Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

will be taking charge of Section H for Heinrich. And I venture to suggest that it is one of the finest sections of the whole company. Aren't I right, Captain Ratshelm? As company commander you must be in the best position to judge.”

      “Oh yes, that's so, Major. I'd even say it's the finest section we've had for a long time. There are a number of first-class men in it on whom I pin great hopes. As tactics instructor, wouldn't you agree with me, Feders?”

      “Oh, completely,” said the Captain. “Section H for Heinrich consists of a lot of stupid, arrogant, underhand oafs. They're lazy, greedy, cheeky, stupid, mad for women and decorations. When I'm teaching them they can't tell the difference between a hand-grenade and a field kitchen, a machine-gun and a ration pack, orderlies and orders. They're interested primarily in food, and only secondarily in ammunition. And their faith in a certain former Corporal seems more important to them than any proper appraisal of a given situation.”

      The Major smiled. And Captain Ratshelm tried to do the same. Lieutenant Krafft was merely astonished. Captain Feders's utterly uninhibited statements bordered on high treason. Krafft sucked pleasurably at his cigar.

      “Our beloved Captain Feders,” said the Major with a curt laugh, though his eyes were like pinpoints and his smile frozen as his voice grew sharper and sharper, “Our beloved Captain Feders is very fond of using bitter words and cutting expressions, and in fact has quite a reputation for them. But all of us who know him well realize how he means these things to be taken. He likes to pile on the irony, so to speak, rather as Blücher and Wrangel used to do. He has, however, sufficient tact to confine such remarks to a most intimate circle, which is really a sort of proof of his confidence in us. His prodigious capabilities as a tactics instructor help us to be indulgent to- wards him. If I've understood you correctly, Captain Feders, what you mean is this. The cadets of Section H, whose tactics instructor you are, are still deficient in a number of soldierly qualities and riddled with human weakness.

      They're badly in need of some first-class tactical training, which after all is the point of an officers' training school. Their faith in our Führer is gratifyingly pronounced—an indispensable prerequisite indeed for their careers as officers—yet this cannot be regarded as enough in itself. Isn't that so, Captain Feders —isn't that what you meant by your remarks?”

      “Yes, Major, exactly,” said Feders impassively.

      The Major smiled indulgently. He could hardly help admiring himself He was more than just a soldier; he was a diplomat as well. He might well be on the threshold of a great career. His work at the training school would be an excellent first step towards it. “Well, my dear Krafft, how were you thinking of handling your cadets?”

      “Strictly, but fairly,” said Krafft, unable to think of any other platitude just at that moment.

      “What methods of instruction were you thinking of employing?”

      “Whatever methods are currently in use here and you consider correct, Major.”

      The Major nodded. The last part of Krafft's answer was particularly gratifying. The fellow was adaptable or at least was prepared to be, which was always the essential prerequisite for good, fruitful co-operation. But what the Major liked to think of as his restless spirit of inquiry wouldn't leave him alone. “Which method do you prefer, Krafft?” he asked. “Skillful persuasion, instruction by example, or drilling things into people by force?”

      “Whichever seems suitable in any given instance, Major.”

      Again the Major nodded. This time he wasn't exactly displeased by Krafft's answer, but he wasn't particularly happy about it either. The fellow was suspiciously evasive and simply wouldn't allow himself to be pinned down. The Major would have to be careful. The existence of one Captain Feders among his officers was unsettling enough. Two such people in one and the same section spelt trouble.

      However, the Major was spared further speculation, because at that moment his wife, Frau Felicitas, poked her by no means insignificant sheep's nose into the room, smiled, and said quite brazenly: “What a pity you gentlemen have to leave so soon! But of course you have a heavy day tomorrow.”

      “Archibald,” said the Major's wife, “I don't like this man at all.”

      “I can't say I'm exactly enthusiastic about him either, Felicitas dear,” agreed Frey with alacrity. “But unfortunately I can't always choose the people I work with. And the fellow has been positively forced on me.”

      The Major suppressed a yawn and tried to look interested. -He usually took notice of her advice, though it wasn't always possible for him to follow it. But one thing was clear: Felicitas was remarkably good at sizing up how useful and valuable a subordinate was going to be. The quality was inbred in her, so to speak, for several of her ancestors had been generals, important landowners and ministers of state.

      “The man has no manners, Archibald. He doesn't know how to kiss one's hand, and he has no conversation. He eats untidily, scatters ash all over the place, and never once addressed me as ' ma'am '.”

      “Most regrettable,” said the Major.

      “Not that I overestimate the value of social conventions, Archibald. But you know my view: people with properly trained minds have good manners as well. This man Krafft may well be very capable, but then so are a lot of artisans. A true officer needs to be more than just capable. In short, Archibald, I have considerable misgivings.”

      “So have I, Felicitas, my dear! But what am Ito do?”

      “You could talk to the General; it's still not too late. To-morrow, though, when this man takes over the section, it could be too late.”

      The Major lowered himself heavily into an armchair. The telephone stood just beside him. He had a problem to wrestle with now. He certainly wanted to protect himself from harm and also not to disappoint his wife. But it wasn't so easy to get the General to change his mind, for he always required absolutely conclusive arguments.

      “Did you notice how he looked me up and down, Archibald?” the Major's wife now asked with a shudder of indignation.

      “He looked you up and down?”

      “Almost as if I were one of those terrible women. I felt utterly ashamed. A positively animal look, Archibald. I regard him as quite shameless and utterly degenerate.”

      “But my dear Felicitas,” said the Major in some confusion, “he probably only wanted to flirt with you a bit. You should laugh at that and take it as a compliment—an unfortunate compliment perhaps, but at least the right idea was there. He simply tried to make eyes at his commanding officer's wife, in order, in his rather clumsy way, to get you to like him.”

      The Major took one look at his wife and felt sure that he was right. Her qualities were unmistakably more of a spiritual nature. But then he began to have slight doubts. Not everyone, he told himself, was made like himself, with his sense of duty, his moral irreproachability. He had known how to sublimate his instincts in action. But even among his own officers there might easily be people who were inclined to go astray. He had even read of a singular addiction in some young people for older women, and there was nothing he would put beyond Krafft.

      “He looked at me as if he wanted to undress me!” insisted his wife with a great show of indignation.

      The Major shook his head sadly. “You must be mistaken, Felicitas,” he went so far as to say.

      “I don't make mistakes about that sort of thing,” she insisted. “And if all that isn't enough for you, then I won't keep the rest from you: the man tried to molest me in an unbecoming manner under the table.”

      “Inconceivable!” said the Major. “An unfortunate accident, perhaps.”

      “It can't all be accident!” cried Frau Felicitas bitterly. Then she