“No one blames you, sir,” the sergeant said, still at attention. “We just underestimated the Brits and Amis, especially after the early days.”
Horcoff shook his head. “We didn’t think they would regroup so quickly, although Rommel had an inkling that would happen. He wanted to push further but no one listened to him. Our men loyally followed our orders and fought bravely but in the end we lost the battle and here we all are, stuck in a prisoner-of-war camp in the wilds of Canada. At the very least this camp is clean and open to the air, unlike those horrid, closed ships that we crossed the ocean on.”
“Yes, sir, that trip was an ordeal.”
“Being stuck with those Italians and their smells is a memory I’ll never forget. Horrible, disgusting people. Guess our only consolation is that when Germany prevails and the Leader sees our camp and how well it is kept, he will know that we are still honourable Germans.”
The general stepped away from the corporal and pointed at Sergeant Neumann and then at his flower garden
“That is why I garden, Neumann. That is why I spend all this time digging in the dirt, growing flowers. So that when the Führer comes to our camp after Germany is victorious and releases us from this prison, he will see that despite our surrender, we didn’t wallow in pity and capitulation, and we didn’t allow our camp to fall into disrepair. We kept our pride and honour as Germans.”
He moved closer to Neumann and leaned to speak quietly into his right ear. “And that is why you must investigate this murder of Captain Mueller. When our Führer removed Rohn and his SA from power, he was telling everyone that we Germans are not thugs and anarchists intimidating communists and old Jews on the street. We are men of honour, men of purpose, who will do things with a proper process as a great nation should. And we must prevent anarchy from returning, even here.
“So investigate this murder, Sergeant Neumann. Do so with discretion, but find out who killed Captain Mueller and bring them to justice. Honourable German justice, if you get my meaning.”
Sergeant Neumann stiffened to attention and snapped a quick Wehrmacht salute. General Horcoff quickly responded with a sharp one of his own.
Neumann turned on his heel and strode away. “Let’s go, Corporal,” he snapped as he walked past Aachen.
The corporal also saluted, got one from the general in return, turned 180 degrees on his heel, and followed the sergeant.
The general watched them walk away. He sighed, then turned to look for his spoon. When he found it, he slowly lowered himself to his knees and began digging. He started to whistle, but then stopped himself and looked around.
After a moment, he went back to silently digging.
3.
Both Neumann and Aachen broke their marching stride after a few steps and began to walk normally. They walked several metres along the trails between the barracks, and even though they were side by side, it was obvious that the sergeant was leading the way.
They passed several prisoners toiling in their gardens and walking along the paths. The prisoners greeted them politely, several wishing to begin a conversation with the sergeant, but Neumann politely waved them away, telling them that he would find them later. A corporal who had served in the same company as Neumann and Aachen, however, was able to flag them down. Neumann waved him over.
At just twenty years old, Corporal Dieter Knaup was tall and muscular with a bright face and an easy smile, although his many pimples made him look even younger than he was. He bounded over like a faithful puppy when he saw Neumann beckon him over.
“Hello, Sergeant Neumann. It’s a wonderful day, isn’t it?” Knaup said, his head nodding rapidly with each word. “Great to see you as well, Klaus. I hope the training has been going well. I’m really looking forward to your match. It’s the talk of the camp! Everyone’s excited, and we’re all pretty sure you’ll easily defeat—”
“—Knaup, please,” Sergeant Neumann said, raising his hand to cut off the young corporal.
Knaup froze, his smile vanishing into a worried frown. He stiffened, almost to attention, his head still nodding slightly. “Yes, Sergeant. Sorry, Sergeant.”
“Don’t apologize, Knaup. I called you over for a reason.”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
Neumann pointed at Knaup. “Do you know Doctor Kleinjeld?”
Knaup nodded quickly. “Yes, he’s the one who treated my frostbite this past winter. I lost part of a toe, but he managed to save my foot.”
“I want you to go find him and give him a message.”
“Yes, Sergeant. Message to Doctor Kleinjeld.”
“Tell him that he needs to take a look at Captain Mueller in Workshop Number 4.”
“Right. Captain Mueller in Workshop Number 4.” Knaup rubbed the back of his head. “What’s wrong with Captain Mueller?”
Neumann flicked the back of his hand. “Just give the doctor the message,” Neumann said more sternly.
Knaup immediately stood at attention.”Yes, Sergeant. Sorry, Sergeant.”
Neumann looked over at Aachen and rolled his eyes. Aachen shrugged but said nothing. “I also want you to accompany the doctor when he goes to see Captain Mueller. And to follow any orders the doctor may give you. Whatever he requests, you do.”
Knaup nodded. “Yes, Sergeant. I will do as you ask.”
Neumann then stepped forward until he was only a few inches away from Knaup. He held an index finger up and pointed at the corporal. “And one final thing, Knaup, and this is very important,” Neumann said quietly. His finger jerked towards Knaup with every word he spoke. “You give this message directly to Doctor Kleinjeld. You don’t pass it on to his assistant or a nurse or anyone else. Only Doctor Kleinjeld gets the message. Understand?”
