“Footprints,” said Herzog, quietly, pawing the ground where the unmistakable outline of a boot was visible, “someone’s been here before us.” He got to his feet again, took the MP 40 from his shoulder and cocked it. The click sounded loudly in the stillness of the field.
“Company?” enquired Synovski, appearing at his side. Herzog pointed to the footprints and nodded. “They might still be around.”
They continued cautiously, eyes and ears alert for the slightest sound or movement. Herzog felt the perspiration forming a light film along his back, he swallowed hard and gribbed the sub-gun tighter.
Away to the left, a twig snapped.
He spun round but Gustavus emerged in front of him, looking puzzled by the corporal’s expression of relief. Herzog raised a hand in recognition.
The explosion blew him off his feet onto the moist earth. A cloud of black smoke floated up towards the sky, carrying particles of corn with it. Where Gustavus had stood, only a crater remained, smoke rising from its black bottom.
“Minefield,” shouted Foss, “nobody move.”
Dazed by the sudden roar of the blast, the men froze where they were, some in mid-step. Driest stood like a flamingo on one leg, not daring to put his other foot down. Herzog lay still, slowly regaining his senses. A yard or two from him lay two bodies. He could see that the men were dead. He looked up and saw Foss.
“Don’t move,” said the sergeant, slowly pulling his bayonet from its scabbard. As Herzog watched, he dropped to one knee and began prodding the earth with the point of the blade, listening for the chink of steel on steel. He heard it and began scooping up handfuls of earth from around the booby-trap, finally uncovering the thing. He picked it up and laid it on top of the mound of earth, studying it with an experienced eye.
“Russian?” asked Herzog.
“No,” replied Foss, “it’s one of ours.”
He shouted out to the other men to use their bayonets in a similar fashion and, soon, all the troops were on their knees scraping about in the moist earth like so many miners. One by one, the mines were unearthed.
“As if it’s not bad enough with the Russians,” complained Driest, poking gingerly in the earth with his bayonet, “now our own side wants to kill us.” He looked across at Schiller who was just pulling one of the monsters from its hiding-place. Zorn was sitting on his backside disarming one.
Driest almost shrieked aloud. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he rasped. “Do you want to get us all killed?”
Zorn smiled and continued at his work. “It’s quite safe,” he explained, “the mechanism is simple.”
“Put the fucking thing down for Christ’s sake,” babbled Driest, sweating profusely, but Zorn ignored him and carried on happily, nodding to himself as he discovered something else about the mines.
Herzog got to his feet and felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Ritter standing there.
“You and three of your men will make a path to the end of the field,” he said, sharply.
Herzog gritted his teeth and saluted, drawing his bayonet; his hand closed over the hilt and the urge to drive it between the captain’s ribs was overwhelming. He thought he could detect the beginnings of a smile on Ritter’s lips. The corporal found three other men to help him, Kahn amongst them. They dropped to their knees and crawled, inch by agonising inch, prodding the dirt, searching for the mines, digging them up when they found them. Clearing a path for the others to follow. Although separated from the column, the four men could hear them moving, their equipment clanking conspicuously. Time seemed to stop, it seemed as though they had been crawling since time began and would be doing so until it ended. A few feet of damp earth all that lay between them and twelve pounds of high explosive. Herzog felt his bayonet connect with metal and he dug the mine up, laying it on one side, wiping his sweating palms on his trousers. A yard or two to his right he could see Kahn using his sword to prize the mines from the earth. The Jap looked calm, working determinedly, concentration etched on his thin face. He removed each successive mine, looked at it for a second, then laid it to one side. The column slowly moved forward through the narrow path, not daring to step a foot to either side for fear of stepping on one of the devices.
Herzog looked over his shoulder and saw Ritter walking along contentedly watching the four men scrambling along on their knees, clearing a path through the jaws of death. With his hands clasped behind his back, he looked as though he were out for a stroll in the Black Forest. The corporal felt the hatred rising within him. He carried on digging, probing the dark carpet of earth for mines.
After what seemed like an eternity, the cornfield gradually thinned out and gave way to open meadow. They had found no mines for nearly a hundred yards and Ritter gave the order for them to fall back into line. The men formed up into sections once more and descended the steep, moss-covered slope towards the patchwork quilt of fields and hedges. About half a mile away, clearly visible in the sunshine, was a house, its white walls reflecting the bright rays of light. Ritter paused for a moment and peered through his binoculars before handing them to Foss who also examined the farm.
It looked deserted.
“Empty, you think?” said Ritter.
Foss shrugged. “If it’s not, whoever’s in there will have seen us by now, we stick out like a sore thumb up here.”
“It could be our men,” offered Herzog, “the same fucking idiots who laid the mines.”
Ritter plucked at his chin reflectively. “There’s only one way to find out.” He paused. “Send some men down.”
“Couldn’t we just bypass it, go round?” asked Foss.
Ritter shook his head. “We might be able to discover the whereabouts of the enemy.”
“We know where they are,” growled Herzog. “They’re heading for that bridge in Poznan and the longer we fuck about here the better chance they’ve got of reaching it.” His eyes blazed and the vein in his temple pulsed angrily. Ritter was unimpressed.
“Since you are so convinced the farmhouse is deserted, corporal, take some men and find out if you’re right.”
“And if it isn’t?”
His words hung on the still air. Ritter walked away. Herzog threw him a vicious glance and motioned to the five nearest men. They checked their weapons and followed him down the hill.
The farm was on a slight rise, the land approaching it was open. From where they waited, Herzog guessed that it was nearly two hundred yards to the rough wood fence which surrounded the yard.
“Do we run for it?” asked Vogel, readjusting the strap on his Mauser rifle. Herzog thought for a moment and looked at the men around him. The private of engineers was peering through the hedge towards the farmhouse, Zorn and Moller sat, unperturbed, waiting for orders and Private Faber was picking his nose. The corporal got up on one knee and turned to the men. “Cover me,” he said. “If you see anything, open fire and don’t stop until I reach the house.”
With that, he vaulted the low hedge and ran as fast as he could across the open ground, zigzagging. With a last burst of speed he reached the fence and jumped it, rolling over and coming to rest against a pile of straw baled up against the first barn. Cautiously he got up, peering over the bales, scanning the farmyard. It seemed large, surrounded by four buildings. The house and cattle-shed were made of stone, the two barns of wood. The door to the second was slightly ajar. The silence was deafening. If there was anyone there, he had done a very good job of concealment. He dropped down behind the bales of straw again and waved the watching men across.
One by one, they sprinted across the field to join him, each one dropping in turn, behind the shelter of the bales. Last across was Vogel. He dropped down beside the others, panting like a carthorse. “All this bloody exercise is no good for me,” he gasped, patting his chest, “no good.”