Officer Factory. Hans Hellmut Kirst

Ratshelm was now out in front of them, pleasantly distracted from his supervisory duties by the game and his sporting companions, and Mösler and Rednitz found his back a comforting sight. Now and again they would make a perfunctory move in one direction or another, even occasionally actually pursuing the ball. But this was only because the cold January air left them little option. They had no wish to work up an unnecessary sweat, but they had no wish to freeze either.

      “Hochbauer’ll get his commission all right," said Mösler.

      “Could become a general," agreed Rednitz, “if the war lasts long enough and he finds enough superior officers to fall for him."

      “Coming over, sir!" cried Cadet Hochbauer, in clear, ringing tones. “Into the center!"

      “Right!" cried Captain Ratshelm. Skipping forward with what he imagined was remarkable elegance he caught the ball and sent it hurtling into his opponents' half of the field, where for some reason or other one of the cadets dodged aside and the ball went into goal.

      Yet another point scored. The Captain's team was well ahead, as was only to be expected. Once again Ratshelm felt that his own remarkable versatility had been overwhelmingly demonstrated.

      “They can't beat us now!" cried Hochbauer happily.

      “Our opponents are putting up a great fight, though! All honor to them!"

      This man of honor, Captain Ratshelm, a professional soldier and an officer out of deep conviction, was utterly dedicated to the training company under his command. He had three sections under him in all, G, H and I, each of which had on its strength forty cadets, one section officer and one tactics instructor. It was Ratshelm's gift to be able to unite in his own person all those qualities required to produce the officers of the future. There was no field in which he was not an expert; he was planner, instructor, educator, all rolled into one, and above all a true comrade-in-arms. Although himself only a few years older than his cadets, he felt like a father to them, and the love which he so devotedly bore them was a father's too; or so at least he convinced himself.

      “Well done, Hochbauer!" he cried, puffing slightly as he scored yet another goal. “A lovely pass!"

      “You were beautifully placed again, sir!" replied Hochbauer, his eyes shining with admiration.

      It would never have occurred to Captain Ratshelm to feel flattered, it was enough for him that he was appreciated. True he had a fatherly love to bestow, but in return he looked for nothing but respect, and he never had the slightest fear that the depth of his affection might in any way constitute a threat to discipline.

      Just then the ball hit him full on the side of the head. He swayed slightly, and for a moment it looked as if his legs were going to buckle under him. However, though his head was throbbing fiercely he managed a sporting smile in the best officer tradition.

      “Sorry sir," called out Cadet Weber from the other side of the field. “I didn't mean it to be so hard."

      “Foul!” cried Cadet Hochbauer, springing to the Captain's defense at once.

      Cadet Weber (Christian name: Egon) was a broad, burly fellow, as solid as a well-made piece of furniture. Panting heavily he now pushed his way forward, laboring somewhat with a sense of insult, for he too had his ambitions as a sportsman.

      “How would you know what was foul," he said to Hochbauer, “since you don't know what's fair?"

      For a moment it seemed as if Hochbauer was going to spring at him. But then he looked across at the Captain, who, though still nursing his head, was not prevented from doing what he conceived to be his duty as a sportsman.

      “Weber," said Captain Ratshelm severely, ”no arguing while the game's in progress. You're sent off!"

      “Greetings, fellow sportsmen," said Cadet Weber, trotting over to Rednitz and Mösler. “Have you heard? I've been sent off. Not a bad trick for getting a spell of rest, eh? I'm going to patent it."

      “I’m afraid," said Cadet Mösler, “that if your friend Hochbauer has to choose between you and the Captain there's little doubt where his choice will lie."

      “Who cares?" said Weber indulgently. “The main thing is I managed to catch Ratshelm a crack on the head—all in the spirit of the game of course—and I've earned myself a breather as a result."

      “All the same," Rednitz reminded him, “Hochbauer did say it was a foul."

      “He’s right too," said Weber, quite unabashed. “I have no hesitation in playing foul in that sort of game, but I'm not going to admit it to those bastards."

      This was typical of Cadet Weber (Christian name: Egon), whose imperturbability and disarming frankness allied to a bulldog-like temperament made him the least vulnerable of men. With such a remarkably thick skin he could count himself a useful soldier.

      “What about a go with the medicine ball?" he suggested.

      Mösler and Rednitz agreed—medicine ball was easily the best way of avoiding trouble; it kept one warm without requiring any effort, rather like the friendly sort of games that children play.

      The three cadets retired from the game of handball altogether, without anyone noticing them. Ratshelm was still in the thick of things, playing with great abandon and setting an example which he felt sure everyone else would follow. He didn't exactly suffer from a sense of inferiority.

      “Heard the latest?" Cadet Weber asked.

      “What’s that?" asked Rednitz with a smile. “Apart from the fact that your friend Hochbauer thinks you don't play fair."

      “Oh hell," rejoined Weber good-naturedly,” I know you can't stand Hochbauer, but I can't think why!"

      “You know quite well why," put in Rednitz.

      “My dear fellow," said Weber calmly,” my sole purpose here is to survive the course, not to go around awarding people marks for character. As far as I'm concerned, anyone here can be as pure or sink as low as he likes—all I care about is becoming an officer. To hell with everything else!"

      Rednitz smiled. He picked up a medicine ball and threw it across to Mösler. Their evasive action was already under way.

      “Well," asked Mösler, “what’s new on the Rialto?"

      “Something pretty big!" Weber assured him. Rednitz looked at him curiously, and he added: “Or so it seems to me. It looks as if the women have got out of hand!"

      “That’s nothing new," said Mösler speaking as an expert,” but which particular women do you mean?"

      “Those here in the barracks!“ said Weber. “It’s said they're rushing about naked all over the place."

      “Only in the showers, surely," said Rednitz. “Where else?"

       "You may well ask! “Said Weber.” In the basement of staff headquarters—in the communications center, I'm told. Rows of them. Three at least, if not five. No one's safe, they say. Further information later. Makes you think, though, doesn't it, fellows?"

      “Man!" said Cadet Mösler with something like solemnity. “This seems to demand a maximum effort on our part. I suggest the formation of a raiding party for to-night!"

      “Carry on without me, fellows!" Captain Ratshelm called out to his cadets.

      “We’ll manage," Cadet Hochbauer assured him. “Thanks to you, sir, we can't lose." And several of the cadets nodded enthusiastically.

      Captain Ratshelm had scored enough points. His companions had the right to score too, and he wasn't the man to spoil their fun. Besides, he was feeling rather tired. He was panting hard and had a slight stitch