Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

utterly lacking in all sense of reality. Damn it, officers weren't a bunch of minnesingers—certainly not this fellow Krafft who was responsible for the mess he was in now.

      “Felicitas,” said the Major, “I think you shouldn't overdo your role as a paragon of virtue, not when grim realities are at stake. My God, do try and realize that a training school like this isn't a hot-house for sensitive plants!”

      Felicitas looked at her husband as if he were some workman who had forced his way into her house. She raised her great sheep's nose majestically into the air and declared: “That is no way to speak to me, Archibald.”

      “Oh, really!” said the Major, who still hadn't recovered from the shock of Modersohn's two words. “If you hadn't come out with these idiotic sexual complexes of yours, I would never have incurred the General's rebuke.”

      “I pity you,” she said, “and find it lamentable that you should try to shift the blame for your own ineptness on to me.” The sheep's nose rose still higher into the air, looked ever more majestic, then described a hundred-and-eighty degree turn and was borne out of the room, a convincing picture of indignant pride. A door slammed and the Major was alone.

      This Lieutenant Krafft, thought the Major bitterly, is not only endangering my marriage but has brought the General down on top of me as well. To hell with this man Krafft!

      8. THE CADETS MAKE A MISTAKE

      “Hand-grenades ready for the new man!” cried one of the cadets brightly. “Out with bayonets and pen nibs—it's a matter of life and death! Idiots and suicides to the fore— soldiers take cover!” The speaker looked round for applause, but no one laughed. This was no time for trying to be funny. A new section officer marked a new chapter in training, perhaps even a new start altogether. And this was nothing to joke about.

      The cadets of H Section were entering classroom thirteen in ones and twos. They took their places, unpacked their brief-cases, and laid their notebooks out in front of them. All this was done surely and mechanically, as when a knob is turned in a factory, or a lever's position changed at the ring of a bell.

      Up to this moment in the day everything had gone like clockwork—reveille, early games, washing, breakfast, cleaning out of rooms, marching to class. But now the complications set in. Unforeseen developments might lie ahead. No one could be sure of what would happen. A wrong answer could result in a bad mark; every false move might prejudice one's chances of a commission.

      “Listen here!” cried Cadet Kramer, the section senior. “This new man's name is Krafft, Lieutenant Krafft.” He had learned the name from one of the course commander's clerks. “Anyone know him?”

      No one knew him the cadets had had their work cut out getting to know their former section officer, their tactics instructor, their course commander, and all the other people who had a say in whether or not they were to become officers. No other officers interested them.

      “In one hour at the latest,” said Cadet Hochbauer with an air of superiority, “we shall know exactly how to behave. Until then it's best to reserve judgment. And don't let anyone try and suck up to him too soon!”

      This was to be taken as not just a hint but a warning. The cadets round Hochbauer nodded. What was more; there was some sense in the injunction, since it was never advisable to put too much faith in a superior officer whose business was to put them through their paces for several weeks on end.

      On this particular morning, therefore, the cadets of H Section were unusually quiet. They slipped uneasily into their places and looked nervously across the bare room towards the instructor's desk and the blackboard.

      At the middle desk in the front row sat Cadet Hochbauer, and beside him the section senior. The two conversed together under their breath. Hochbauer gave Kramer advice, and Kramer nodded agreement. Cadets Rednitz and Mösler naturally sat right at the back of the room. Of all those present they were easily the calmest, for they had invested practically nothing in this course to date, either physically or spiritually, and as a result had nothing to lose.

      “What are we getting so excited about, children?” asked Rednitz jovially. “It’s quite possible that the new man will be completely accommodating. It's possible too that he'll have limitations, or be blessed with more than his share of stubbornness. In any case the man's an officer, so we must be prepared for anything.”

      “We’re going to wait and see,” said Cadet Hochbauer in a tone of rebuke. “It would be a mistake to jump to conclusions, don't you think, Kramer?”

      “A great mistake,” said the section senior.

      “But what if the new man's like Lieutenant Barkow?” inquired Mösler.

      “Then,” said Rednitz, “we’ll again have to put our trust in God, our Cadet Hochbauer, and the effectiveness of a fast-burning fuse.”

      Hochbauer jumped to his feet and drew himself up to his full height. The cadets in the front row backed away and formed a ring of spectators. An uneasy silence settled over the room, broken only by the shuffling of feet.

      Hochbauer walked down the center gangway to the back of the room, followed by Kramer, the section senior. Two other cadets, Amfortas and Andreas, joined the procession, though more to cover the rear than for any other purpose. The room was poorly heated, but the temperature seemed to have risen appreciably.

      “Now what's all this melodrama so early in the morning!” cried Mösler, looking round for some way of escape.

      Rednitz had also risen. He looked rather pale but managed to convey a certain air of light-heartedness nevertheless. He waited until Hochbauer was standing in front of him and then made an effort to broaden his friendly smile. He wasn't afraid, being too well acquainted with the freakish twists of fate at the front to have any fear of this posturing youth. And although he was about the same age as Hochbauer, he felt himself almost an old man by contrast.

      “Rednitz,” said Hochbauer in an unmistakably menacing tone, “I don't like your nasty insinuations.”

      “You don't need to listen to them!”

      “I regard my honor as at stake over this,” said Hochbauer.

      “If nothing else,” said Rednitz. Cadet Rednitz looked round at the flat, pallid faces of his companions, and found little support there. But he was grateful for Mösler's hand on his arm, and noticed that the bull-like Weber, Egon, was maneuvering into position, though less out of loyalty than at the prospect of a fight for its own sake. The net effect, however, was likely to be the same.

      “You will apologies to Hochbauer,” Kramer ordered Rednitz, and Amfortas and Andreas nodded energetically. “This has gone beyond a joke.”

      “I think we both agree on that,” said Rednitz. “The problem is to convince Hochbauer.”

      The cadets watched the dispute with rising misgiving, sensing unnecessary complications. Things were difficult enough as it was, on the course, without having dissensions in their own ranks which were just a dangerous waste of time.

      The majority of the cadets respected Kramer as their section senior. He had spent a good deal of time as a corporal and thus had the necessary experience for the job without being clever enough to rule by intrigue. He was in fact a relatively decent fellow, a real plodder, and they could hardly have found anyone better.

      But the cadets also tolerated Hochbauer as deputy section senior, having quickly realized that he was one of the ambitious ones of this world. There was no way of stopping him or placating him except by letting him have his own way. That he also happened to be a powerful athlete and an expert in ideology were additional reasons for letting him have his head.

      These, then, were the basic considerations in the minds of the cadets. The line of least resistance