The Traitors of Camp 133

by Wayne Arthurson

  The chef stood up to leave. “And, Sergeant, I will take your comments about pilfering into consideration, however, if you excuse—”

  The sergeant cut off the chef by placing a big hand on the fat man’s shoulder. He squeezed hard, causing the chef to wince and then pushed the man back to a seated position.

  “Sit down, Chef. This is very important and I need to have your immediate attention.”

  “In case you have forgotten because I don’t wear a uniform,” the chef said with mock indignation, “I am a captain and you are a sergeant. You cannot manhandle me in this way.”

  The sergeant laughed and reached out to pluck the cigarette from the chef’s mouth.”You may officially outrank me, but I am the Head of Civil Security in this camp and Corporal Aachen is my assistant. I don’t report to you. I report directly to the commander of this camp, and it is that commander who has sent me to discuss the pilfering problem with you.” He narrowed his eyes and scooted closer to the chef. “Besides, you, me, Corporal Aachen, and everyone else in the camp knows that I’m no ordinary sergeant, am I right?”

  Splichal’s face started to turn white.

  The sergeant leaned in, placed his hand around the back of the chef’s neck, and slowly brought him close so they were only centimetres away from each other. The chef was starting to sweat.

  “You do know what I’m talking about, Captain Splichal?” He said the last two words very slowly, enunciating them clearly.

  The chef nodded quickly.

  “Tell me what I’m talking about.”

  A look of panic came over the chef’s face and he started to breathe heavily. He looked about, looked at Aachen, but the sergeant squeezed his neck and shook him. “No one’s going to help you, Captain Splichal. No one. Because they all know who I am. You do too, so that gives me the right to manhandle you any way I fucking well please.”

  The chef stammered but could not form words. His started gasping, he eyes growing wider by the second.

  Sergeant Neumann gave him a soft slap on his cheek. “Besides, you don’t want to end up like Mueller.”

  Corporal Aachen gasped out loud and broke out of his stance to give the sergeant a look of incredulity. But Captain Splichal didn’t notice the sound, nor the movement. His face turned even whiter, his eyes wide, questioning. Neumann smiled brightly and released the chef from his grip. The fat man fell back, almost tumbling off the bench. He grabbed his chest, panting heavily, as sweat dripped from his forehead.

  “Mueller? What happened to Mueller?” the chef asked once he caught his breath. “Which Mueller?”

  “Captain Mueller. Tank Commander back in Africa. Became a teacher when he got here. Taught a lot of boys about mathematics and sciences—even Aachen here took a class. Isn’t that so, Aachen?”

  Corporal Aachen was so surprised that he couldn’t respond. But no one was paying attention to him. Chef Splichal was staring intently up at Sergeant Neumann who now had an unconcerned look on his face.

  “What happened to Mueller?” the chef whispered loudly, almost a hiss.

  “Mueller is dead,” Neumann said. “The corporal and I just came from viewing his body. Hanging. Not a pretty sight.”

  “He killed…” The chef started to say but then his voice got caught in his throat.

  The sergeant shook his head.

  “But who would kill Mueller? He was harmless.”

  “Word is he was a Communist,” the sergeant whispered into the chef’s ear. “And if there’s one thing command doesn’t like, it’s a Communist. And pilferers. In fact, they hate pilferers more than they hate Communists. Only Jews are hated more than pilferers, but it’s pretty damn close.”

  The sergeant then stood up and leaned all of his six-and-a-half feet over the chef. “There is pilfering going on in your kitchen. A lot of pilfering. And it has to stop. Today. I don’t care how you do it; it just has to stop. Because if it doesn’t…” The sergeant trailed off and smiled calmly. “Many take a dim view of those who steal from their own soldiers. Do I make myself clear, Captain Splichal?”

  The chef nodded quickly, his face full of fear.

  The sergeant turned towards Aachen and gave him a quick slap on the chest. “Okay, let’s go, Corporal. We’re done here.”

  It took Aachen a couple of seconds to break out of his shock before he shook his head and followed the sergeant through the kitchen door.

  6.

  They walked through the kitchen which was full of steam and bustling soldiers cleaning up the debris from the last meal and preparing the ingredients for the next one. They ignored the bustle and the odds shouts of encouragement towards Corporal Aachen and his upcoming match and walked out the back double doors that also acted as a receiving area. There were more soldiers milling about this area, smoking and talking; there was rarely a place in camp for someone to be alone.

  The sergeant stopped and whispered in Aachen’s ear. “I know by your silence you’ve got something to say, Corporal.” Neumann began to quickly walk as he continued. “But I prefer if the next part of our conversation is unheard so let’s move to a more open area, shall we?”

  Neumann headed north, through the lanes between the barracks, through more gardens, more prisoners working in gardens, past more murals and more soldiers just hanging about, enjoying the heat of the summer. Aachen followed a half step behind.

  It took several minutes before the two of them made it to an open area halfway between the classrooms, long, one-story structures just north of the barracks, and the two halls, the largest structures in the camp. Able to hold almost 5,000 prisoners at one time, the Halls were also the largest of their kind in western Canada.

