by William Ryan
Thank the Lord the infantry and artillery had wiped the Germans from the hills in front of them . . . There was some German artillery fire but it was erratic. Very seldom did it come anywhere near them. Although the thought of what would happen if the pontoon bridge were cut in half by a random shell made her sweat just a little bit more.
Up ahead of her, through the snow, she caught a glimpse of the other side – tanks were speeding up the pock-marked slope, infantrymen clinging to their sides, rolling past caved-in trenches and bloodied bodies, fanning out and advancing at full speed.
And that made her smile.
They were going to Germany. To drag the fascists from their lair.
56
IT HAD BEEN two days since the Russians attacked and still Brandt had heard nothing from Hubert. Meanwhile, a doctor would be coming to see Jäger today, after which the SS man must finally leave. And once he was gone, the hut must be shut down, with all that must mean. Brandt felt the situation slipping away from him.
‘Brandt? What are you doing? Dreaming?’
Peichl was standing so close that he felt the spray of his spittle on his cheek. The truth was, he’d no idea what he was doing – he looked down to find he’d been reading the cellar list, over and over again. Had Peichl been talking to him for long?
‘I’m preparing an inventory for Obersturmführer Neumann.’
He croaked. As if he’d forgotten how to speak.
‘Not worried about what the Ivans will do to you, then? You should be – they’ll want to know how you won all your medals. How many of their comrades you killed.’
Brandt opened his mouth to speak but no words came.
‘You don’t look well, Brandt. Perhaps you are frightened?’
He was, But not for himself so much.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Brandt said. ‘Just a fever.’
‘Don’t pass it to me. I need my wits about me. I want to make sure I know exactly what’s going on. I want to make sure I know who can be trusted and who can’t.’
Brandt turned and found Peichl’s malevolent eyes were only centimetres away from his. Peichl held his gaze, challenging him in some way. Brandt stared back, wondering what was happening. Eventually Peichl took a step back to look around the wider kitchen.
‘Prisoners. All of you. Out here and line up.’
Rachel and Agneta came from the side rooms while the others left off what they were doing, standing where Peichl indicated. He walked along the line, examining each of the women in turn. Brandt watched him. Could he know something? Could someone have blabbed?
‘I’m taking two of the prisoners, Brandt,’ he said. ‘I need their company in the guardhouse for a little while. It seems we are missing a key and I’d like to know how this happened.’
There was something sly about the way Peichl spoke, as if there was a joke that only he understood. Brandt felt ice roll down his spine.
‘As you wish, Herr Scharführer.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me which key?’ Peichl’s lips curled into a smirk.
‘It’s none of my business,’ Brandt managed to say, despite his dry mouth.
‘I thought you’d made the prisoners your business, Brandt. All this nonsense about winter jackets – you think I don’t know who put the Obersturmführer up to that? And now the key to their bunker goes missing. I wonder if that might not be of concern to you as well.’
The Scharführer’s smile was wide now. He held up a finger and wagged it from side to side, chiding Brandt.
‘You thought I wouldn’t notice, dear Brandt? About your little kindnesses? More fool, you, if you did. Which one? The Pole is attractive enough, I suppose.’
The penny dropped.
‘What are you suggesting?’
His surprise wasn’t invented. Peichl’s reaction, however, was to look still slyer.
‘Or maybe the Austrian? I think it’s her. Yes. That must be the case. She’s the one you can’t take your eyes off.’
‘This is nonsense,’ Brandt said, turning his fear into anger.
Peichl laughed.
‘Why go out of your way for them? That’s the question I asked myself. It could be pity, I suppose. But you don’t strike me as a kind man, Brandt. I think you’re just the same as me, underneath that burned skin. After all, you work here, same as I do. Kind men don’t work in a place like this. Do they?’
Peichl went up to Agneta, whispering into her ear loud enough for Brandt to hear.
‘Does he take advantage of you, Prisoner? Does he take you into that scullery where you work and bend you over the counter? Or does he visit you at night?’
