can do anything you can," said Irene sulkily.
“No you can't, not for a long time," said Elfrida. “You’re much too young."
She glanced round the room, which contained the usual sort of barrack-room furniture, though not of the lowest type, more N.C.O.s' standard than other-ranks'. There were even bedside tables, which were normally the prerogative of officers. Yet everything was standardized, even though the pattern of uniformity was slightly modified by rugs, paper flowers and ornaments, which gave the room an unmistakable atmosphere of femininity and showed that they hadn't yet given up altogether.
“Listen, now," said Elfrida to Irene Jablonski. “It might be a good thing if you forgot all about the thing that seems to be most on your mind. You're too young for it and too vulnerable. I was just like you once. And I did just all the things you long to do in your heart of hearts. Well, it wasn't worth it, see? It's pointless."
“But you go on doing it, don't you?"
“Yes," said Elfrida frankly. “Because I still hope that it may prove worth it in the end."
“But won't one always go on thinking that?"
Elfrida nodded. She turned away, and thought to herself: without hope one's done for—where would one be without it? And softly she said to herself, “He’s different from the others, I think."
Captain Ratshelm allowed himself no rest, and interpreted this as his sense of duty.
He had made all his preparations for the following day's work, had written a long letter to his mother, and had then sat listening thoughtfully to the final sounds of the day which invariably preceded the sounding of lock-up--the scampering of bare feet in the corridor, the water running in the washroom and the latrine, a brief exchange of conversation, a joke or two, the hearty laughter of young men, all followed by the footsteps of the duty officer passing through the billets, brisk footsteps marked by a faint clinking sound as an iron-studded heel struck a flagstone. A few sharp orders, and then a sort of forced and artificial stillness.
The rule was that any cadet who from then on (22.00 hours) wanted to sleep was to be left undisturbed. Undisturbed and this was an important qualification, by his companions. For of course visits from superior officers, practice alarms or special searches might disturb him at any hour of the night. Anyone who wished to work, though, could do so up to 24.00 hours, the one condition being that he wasn't to make a noise under any circumstances.
This was Ratshelm's great moment.
For the Captain had established it for himself as a principle that the cadets should know just how solicitous he was for their welfare. He applied this principle by a carefully formulated plan known only to himself, which he put into action first thing in the morning immediately after reveille, when he supervised the morning wash and early games, and again now, late in the evening.
Ratshelm strode briskly from his room, down the corridor and out through the main door of the building. He continued across the parade ground and the main thoroughfare of the camp, round an ammunition dump and up to a set of wooden barracks, where H Section enjoyed temporary accommodation. The barracks were gradually becoming too small for their purpose, and additional huts had therefore had to be built to house the most junior of the officer cadets. Those in H Section were naturally the first to suffer, though in Rats-helm's eyes there was nothing wrong with throwing them all together like this. His one cause for regret was that they were some distance away, though this also meant that more checks were required.
Ratshelm entered the narrow corridor of the barrack block and looked eagerly about him. He was disappointed by what he saw or rather failed to see. The rooms were fitted with glass windows above the doors, but in none of these was there a light. It seemed that the cadets were already asleep. This indicated that none of them was making a point of working late, though such a thing was expressly permitted by the regulations. Ratshelm shone his torch along the numbers on the doors, until he came to number 7.
The four cadets who lived here were in fact asleep, or at least showed no signs of not being asleep. One was even snoring in his bunk, while the others lay there like logs, paralyzed with exhaustion, dead to the world. Anyhow, Ratshelm's expert glance noted at once that the room was nice and tidy, and his eyes shone with appreciation. He flashed his torch across the beds, and found himself looking into a pair of eyes that stared back at him wide awake and radiant.
"Aha, Hochbauer," said Ratshelm softly, going closer, “so you're not asleep yet?"
“I’ve only just stopped working, sir," replied Hochbauer equally softly.
The Captain smiled to himself rather as an art expert smiles on finding himself before the most valuable picture in a gallery. He considered himself fortunate to be entrusted with such magnificent specimens of humanity.
“What have you been working at so late, Hochbauer?" he asked with interest, and his pleasant baritone voice was full of fatherly good-will.
“I’ve been reading Clausewitz," said the cadet.
“Admirable stuff," commented- Ratshelm with approval.
“I’m afraid, though, sir," said Hochbauer confidentially,” that there are one or two things I'm not quite clear about. It's not Clausewitz's fault, but there are just a few points I don't quite understand."
“Well, my dear Hochbauer, you can always come along and see me about them. Any time, after duty. To-morrow evening would suit me. You know where I live. I'll be only too pleased to help you. That's what we're here for!"
“Thank you, sir," said the cadet happily, and throwing out his chest he braced himself in the bed as if coming to attention. His night-shirt opened across his chest revealing his identification discs and the glistening texture of his skin.
Ratshelm nodded and left, seeming suddenly to be in a great hurry. Probably it was his sense of duty that called him.
Major-General Modersohn sat at his desk, with the harsh light of a lamp falling across his angular features. It was almost as if a wax figure were sitting there in his place. But the General was working on a file in front of him on the cover of which the words “KRAFFT, KARL, LIEUTENANT" were written in large capital letters.
Modersohn occupied two rooms in what was known as the guest house, adjoining the officers' mess. He used one of these for work and the other for sleep and in all the time he had been there had never once used either room for anything other than the purpose for which it was designed.
The General sat at his desk fully dressed. It was difficult to imagine him with his shirt open or his sleeves rolled up. Even his batman seldom caught a glimpse of Modersohn in his braces or his socks. As far as the General was concerned, soldiers were either dressed or undressed: “improperly dressed “was a term that simply had no meaning for him. Thus for him it was the most natural thing in the world that he should be sitting alone in his room in the middle of the night as impeccable in appearance as if he were on parade or on a tour of inspection.
The General's tunic, which was made of worsted and was slightly worn at the elbows, even a little shiny in places, was nevertheless immaculately clean and buttoned right up to the neck. The golden oak leaves on both sides of the collar of his tunic seemed to glow magically in the light of the lamp. The German eagle on his left breast looked worn and faded. No decorations
