by Sven Hassel
Stahlschmidt raised one derisive eyebrow.
‘No? Well, perhaps you’ve not been aware of it at the time . . . perhaps you suffer from amnesia? Sudden blackouts? Dizzy spells? I give you the benefit of the doubt, you see, because it’s obviously a very serious offence to use another man’s signature without his knowledge and authorization.’
‘Of course it is!’ exclaimed Stever, self-righteously. ‘That is why I would never, never—’ He broke off. ‘I mean, why on, earth should I?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, my dear Stever, I can think of a dozen, reasons.’ Stahlschmidt sprawled back in his chair with his legs spread out under his desk, enjoying the sensation of having Stever at his mercy. ‘Perhaps you had some gambling debts? Perhaps you wanted to requisition some article that you could sell on the black market? I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you all the things a rubber stamp can be used for! As I already said, you’re a person of fair intelligence, and people of intelligence are the biggest scoundrels on earth.’
‘But Stabsfeldwebel, you’re a person of great intelligence yourself!’ burst out Stever, triumphantly.
This time, Stahlschmidt raised both eyebrows together, aa high as they would go.
‘Watch what you’re saying, Stever. Just remember your position. You’re only an Obergefreiter, don’t go putting on airs and graces . . .’ He reached out for the permit again. ‘Let’s have another look at this forged signature. With a bit of luck, Willie Beier and Alfred Kalb will soon be joining their friend the Lieutenant in our cells.’
Stever rubbed his hands together and snatched eagerly at his whisky glass.
‘God, if that happened I swear I’d mend my ways! I would, really! I’d feel that Him up There was kind of saying, Well, I do exist, this is proof of it . . . Know what I mean? And I’d go to mass at least once a – once a month. Yes, I would. Once a month I’d go. To EARLY mass,’ said Stever, impressively.
‘You don’t think that’s rather excessive?’ murmured Stahlschmidt.
‘I’d do more than that, I’d go down on my knees and pray!’ shouted Stever. ‘God, if I had that little scarred bastard in here I’d – I’d put his eyes out for him!’
‘You mean, like Greinert did to that Major he took such a dislike to?’
‘Exactly! I’d do it with my thumbs, just like he did . . . stuff a bit of rag into his mouth so’s nobody would hear, and dig both his eyes out . . .’
‘It sounds too delightful,’ murmured Stahlschmidt. ‘But I wonder, would you really have the guts to do it, when it came to the point?’
‘With that rat, yes!’ Stever tossed off his whisky and set the glass back on the table with a jaunty flourish. ‘I feel more like myself again, now . . . I can already see those two being marched through the doors under escort . . .’
Stahlschmidt nodded and smiled. He looked again at the forged signature and he felt very sure of himself. And even if he were proved wrong, he could always blame Stever. He picked up the telephone and dialled a number.
‘I want the Commissariat. Feldwebel Rinken. This is Stahlschmidt here, Stabsfeldwebel Stahlschmidt of the garrison prison . . . oh, that is you, is it, Rinken? Why don’t you announce yourself, for God’s sake? I could be talking to anybody, couldn’t I? Listen, I’ve got a job for you, I want you to -What? What’s that you say?’ He remained silent a moment, then exploded down the receiver. ‘You’ll bloody well do what I tell you and no questions asked! I don’t doubt you’re busy, and so are we, working our bollocks off doing all the stuff you should have done and haven’t, so don’t try that one! In any case, it’s perfectly simple and straightforward, a piece of piss, I just want you to arrange for two men to be picked up and brought over here as soon as possible. You got a pencil? Good. Make a note of their names . . . Willie Beier and Alfred Kalb . . . all right? You got that? Good. They came to visit one of the prisoners here and I don’t like the look of them. Particularly the Kalb man. He’s either suffering from shell shock or else he was as pissed as a newt. Anyway, the point is, they got in here on a forged pass, so I want them brought in for questioning as soon as possible, and—’ He broke off, suddenly suspicious. ‘What are you laughing at?’
