NEUMANN HEARD Schlosser long before he arrived – the noise of the car’s engine reverberated along the valley. He walked to the window and saw the Commandant’s grey Mercedes slowing for the Volkssturm checkpoint at the dam, then after a few moments’ delay, he watched it pass the almost stationary refugees before taking the turn up towards the hut. When he made his way outside to greet him, he found Schlosser in conversation with one of the young Volkssturm boys.
‘Schlosser,’ Neumann said by way of a greeting.
Schlosser clicked his heels and flung his arm up in the Party salute.
‘Neumann. Heil Hitler. A tragedy. Good men.’
Schlosser wasn’t a tall man, by any means – the SS wouldn’t have taken him in the old days – and the salute made him seem smaller than he was.
‘Heil Hitler,’ Neumann replied, conscious that his salute was less enthusiastic. Surely it didn’t matter any more.
‘What steps are being taken?’ Schlosser said. ‘The Commandant will want to know.’
‘What steps?’ He heard the brusqueness in his voice. Schlosser’s speaking in bursts had always irritated Neumann.
‘To avenge the fallen.’
Neumann looked at him in confusion.
‘The Commandant informed me there are no men available from the camp and there are only four guards left. The Order Police have washed their hands of the affair. What steps can I take?’
Schlosser inclined his head slightly to the side, as if contemplating a tricky diplomatic situation.
‘But you plan to take some action all the same, surely? The local Volkssturm will assist. I spoke to Mayor Weber at the checkpoint. He is prepared to take action.’
Neumann reached for the cigarettes in his pocket. The teenage boy who was guarding the women stood at attention, the model of preparedness. Neumann pointed a cigarette towards him. He found he was very tired all of a sudden.
‘He and a few boys are all that is left of the village’s Volkssturm, Schlosser. The older men have deserted their posts. I doubt Weber has more than a handful of even these boys left. Do you want to send a squad of children into the hills to hunt partisans? Or do you want them to murder some civilians in reprisal? German civilians around here, mostly, I believe. This,’ Neumann’s cigarette sweeping a wide circle to encompass the valley, ‘has been part of Germany for some time now. And will remain so until the Russians come. Perhaps they should murder their own families?’
Schlosser said nothing at first – his mouth turning downwards. Neumann didn’t understand his scowl. He must know this was nonsense. He found his fingers toying with the identity discs that he’d placed inside his pocket. More dead men. Eventually, Schlosser held out an envelope – reluctantly, it seemed to Neumann.
‘Here are your orders. And your travel papers, as well.’
‘Here,’ Neumann said, irritated, and handed Schlosser the metal circles from his pocket. ‘These are the dead men’s identity discs. Someone in the camp will need them.’
He dropped them one by one onto Schlosser’s outstretched hand.