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?”
Bieringer shook his head, and this gesture could have been interpreted in a number of different ways. He cleaned his spectacles carefully, looking at Sybille as he did so with his gentle watery eyes, and said finally: “So you're prepared to work overtime again?”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” said Sybille briskly.
Bieringer felt a certain misgiving about this keenness of hers. For Sybille Bachner was said to have had something of a past. Between her and the previous commanding officer there had been something more than a mere working relationship.
But then Major-General Modersohn had been made commanding officer of Number 5 Officers' Training School, and Bieringer had confidently assumed that Bachner's days in staff headquarters were numbered. But it wasn't long before an unexpected development took place: Sybille Bachner proved herself a first-class worker. And she didn't seem to make the slightest effort to extend her influence beyond the General's ante-room. The General therefore tolerated her and said nothing, though the A.D.C. remained on the alert.
“The General would like a talk with Judge-Advocate Wirrmann at nineteen hundred hours. Also with Lieutenant Krafft. Also at nineteen hundred hours.”
“Both together?” asked Sybille in astonishment.
Lieutenant Bieringer took care not to look at her, for he could not have helped conveying a certain reproach. His order had been clear enough; any expression of private opinion was unnecessary. He was the best possible A.D.C. the General could have had.
Sybille Bachner dropped her eyes. Her long, silky hair hung down each side of her face like a curtain. She reminded Bieringer of some tender portrait by Renoir in which the streaming tresses caught by the rays of the sun told of a voluptuous indolence. Bieringer found this combination of thoughts rather unsettling. For he was on duty, after all, and a happily married man and expectant father into the bargain.
“I rather think, Fräulein Bachner,” he said cautiously, “that you should try and get yourself a slightly more severe hair style.”
“Has the General been complaining about my hair?” she asked with a flicker of hope.
Bieringer looked at her reproachfully, pityingly. “Fräulein Bachner,” he said, “you’re not a soldier—why should the General show any interest in your hair?”
“Order and cleanliness,” declared Captain Kater, “are what I set store by. And in that I'm second to none.”
Captain Kater was inspecting number one kitchen in his capacity as commander of the headquarters company. All kitchens in the barracks area came under his jurisdiction.
Parschulske, the kitchen corporal, accompanied him on his round, respectful and attentive. His conscience was never wholly clear, and his fingers were in almost every pie. Astonishingly enough he was as thin as a rake.
“I’ve taken the liberty of laying the table as usual, sir, so that you can check the
