The Constant Soldier

by William Ryan

  ‘I suspect they’re making preparations, these men,’ he said. ‘They’ll need civilian clothes and papers. They will need things for the journey – food and suchlike. And it would all have to be acquired without anyone . . .’ Bobrik paused. ‘Certainly not the officers finding out. They have money, of course. And other things of value. They just need someone they can trust. A local, perhaps?’

  ‘Civilian clothes shouldn’t be too hard to find,’ Brandt said. He examined each word before he spoke it, considering how incriminating it might be and weighing the risk.

  ‘Except that these men can’t just go to the nearest clothes shop and buy such things, can they? The Ukrainian SS aren’t permitted to wear civilian clothes, not like the Germans, and the locals don’t like them much. Someone would inform on them within the hour. No, these men need someone to act on their behalf.’

  Brandt felt his world tilting once again. It was his turn to swallow, his mouth so dry his tongue stuck to his teeth.

  ‘I’m sure such a man could be found, if the price were right,’ he said, then paused.

  Bobrik nodded in agreement. He seemed relieved, as though a difficult topic had been dealt with to both parties’ satisfaction.

  ‘The timing is important, of course. Too soon brings its own risks. Too late, though . . .’

  Bobrik left the sentence hanging.

  ‘I would say,’ Brandt said. ‘That these men will find their local man easily enough, and when the time comes, that a discussion can be had.’

  Bobrik smiled again. He looked almost cheerful now.

  ‘It’s good to talk about such things.’

  He stubbed out his cigarette and nodded over toward the guardhouse.

  ‘I’d better get back before Peichl does his rounds.’

  Bobrik paused after a few steps and turned back to him.

  ‘You haven’t been here for one of these parties, have you?’

  Brandt shook his head.

  ‘Keep your wits about you. When they get drunk, things can happen.’

  Brandt watched the Ukrainian walk towards the gate. If Bobrik had looked back he would have seen him lost in thought, and perhaps might have deduced that Brandt was taking his warning to heart. In fact, Brandt was thinking about what the hell he had just got himself into and how he could take advantage of it.

  19

  THE WIVES AND children left not long after the sing-song ended. The later part of the evening was ostensibly a purely military affair, although not exclusively male. Two busloads of female SS auxiliaries from the camp arrived not long after the last of the families left and Brandt wondered if they had been kept waiting further along the valley until the coast was clear.

  Certainly, once they arrived, the party took on a different tone. The furniture was pushed back against the walls of the entrance hall and someone put a record on the gramophone. It helped, of course, that many of the officers had been drinking for some time, but it wasn’t long before couples filled the impromptu dance floor. Brandt noticed married officers who’d said farewell to their wives and children not long before dancing cheek to cheek with telephonists half their age.

  It wasn’t clear exactly when the news about Paris began to spread but its effect was soon apparent. Many of the officers stood like statues, lost in contemplation, moving only to raise a glass to drink from it. When the record on the gramophone stopped playing, no one moved to replace it – the dance floor was empty by then – and the silence that replaced the tinny music was disconcerting.

  Brandt walked among the officers, filling their glasses. Even the Commandant was not immune to the general atmosphere. Brandt found him on the terrace, leaning forward against the rail, looking out at the reservoir and the hills on the other side of the valley, apparently lost in contemplation.

  ‘Some more wine, Herr Commandant?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  At first he spoke as if not fully aware of Brandt’s presence, but then he turned to examine him.

  ‘The new steward, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes, Herr Commandant. Brandt.’

  ‘You’re from this place?’

  ‘My father’s farm is past those trees to the left. Not far.’

  ‘It’s a lovely part of the world, this valley. I have often thought I should build myself a house here, after the war – with a terrace much like this. It’s a wonderful place on a summer’s evening.’

  ‘It is beautiful at this time of year,’ Brandt said, after too long a pause.

  The Commandant reached out to take a paternal hold of Brandt’s shoulder.

  ‘You have suffered for the Fatherland, I can see that. Don’t be downhearted at this news. The war isn’t over yet. The Führer has never failed us, remember that. Happier times will come again.’

  The Commandant’s touch made Brandt’s skin crawl. He had to fight the urge to shake off the SS man’s grip.

  ‘Herr Commandant?’

  Neumann’s voice came from the other end of the terrace, where the door through to the entrance hall was open. Neumann’s dog advanced across the terrace towards them, his tongue lolling and his tail wagging, and Brandt took advantage of the interruption to take a step back, leaving the Commandant’s hand alone in mid air. The Commandant looked at him, surprised, but was distracted by Wolf – his nose pushing at his leg. The Commandant smiled down at the dog.

  ‘This is a fine hound. Isn’t it, Brandt?’

  ‘Herr Commandant?’ Neumann repeated quietly. Brandt noticed the way he looked over his shoulder, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. The Commandant sighed.

  ‘Yes, I know, Neumann. You think I should take some action to cheer everyone up. I agree. We don’t want them to hang themselves.’

  Brandt followed them towards the entrance hall, watching as the Commandant clapped his hands at the officers he passed, breaking up their conversations. The Commandant’s smile was wide, his teeth sharp and white.