  But the soldiers were far enough away and the wind loud enough that Neumann and Aachen were free to talk without anyone eavesdropping.

  The sergeant turned to face the corporal and held his hand up to stop the younger soldier from speaking.

  “I know what you are going to say, Aachen. I know I told you not to mention Mueller to anyone and then I go and use it in our discussions with the chef.”

  “I was completely shocked that you brought his name up, Sergeant,” Aachen said. “You had already made your point about pilfering and easily put down his pathetic attempts to threaten and bribe us at the same time. Can you believe he thought that knowing my birthday would scare me?”

  “Small-time criminals like Splichal like to think they are big-time criminals when they have no idea what big-time criminality actually is. However, regarding your first concern, I knew I had Splichal where I wanted him. I knew he would never pilfer again, but I wanted him to realize that there are consequences for his actions. I wanted him to know that we in the camp are more dangerous than the people he may sell his goods to. And I realized that there was another opportunity that I couldn’t pass up.”

  “I don’t understand,” the corporal said, shaking his head. “What opportunity?”

  “Remember back at the classroom when you asked me what we should do about Mueller’s body?”

  “You said that if we informed the Canadians, then we would automatically be suspects. They would take us in for questioning. And because of that, the rest of the camp could then assume that we were informers for the Canadians. I understand that, even though it’s hard to think of Mueller still hanging there.”

  “But when I talked to Splichal and he mentioned he could get us anything, I realized that he has contacts with people on the outside. And to stop his pilfering, he would have to contact those people. So I decided to mention Mueller not just to frighten him but—”

  Aachen cut in “—so he can tell someone about Mueller and the Canadians can learn about this from an anonymous tip instead of from us.” The sergeant nodded slowly.

  “But what if Splichal decides to tell somebody else about Mueller before he tells the Canadians?” Aachen asked.

  �
�That information is too valuable for him to waste on another German. He’ll need some currency in exchange for saying he has to cut back on the supplies he was shipping them.”

  Aachen went quiet for a moment. He looked about the camp, gazing into the distance of the dry Canadian prairie. A few puffs of cloud drifted over, causing shadows to race across the land. “I’m sorry I doubted your actions, Sergeant,” he said finally. “Once again, just like in North Africa, you were thinking several moves ahead of me.”

  “I was only thinking on my feet, just like I did in North Africa,” Neumann said, touching the corporal lightly on the shoulder. “But you did what a good second-in-command should do, just like you did in North Africa: you questioned me to make sure I hadn’t gone off the deep end.”

  “You’ve never gone off the deep end, Sergeant. It’s one reason I’m still alive.”

  “You’ve forgotten the incident with the Tommies and their tanks. That was the craziest thing I’ve done any time in the two wars I fought. We were lucky to get out of that one.”

  “Not luck, experience. Only someone with your years in combat would have come up with that.”

  “Only someone with a few marbles knocked loose because of too much combat experience would have thought of that,” the sergeant said tapping his head with a finger. “Don’t forget, Aachen, you and I were very lucky to survive our battles in Africa. And you were lucky that you got wounded when you did in Stalingrad.”

  “Being wounded that way doesn’t feel lucky. I almost lost the leg.”

  “But you didn’t. Whatever shrapnel hit you missed vital arteries in your leg or the medic who treated you was better than average or the doctor happened to be sober at the time. Or maybe all of those things together. And, if you’d have gotten the same injury a couple of weeks later, they wouldn’t have sent you home. They would have kept you there and the Ivans would have shot you in your hospital bed when they crossed the Volga and swarmed the 20th Infantry. Face it, Corporal Aachen, you and I are lucky to have survived so long.”

  The young corporal didn’t say anything. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and tried to light it. Due to the strong wind, his lighter kept blowing out, even when he tried to cover the flame with his hand.

  Neumann reached out, grabbed the cigarette from Aachen’s mouth, and put it in his own. A second later, he grabbed the lighter while Aachen looked on, wide-eyed with surprise. Turning his back from the wind and cupping his hand over the cigarette and the flame, Neumann lit the cigarette. He took a deep puff as he turned around, holding the lighter out for Aachen. The corporal didn’t take the lighter, only stared at the sergeant.

  “You said you weren’t going to smoke until after your match,” Neumann said after a moment.

  Aachen sighed, shook his head, and snatched the lighter from the sergeant’s hand.

  “Okay, now that we’ve got that settled away, I need to ask you a question and I want you to answer with as much honesty as you can. Do you understand, Corporal Aachen?”

  Aachen nodded. “Of course, Sergeant. As always.” He tucked the lighter back into his pocket.

  “I’m very serious here. I want your complete honesty. Don’t hold back, don’t worry about questioning my authority—I need you to be frank. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. Very clear.”

  “Even if something you say may look bad on another soldier, I want you to speak with complete candour, no matter how much loyalty you feel towards that soldier.”

  “Now you have me worried, Sergeant,” Aachen said with a little smile.

  “I’m not trying to be funny, Klaus. This is no laughing matter. This could be life and death, just like in North Africa.”

