barbarians, he thought. As soon as you make a man a policeman you make him a sadist. He thought of going back there and stopping them, and even got up from the desk to do it, then thought better of it. There might be an officer back there and he'd get into trouble interfering.

He left a copy of the report on Hardenburg's desk, where he could see it in the morning, and left the building. It was a fine autumn night, and the stars were sharp in the sky above the buildings. The city looked better in the dark, too, and the square in front of the city hall was quite beautiful, spacious, well-proportioned, and empty under the moon. Things could be worse, Christian thought as he walked slowly across the pavement, I could be in worse places.

He turned off near the river and rang the bell of Corinne's house. The concierge came out grumbling, but kept respectfully silent when she saw who it was.

Christian went up the creaking old steps and knocked on Corinne's door. The door opened quickly, as though Corinne had been awake, waiting for him. She kissed him warmly. She was in a nightgown, almost transparent, and her heavy, firm breasts were warm from bed as Christian held her to him.