‘Herr Scharführer, this is unacceptable. I will go directly to the Obersturmführer.’
‘You have nothing to worry about, Brandt. If you’ve done nothing wrong, of course. Maybe I’ll ask a few questions, while these two are cleaning the guard tower. I tell you this in all honesty, Brandt, when I start asking questions of prisoners – I always get answers. I wonder what answers I’ll get this time.’
Peichl laughed and jabbed a finger at Joanna and then Agneta. He pointed his thumb towards the door.
‘You and you. Outside, now. And be quick about it.’
Neither of the women looked at Brandt as they left, but he could tell from their lowered heads and the way they carried themselves that they feared the worst.
And so did he.
57
BRANDT WATCHED Peichl take the women to the gatehouse through the window. He ushered them inside. Brandt imagined what was being said in there. He imagined Peichl beating them – he imagined things worse than a beating. He imagined Agneta telling him about their conversation. At least, thank God, she knew nothing about the key.
He was about to go up to Neumann to demand the release of the women back to his kitchen when he saw Anna Beck, the SS woman from upstairs, approach the guardhouse and knock. When Peichl came to the door the two top buttons of his tunic were undone. He was pleased with himself. He exchanged a few words with Beck, doing up the undone buttons as he did so. Then he closed the door behind him, leaving Joanna and Agneta inside, and followed Beck back to the main building, looking over to the window Brandt was standing at and waving. A friendly wave. What did it mean?
Brandt was conscious that the prisoners in the kitchen were watching him.
‘Let’s get back to work,’ he said, and looked again at the cellar list. It was somewhere to look, no more than that. He listened to the sound of Beck and Peichl’s footsteps on the floor above. Peichl walking to Neumann’s office where his steps paused, then entered.
Had Agneta told him something? No, not possible. Agneta was tough – she’d keep her mouth shut for longer than a few minutes. He was sure of it. And Joanna knew nothing.
He occupied himself with work. It passed the time.
§
‘Herr Brandt?’ Katerina said. Peichl had been in Neumann’s office for twenty minutes now. Katerina was preparing vegetables near the window, from where she had a view of the main gate. Brandt walked over and she nodded towards a truck that was driving in. At first he thought it must be the doctor coming for Jäger. But when it came to a halt, an Order Police officer stepped down from the driver’s cabin and approached the hut’s main entrance. Men with rifles began to climb out of the covered rear – standing around in their heavy coats, cigarette smoke gathering around them. They couldn’t be here because of anything the women had said to Peichl. They had to have come from the town at the bottom of the valley.
Unless Peichl had called them earlier. And then there was Bobrik. And Jäger. Why hadn’t he walked around the village with a placard? He might as well have called the Order Police himself.
He looked down and saw that he’d squeezed the cellar list into a tight ball without realizing. He was meant to give it to Neumann that afternoon and now he’d have to rewrite the whole thing. That was all right. He needed something to distract himself. He’d begin directly.
§
> ‘Herr Brandt?’
When Anna Beck’s voice called down the stairs for him he said nothing for a moment, carrying on with copying out the list, hearing the steps creak as she came down the steps, one by one. He was thinking. They would have sent Peichl and the Order Police down if it was serious, wouldn’t they? This was good news.
‘Herr Brandt?’
‘Yes, Fräulein Beck. I’m here.’
He scanned her face as she told him Neumann wanted to speak with him. He followed her up the stairs, his missing hand making its presence felt. In the space beneath the empty sleeve, its ghostly echo clenched and unclenched repeatedly.
‘What does he want me for?’
He asked the question out loud – it seemed reasonable to. He sounded surly, as if he were annoyed at the inconvenience which, he thought, was the right approach. He was a decorated veteran, after all – a hero of the Eastern Front. But at the same time he was trying to guess who might have betrayed him, if anyone had, and what they could have said.