‘You!’ Rinken’s loud gaffaws could he beard at the far side of the room,’ and Stever looked up, inquiringly. ‘Really, Stahlschmidt, have you lost your grip or something? What the devil have these two madmen got to do with me? They’re your pigeon and you’re welcome . . . under Heeresarmeevorschrift15 number 979 of 26th April, 1940, para. 12, clause 8, it’s exclusively your concern if something like that occurs in your territory, and you’re obliged to make a report on . . . And until we’ve got your report our hands are tied . . . All I can say is, I hope for your own sake you’ve made a mistake. It’s not going to sound too good, is it? A couple of men allowed to walk into your prison as bold as brass with forged papers that no one checks? Visiting a prisoner under your very nose when they had no right to be there . . .’He made a soft clucking noise of disapproval with his tongue. ‘I shouldn’t care to be in your shoes right now, and that’s a fact! You ought to have pinched ’em before they left the prison.’
* Army Bulletin
Stever, who had crept up to the desk and been listening, sprang away at these words and stood, white and trembling, by tie door, as if prepared for instant flight.
Stahlschmidt drummed his fingers on the desk and screwed his neck a few inches out of his collar.
‘Look here, Rinken, don’t be bloody absurd! There’s no need to throw a tantrum over this thing! Strictly off the record, I only rang you up because I’m not altogether SURE that the pass was forged . . . I THINK it is, but I want to check, and I want you—’
‘Like hell! A second ago you were telling me to have them picked up because they’d quite definitely got in on a forged pass—’
‘No, no, I said I THOUGHT they had-’
‘Thought, my anus!’ said Sinken, crudely. ‘No use trying to wriggle out of it, Stahlschmidt, I’ve got a witness who’ll testify if necessary. He’s listening in on the extension.’
‘Sod the witness!’ roared Stahlschmidt. ‘You don’t think I care for any lousy witness, do you?’
‘Whether you do or not,’ said Rinken, darkly, ‘I’ve already explained that the affair is nothing to do with us. You’ll have to put in an official report. Time and again you’ve told us that what goes on in your nick is your business and no one else’s. If you’d had any sense at all you’d already have this couple under lock and key. But since you haven’t, and since the matter has now been brought to my notice, I suppose I shall have to get in touch with Lt. Col. Segen and put him in the picture. We’ll have the two men brought in for questioning and we’ll soon get to the bottom of the story . . . but I still want a written report.’
Stahlschmidt kicked savagely at his waste paper basket and forced himself to speak calmly. Perhaps he had been a trifle precipitous. The affair was not progressing as he had anticipated.
‘Look, upon reflection, Rinken, you’re quite right It’s my affair and I shouldn’t have bothered you with it. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I—’
‘That’s quite all right.’ Rinken’s voice purred down the receiver, full of cream and honey and general complacency. ‘we all make mistakes. I don’t mind having a word with Segen about it. Just let me have your written report, that’s all I ask.’
‘Well, but look, it’s really not worth your while—’
‘One thing I should be interested to know,’ interrupted Rinken. ‘Whose signature had they forged?’
‘Bielert’s.’
‘Bielert’s? I see. In that case, the matter really is serious. I’ll take it up without delay, written report or not.’
‘But look here—’
‘Incidentally, Stahlschmidt, did you know they’re forming a new disciplinary infantry regiment? I hear they’re crying out for experienced N.C.O.S. Why don’t you put your name forward?’
‘Rinken, please!’ Stahlschmidt forced hims
elf to be humble. With a great effort of will, he induced a note of supplication to enter his voice. ‘Don’t go bothering Colonel Segen about it. Let the matter drop. To be perfecdy honest I don’t really have any idea whether or not the damned pass is forged, it was just an idea that occurred to me. But in any case, the two men are no longer in the area, they—’
‘No longer in the area?’ repeated Rinken, joyously. ‘Really, Stahlschmidt, don’t you have any method of controlling people’s exits and entrances? It sounds to me as if the public at large can wander in and out as if you’re running an art gallery rather than a nick . . . Who let these men in, in the first place? Who let them out again? Who checked their credentials?’
‘I did,’ said Stahlschmidt, irritably. ‘You know I did. You know it’s me that sees to all that sort of thing. God knows, there’s no one else I can rely on . . .’
Rinken laughed, sardonically.
‘Speaking of relying on people, I’ve been relying on you, Stahlschmidt, to pay me back that 100 marks you owe me. You hadn’t forgotten it, I hope? One hundred marks, plus 24 per cent interest.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten it. I never forget my debts, especially to friends. But the thing is, Rinken, I’m not too flush at the moment. I’ve – I’ve had a lot of extra expenses. A couple of new uniforms and a pair of new boots. You know how it is . . . you can’t go round in rags. Not when you’re a Stabsfeldwebel. And then the prices they charge these days are ridiculous! I had to pay four times more for those boots than I should have done . . . And in any case, you know, you lent me that money as a friend. Without interest. You never said anything at the time about 24 per cent.’