  Aachen nodded quickly. “Yes, of course, Sergeant, I apologize. I will speak with complete honesty.”

  “Good.” Neumann looked about to see if there was anybody within earshot. There was a group of prisoners about twenty-five metres away watching another group play football, but that was about it. Satisfied all was safe, he turned back to the corporal, taking a puff from his smoke before he spoke.

  “I am quite aware you took a number of classes taught by Captain Mueller.”

  “Yes. Mathematics and physics. I also took some sciences from Major Gunther as well.”

  “Yes but Gunther doesn’t play in here because he’s a grumpy old bastard like me. He’s also still alive. Captain Mueller is a different story. As you heard from General Horcoff, the talk around camp is that Captain Mueller was a Bolshevik—”

  “—He was not,” Aachen said, cutting him off. “He was only trying to help younger soldiers like myself improve ourselves. Without Captain Mueller, I never would have passed the Abitur so that when I get home I can go—”

  Neumann stopped Aachen’s comments with a wave. “Yes, yes, he was a good man, I understand all that. But talk is talk and if people like General Horcoff consider him to have Bolshevik leanings then that says something.”

  “That’s quite unfair, isn’t it?”

  “This is war, Corporal; many things are unfair. But fairness or not, I myself have heard talk about Mueller’s teachings, heard that along with his classes, he mentioned other things. Such as the state of Germany’s war effort. Which is the main question I have to ask you: have you yourself heard Captain Mueller say such things in his classes?”

  Aachen paused, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t think he meant to criticize anyone, he just talked about possibilities.”

  “Possibilities of what?”

  “Possibilities of…” Aachen trailed off, watching the group of prisoners play football in the distance. They were decent players, their passes crisp and with purpose. The defence was also very solid, every player marked, breaking up forward movement only to go back on the offence. After a moment, Aachen looked back at the sergeant. “His words were harmless. He only said what many of us were thinking.”

  “Harmless or not, what did he actually say? Remember I asked you to be completely honest with me and you promised you would be. This is very important, Klaus, not just in possibly determining what happened to Mueller, but in your future as well.”

  “I don’t understand, Sergeant. Why would something Captain Mueller said in class have any bearing on my future? They were his words, not mine.”

  “True, but if Mueller said anything that could be perceived as traitorous, and you didn’t report it, then you and anyone else in that class who also didn’t report it could be seen as in collusion with his feelings.”

  “If I reported everything people said to me that could even be considered slightly traitorous, then we’d all be in big trouble.”

  “Typical grumbling is fine. The military expects its soldiers to grumble, but speaking out loud in a classroom in which you are teaching younger soldiers is something different. Especially now, after the invasion. Some people are very sensitive about certain things when there is a setback in war. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. I do.”

  “So tell me, what did Captain Mueller say. Doesn’t matter if you remember word for word, I just need the gist of his conversation.”

  Aachen again looked over to the game. He sighed and even though there was no one within earshot, he lowered his voice.

  “Not long after the invasion, when we were feeling depressed that the Allies established a beachhead, Captain Mueller told us not to worry. He told us that this meant we would be going home in a year. That the Allies would progress through France and take back the rest of Europe, forcing the Führer to sue them for peace. Or they would continue across the Rhine and, in time, defeat us. Either way, that would mean the war would be over and we could go home.”

  “And did he repeat those statements again in later classes?”

  Aachen rubbed his sweaty hands together and nodded. “A number of times. He also hoped that Germany wou
ld sue for peace before the Allies got too close but he said the Führer was too stubborn and could draw us into a deeper hell than the one we’re in now.”

  “That’s not good,” Neumann said after a pause. “Not only did he voice the possibility that we would lose the war on a number of occasions, but he criticized the Führer. And he did so while acting as a mentor to a group of younger soldiers like yourself.”

  “I don’t think he meant for us to deny our loyalty to Germany and the Führer, he was just expressing an opinion, trying to offer a positive viewpoint on the invasion. I’m pretty sure that most of us, even those in the battlefield, would prefer for this war to end and to go home to our loved ones.”

  “All soldiers wish war to end, but we don’t speak out loud hoping for our side to lose. There’s a difference.”

  After a moment Aachen nodded. “I didn’t take his talk as treasonous.”

  “But others would. And you know the kind I’m talking about. And based on your view of his words, you did not report this to anyone.”

  “No, Sergeant. Only to you, right now.”

  “Good. Now I want you to remember that because it is possible that someone in your classroom did report Captain Mueller and that someone in this camp, someone with power and a connection to the command structure, determined that he was a traitor and doled out punishment. And if that happened, they may have also mentioned the names of the other soldiers in that class. And while the punishment for not reporting may be less, one can never know.

  “So what I want from you—and this is a direct order from me, not a request—is to say, if anybody asks why you didn’t report it, that you did report it, right after you heard it. And I want you to say that you reported it to me.”

  “But I didn’t, Sergeant. I only just told you now.”

  “But they don’t know that. And they never will because I’ve given you a direct order to say that you did report it. Furthermore, I want you to say that you individually told all your other classmates not to worry about reporting it because you would do so for them. That way, we’re protecting not just you but your other classmates.”