‘I don’t know what he wants. All day long we’ve been waiting to be told something. But nothing.’ She sounded exhausted – as if she were one of the prisoners and not one of the upstairs folk. ‘He just told me to bring you upstairs. He’s with Hauptsturmführer Jäger and an officer from the Order Police. And Peichl.’
‘The Order Police?’
‘I don’t know why.’
Could Jäger have betrayed him? Had their conversation been a provocation? He wished he had the gun from the cistern in his pocket. There was laughter inside the office, then Neumann’s voice called for him to enter. Brandt could hear other voices talking. Jäger sounding relaxed. Perhaps it was all right – perhaps he had nothing to fear. He twisted the door handle.
The conversation stopped as he entered. The room was full of smoke and he found himself the focus of attention of the room’s silent occupants. Jäger was sitting in an armchair, one leg sloped across his knee. An Order Police Hauptmann, his greatcoat open, sat in the other armchair. Neumann leant against his desk. Peichl, standing by the filing cabinets, looking less happy than he had – was the only one who ignored Brandt – instead staring at Jäger.
Neumann pointed his cigarette at him.
‘The man we need to speak to.’
‘Herr Obersturmführer?’
Another pause. Were they playing with him? Neumann looked over to the Order Police officer.
‘You’re part of the village’s Volkssturm, aren’t you?’ the officer asked. ‘A local?’
‘I am.’ Brandt nodded his agreement. It was just a Volkssturm matter. He would have been more relaxed if the Order Police Hauptmann hadn’t had a face like a cell door. And why was Jäger wearing a white camouflage smock? Jäger caught his glance and gave him a smile that didn’t bode well.
‘Hauptmann Weiss here needs our assistance. Some British prisoners of war have escaped – they’ve taken to the hills near here.’
He resisted the temptation to ask what this had to do with him. At least he wasn’t going to be arrested.
‘When did this happen?’
‘Last night, in one of the factories in the town,’ the Order Police officer said. ‘They attacked their guards. One of them is half-dead in hospital.’
‘Well,’ Jäger said, ‘it’s their job to attack us – and the other way round. They’re soldiers, after all.’
The Hauptmann snorted.
‘They’re prisoners of war. Anyway, we’ll do our job when we catch them – exactly the same way they did.’
Brandt didn’t need to be told they were nearby – it was obvious to him. Someone must have spotted them close to the village. Jäger nodded, as if following his chain of thought.
‘Feldwebel Brandt has worked out why we need him.’
The Order Police Hauptmann’s glance flicked between them quickly, his expression cautious.
‘The thing is, Herr Brandt,’ he said, ‘they were seen early this morning near a farm on the other side of the reservoir. The family’s name is Dorfmann.’
‘I know the place.’
The Red Farm. Where the shoot had taken place.
‘Good – my men don’t know the area very well. We’re going after them, of course.’
‘It’s up to you, Brandt,’ Neumann said, looking up at him. ‘The mayor has given his approval, however.’
‘I don’t know the valley as well as I used to,’ he began. ‘I’ve been away some time.’
‘The mayor said he was sure you’d do your duty,’ Neumann said, and Brandt found himself nodding.
‘And Ernst Mayer is to go with you as well. Do you know him?’
‘He’s my uncle.’
‘The mayor said he was the best tracker in the valley.’
‘The mayor’s not too bad,’ Brandt said, mainly to give himself time to think.
‘He’s otherwise engaged.’
‘Are they officers or enlisted men – the British?’ Brandt said, deciding there wasn’t much point in trying to duck it.
‘That’s a real soldier,’ Jäger said. ‘Straight to the point. Few like him left. Around here, anyway.’
Weiss, unfamiliar with the Hauptsturmführer’s ways, seemed to have swallowed something that disagreed with him.
‘I thought you were leaving us, Herr Hauptsturmführer,’ Brandt said, nodding toward the camouflage jacket. ‘I heard a doctor was coming to see you.’
‘The doctor isn’t coming till tomorrow morning now. Another delay. Plenty of time for me to join the hunt.’
