Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

waiting, a picture of devotion.

      “That is all, Fräulein Bachner,” said the General, bending over his desk again.

      Sybille's eyes shone darkly. She turned to leave, but hesitated for a moment at the door, then stopped and said: “General, I don't expect you'll have time for dinner this evening, shall I get something for you?”

      Slowly the General raised his head, with a cool lack of surprise. He stared at Sybille as if seeing her now for the first time. And with a flicker of a smile he said: “No, thank you.”

      “Not even a cup of coffee, General?”

      “Thank you, no,” said Modersohn. And the flicker of a smile quite suddenly disappeared. “If I need anything like that, Fräulein Bachner, I will inform you at the time.”

      And with that, this semi-private conversation—the first in six months—was quite clearly at an end. The General was already at work once again surrounded by that wall of reserve, like a wall of bullet-proof glass, which so unnerved his colleagues.

      Sybille withdrew, neither perplexed nor surprised. She had grown used to Modersohn's idiosyncrasies over the course of time.

      There had been much she had had to get used to. The General's predecessor here had been a jovial, condescending sort of man of the world, who knew what he wanted and got it—a boisterous, benevolent despot, an uninhibited, demanding character with whom she had finally been on intimate terms.

      With the advent of Modersohn everything had changed overnight. The officers of his entourage froze in the icy atmosphere with which he surrounded himself, and either kept out of his way or crawled round him like eager watchdogs.

      In this way Sybille Bachner got to know each of them pretty well, and saw all her illusions scattered like balloons in a storm.

      “May I break in on this idyll?” asked a remarkably friendly voice from the door.

      It was Captain Kater. He smiled through the half-open doorway—warily, benevolently, confidentially. For Sybille Bachner was alone in the room, a fortunate coincidence which enabled him to demonstrate what a jovial, good-hearted fellow he was.

      “It always gives me pleasure to see you,” he declared, extending a hand towards her. This too was something he only did when no one else was present.

      “What can I do for you?” asked Sybille Bachner with some reserve.

      “Your very existence makes all other needs superfluous,” Kater assured her exuberantly. He had worked out this phrase some time before. This Bachner girl was important, she had to be flattered.

      “Is there any information I can give you, Captain? I'm afraid Lieutenant Bieringer isn't here at the moment. But if you have a message for him, I can take it for you.”

      “I have a problem, my dear Fräulein Bachner, which may in the end prove somewhat complicated—I wouldn't like to say yet.”

      “You wish to speak to the General, Captain? I don't think that's possible just now.”

      “I’m sorry about that,” said Captain Kater with visible relief.

      This was probably the best solution, for the time being. It saved him from having to make a decision. It was in fact a development on which he'd been reckoning.

      “If it's something particularly urgent ... “

      “No, no, not at all!” the Captain hastened to reassure her. “I really can't say that. It will be enough, my dear Fräulein Bachner, if you could simply confirm if necessary that I have been here.”

      Sybille Bachner saw at once what was up: the Captain wished to cover himself a familiar situation. Types like Kater were always wanting to cover themselves—by little memos, by pushing responsibility on to others, or by pretending that they had made every effort to deal with some matter, though alas in vain.

      “I’ve an uncommonly high regard for you,” Kater assured her, winking confidentially. “It’s a real pleasure to work with you. And I'm certain the General knows how to appreciate you.”

      This was a clumsy piece of insinuation. For what Kater meant was that after all the General was a man too. But Captain Kater—so his wink conveyed—was a gentleman and knew how to keep his mouth shut so long as it seemed politic or profitable to do so.

      “Captain,” said Sybille Bachner coolly, “I shouldn't like to think I've given you occasion for the slightest misunderstanding.”

      “But of course not!” cried Kater with an expansive gesture. “Quite the contrary! There's no question of any misunderstanding.”

      “May I once again assure you,” said Sybille Bachner, “that I am not in a position either to take any decision or to influence one. My job here is simply that of secretary.”

      “You’re made of sterling stuff!“ cried Kater with enthusiasm. “You must stay like that. Don't you think we ought to be friends? And if there's any little wish you should have, no matter how private—come to me.” And in the next breath he added: “What did you say the General was doing?”

      “He’s expecting Herr Wirrmann and Herr Krafft,” explained Sybille, caught off her guard. The next moment she was appalled by what she had revealed.

      Delighted with his cunning, Kater said quickly: “Well, if you should want someone you can really trust—don't hesitate to come to me. You can rely on Kater, you know.”

      “You’re keeping me from my work, Captain,” she said coldly.

      Kater didn't take offence. He drew a little closer and smiled at her. “I knew a girl once,” he said, “a fine girl she was, all you could ask for. And she had an affair with a lieutenant colonel—a really splendid fellow, one must concede that. The two of them got married later. They had no alternative. There had been too many witnesses, you see. There's not much one can do about that.”

      “How awful! “ said Sybille Bachner indignantly.

      “You can't really go wrong if you're clever about it. I know a thing or two. And if you should need any advice, my dear young lady, you always know where to find me.”

      “Herr Judge-Advocate Wirrmann,” said Major-General Modersohn, “I should like a report please on the progress of your investigation into the death of Lieutenant Barkow.”

      The General stood with Judge-Advocate Wirrmann and Lieutenant Krafft before him. At the back of the room at a little table of her own sat Sybille Bachner with a shorthand notebook in front of her.

      Wirrmann began evasively: “Might I be allowed,” He said, “to draw the General's attention to the fact that I consider it inadvisable just now to make such a report in the presence of a third party?”

      “I note your point,” said the General. “Would you kindly begin your report?”

      Sybille Bachner took down every word in shorthand, including all the various flowery turns of phrase. As far as possible she kept her eyes on the three men before her as she worked: the upright figure of the General, the court-martial expert, wily and tense, and Krafft, relaxed almost to the point of slovenliness. For Krafft imagined himself unobserved, and felt superfluous there, though he was wrong on both counts. Sybille Bachner saw that the General was noting every one of the Lieutenant's reactions carefully.

      “As far as any investigations into the matter are concerned, General,” Wirrmann began, choosing his words carefully, “I’m inclined to think they can be regarded as closed. Apart from the preliminary summary of evidence against person or persons unknown, drawn up by yourself, General, I had the following relevant material at my disposal: a sketch map and