Only two more of them, thought Lieutenant Krafft, and then it'll be over. And automatically he said: “Right, next please.”
Cadet Rednitz now rose to his feet, smiled pleasantly, and declared: “I must beg the Lieutenant to excuse me, but I'm afraid I'm not in a position to give him the extensive information he requires.”
Krafft gazed at Rednitz with some interest. The cadets stopped wriggling about in their seats and also turned and looked at Rednitz, thereby turning their backs on their section officer—an unusual sign of disrespect, which the Lieutenant appeared not to notice. This made Kramer, the section senior, particularly indignant. He began to fear for the preservation of discipline. Discipline was his responsibility, and provided he had the support of his superior officer it was perfectly possible to maintain it in the requisite manner. But if this Krafft were going to let the cadets turn their backs on him, it would only be a matter of time before they were talking in the ranks or sleeping in class. Lieutenant Krafft on the other hand regarded Cadet Rednitz's behavior as a welcome diversion. His spirits recovered slightly, and he asked in some amusement: “Perhaps, Cadet, you would be so good as to explain just why you can't give me this information?”
“It’s like this,” said Rednitz pleasantly. “Unlike my fellow cadets here I'm afraid I can't produce an official father, and so I can't say what his profession was.”
“Presumably what you mean, Rednitz, is that you are illegitimate?”
“Yes, Lieutenant—exactly.”
“Well,” said Krafft cheerfully, “such things happen from time to time. And it doesn't seem altogether a bad thing—especially when one realizes that official fathers are by no means always the best. I hope, though, that this minor- deficiency won't prevent you from giving me at least a few other particulars.”
Rednitz beamed. He liked the Lieutenant. But there was another reason for his undisguised pleasure. He could see Hochbauer's angry face glowering at him, and this alone made it worth the little extra trouble.
“I was born in 1922,” declared Rednitz, “in Dortmund. My mother was a housemaid to the director of a big firm, though it would be unwise to draw any particular conclusions from that. I went to the primary school, spent a year at technical school, and another year at higher technical school. In 1940 I was called up into the Wehrmacht. Special interests: philosophy and history.”
Lieutenant Krafft smiled. Hochbauer looked black. He regarded Rednitz's statement that his special interests were also history and philosophy as a personal insult. Some of the cadets grinned, but only because their section officer had smiled, thus giving them something to go on.
But Cadet Kramer got to his feet and in his capacity as section senior said: “May I draw the Lieutenant's attention to the fact that time is up?”
Krafft nodded, trying to conceal his relief. He did up his belt, put on his cap, and made for the exit.
“Attention!” roared Kramer.
The cadets jumped to their feet rather less briskly than at the beginning of the period, and came to attention with a certain sluggishness. The Lieutenant saluted the room briefly and went out.
“Impossible,” muttered Cadet Kramer. “If he goes on like this the whole section will go to pieces.”
The cadets looked at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing with relief. The prevailing mood was excellent, and more than a few of them now found themselves facing the remainder of the course with a certain equanimity. “Well, Mösler,” asked his friend Rednitz, “what do you make of him?”
“Yes,” said Mösler thoughtfully, “what do I make of him? He's not unsympathetic—but that's not much to go on. My grandmother's quite sympathetic too.”
“Fellow sportsmen,” said Cadet Weber, Egon, pushing his way closer, “this much is certain: he seems an energetic sort of type, and yet acts like a sheep. Now, what is one to make of that?”
Böhmke, poet and thinker, merely shook his head a number of times. All in all he would have found it difficult to give any very clear opinion of Krafft, and indeed no one asked him for one.
Kramer, the section senior, made an entry in the class log, sensing complications ahead. This fellow Krafft hadn't even signed the book confirming the subject and duration of the class. Kramer saw that they were in for a period of reorganization and indiscipline.
But in the group round Hochbauer joy reigned supreme. Amfortas and Andreas even went so far as to convey utter contempt when the new section officer's name came up. “A complete nonentity, eh, Hochbauer?”
The latter nodded vigorously. “We’ll soon have him where we want him. He'll either be eating out of our hands within a week or be fit for nothing but a pension.”
9. A JUDGE-ADVOCATE SPEAKS OUT AGAINST HIS WILL
“Fräulein Bachner,” said Lieutenant Bieringer, the General's A.D.C., “we’ve known each other quite a time now, I think?”
Sybille Bachner looked up from her work. Bieringer pretended to be preoccupied with the notes he was putting in order. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“What could be wrong here?” cried the A.D.C., with an expansive gesture. “But I'm worried about your private life again.”
“I haven't any. You know that!”
“Exactly!” said the A.D.C. “No one can live by work alone.”
“Except the General.”
“Fräulein Bachner,” said Lieutenant Bieringer, “the General is married to the army. He's not a normal man at all—he's a soldier. And you're a woman, not just a secretary.”
Sybille Bachner smiled, but there was a serious look in her eyes. She sat up straight and pushed her chair back. Then she asked outright: “What are you getting at this time?”
“Well,” said Bieringer rather hastily, “I was wondering what you might be doing this evening, for instance.”
“Are you offering to take me out?”
“You know I'm a married man,” said the A.D.C.
It seemed to Bieringer only right to point this out occasionally. For though he and his wife lived together in barracks, in the guest house, few people knew her. She was expecting a child, and never appeared at an official function. She hadn't once been into the staff headquarters building where her husband worked, and had never once telephoned him during working hours. She simply might not have existed. And it was not least on account of this very strict reserve that Bieringer loved her dearly, though only after working hours, of course.
“All right then,” said Sybille pleasantly, “I’m doing nothing this evening, but why do you want to know?”
“You could go to the cinema,” said Bieringer. “There’s a comedy of some sort on there, people even say it's quite funny. Or perhaps you could go for a walk. I know at least forty officers who'd be delighted to escort you.”
“What’s all this about?” said Sybille resentfully. “I just haven't arranged anything. Anyway the General may need me—he's got a whole pile of work to deal with.”
“The General only needs you if you're not otherwise engaged. I'm to make that explicitly clear to you.”
“Good,” said Sybille Bachner, “you’ve made that clear. Now what?”