The Contract

Heini Schalke stood at the front, close to the Politoffizier who had publicly congratulated him, close to the major who had praised him grudgingly, close to the sergeant who had queried his need to shoot and not spoken to him since. The other men with whom he messed had avoided him. He was not shunned, not ignored, only left in no doubt that his company was not wanted.

They never knew where they would be placed until the briefing. That was the way of the border. No man could take for granted that he would patrol the outer perimeter of the Restricted Zone, or the Hinterland fence, or lie up in a hide, or climb a watch tower, or ride in a jeep.

Many times in the day Heini Schalke had seen the fair sweeping hair that rolled in the headlights, and the young dead face of the girl. Ulf Becker was in his thoughts, too… Becker, who in the manacles of the captive met his eyes without fear. It was not possible for Heini Schalke to understand why the man who had slept four beds from him in the dormitory at Weferlingen would have come with his girl to the Hinterland fence.

'Corporal Schalke, you are with Brandt. The jeep run on the forward road from the Walbeck Strasse tower to two kilometres north.'

Two kilometres, backwards and forwards for two kilometres, four minutes up and four minutes down, and in between the pull off the patrol road and only Brandt, who was from the farm country of Mecklenburg in the north, to talk with. He looked behind him, saw Brandt, saw the grim resignation on the boy's face.

'A car has been found at Bischofswald, between here and Haldensleben. The car was stolen from near Magdeburg yesterday morning. It is believed that three persons are attempting an illegal crossing of the frontier. There are two males and one female. Battalion have called for especial vigilance from all personnel. I know you will do your duty if confronted by these criminals. I know the company will not be found wanting in the fulfilment of its responsibilities.'

Johnny held the stick that was stripped of leaves and their stems as a blind man walks with a wand. He held it loosely between forefinger and thumb and rocked it forward and back with a great gentleness in front of his legs.

By his estimate they were half way between the Hinterland fence and the final cleared cutting in the forest.

It had been cripplingly slow along the path, torture to their nerves, and now the stick's swing was blocked. The impediment was at knee height.

Three times he had swung the stick. To the right of his legs, to the left of them, to his front. Each time the thin stick stumbled against the obstruction. He had allowed Otto Guttmann and Erica to be with him for the last push, had reckoned there was a greater terror for them if they were behind and cut off from him. They wanted to be with him, close to the source spring of encouragement. He pushed Otto Guttmann softly back to avoid being crowded into error.

The stick was his guide in the darkness and his fingers found the contact point where it met the trip wire. They were not so sensitive, these wires, not like those on the Hinterland. A man's whole weight would activate the alarm, but not the impact of a running hare or a wandering fox. The wire was tight stretched, there for the unwary, there for the fool.

He reached out and coaxed Otto Guttmann forward and lifted him over the single wire, and Erica after him.

It pleased Johnny to have found the trip. If there was a wire on the path then there could be no foot patrols.

The wind played at his face because the tall trees were no longer around them. They were into the space that had been cleared and where only intermittent waist-high undergrowth had come to replace the pines.

He remembered the place as he had seen it from the far side, remembered the cover that stretched to the dull grey of the patrol road and the sandy earth of the ploughed strip.

Close to midnight, a good time for them to be coming. The time of the change of the Border Guard details. The time when some were cold and hungry and tired for their beds, when others had not accustomed their eyes to the night.

They had eaten the sandwiches, they had drained half the bottle, they had broached the coffee flask. The groundsheet was spread across the track that ran parallel to the line of the border. A desperate, lonely place, Carter reckoned, the

Roteriede at night. No life here. except when the moon passed beyond the wire and threw colours of light between the bushes.

Not a job for Carter, not his end of the business, not here wet and half frozen. Should have been someone half his age.

There was an owl somewhere in the tree above. Could have been a tawny from its call, Strix aluco and fifteen inch wingspan. An awkward, cussed creature, for ever stamping at its perch. Each time it shouted, Carter flinched. Lucky bugger, with its night sight, and elevation. Carter could see damn all from the level of the groundsheet.

'If he comes, do you know where it will be, how far either side of us?'