Knaup’s face turned pale. He nodded once, very slowly.
“And you tell no one about this message. Absolutely no one. When I release you, you don’t stop and visit and you don’t answer anyone’s questions about where you are going. You go straight to Doctor Kleinjeld, give my message, then go with him and do whatever he tells you. These are direct orders. Do you understand me, Corporal Knaup? Do you understand the importance of what I’m asking you?”
Knaup blinked several times, his mouth hanging open. He looked over at Aachen, but Aachen said nothing.
“Don’t look at Aachen, Corporal Knaup. I’m the one giving the orders here,” Neumann said. “Do you understand my orders?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Knaup said after a couple of seconds. Then he shook his head. “I mean, no, Sergeant. I’m sorry, I really don’t know what you mean, but I can tell it’s very important. So I will do as you ask. I will pass your message to Doctor Kleinjeld. I will go with him and follow his orders. And I won’t tell anyone anything.”
Neumann stepped back and smiled. “Good man, Knaup. You’ve always been an excellent soldier.” Neumann slapped him on the shoulder.
Knaup’s face tightened again. He gave Aachen another glance, but quickly looked back to the sergeant. Knaup stiffened to attention. “Yes, Sergeant. Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Okay, go along now. Go find the good doctor,” Neumann said, stepping back and waving his hand at Knaup.
Knaup paused and then walked away without looking at Aachen or Neumann. His stride quickened as he moved away, becoming a half run as he turned the corner.
4.
After Knaup left, Neumann and Aachen continued on their way. Aachen glanced up at the sergeant. “So, when were you going to tell me your theory about who killed Captain Mueller?”
“What are you talking about, Aachen? I already told you.”
“You told General Horcoff. I just happened to be standing there when you were doing it.”
“And where else would you be when we are making the rounds? I knew you would hear what I told the general. You don’t expect me to repeat myself all the time.”
“It just would have been good to know what you had planned.”
Neumann laughed. “Relax, Corporal. We’re in a prisoner-of-war camp. No one’s shooting at us anymore, so there’s really no need for me to go over every plan with you before I do something. Although I do promise that if we ever get the chance to attack a position again, I will make sure I apprise you of my plans before we do so.”
Aachen grunted. “At the very least can you tell me where we are going, now?”
“Of course. Mueller lived in Hut 14 so I’m going to talk to his hut leader, Staff Sergeant Heidfield, to see if there were any concerns.”
“You’re not going to tell him about Captain Mueller, are you?”
Neumann said nothing for several steps. “I don’t know. We’ll see how it plays out. Heidfield’s decent to the fellows under his command, but he’s a bit of a rogue, so we have to watch what we say to him.”
Every hut housed 800 men in row after row of wooden bunk beds. But since it was the middle of the morning, a couple hours after the first count, there were only about fifty men scattered about playing cards, writing letters home, mending clothing, taking showers, and just hanging about. There was still the noise of conversation, water pipes creaking, and the wind battering the walls and windows, but compared to the times when the hut was completely occupied, when it was full of the sounds and scents of 800 German soldiers living in a bunkhouse the size of a small school, the place was practically peaceful.
Neumann and Aachen walked through the rows of bunks, looking for Staff Sergeant Nico Heidfield. They found him in the middle of the row nearest the south side wall. Heidfield lay on his lower bunk, dressed only in a shirt and underwear, reading a small book. His head was resting on a pillow at the foot of the bed so as to get more light from the window.
Sergeant Neumann sat on the bunk next to Heidfield’s saying nothing, waiting for the hut leader to finish what he was reading. Aachen stood near the window, but in a casual posture, leaning his left shoulder against the outside wall as if he was just waiting for a bus to arrive. Part of Aachen’s shadow fell on half of Heidfield’s book.
The hut leader ignored the shadow for as long as he could and then he sighed deeply, reluctantly dog-eared the page he was reading, shut the book, and set it on his chest. He stretched like a man waking up from a nap.
“Sergeant Neumann,” he said, elongating the name as he stretched. “If you’re looking for something to drink, you’re out of luck. A scout found our still a couple days ago. He took it away with some of his scout friends. Come back in a week and we’ll be up and running again.”
Though Heidfield was a staff sergeant, outranking Neumann, he was a lot younger, only a few years older than Corporal Aachen. And he looked young as well: tall, blond, and blue-eyed with a spot-free boyish face, straight teeth, and a movie star haircut parted on the left with the hair swooping to the right, slightly longer than regulations allowed.
Neumann smiled and leaned his hand on the mattress of the bunk he was sitting on. “Sorry, I gave up drinking your homemade stuff once I had a taste of the brew you and your boys made on the ship transport over here.”
Heidfield responded with a bright smile. “Oh that was good stuff,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t believe what we accomplished in that disgusting place. Amazing ingenuity. Even some of the Canadian merchant boys bought stuff from us. The pinnacle of my career, that brew was. Something I’ll never forget.”
