A Man Without Breath

Batov looked through the eyepieces for a moment and then nodded. ‘Yes, this is written in Polish. Which makes me think that a better division of labour would be if I read out the words – in German, of course – and you wrote them down. That way – in time – you would know the entire contents of the document.’

Batov sat up straight and looked at me. He was dark and rather earnest, with a thick moustache and gentle eyes.

‘You mean one word at a time?’ I pulled a face.

‘It’s a laborious method, I do agree, but it has the merit of also being certain, don’t you think? A couple of hours and perhaps all of your questions about this document might be answered and perhaps, if you agreed, I might earn a little bit of money for my family. Or perhaps you might give me something I can trade on Bazarnaya Square.’

He shrugged. ‘Alternatively, you are welcome to borrow the stereo microscope and work on your own, perhaps.’ He smiled uncertainly. ‘I don’t know. To be perfectly honest I’m not used to German officers asking me for permission to do anything in this academy.’

I nodded. ‘All right. It’s a deal.’ I took out my wallet and handed over some of the occupation Reichsmarks the bureau office in Berlin had issued me with. Then I handed him the rest of the bills as well. ‘Here. Take it all. With any luck I’m flying home tomorrow.’

‘Then we had better get started,’ said Batov.

It was late when I got back to Dnieper Castle. Most of the men were having dinner. I joined the officers’ table in the mess where chicken was on the menu. I tried not to think about the three ragged children I’d seen in Smolensk that afternoon while I was eating, but it wasn’t easy.

‘We were beginning to worry,’ said Colonel Ahrens. ‘Can’t be too careful around here.’

‘What did you think of our cathedral?’ asked Lieutenant Rex.

‘Very impressive,’ I said.

‘Glinka, the composer, came from Smolensk,’ added Rex. ‘I’m rather fond of Glinka. He’s the father of Russian classical music.’

‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘To know who your father is. It’s not everyone who can say that these days.’

After dinner the colonel and I went to his office for a smoke and a quiet word – or at least as quiet as could be achieved given that it was next to the castle’s cinema theatre. Through the wall I could hear Suss Oppenheimer pleading for his life in front of the implacable burgers of the Stuttgart town council. It made an uncomfortable soundtrack to what promised to be an equally uncomfortable conversation.

He sat behind his desk facing a good deal of paperwork. ‘You don’t mind if I work while we talk? I have to compile these duty logs for tomorrow. Who’s manning the telephone exchange, that kind of thing. I have to post this on the noticeboard before nine o’clock so everyone knows where they’re supposed to be tomorrow. Von Kluge will have my guts if there’s a problem with our telecommunications when Hitler’s here.’

‘He’s flying from Rastenburg?’

‘No, from his forward HQ, at Vinnitsa, in the Ukraine. His staff call it the Werewolf HQ, but don’t ask me why. I believe he’s going on to Rastenburg tomorrow night.’

‘He gets around, does our leader.’

‘Your flight back to Berlin is fixed for early tomorrow afternoon,’ said Ahrens. ‘I don’t mind saying that I wish I was coming with you. The news from the front is not good. I’d hate to be in Von Kluge’s boots when the leader drops in for a chat tomorrow and demands a new offensive this spring. Frankly our troops aren’t nearly up to that task.’

‘Tell me, colonel, how soon is the ground around here likely to thaw?’

‘End of March, beginning of April. Why?’

I shrugged and looked generally apologetic.

‘You’re coming back?’

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘Someone else.’

‘What the hell for?’

‘We won’t know for sure until we find a complete body of course, but I’ve a pretty shrewd idea that there are Polish soldiers buried in your wood.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘I’m afraid it’s true. Just as soon as the ground thaws, my boss, Judge Goldsche, will probably send a senior army judge and a forensic pathologist down here to take charge of the investigation.’

‘But you heard the Susanins,’ said Ahrens. ‘The only Poles they saw around here remained on the train at Gnezdovo.’

I thought it best to avoid telling him that either the Susanins or perhaps Peshkov were clearly lying. I’d caused enough trouble for Ahrens already. Instead I handed him the button.

‘I found this,’ I said. ‘And the remains of a man’s foot in an officer’s riding boot.’

‘I don’t see that a fucking button and a boot tell us very much.’

‘I won’t know for sure until I consult an expert, but that looks to me like a Polish eagle on the button.’

‘Balls,’ he said angrily. ‘If you ask me that button could just as easily be from the coat of a White Russian Army soldier. There were Whites under General Denikin fighting the Reds in this area until at least 1922. No, you must be mistaken. I don’t see how something like that could have been covered up. I ask you, does this place feel like somewhere that’s built in the middle of a mass grave?’