NEUMANN WASN’T certain how long had passed since the killings. An hour? Ten minutes? Neumann had drunk one too many schnapps – possibly even more than that. He wasn’t the only one, of course, but now the Commandant was coming towards him, his good mood apparently restored. Neumann cursed his foolishness and smiled a greeting – hoping it would be sufficient.
‘Neumann,’ the Commandant said, indicating with a twitch of his chin the spot where the dead men had lain before they’d been removed. ‘Thank you for dealing with that matter.’
‘I only did my duty, Herr Sturmbannführer.’
‘We’re on our own now, Friedrich. You should address me as Klaus.’
‘Thank you . . .’ Neumann hesitated – he didn’t entirely trust his tongue. ‘Klaus.’
Not so bad. He risked another smile.
‘Last night you wanted to ask me something,’ the Commandant said. ‘Can I guess what it was?’
Neumann decided it was safe to say nothing, and so didn’t.
‘You wanted to know what happens when the Russians come. Am I correct?’
‘Then they are coming?’ Neumann risked.
‘Our intelligence anticipates an attack is imminent – no more than two to three weeks away. Our current offensive in the Ardennes is intended to drive the Americans and British back into the sea. We must hope that success in the west will allow us to return to the offensive in the east. But we must be realistic – we are no longer as strong as we were in nineteen forty-one.’
‘And if we aren’t successful?’
‘Then we must contemplate defeat. Reichsführer Himmler has ordered contingency plans to be put into operation. At last. Where possible, we will move prisoners capable of work further west so that they may still contribute to the war effort. Those not capable of productive work will be dealt with in a different way. This war is coming to an end. Therefore we must contemplate our future.’
The thudding in Neumann’s ears was so loud that it was hard for him to hear what the Commandant was saying.
‘What kind of future should we expect?’ he asked, realizing as soon as he’d asked it that it was a stupid question.
The Commandant smiled. A thin smile.
‘The most important thing is not to be captured by the Russians. You worked in the east, so you know why. Germany isn’t finished, Friedrich – we will rise again. Sooner or later the Americans and British will fight the Russians and then they’ll need a strong Germany as an ally. And a strong Germany will need men like us. We must survive for just this reason. It’s our duty, even. Otherwise all of this will have been in vain.’
‘I never wanted to be part of it.’
The words were out before he’d thought what they might be. He shook his head, both to disagree with them and to shake some sobriety back into his thinking.
‘I didn’t mean,’ he began, but the Commandant held up his hand to stop him. The gesture was gentle, his frown compassionate. He reached out and took Neumann’s arm, turning him away from where the officers had gathered to watch the animals they’d killed being laid in two rows, grouped by species.
‘Some of us were better suited to the work we undertook than others. That’s why I assigned you here, to the hut, where you perform a useful – no – a vital role. The relaxations that you’ve arranged have been essential to the well-being of our comrades. After the incident on the train – which would have been a terrible event for anyone – having you work in the camp would have been a waste of a talented officer.’
Neumann sensed the world around him shifting shape, even as he listened to the Commandant’s words. The musty scent he associated with the old man from the train filled his nose, even his mouth. He kept his eyes fixed on the snow in front of them, watching his boots as they pressed into the crisp surface. Step, step, step. He knew if he looked around for the old man from the train he’d see him.
‘I wasn’t prepared – I hadn’t fully understood,’ he said.
‘That train was worse than anything we saw in the last war.’ The Commandant’s voice was smooth and reassuring. ‘Most of us who have been involved in these duties have had comrades around us to support us, to share the burden with – to encourage us even. We haven’t been on our own. I lodged an official complaint about the transportation officer. His men failed to prevent tools being smuggled on board the train – the same tools used to break out of the wagons. Then he assigned you, an inexperienced officer, in these matters at least, to command a half-strength guard of recruits. And, worst of all – given the circumstances – he sent the train by the slowest possible route. And the prisoners were completely the wrong sort – too many young men. It was incredible you weren’t all murdered. That you managed to achieve what you did was extraordinary in the circumstances. That he put you and your men in such a situation – it makes my blood boil to this day.’
Neumann had no pity for himself, or his men. After all, they had been the ones doing the murdering. The old man had no pity for him either. Had he spoken to him, back then? He couldn’t remember.