58
IT WAS A wild-goose chase. The British had covered their tracks where they could and the ones they hadn’t managed to obscure, the wind and snow were taking care of.
In theory they were still following them, but Ernst had lost the trail an hour before. They’d circled twice around the last place they’d seen the Britishers’ tracks, spread out in a long line in the hope that someone might see something. The Order Police weren’t used to this kind of work. They had been sloppy and disorganized to start with but now they carried their rifles like spades and muttered amongst themselves. Their officer, Weiss, deferred to Jäger in everything. As for Peichl and the four Ukrainians that Neumann had volunteered – in much the same way as he’d volunteered Brandt – they were at least alert. Jumpy almost. Bobrik, in particular. Peichl, on the other hand, just looked cold and miserable. But every now and then he glanced over at Brandt and nodded. As if to remind him he hadn’t forgotten about the key.
It didn’t help that the fresh snow was making the going difficult – particularly if you were missing an arm for balance. Brandt stumbled and Ernst, God bless him, reached out to support him, smiling. His face was red as a strawberry and the breath wheezed out of him like a steam engine. He was too old for this. So was Brandt, for that matter. It didn’t seem likely that they were going to pick up the trail now, not with the shadows lengthening and the snow still falling. Brandt was happy about that.
Brandt looked along the line. The Order Police and the Ukrainians were clustering together now. They slogged on, towards the next farm, looking less and less soldierly as they went. He should say something, but it wasn’t his place. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. Once it had become clear that Ernst knew each tree and bush as if it were his own, neither Weiss nor Jäger had bothered speaking to him. He doubted any of them would appreciate his advice now.
The farmer at their next stop had seen nothing and heard nothing – but they searched his outbuildings anyway, just in case. They found nothing, of course. And it was just as well – the Order Police had gone about it in a stupid way. Just walking in and looking around. Sitting ducks.
When they reached the Red Farm, so called for a barn that wore the colour – faded from neglect now, of course, like everything else these last five years – Jäger stopped to let them recover their breath. It was becoming even colder as the last of the light left the valley. Brandt took off his helmet and wrapped his scarf around his head from top to bottom,
tying it under his chin, covering the side of his face where the skin was rawest. He replaced the helmet and looked around at the others. They stood in a rough circle, not speaking – smoking cigarettes, if they had them. It was too dark now to see their faces clearly, except when their features appeared for a second or two in the glow of a cigarette, fading away as quickly as they’d come.
After five minutes precisely – Brandt watched Jäger check his watch more than once – the SS officer nodded to Weiss and they moved off. Brandt stayed at the rear – they’d given up looking for tracks now. Quite what they were trying to do, he wasn’t sure, and he needed to relieve himself. He should have gone when he’d had the chance back at the barn but he knew where they’d stop next – they’d stopped there twice already – and it wasn’t far. He could wait until then.
Brandt was cold but he felt a still deeper chill as he realized they were walking through the same long field in which the officers’ shoot had taken place – that they were passing only twenty metres from the spot where the prisoners had been murdered. There was something about the place that filled him with foreboding. Ernst turned towards him, his eyes shaded by the brim of his antiquated helmet, but Brandt knew him well enough to detect his concern. His uncle stopped, inclining his ear – as if he thought he might have heard something. Brandt wondered if he should call out to Jäger. But the Hauptsturmführer was already in the forest, following the same narrow path they’d walked along twice already. The only sound now was the squeaking of the snow under their boots and the occasional crack of a frozen branch.
No one spoke, even though they’d gathered together into a tight group – no man more than an arm’s length behind the one in front. After all, who would want to be left behind, alone in among the dark trees? They were doing their best to be quiet, moving slowly, testing the ground in front of them before putting their full weight on it. But the idea that they might catch the British was laughable. They could pass within metres of a British soldier in this light and they wouldn’t see him. At least the kitchen would be warm when he got back; he could rest his backside on the stove and have a glass of hot milk – with something in it perhaps.
