by David Fraser
Toni Rudberg looked lazily at the country as his car bumped uncomfortably along. The road, the main Corps axis of advance, ran along a broad, shallow valley. Astride it woods crowned low hills, extending back as far as the eye could see, and connecting with each other to make a great forest on either side. If one had to go to war it was good to see new lands, savour fresh experiences. Toni had been pleased to be attached to this Panzer Corps Headquarters – and in the operations branch, too. If all went well he might next go in a more senior position to another headquarters, possibly again to one of the Panzer divisions, whether in this Corps or further south. Just at present, however, there wasn’t much chance to show zeal and efficiency. The General was doing it all from the front, and Corps Headquarters was trundling along a dusty road all day, from one lice-ridden village to another. The driver braked and switched off the engine.
The operations group appeared to have halted. A military policeman was reporting to the vehicle in front, a car in which rode Toni’s section chief. Along this stretch the road wasn’t too bad. The forest, dark and seemingly infinite, started about a kilometre away on either side. Green meadows sloped gently upwards from road to treeline. A cluster of the usual wooden houses meant that this place probably had a name, but Russians didn’t appear to go in for maps and those issued by the General Staff before the campaign had proved remarkably inaccurate. There was a shout.
‘We’re likely to be half-an-hour here.’
‘It could be worse,’ thought Toni. An orchard and cherry trees stood behind the row of houses. He watched an old Russian woman feeding geese. She called out something which he didn’t catch, although his Russian was improving – soldiers’ Russian, perhaps, but serviceable. The old woman was joined by a fair, pale-skinned girl. Both wore peasant clothes and headscarves.
‘Really she’s rather sweet,’ Toni said to himself. ‘A delightful little thing. These people with their grave faces, their sad eyes, their wooden shacks, this extraordinary, limitless land – it transports one from 1941 to the middle ages. It’s all so – so disorganized, so untidy, so primitive!’ He went to the largest of the village houses. An old man stood humbly in a corner and bowed as Toni nodded to him. Toni noted with approval that somebody was brewing tea. He took off his cap and belt, yawned, and looked at his watch. Just four o’clock. Two other staff officers were in the room. They exchanged comments about the day’s march so far. The August sun had made them sleepy.
The spring of 1941 had not been without complications for Toni. He reckoned that he had survived them with a good deal of adroitness. He had paid discreet but assiduous court to Anna Langenbach. This was to some extent by letter and he fancied himself as a skilled and sensitive letter writer. He had also, however, driven to Langenbach to see Anna while visiting Arzfeld on two further occasions early in 1941, while enjoying a delightful time with Marcia Marvell. This had demanded finesse. Toni knew that Marcia and Anna were fond of each other. His method had been to take, or appear to take Anna into his confidence. This, anyway, produced a certain delicious intimacy. He explained how Marcia and he had fallen light-heartedly in love, in Vienna.
‘It was nothing. She was sad after your cousin was killed, she was lonely. I was available – she was living with cousins of mine and I was in the Vienna Division as we called it. She’s charming, a sweet creature. But I know you can understand that a man’s capable of deeper feelings, that it’s unfair to himself and to another to pretend his feelings are more profound than they really are!’
‘Haven’t you pretended exactly that to her?’
‘No! I don’t think so. You know how it is. And I hate to give pain. I expect I’m a worthless creature –’
‘I expect so, too.’
‘Yet all I want, Anna, is your good opinion.’ He took her hand with a fine show of nervous delicacy.
‘You will not have that if you lead my dear young friend Marcia Marvell to think you love her when you don’t.’
‘Ah, I know, I know! And how I shrink from brutality! Of course I realize it’s I who created this situation – but please, Anna!’ and he looked with great and serious tenderness into her eyes. ‘She’s far from indifferent,’ he thought.
‘What a rascal he is,’ Anna said to herself, ‘and how terribly attractive a lot of women must find him with the wave in that dark hair, with those eyes which express so much emotion, a little of bit of it genuine now and then perhaps!’ She smiled, but there was irony in the smile, a scepticism which Toni chose to ignore. Anna felt entirely detached. Toni was profoundly mistaken – a rare thing for him – in supposing her not indifferent to his charms. She saw him clinically. Her feelings were for Marcia.