‘We ran out of bullets. We had to . . .’
‘. . . use bayonets and rifle butts. I know. Horrific. Medieval. But all in the past now.’ The Commandant squeezed his elbow. ‘I feel responsibility for what happened – that I put you in harm’s way. But you’ve been happy here, haven’t you? I’ve done my best to make it up to you.’
Neumann glanced across at the Commandant, momentarily bewildered. It was such a complex question.
‘There’s no need to say a word. It was the least I could do. I’ve made some contingency plans, and I’ve taken the liberty of including you in them. I’ve orders to another posting near Nordhausen when we’ve finished up here and you will come with me. Well, what do you think? Nordhausen is a pleasant spot. We’ll find you somewhere to live. A nice house, perhaps. You can go to Hamburg – talk it through with Marguerite. I’m sure she’ll see sense. She can bring the boys to Nordhausen and things will be back to normal.’
Neumann didn’t think things would ever be normal again between Marguerite and him. He was far past any kind of normality now, he understood that.
‘What about the hut?’ he asked. ‘The prisoners?’
They turned and walked back towards the bus and the Commandant nodded towards where the guards were standing.
‘They aren’t your concern – Peichl will take responsibility for them. As for the hut, you must ensure nothing is left behind that might be used against us. Clear the place out of any paperwork, photographs, everything. No trace of our presence must remain.’
The last of the dead animals had been brought across. The officers were in good spirits, although their voices sounded unnaturally loud – as if they were trying to talk over another conversation.
‘Look, Friedrich. See how content our comrades are? Even in the current situation? Your work here has been of great importance. Without you, I don’t know if we’d have been able to carry on.’
Neumann found his teeth had clenched tight, his hair was standing up on his scalp.
‘That can’t be true.’
‘Don’t be so humble. Reichsführer Himmler himself has spoken often about the stress our people face – diversion from their duties was essential and you provided it. You were the glue that held us together.’
The conversation appeared to be taking place between the Commandant and some other person Neumann had never met, talking about things which he’d never understood. And all around him were the ghosts of dead prisoners – he wondered if the dead beaters had joined them already. Could it really be true? That without the hut, the killing machine would have ceased to operate?
Of course not. But even so – he’d had a part in its smooth operation. He had to accept that, standing here, he was just as culpable as when he’d been standing on the train.
‘We should have a photograph taken,’ the Commandant said. ‘Did you bring your camera?’
‘Yes,’ he managed to say, even though the Commandant’s voice came from a great distance. ‘Brandt knows how to use it.’
‘Excellent.’
The Commandant called the officers together and arranged them in a long line, much as the guards had arranged the beaters earlier. He waved the mayor in, but when Jäger held back, the Commandant didn’t press him. The officers stood behind the rows of torn wildlife, still leaking blood onto the white snow, their hands clasped around the barrels of their rifles, almost as though they were in prayer – their expressions grave.
Brandt faced them – the Leica in his hand, the weak, misty sun behind the steward as it should be. It seemed to Neumann that everything and everyone was somehow imprecise. The world was blurred – the soft light washing its colours out. He wasn’t even sure that he was real himself. He’d stabbed the old man twice in the stomach with a forty-centimetre bayonet. He hadn’t even been trying to escape from the train when Neumann had come across him. But, by then, Neumann was killing everyone. There was no thought in it – just a determination to clear up a mess.
‘Isn’t the photograph missing something?’ Jäger stood to Brandt’s side, observing them. His voice had a bitter edge to it that boded trouble. Neumann didn’t care. It was hard enough to open his mouth to breathe, let alone speak.
‘We have our guns,’ said Beltz, still cheery.
‘Not them – but what about the dead beaters? Shouldn’t they be part of the tally?’
Neumann felt very tired. Someone close by him sighed. He could hear another person walk away.
‘Ignore Hauptsturmführer Jäger,’ the Commandant said, just when Neumann had become certain he would say nothing. ‘I will explain to him later how German officers should behave.’
Jäger’s response was a harsh laugh and, from the other side of the bus, it was joined by more innocent children’s laughter. The Hitler Youth who had come to help serve the officers.
It seemed very out of place.