Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

superior officers, practice alarms or special searches might disturb him at any hour of the night. Anyone who wished to work, though, could do so up to 24.00 hours, the one condition being that he wasn't to make a noise under any circumstances.

      This was Ratshelm's great moment.

      For the Captain had established it for himself as a principle that the cadets should know just how solicitous he was for their welfare. He applied this principle by a carefully formulated plan known only to himself, which he put into action first thing in the morning immediately after reveille, when he supervised the morning wash and early games, and again now, late in the evening.

      Ratshelm strode briskly from his room, down the corridor and out through the main door of the building. He continued across the parade ground and the main thoroughfare of the camp, round an ammunition dump and up to a set of wooden barracks, where H Section enjoyed temporary accommodation. The barracks were gradually becoming too small for their purpose, and additional huts had therefore had to be built to house the most junior of the officer cadets. Those in H Section were naturally the first to suffer, though in Rats-helm's eyes there was nothing wrong with throwing them all together like this. His one cause for regret was that they were some distance away, though this also meant that more checks were required.

      Ratshelm entered the narrow corridor of the barrack block and looked eagerly about him. He was disappointed by what he saw or rather failed to see. The rooms were fitted with glass windows above the doors, but in none of these was there a light. It seemed that the cadets were already asleep. This indicated that none of them was making a point of working late, though such a thing was expressly permitted by the regulations. Ratshelm shone his torch along the numbers on the doors, until he came to number 7.

      The four cadets who lived here were in fact asleep, or at least showed no signs of not being asleep. One was even snoring in his bunk, while the others lay there like logs, paralyzed with exhaustion, dead to the world. Anyhow, Ratshelm's expert glance noted at once that the room was nice and tidy, and his eyes shone with appreciation. He flashed his torch across the beds, and found himself looking into a pair of eyes that stared back at him wide awake and radiant.

      "Aha, Hochbauer," said Ratshelm softly, going closer, “so you're not asleep yet?"

      “I’ve only just stopped working, sir," replied Hochbauer equally softly.

      The Captain smiled to himself rather as an art expert smiles on finding himself before the most valuable picture in a gallery. He considered himself fortunate to be entrusted with such magnificent specimens of humanity.

      “What have you been working at so late, Hochbauer?" he asked with interest, and his pleasant baritone voice was full of fatherly good-will.

      “I’ve been reading Clausewitz," said the cadet.

      “Admirable stuff," commented- Ratshelm with approval.

      “I’m afraid, though, sir," said Hochbauer confidentially,” that there are one or two things I'm not quite clear about. It's not Clausewitz's fault, but there are just a few points I don't quite understand."

      “Well, my dear Hochbauer, you can always come along and see me about them. Any time, after duty. To-morrow evening would suit me. You know where I live. I'll be only too pleased to help you. That's what we're here for!"

      “Thank you, sir," said the cadet happily, and throwing out his chest he braced himself in the bed as if coming to attention. His night-shirt opened across his chest revealing his identification discs and the glistening texture of his skin.

      Ratshelm nodded and left, seeming suddenly to be in a great hurry. Probably it was his sense of duty that called him.

      Major-General Modersohn sat at his desk, with the harsh light of a lamp falling across his angular features. It was almost as if a wax figure were sitting there in his place. But the General was working on a file in front of him on the cover of which the words “KRAFFT, KARL, LIEUTENANT" were written in large capital letters.

      Modersohn occupied two rooms in what was known as the guest house, adjoining the officers' mess. He used one of these for work and the other for sleep and in all the time he had been there had never once used either room for anything other than the purpose for which it was designed.

      The General sat at his desk fully dressed. It was difficult to imagine him with his shirt open or his sleeves rolled up. Even his batman seldom caught a glimpse of Modersohn in his braces or his socks. As far as the General was concerned, soldiers were either dressed or undressed: “improperly dressed “was a term that simply had no meaning for him. Thus for him it was the most natural thing in the world that he should be sitting alone in his room in the middle of the night as impeccable in appearance as if he were on parade or on a tour of inspection.

      The General's tunic, which was made of worsted and was slightly worn at the elbows, even a little shiny in places, was nevertheless immaculately clean and buttoned right up to the neck. The golden oak leaves on both sides of the collar of his tunic seemed to glow magically in the light of the lamp. The German eagle on his left breast looked worn and faded. No decorations were visible, although Modersohn possessed almost every one there was. But the General preferred to make his authority felt by his personality, rather than by getting himself up like a Christmas tree.

      Yet there was a subtle difference in the General's expression now, a bleak acknowledgment of the fact that he found himself completely alone. He seemed almost lost in thought as he gazed at the documents before him.

      Carefully he read through each of the personal reports of which they consisted, before comparing them together. Then he came to the conclusion that a lot of bunglers had been at work here. For according to these reports, the man who was now Lieutenant Krafft had always been quite unexceptionable, a good soldier—almost one might say a fine one—always keen and reliable. But there must be something wrong with that.

      The General read the reports through again, this time systematically searching for specially revealing turns of phrase and oblique marginal references, which in due course he found. Almost imperceptibly he smiled.

      For example in his report on Krafft as a corporal he found the words: ... remarkable for his obstinacy—his feeling for discipline still leaves something to be desired—determination is his strong point ... And in the report on Krafft as a lieutenant were the words: ... good at solving problems on his own —very self-willed—plenty of energy but not always put to the best uses—a first-class leader of men with the ability to render really outstanding service under a superior officer who knows his job . . . The last report written shortly before Krafft's transfer to the training school offered the following instructive comment: ... of a rather critical turn of mind an extremely useful if not altogether comfortable subordinate with a strongly developed sense of justice ...

      Only a few words extracted from a superfluity of neutral meaningless formulas, cheap generalities and empty clichés. But these few words made it clear that Krafft was something out of the ordinary. He had been posted suspiciously often, and yet almost always with words of commendation. It looked as if people had praised him highly in order to be rid of him the more easily. And now he had landed here at this training school—in the domain of Major-General Modersohn, popularly known as the iceberg or the last of the Prussians.

      Modersohn closed Krafft's personal file. The notebook which lay ready to hand remained empty. The General closed his, eyes for a moment as if to rest them from the harsh light of the table lamp. His face still revealed nothing of what he was thinking. But the ghost of a smile remained.

      Then Modersohn rose and went into his bedroom, where there was an army bed, a chair, a cupboard, and a wash basin—but that was all.

      The General unbuttoned his tunic and pulled out a wallet, which he opened. He stared at a photograph, about postcard size, which was the portrait of a young man—an officer with an angular face and large, frank, inquisitive eyes. It was a solemn face, but one which at the same time evinced