  ‘Come on, gentlemen, come on. We’re not here to mope about. Talk, drink, sing, be merry. Anyone with a sad face will be shot. Ladies, that applies to you as well.’

  The Commandant laughed as he made his threat but, even so, his words awoke the officers and the auxiliaries so suddenly that they seemed to bounce like breadcrumbs on a shaken tablecloth. They smiled. They laughed. They began to move about. The bottle Brandt was holding was empty in moments as they sought him out for refills. He went to fetch another.

  All seemed well, and yet it wasn’t. Despite the sudden cheeriness, he sensed malevolent eyes following him. The skin on the back of his neck felt cold. It was like walking through a room of smiling wolves. He brushed against a laughing doctor who turned around, saw who it was and leaned in close to him, still smiling. His eyes a pale grey. He whispered: ‘Watch where you’re going, idiot.’

  The doctor took a hold of his arm, digging his fingers into the flesh. Brandt nodded his agreement, doing his best not to show his pain.

  ‘I apologize, Herr Doktor.’

  The doctor’s smile didn’t slip as he pushed him and Brandt stumbled back a step before he managed to regain his balance. Brandt waited to hear if his apology was accepted. He didn’t want to turn his back on this man. He saw curiosity in the doctor’s gaze, as if he found Brandt’s lack of reaction intriguing, but it was soon replaced with contempt.

  ‘Be more careful. Next time I won’t be so gentle.’

  ‘Thank you, Herr Doktor.’

  Brandt made his way to the long table that was serving as a bar. The incident had shaken him. Now when he looked around the room he saw it with a layer of subterfuge removed. The smiles seemed strained, the faces contorted, almost grotesque. The Commandant appeared in front of him, a thin film of sweat glittering on his forehead.

  ‘Champagne, Brandt. We need champagne.’

  ‘There’s some in the cellar.’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for?’

  Brandt walked through the dining room, disturbing a couple just inside the door, t
heir mouths fused and their hands pulling at each other’s clothes. They didn’t see him. He passed the long table, a buffet meal laid out on crisp white linen, and saw a hundred versions of the writhing couple reflected in the silverware and glass.

  When he reached the bottom of the staircase he stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The younger of the Bible students, Katerina, glanced over at him. One of the SS cooks looked up from the table, where they sat around a bottle of wine they had helped themselves to.

  ‘Is the hot food ready to go upstairs?’ Brandt asked.

  The largest of them considered the question. The other two examined the backs of their hands, ignoring him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  Brandt looked at his watch. It was nearly seven o’clock but still bright outside.

  ‘It had better be good,’ he said. All three SS men looked up at him in unison, pulling back their shoulders. Brandt held up his hand and shook his head in half apology. He’d no desire for another confrontation.

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that there’s a strange mood upstairs. The news, I suppose.’

  The one who had spoken turned back to his glass.

  ‘Why wouldn’t there be a strange mood?’ he said, lifting it towards his mouth. ‘Everyone is in the shit.’

  Brandt glanced at Katerina, at her prison uniform, and thought about the men upstairs. He looked over to the scullery, where Agneta was washing glasses. The evening sun from the other side of the building reached across the room to bathe her in golden light. He could do something for them.

  ‘You women can go to the bunker in a couple of minutes. I just need you to help me get some champagne out of the cellar. The boys from the village will bring it up.’

  The women would be safer in the bunker, he decided, and he’d send the boys home early.

  The SS cooks could earn their keep.

  20

  AGNETA COULD hear the music through the machine-gun slit, as well as laughter that grew steadily louder and more raucous. It was a warm evening and all the hut’s windows and doors were open. They could hear snatches of conversation as people walked nearby. No one was asleep in the bunker – they were listening.

  ‘I wonder why Brandt let us off early,’ Katerina said. Agneta turned her head to look at her. She could just about make out Katerina’s profile in the weak light. She knew Katerina didn’t care about the answer. She was speaking to hear the sound of her own voice.

  ‘He has the SS cooks and the boys from the village and most of the work was done,’ Gertrud said. ‘I’m sure he’ll have us up early to clean the place before breakfast.’

  It was true – they had been working since six o’clock in the morning and, while Brandt had given them what breaks he could, they were exhausted. Not that that usually made much difference. ‘He is kind to us,’ Rachel said, and Agneta could see heads nodding in agreement.

  ‘I’m glad we’re in here and not out there. With them.’

  Joanna had a point. It was safer to be in the bunker. The SS would get drunk tonight.

  ‘It’s nice to listen to the music,’ Rachel whispered after a minute or two of silence. ‘It reminds me of before.’

  No one said anything and Agneta wondered if they, like her, were thinking back to other summer evenings – before the world had turned upside down.

  A man’s voice came from outside.

  ‘No one will see us. I promise.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ A woman’s voice. Uncertain but not unwilling.

  There was silence for a moment. Perhaps the man whispered to her.

  ‘Quickly then,’ she said, a smile in her voice.

  ‘I adore you,’ the man said. His words sounded slurred with either alcohol or lust, or perhaps both.

