AT DINNER, Brandt drank sparingly. He was tired and he was angry and he didn’t want to show it inadvertently. The mayor had arrested six men during the course of the day as suspected deserters and locked them in the barn outside with a guard keeping watch over them. Now he was talking about holding a court martial. Then there was the anxiety. He thought of his father and Katerina, Monika and the women.
‘Brandt?’
He turned to find Neumann examining him.
‘Are you all right? You seem quiet.’
Brandt wondered how to respond. What did he expect from him? If the SS man wanted livelier company, he should dig up Peichl.
‘I apologize, Herr Obersturmführer. A long day and a long night before it.’
‘Of course. How is your wound?’
‘I find wine helps,’ he said, drinking from the glass he held in his hand. Perhaps it was his exhaustion but the SS runes on Neumann’s collar, shimmering in the candlelight, writhed like small silver snakes. Brandt reminded himself, again, to be careful.
‘You are an example to us all, Brandt,’ the mayor said, ‘I knew you wouldn’t desert the men. Not in their moment of destiny.’
The mayor was delighted with his new uniform. Rachel, the Jewish prisoner, had made it up for him and it fitted snugly – too snugly. Weber’s neck bulged over his collar, so that he looked as if he were being throttled by a silver-piped noose. Brandt wondered if Rachel had made it too tight on purpose. The mayor hadn’t been happy when Brandt had asked him to call in all the checkpoints except for the four boys guarding the dam. He’d agreed with the decision when Brandt had explained they were down to fourteen, including Brandt and the mayor, and the remaining boys would need sleep. But still, it seemed, he felt his authority had been questioned. He had been truculent all evening.
‘What is their destiny, Herr Zugführer?’
The irony in Neumann’s question wasn’t lost on Brandt.
The mayor gave no immediate answer. He turned his attention to his plate, the sheen of sweat on his round forehead flickering in the firelight as he did so. He’d been drinking steadily since he’d sat down.
‘To do whatever our Führer demands of them,’ he said eventually. ‘They are soldiers now. They will defend the village and the dam until the last man.’
‘The last man?’ Neumann’s smiled appeared lopsided. The slight emphasis on ‘man’ wasn’t lost on Brandt.
‘If needs be,’ the mayor said. He leant forward, making a fist of his hand and placing it on the table. His expression was so grave as to be ridiculous. ‘We must be prepared for the ultimate sacrifice.’
There was a moment’s silence. Then Neumann began to laugh. At first it sounded more like a strangled bark than a laugh. There was no joy in the sound but there was no doubt whatsoever that the SS man was amused at the mayor’s expense. Brandt kept his eyes fixed on the mayor, seeing his confusion turn to anger.
‘I don’t understand why you are behaving this way, Herr Obersturmführer,’ the mayor said when Neumann paused for breath.
Neumann sat back, wiping his eyes with a napkin. His lopsided smile was back in place.
‘You’re correct. It wasn’t a very funny joke.’
The brittle ringing of the phone broke the silence. Neumann waited for a few moments before pushing back his chair.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen, I’d better see who it is. Who knows, Weber? Perhaps the Russians have heard about your men and surrendered.’
The mayor waited until the SS man had left the room before he turned his attention to Brandt. His mouth was pursed.
‘I’m disappointed. It’s shocking to hear an SS man talk that way. I should call the Commandant and report him. It is precisely this kind of defeatism that has led us to this point. It was the same in the last war. People lost their will.’
Brandt watched Weber wind himself into a stiff coil of righteous rage – and all he saw was the fear. He kept silent. He would wait his time.
‘Was the meal all right?’ he asked. Only for something to say.
‘Yes,’ Weber said, pleased to change the subject. ‘Very good. And the wine as well.’
As if to underline the point, the mayor drank from his glass. A red drop rolled from the side of his mouth.
‘It is the best there was in the cellar. The Obersturmführer picked it out. “Rather us than the Russians,” he said.’
‘Typical of him.’
‘He said we may all be dead in a few days’ time. Just scraps of flesh under a tank’s tracks.’
The mayor’s glass paused in mid air. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he moved the glass a little higher, holding it so he could look at the colour against the candlelight.
‘French?’
‘Yes.’
‘They lost their will – in nineteen forty. Look where they ended up.’
‘Quite so,’ Brandt said, listening to Neumann returning.
‘It’s for you, Weber. In my office. Party Headquarters.’
The mayor lifted himself from his seat, avoiding Neumann’s gaze.
‘Have I offended him, do you think?’ Neumann asked when the mayor had left.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘A shame.’
Neumann didn’t sound particularly concerned. Brandt tried to rub some of the tiredness from his eyes.
‘Why don’t you like him?’ Brandt asked.
‘Weber? I’m not even sure I do dislike him. He’s like all of us, a willing fool for the last ten years and where did it get us? We all have reason to fear the end of this war. He won’t admit it, of course.’
‘Do you think he’ll stay to the end?’
‘I’m not certain. I think he thinks he will. What about you, Brandt? Will you stay? What holds you here now, even?’
Brandt shrugged. ‘Duty.’
‘To whom?’
Brandt avoided Neumann’s gaze, grateful when Weber reappeared at the doorway. The mayor stood for a moment, his eyes downcast and his expression difficult to read in the candlelight.
‘New orders, Herr Zugführer?’
The mayor looked up and shook his head.
‘No. It was Schneider from Regional Headquarters. He said the Gauleiter and the Party hierarchy are pulling back towards Breslau.’
‘And us?’
The mayor considered the question.
‘Our orders are unchanged. We continue to defend the dam and keep the roads open.’
He didn’t appear pleased at the prospect, or displeased. It was more like resignation. Brandt rose from the table.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I must go to the toilet.’
It was time, he decided, to retrieve Jäger’s pistol from the cistern. It was small and snug and would fit in his pocket.