their minds, and by then it would be too late. No, well handle it ourselves this time. What we need is success, and that depends wholly on you," he told Schmitt, who was listening with a stony face. "Look." They bent over the map. "It happened here," said Giesinger, "in this spot. You and your battalion will comb the country within the circle between Denes and Szomolnok, going over the houses in every village. Ill have you taken to Szomolnok in trucks, and I suggest you start the search from there. Divide the companies into small groups and send them off. It's important the men climb the mountains too and don't bypass them. How many walkie-talkies have you?"
"Three per company."
"Excellent," said Giesinger. "Then you can make up eleven groups, keeping one walkie-talkie at your headquarters. You will thus have continuous contact with your men, and can direct the groups as and where they are most needed. Is your headquarters radio in good order?"
"Certainly."
Giesinger turned to an officer seated opposite him. "Look after the radio logs, Herr Pfeiffer, I need a continuous connection with Herr Schmitt." He turned to Schmitt again. "If for any reason you have to leave your headquarters, then take signals men with you. Communications between us mustn't be broken off for a moment. Is everything clear?"
Schmitt cleared his throat. "Perhaps I might remind you that in this difficult country I need three or four days to carry out the task properly. And suppose I find nothing?"
"I'm not sending you to find nothing," Giesinger answered angrily. "I'm sending you to get the general back, and you don't need four days for that if you're worth your place as battalion commander." He got up abruptly. "How many trucks have we here?" he asked a young lieutenant.
"I'll have to go and see," was the answer. "All the vehicles are out."
"Where the devil have they gone?"
"You gave the orders yourself, sir. The trucks are taking building material to the positions."
"Then see if there are any here now. I need. . . ." He turned to Schmitt. "What's the strength of your battalion?"
"About a hundred and fifty men. The officers. . . ."
"Yes, I know," Giesinger broke in irritably. "We're waiting for replacements daily. Let's say forty men to a truck, then. See if we've got four trucks here," he told the lieutenant. "Have you any suggestions to make?" he asked the others. There was a silence. "Perhaps you have some yourself, Herr Schmitt?" said Giesinger.
"Not for the moment"
"Herr Fuchs?"
The Major kept his hands clasped over his stomach, and squinted at Giesinger: he was taking his time. "I should have handled it differently," he said at length.
"That's very interesting. How, pray?"
"Do what you like. I'd rather be out of the whole thing."
"The simplest way of shirking responsibility. Don't you think General Stiller may like to learn how his officers would behave if something like this happened to him?"
"No, I don't think so for a moment," said Fuchs. "Stiller's a realist and hasn't any use for sentimental nonsense. Once in Berlin he had an officer punished, and do you know why?" Giesinger gave him an uneasy glance. "The officer in question," Fuchs explained with deliberation, "tried to save a woman's life, a Jewess. She'd jumped into the river Spree, because they'd got her husband. The officer saw her and jumped after her even though he couldn't swim. If there hadn't happened to be other people about, they'd both have been drowned. When Stiller heard the story, he sent for the officer and had him put under house arrest for a month. Not, by any means, because it was a Jewess he'd jumped after, but because he did it when he couldn't swim. And that, you see, is what Stiller is like."
"You know him?" asked Giesinger in dismay.
"Of course I know Stiller. I met him before the war."
"And you only tell me that now?"
"You didn't ask me before."
"We were agreed he was a complete stranger," Giesinger said furiously.
"We were?" Fuchs raised his
"Three per company."
"Excellent," said Giesinger. "Then you can make up eleven groups, keeping one walkie-talkie at your headquarters. You will thus have continuous contact with your men, and can direct the groups as and where they are most needed. Is your headquarters radio in good order?"
"Certainly."
Giesinger turned to an officer seated opposite him. "Look after the radio logs, Herr Pfeiffer, I need a continuous connection with Herr Schmitt." He turned to Schmitt again. "If for any reason you have to leave your headquarters, then take signals men with you. Communications between us mustn't be broken off for a moment. Is everything clear?"
Schmitt cleared his throat. "Perhaps I might remind you that in this difficult country I need three or four days to carry out the task properly. And suppose I find nothing?"
"I'm not sending you to find nothing," Giesinger answered angrily. "I'm sending you to get the general back, and you don't need four days for that if you're worth your place as battalion commander." He got up abruptly. "How many trucks have we here?" he asked a young lieutenant.
"I'll have to go and see," was the answer. "All the vehicles are out."
"Where the devil have they gone?"
"You gave the orders yourself, sir. The trucks are taking building material to the positions."
"Then see if there are any here now. I need. . . ." He turned to Schmitt. "What's the strength of your battalion?"
"About a hundred and fifty men. The officers. . . ."
"Yes, I know," Giesinger broke in irritably. "We're waiting for replacements daily. Let's say forty men to a truck, then. See if we've got four trucks here," he told the lieutenant. "Have you any suggestions to make?" he asked the others. There was a silence. "Perhaps you have some yourself, Herr Schmitt?" said Giesinger.
"Not for the moment"
"Herr Fuchs?"
The Major kept his hands clasped over his stomach, and squinted at Giesinger: he was taking his time. "I should have handled it differently," he said at length.
"That's very interesting. How, pray?"
"Do what you like. I'd rather be out of the whole thing."
"The simplest way of shirking responsibility. Don't you think General Stiller may like to learn how his officers would behave if something like this happened to him?"
"No, I don't think so for a moment," said Fuchs. "Stiller's a realist and hasn't any use for sentimental nonsense. Once in Berlin he had an officer punished, and do you know why?" Giesinger gave him an uneasy glance. "The officer in question," Fuchs explained with deliberation, "tried to save a woman's life, a Jewess. She'd jumped into the river Spree, because they'd got her husband. The officer saw her and jumped after her even though he couldn't swim. If there hadn't happened to be other people about, they'd both have been drowned. When Stiller heard the story, he sent for the officer and had him put under house arrest for a month. Not, by any means, because it was a Jewess he'd jumped after, but because he did it when he couldn't swim. And that, you see, is what Stiller is like."
"You know him?" asked Giesinger in dismay.
"Of course I know Stiller. I met him before the war."
"And you only tell me that now?"
"You didn't ask me before."
"We were agreed he was a complete stranger," Giesinger said furiously.
"We were?" Fuchs raised his
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