Toni was not without principle. Indeed he thought of himself as an honourable man as well as practical – and kind. No man of sensibility could just drop a girl. There had to be gentleness, time. He had to admit to himself, too, that the temptations of Marcia’s body were not such as to make him hurry to abandon her, seldom though he saw her. But Toni told himself firmly that he could not forever put off the matter of a breach with Marcia. If he was to appear honest in Anna’s eyes, if she were ever to take him seriously – and how devoutly he wanted that – then the question must be tackled. If he tried to ride two horses simultaneously much longer his breeches would be bound to split.
On his last day at Arzfeld, therefore, he had gone as far as he decently could, painfully, seriously. It had been April, 1941. Toni’s Division, one of the last, was secretly moving east. He had secured four days’ leave. He had taken Marcia’s hand and walked with her through Arzfeld woods: a glorious day.
‘Marcia, I must tell you that I shall not be coming here again. Anyway, not for a long time.’
Marcia had wanted to know why not. Toni had no high reputation for discretion, but even he could say little. She asked – ‘Is it this business in Greece?’
‘I can’t say what or where it is, and I don’t know much, darling, but it is so. You may not see me again.’
Marcia looked at him, troubled.
‘Why do you say it like that?’
‘Well, war is like that for all of us, isn’t it? We’re like autumn leaves, blown in a gale, swirling around, not our own masters. And the gale is blowing over most of the world. But Marcia, I don’t want you to feel tied.’
‘I do feel tied.’
‘No, I mean it. I haven’t the right. I’ve not asked you to marry me, or anything like that. I’ve got no settled future, I’m a soldier, I’m not Werner von Arzfeld with woods and fields awaiting him one day – no, please let me finish. I think you and I should – should thank God for what we’ve had together and not expect anything from the future. I want you to feel free. Believe me, I hate saying that! It makes me feel horribly jealous! But I must. And oh! my little heart, how I shall miss you!’ He held her tightly. There was a long, loaded silence.
Marcia said, almost inaudibly – ‘There’s someone else.’
‘No, don’t think like that, Marcia. This is more important than that sort of thing. I have to think what’s right to do. I’m going away – much further than before,’ he muttered recklessly.
Marcia appeared not to have heard him. She said again, as if to herself,
‘Yes, there’s someone else.’
Then – and he found the memory so painful that he could hardly face it without tears – she had simply taken his arm, smiled sadly into his face, and said softly, in English – ‘I expect you’re right. Anyway I do thank God for you, my love, and I always will, whether that’s right to do or not. And may He keep you safe.’ Then she had walked back to Arzfeld quickly and alone.
This scene, which Toni recollected with pain mingled with a certain sentimental satisfaction, was the last time he had seen Marcia. ‘And I suppose I may never see her again,’ he thought, ‘but I’m sure I behaved correctly, honourably.’ He had written a quick letter to Anna Langenbach:
‘I have done as you advised – I have been honest. Oh! how agonizing these
things are. But how I bless you for your wisdom and inspiration.’
So far no answer.
Toni’s sense of rectitude was strengthened by a most disagreeable incident which had occurred just after his taking up his new duties at Corps Headquarters – immediately before the campaign started on 22nd June. One afternoon he was summoned by the Chief of Staff.
‘Rudberg, this is Sturmbannführer Schramm of the Security Service. There is a matter on which he wishes to speak to you personally. I have agreed.’ The Chief of Staff left the room. He looked embarrassed.
Schramm was a heavily-built man with a dark pencil moustache, shaved above and below. Toni thought he looked repulsive. He wore the uniform of the Sicherheitdienst. Like the SS they had a rank structure different from the Army’s. A Party man. Toni looked at him haughtily. What did this oaf want with a Rudberg, a gentleman? Schramm had sat himself down at the Chief of Staff’s desk and was looking at some papers. He appeared entirely at home.