“Neither will most of us on that ship. Which is why I’ll pass on any offers of brew you make to me. Even if you open the most prestigious nightclub in Berlin—”
“—and I will, no doubt about that,” Heidfield said, quickly turning onto his side, allowing his book to fall to the floor. He pushed himself to a seated position and waved his hands frantically, as if conducting an invisible orchestra. “It will be the hotspot of the city, I can guarantee you that. Anyone who is anyone in Berlin will want to come to my club. The movie stars, the politicians, the rich kids with money, the big-shot power brokers, they will all want to come to my club. And only a few will get in because there will not be enough room for all of them.”
Aachen shook his head while the sergeant gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Well, count me out because like I said, I will never sample your brew again after drinking the stuff you cooked up on the cruise.”
“But you will be welcome anytime, Neumann. Anytime,” Heidfield said slapping the sergeant on the knee. “A man of your integrity and standing will have carte blanche at my club. Whatever you desire will be yours for the asking.”
“As long as I don’t have to drink what you serve.”
Heidfield ignored the jibe, turning to point at Aachen. “And you as well, Corporal Aachen. You’ve made me a lot because of your skills on the mat. So if you ever get to Berlin after the war and come to my club, you will never have to wait in line. Never.”
Aachen said nothing and turned to look out the window.
Heidfield smiled at him and then faced the sergeant. “So if it’s not brew you want, Sergeant Neumann, how can I help you? Wishing to make a bet on Aachen’s match? I’ll admit that it’s a bit unorthodox, but I’ll take your bet. The odds are against Aachen at the moment because everyone thinks Neuer is bigger and stronger, but that only works in your favour. Well, in mine as well because worse odds against Aachen provides a better payout for me.”
“I’m not here to bet on Aachen.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m here because I need to talk to you as the hut leader.”
Heidfield laughed openly, his face bright and joyful. He slapped Neumann on the knee again. “Then you have come to the wrong place.”
The staff sergeant bent down to pick up his book and leaned back on his pillow. He continued chuckling as he started reading again.
As he did, Neumann leaned forward and spoke. “I don’t understand. What’s so funny?”
“I am not the hut leader of this space,” Heidfield said, pointing at Neumann with his book. “I was voted out a couple days ago.”
“Voted out?”
“Well, technically they voted someone else in—some sergeant who was just transferred over from Medicine Hat. Real serious type. Has a huge taste for the colour black, especially in clothing, if you understand my meaning.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, he got here a week or so ago.”
“No, no,” Neumann said with a wave of his hand. “When did they vote you out?”
“Couple of days ago. I had just finished taking a shit and a group of prisoners came up to me, real grumbly types, all sweaty and tough, telling me that I was no longer the hut leader. And when I told them that the men had voted for me, they said there was another election.”
“There’s not supposed to be another election for three more months.”
“That’s what I said. I told them the Canadians were very picky about when we’re supposed to have elections for hut leaders, that they wanted to teach us the importance of democracy and elections.” Heidfield pointed with his book again and winked. “Like we’ve never had elections in Germany before, eh Neumann? I mean how do you think the Leader got into power in the first place?”
“Never mind that, what else did they tell you?”
“They got all huffy and bruisy when I mentioned the Canadians and told me if I knew what was good for me, I would accept that there was another hut leader and shut up and walk away—which I did. Not because I was intimidated by those SS guys; most of them, except for one or two, looked to be political types, desk riders or command adjuncts who never saw a second of combat and wanted to be evacuated, but didn’t manage it before the Tommies took over.”
“How many of them were there?”
“About six. Maybe seven. I wasn’t counting.”
“Do you know the name of the sergeant who replac
ed you?”
“Konrad, I think. Big ugly man—a bit like you Neumann, no offence. Although unlike you, I hear he’s not very pleasant at all. Doesn’t care what the men want. And like I said, really loves the colour black.” Heidfield winked at the final statement.
“And you say he just got transferred from Medicine Hat?”
Heidfield nodded, looked at his book for a few seconds, and then rolled on his side again. “I don’t know what this is all about Sergeant Neumann. I have no idea what you and Corporal Aachen are doing here and to be honest, I don’t really care. I don’t care if this black suit aspirant is the hut leader now. In fact, I’m actually very pleased that it’s no longer me. I didn’t campaign for the job—didn’t want the job—but since the boys voted me in, I figured that I might as well take it to help them out. But now that they voted me out, or whatever happened, I can relax and wait for the war to end. Maybe even make a few extra marks that I can somehow smuggle back home.”
Heidfield lay back on his pillow and returned to his book, saying nothing more.
5.
Back outside the hut, Neumann stood a few feet away from the entrance near the edge of one of the laneways. He reached into the front pocket of his uniform. Out came a packet of cigarettes. He pulled one out and put it into his mouth. Then he put the packet back and starting padding his pockets, looking for his lighter.
After several seconds of this, he looked over to Aachen, who had tucked himself against a wall to escape from the wind. “You have a light, Corporal?”
Aachen shook his head. “I can’t smoke until after my match.”
“Ahh, good man,” the sergeant said, padding his pockets again, his frustration mounting. After a few more seconds, he snatched the cigarette from his mouth, crumpled it in his hand, and tossed it to the ground.
The Traitors of Camp 133 Page 3