Men of Snow by John R Burns Page B

history and how their training was essential to the nation’s development, told them more about the main European countries’ capabilities, again went through the failures and reasons for the Treaty of Versailles, told them the psychology necessary to become a successful officer. All of this was in the commander’s tone of exasperation. As the weeks past his talks became more impatient. Several times a week there would be military cars coming up the school’s extensive driveway to park outside the commander’s house.
    ‘You are in control. You are the means to pass on orders from your commanding officer to the troops you have responsibility for. You never question such commands. Only when you are sure that all lines of communication have been severed do you take charge, do you make your own decisions. This gentlemen should be a rare occurrence. We are here to produce men who can think independently only when that is absolutely necessary.’
    Franz would watch Steiner in the showers, getting dressed, at meal times, in the assembly hall and especially when he was preparing for bed. He watched every detail of Steiner’s way of doing things. At night he would always follow the same routine. First he would unbutton his uniform and take his combat jacket off. Then he would sit on the edge of his bed to untie his boots. If they were, as was often the case, covered in mud, he would set them down on sheets of newspaper. He would pull off his socks and stuff them in the end of his boots. Franz would watch him unbutton his shirt and lay it on top of his jacket on the chair next to his bed. He used both hands to pull his vest over his head. His body was thin but muscular. When he stretched to take off his vest the shape of his rib cage was pushed out, pulling his pale skin taught. His night shirt was folded in one of the drawers of his metal cabinet. When he had pulled that on he would lift it up at the front so he could unbutton his combat trousers and pull them down with his pants that he would then step out of and fold them with the rest of his clothes on the bed side chair.
    In the morning everything was in reverse. Steiner’s dark brown hair would be flopping over his eyes when he pulled back the bed clothes. He would sit, yawn, rub his face and glance around the room. Before anything else he would clean and polish his boots. Frumm and Meissner would be still trying to rouse themselves as Steiner made his way off to the washroom. Franz could smell him pass by his bed, watching the toes of his bare feet splay slightly on the linoleum floor of their small dormitory room.
    ‘You will command your men to attack, to kill in any way they can. It might be you will have to kill civilians as collaborators, spies, hostages, anything that is necessary. There is no morality to war other than that demanded by those who are victorious.’
     
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    ‘What do you think happened to Schultz?’ was Frumm’s question as they were preparing for sleep one night after being on the assault course for most of the day?
    ‘No idea,’ Franz quickly responded.
    ‘He should never have been here,’ was Meissner’s opinion.
    ‘At least he was willing to try,’ Steiner added.
    ‘He was certainly trying alright,’ said Frumm, ‘Schultz was just a mummy’s boy.’
    Meissner stretched, yawned as he spoke, ‘He was a bum fucker.’
    ‘There was never any evidence of that,’ Steiner argued.
    ‘Strauss and his second year gang don’t need evidence. The merest suspicion, that’s all they require.’
    ‘So why did we not have the same suspicions?’ Steiner asked Frumm.
    ‘Maybe it takes one to find one,’ was from Meissner.
    Franz was inspecting his boots as he said, ‘So go and tell that to Strauss. I’m sure he would appreciate your comments.’
    ‘Fuck off Brucker.’
    ‘No, I