‘Captain Rudberg, I’ve got to investigate a report I’ve got here. It concerns your personal affairs.’
‘What personal affairs?’
‘It has been reported that you have a close relationship with an Englishwoman. That you, a German officer, are – shall we say attached? – to a woman who is, at the moment, at liberty in Germany but who has members of her family fighting for the enemies of the Reich.’
So that was it. Even a year ago Toni would have simply knocked Schramm down. But things had changed a lot. ‘Keep your temper,’ he said to himself. His voice was less than steady.
‘The lady to whom you refer was the fiancée of a distinguished German officer, who died fighting for Führer and Fatherland. She has chosen to live among us. I understand that the State authorities – subject to understandable safeguards – are content that she should be, as you put it, at liberty.’
‘I know all that.’
‘Furthermore the lady is working as an auxiliary nurse, a work of humanity – and of service to Germany. As to her family – I know nothing of them, but since they are English I have no doubt, as you say, that some are fighting against us.’
‘Quite so.’
‘Then I cannot see why the matter is raised by you as a matter of security.’
‘Captain Rudberg,’ said Schramm, ‘this lady,’ he fingered a sheet of paper, ‘this Fraülein Marvell may be harmless, as you say. But we have to consider whether she is a – shall we say, a suitable companion? – for an officer who might, I am told, be promoted to positions of even greater confidentiality.’ Schramm smiled, displaying some gold in the teeth. It was not an appetizing sight. He continued, his voice soft and courteous –
‘I’m sure you understand, Captain, that a man in your position, a man with your responsibilities – your possibilities – has an obligation to be free from, shall we say, complications or question marks. On the security side. They can so upset a man’s life.’
‘I assure you, Herr Sturmbannführer, that there are no complications. No question marks. And, as you know, the late Captain von Arzfeld was formally engaged to this lady. No questions were raised then.’
‘There wasn’t time,’ Schramm said drily. He looked at Toni steadily, as if soliciting a further comment.
Toni heard himself saying –
‘It is, anyway, unlikely that I shall be seeing Fraülein Marvell again.’
‘Ah,’ said Schramm contentedly. ‘That seems to me to make matters simpler, Captain Rudberg. Much, much simpler.’
The atmosphere in the Russian kitchen was stuffy but the tea was particularly welcome.
‘I expect there’ll be night work as usual,’ Toni yawned.
‘There’s rather a charming little lass feeding geese, did you see her? Like someone from the Brothers Grimms’ tales.’
‘Your eye’s always the sharpest, Rudberg! But I doubt if time’s going to allow –’ Suddenly they all leapt to their feet. Outside the house there was a confusion of shouts, a babble of warnings and commands.
‘What the Hell –’
Seizing belts and caps they rushed out to the road. One of the transport feldwebels was pointing excitedly.
‘There, Herr Hauptmann, there!’
A number of soldiers with light machine guns had been pushed hurriedly into ditches and down behind the corners of houses on the village edge.
‘There! There!’
Toni brought his binoculars up on to the forest fringe a kilometre away to the south of the road. He gasped.
‘My God!’
Out from the trees were moving, in leisurely fashion, three separate columns of horsemen. They formed up in a near continuous line parallel to and facing the road. They appeared to be three or four ranks deep.
‘God, there must be five hundred at least!’
Toni breathed deeply. The scene was being played out in complete silence. Every eye and every binocular was on the forest.
Suddenly there was an irregular but perceptible flash of sun on metal, rippling up and down the ranks.
‘Look at that, they’ve drawn sabres,’ yelled Friedmann, Toni’s colleague in the Corps operations branch.
There was a distant roar of engines. Far to the south four ground attack aircraft of the Luftwaffe could be seen flying eastward. Somewhere near the horizon was a renewed rumble of artillery. Modern war appeared to be starting up again. The lines of horsemen seemed to shimmer. They were moving.
‘Every man down, weapons ready, fire on command!’ The little group were so concentrated that one shout could reach them all, or nearly all. And, astonishingly, no other German columns to east or west were, for the moment, in sight.