  The women inside the bunker hardly dared breathe. Who could tell how the officer might react if he knew there were prisoners listening to his every grunt and thrust? Thankfully, he obeyed the woman’s instruction and was quick.

  ‘I needed that,’ he said, gasping for breath. ‘It goes to show – there are still happy moments to be had. Even now.’

  The woman laughed. They heard the sound of clothes being adjusted, then footsteps walking away.

  Even now? Did he mean the end was close?

  Over in the hut, someone changed the record. Zarah Leander’s cheery, confident voice sang out.

  Can it really be a sin?

  When one only thinks of one person,

  When one gives him everything,

  Out of happiness?

  Agneta found a tear pushing at the corner of her eye. She remembered the song and the film it was from. She remembered Oskar holding her close in the silvered darkness of the cinema, his embrace warming away the chill of her terror on the afternoon of Willi’s murder. They’d been arrested a few days later.

  She wondered where Oskar was. If he was even still alive.

  21

  IN THE WEEKS that followed the summer party, Brandt ran over his conversation with Bobrik countless times. It was clear, to his mind, that Bobrik had asked for his help and that he and the other Ukrainian guards intended to desert their posts when the time was right. They wanted food, civilian clothes and papers and they wanted him to provide them. The first two he could obtain easily enough. Civilian papers, however, would be another matter.

  One afternoon when he was not required at the hut, he took a walk up into the hills above the farm – using paths and tracks that only locals knew about. He wanted to be alone amongst the trees – to let the effort of walking uphill empty his mind of anything except the ground in front of him. Once or twice he heard a rustle from the undergrowth or a breaking branch somewhere close but he didn’t look round. It would almost certainly be only an animal. No one had been hunting them in recent years and they had multiplied. And if it was a person, then he was better off leaving them be and hoping that they felt the same way about him. He felt the strain in his calf muscles and his thighs and knew he would be tired that night but otherwise he found the usual chatter of thoughts had gone quiet – as he had hoped.

  Perhaps if he had been more alert he would have heard Monika approach. In any event, they were only a few metres apart when they became aware of each other. They stopped simultaneously, facing each other along the narrow track. It was shaded here by overhanging branches and the ground underfoot was soft with pine needles, but sunlight still made its way in thin beams to the forest floor.

  ‘Paul,’ she said, to break the silence. She looked around her, as if confused by finding him so far above the farm.

  ‘Out for a walk?’ he asked, and didn’t like the way it sounded.

  ‘Sometimes I come up here,’ she answered, and he thought her answer was too carefully worded not to be suspicious.

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I like to clear the cobwebs away.’

  He smiled, or did his best to, and she smiled back. ‘Were you successful?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, which was almost true.

  She pushed a stray hair behind her ear then crossed her arms.

  ‘It’s quiet up here. The war seems far away.’

  It was his turn to look around. He listened. The silence was almost complete. She smiled, and tilted her head sideways.

  ‘I’m going back down if you would like to walk with me?’

  He nodded his agreement.

  ‘I would.’

  ‘We don’t have to talk,’ Monika said as they turned together to retrace his steps. ‘If you’d rather not, that is.’

  She offered him another of her slanted smiles and placed her arm inside his.

  §

  Later however, when they’d returned home, Brandt found himself wondering about Hubert, Monika’s former fiancé. He remembered his father’s suspicion that Monika stayed in the valley because Hubert was close by. And he wondered whether Monika might have had another motive than exercise for walking so high amongst the trees.

  And then another thought occurred t
o him.

  22

  BRANDT BEGAN to observe Monika. He didn’t follow her, or attempt to catch her out, but he watched her when they were together, and became more conscious of her absences. It wasn’t long before he became certain that she was also more aware of him – and his suspicion.

  The thing was, if Hubert was hiding close by, he must have some connections with the partisans, or even be one himself. Brandt considered the peril associated with the possibility. If Monika was walking up into the hills to meet Hubert then she was in danger. If she was taking him food – and Brandt noticed how often she carried a rucksack on her walks – then she might well be shot if she was caught. Or hanged, like the couple who had sheltered a Jewish girl in the next valley. On the other hand, if Brandt was able to get the women out of the hut, then having contact with the local partisans might be helpful. More than helpful. It could be the difference between failure and success – but to say the risks that went with such contact were great would be to underestimate them.

  §

  Brandt sat listening to the radio in the kitchen after his father had gone to bed. British and American parachutists had been overcome by German forces in the Netherlands. The bulletin made it sound like a great victory, but to Brandt it sounded as though the Allies were advancing ever closer while he was not much further forward with his plans. His slow progress was making him anxious. If he wasn’t ready to act when the time came, he would have failed Agneta twice.

  Monika came in through the yard door, taking off her overcoat as she entered. He looked up, raising his hand in greeting.

  ‘There’s a plate for you in the warming oven.’

  She had been out visiting a friend, or so she’d told their father, but something in the quick glance she threw his way struck him as surreptitious.

  ‘Good, it’s cold outside. The autumn is coming early this year.’