‘Really, you astound me,’ said Rinken, coldly. ‘First of all you ring me up with wild tales of forged passes and two raving mad criminals running in and out of your prison with no one even asking their names, and then you start babbling about new uniforms and outrageously expensive boots and expecting me to pay for them, and finally you try to deny ever borrowing any money from me!’
‘No, no, only the interest!’ protested Stahlschmidt.
‘You owe me 100 marks plus 24 per cent interest,’ said Rinken, stubbornly. ‘You deny the interest and you refuse to pay me back the 100 marks. That’s more than enough for me. I shall speak to Colonel Segen about you. You can’t expect to do that sort of thing and get away with it, you know.’
There was a click and the line went dead. Rinken had hung up. Stahlschmidt sat a moment, staring aghast at the telephone, wondering how it was that the affair had backfired so disastrously.
‘What did he say?’ asked Stever, taking a few hesitant steps away from the door and back into the room.
‘Mind your own bloody business!’ snarled Stahlschmidt.
He paced furiously up and down a few times, kicking any object that was unfortunate enough to lie in his path, smashing his fist into the filing cabinet, spitting on the photograph of Himmler. And then he suddenly lunged back towards his desk and clawed up the telephone again.
‘Paul? Is that you, Paul? It’s Alois here.’ His voice flowed gently, sweetly, coaxingly down the line. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about that money I owe you. You’re quite right about the 24 per cent, of course you are, but you know how it is . . . one protests as a matter of principle! We all do it, don’t we, Paul? It’s just habit, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean I’m trying to wriggle out of it . . .’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Rinken, coldly. ‘All I’m interested in right now is getting my money back. I’ll give you until mid-day tomorrow and not a moment longer. One hundred marks plus the interest.’
‘Look, I swear to you,’ said Stahlschmidt, ‘I swear to you, Paul, you’ll have it all back. I’ll put it in a plain envelope and send Stever round with it’
From the far corner of the room, Stever shook his head violently to and fro. Stahlschmidt ignored him.
‘All I ask, Paul, is that for the sake of our friendship you tell me how the devil I’m to get out of this fix! It’s all been a ghastly mistake, but there must be some way out.’
‘As far as I can see, there are only two things you can do,’ said Rinken, still very cold and curt. ‘You can either go to your C.O. and make a clean breast of it, and hope he’s fool enough to swallow it – which he probably won’t be, and then he’ll start poking around and asking questions and you’ll be worse in the shit than ever. Or else, of course, you can take the bull by the horns and ring straight through to the Gestapo. Only thing is, you’ll need to be very very careful what you say to them. Have a rehearsal first, I should, if I were you. And even then, of course, you’ll have had it if the pass turns out to be genuine. Bielert will come down on you like a ton of bricks. And then again, on the other hand, if it IS a forgery you’ll be in even worse trouble, because then they’ll want to have a word with the two guys you let in, and you can imagine how pleased they’ll be when they’ve discovered you’ve let ’em go . . .’
There was a moment’s silence. Stahlschmidt sat chewing a pencil, holding it between his back teeth and gnawing at it.
‘Paul,’ he said, at last. ‘Are you there, Paul? I just had a new idea. Mightn’t it be simpler if you just forgot I ever rang you in the first place? Come round tonight for dinner. I’ll invite one or two of our pals. Feldwebel Gehl might be able to dig up some girls from somewhere. Come round about eight and we’ll—’
‘Hang on,’ said Rinken, suspiciously. ‘Did you say FORGET it? A man in my position?’
‘Well, you could,’ urged Stahlschmidt. ‘Couldn’t you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Rinken, slowly. ‘I do have my situation to think about, you see. I have no desire to be sent off to a disciplinary company at this stage of my career . . .’
‘But nobody would know,’ whispered Stahlschmidt.
‘Well . . . well, no, perhaps you’re right. Except that I still want an official report, mind . . . However, I accept your invitation to dinner. Eight o’clock, I think you said?’