‘Operations Group, Panzer Corps Headquarters,’ thought Toni, ‘about to receive cavalry.’ It was a pity tea had been interrupted. His mouth was dry.
Then twenty voices yelled the same words –
‘Here they come!’
Toni’s binoculars were still up. There was no doubt of it. They were indeed coming – at full gallop. Riding stirrup to stirrup, sabres held high. If Operations Group Panzer Corps Headquarters had decided not to receive cavalry but to mount vehicles and distance themselves the moment was certainly past.
‘About seven hundred metres! Five – four –’
‘Feuer frei!’
The Spandau light machine guns opened up, their short, high-pitched bursts sounding as if a giant were ripping huge sheets of paper. Two heavy machine guns, mounted on vehicles for anti-aircraft protection, had been levelled, Toni saw with approval, their platforms steered quickly into positions from which they could fire. Individual soldiers were now opening up with their carbines.
‘Feuer frei!’
Toni watched, holding his breath. It was a fascinating, an appalling sight. At first, he was only conscious of the number of horsemen still galloping towards them. For some moments the charge appeared to have lost little impetus. Then he saw that he was looking at a mere handful of cavalrymen riding on – and at a larger number of riderless horses. The latter began to swing left and right, to gallop outwards and then back, neighing wildly, terrified by the frightful noise of the machine guns.
The Spandaus kept up their grim work. Toni could now hear shouts from the surviving horsemen. They, too, must be realizing how alone they were, how few, and were swinging outwards and making up the slope towards the treeline, every man for himself, crouching low over his horse’s neck. Machine gun fire was going high but Toni saw half a dozen brought down, though whether bullets struck horse or rider or both it was too distant to say.
The main body of Russian cavalry had been cut down within two hundred metres of the point the line had reached when the Germans opened fire. Horses in the front rank had fallen in huge numbers, bringing down those behind them. Through their glasses Toni and his companions could see the frightful mass of writhing horseflesh, with, here and there, the prone or crawling figures of soldiers. The sounds of terror and confusion were clear. The nearest stricken men and beasts lay at no more than
150 metres distance.
‘Stop firing, there! Stop!’ whistles blew. There was the hiss of a bullet passing harmlessly over their heads, and then another. A few cracks could be heard from the mangled mass of carcasses.
‘Watch out, now! The live ones have got their carbines, they’re down behind horses, watch out!’
Certainly no chances could be taken.
‘Poor brutes,’ Toni muttered. He couldn’t take his glasses off the ghastly sight.
‘Schmidt’s reporting it! Get them mounted, we’re moving on,’ somebody shouted. The air was full of excitement, of men telling each other of particular incidents or phenomena observed.
‘Fantastic, Rudberg! The Luftwaffe and a tank fight in the morning, advance thirty kilometres, Battle of Borodino in the afternoon! What a sight!’
‘There’s not much that can be done for those poor devils, sight or no sight!’
‘Schmidt’s reported the incident and the approximate casualties –’
‘Our horses are suffering enough from this campaign,’ said Toni, ‘but at least we don’t go in for the “arme blanche”. And I’m glad of it. Men make war. Let them pay for it.’ He climbed into a staff car beside the driver. The man was in a state of something like ecstasy.
‘That was quite a battle, wasn’t it, Herr Hauptmann!’
‘It was a massacre. Now shut up and watch where you’re going. We don’t want another cracked sump.’
‘Well,’ said Kaspar von Arzfeld, ‘Rudberg is certainly having an interesting war.’ He had read out excerpts from Toni’s letter to the silent Marcia and Lise.
‘It all sounds rather horrible.’
‘War is a harsh business. Soon we shall have news of another campaign.’ For a telegram had arrived two days earlier;
‘Lieutenant von Arzfeld wounded but recovering well. Will be granted sick leave on discharge from hospital probably in March.’
The nature of the wound was not normally disclosed in such telegrams but Kaspar had got busy on the telephone from District Headquarters, and had returned the following evening with a grave face, touched with a certain relief. Frido was in hospital in Poland. He had been wounded in Southern Russia.