‘Eight o’clock,’ confirmed Stahlschmidt. I’il provide the wine, the food, and the entertainment . . . You’re a good chap, Paul, I’ve always said so . . . I think I’ll just tear up this damned pass and forget it ever happened.’
‘I shouldn’t do that,’ said Rinken. ‘I don’t think that would be at all wise. If it is official, there’ll be copies galore all over the place. And if it isn’t – well, quite honestly, I think you should do a bit of discreet checking. Otherwise there’ll be hell to pay if ever the story comes out.’
‘You’re right,’ said Stahlschmidt, sweating heavily round his collar. ‘You’re quite right. I’ll telephone my C.O. He’s as thick as pigshit, he won’t ask any questions.’
‘I think you ought to get it cleared up once and for all,’ said Rinken. ‘I’ll keep quiet at this end until I hear from you.’
‘That’s good of you,’ murmured Stahlschmidt, hating Rinken more with every minute that passed.
‘Mind you,’ said Rinken, in jocular tones, ‘I shouldn’t fancy being in your shoes right now. It would never surprise me if tonight’s blow out didn’t end up as a farewell party . . . you might even end up in one of your own cells!’
‘My God,’ said Stahlschmidt, ‘if that’s your idea of a joke, I don’t think much of your sense of humour. With friends like you about, I don’t need enemies.’
Rinken’s happy laughter rang down the telephone.
‘And anyway,’ said Stahlschmidt, irritably, ‘they’d never do a thing like that.’
‘Why not?’ asked Rinken. ‘In any case, it’s always nice to be with old friends . . . you could talk about the good old days when you were in charge of the prison and they were as the dust beneath your chariot wheels . . .’
Chuckling to himself, Rinken put down the receiver. Stahlschmidt sat staring at the telephone, wondering for a moment if he were sickening for some disease. The room was spinning about his ears, he felt sick and giddy and a cold perspiration had broken out all over his body. And you n
ever knew, in these days of war. So many odd diseases seemed to be going round . . . He groped for his pulse and turned to Stever.
‘I think I shall have to pay a visit to the M.O. I feel really quite ill . . . You can take over for a few hours. Or a few days, it might be, if they keep me in bed.’
Stever began to tremble.
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Herr Stabsfeldwebel. Surely Greinert is more qualified than me? In any case, he’s been here longer than I have.’
‘Greinert’s a fool.’
They sat staring at each other a while, then quite suddenly Stahlschmidt picked up the telephone and asked to speak to Major von Rotenhausen, the prison governor.
‘Sir? Major Rotenhausen, sir? It’s Stabsfeldwebel Stahlschmidt here, sir.’
‘Well, Stahlschmidt? What is it?’
I have to report, sir, that two men of the 27th Armoured Regiment – a Willie Beier and an Alfred Kalb – visited one of the prisoners today on a pass that I now think might be a forgery.’
There was a long silence, while Rotenhausen tried to take in what had been said to him and tried to think of a pertinent question to ask. At last he found one.
‘Who did they visit?’
‘Lt. Bernt Ohlsen . . .’
‘Who’s he? Whose prisoner is he?’
Stahlschmidt closed his eyes. He sank in upon himself, huddling up in his chair.
‘The Gestapo . . . IV/2a . . .’
His voice was the barest whisper.
‘And who signed the pass?’
‘Standartenführer Paul Bielert,’ said Stahlschmidt, and almost fell off his chair.
Rotenhausen hung up. He gave no indication of what he intended to do, or even if, indeed, he intended to do anything at all. Once again Stahlschmidt was left with a silent telephone receiver in his hand. He replaced it helplessly in its cradle.
‘Well,’ he said to Stever, in tones of bracing joviality, ‘we’re in the shit and no mistake . . . What the devil do we do now?’ Stever looked at him, a hump of immovable misery. ‘That bloody Rinken!’ railed Stahlschmidt. ‘Who does he think he is, jumped up bag of skin and bones! Just because he helps his sodding C.O. put on his overcoat every day . . .’ Stahlschmidt turned and spat vehemently in the direction of the over-turned waste paper basket. ‘You know what he used to do before the war, don’t you? He was a bloody milkman, that’s what he was! And you can bet your sweet life that’s what he’ll be again as soon as the war’s over . . . Ah, come on, Stever, get your brain to work, man! Don’t stand there like a solidified turd, start thinking!’
