The Traitors of Camp 133

by Wayne Arthurson

  In that moment, Sergeant Holm, the old veteran, stepped away from the crowd, stood at attention, and started singing.

  “Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,

  Über alles in der Welt.”

  Holm’s voice was a clear baritone and it caught the attention of those nearby him. They joined in, standing at attention, singing loud and clear:

  “Wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze

  Brüderlich zusammenhält.

  Von der Maas bis an die Memel—”

  More and more soldiers joined in and soon almost all, save for a very few, were singing loudly. Those who did not sing were given dirty looks and admonishing slaps on their shoulders and backs by those who did. And then every single German soldier within a hundred metres was singing:

  “Von der Etsch bis an den Belt,

  Deutschland, Deutschland über alles,

  Über alles in der Welt!”

  When they completed the entire song, the group cheered and then slowly began to disperse, much to the relief of the Canadians at the door.

  Sergeant Neumann turned towards Sergeant Holm and gave him a salute. The veteran saluted back and then strolled away, whistling Deutschlandlied to himself. Neumann turned away from the dispersing crowd and started to climb the steps. Aachen was right behind. The two Canadian scouts moved together, blocking the door. “No entry,” the one on the right said, waggling a finger.

  “I’m the Head of Civil Security for the camp,” Neumann said in English. “I should be in there.”

  “Nein,” said the other one with a smirk. “Get lost, Kraut.”

  Neumann looked back at the crowd and then back at the Canadians. “I just saved your lives, gentlemen. Saved you from being torn apart by an angry group of my countrymen,” he quietly said in English, pronouncing each word clearly. The Canadians showed surprise at that. “I think you should let me in as a way of thanking me. Because if you don’t, then I’ll just call the boys back and we’ll leave them with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  The Canadians looked at each other. After a moment, one of them opened the door for the two Germans. “Be my guest, Kraut. No skin off my nose if you want to deal with Major MacKay. He’s a big pain the ass.”

  14.

  Neumann entered the room. Along with Doctor Kleinjeld and Corporal Knaup there were also three Canadians—two scouts, both corporals, and another one who was looking down at Mueller’s body and had his back to the door. This Canadian’s uniform was one of a guard—one of the many Canadians who normally stayed outside of the wire. He was smaller than the other Canadians and leaned to the right, as if favouring a sore leg.

  Doctor Kleinjeld was the first one to notice Neumann and Aachen enter the room. His eyes opened wide. “Sergeant Neumann,” he said in German with a tone of relief in his voice. “Thank God you’ve arrived.”

  The two Canadian scouts, on opposite sides of the doctor, looked up in surprise. They jerked, as if they should do something to protect themselves, but since they had no weapons, they were at a loss.

  The other Canadian turned slowly. He was probably only in his mid-twenties but even so, he did not seemed intimidated by the fact that he could have been the son of every soldier in the room save for Aachen and Knaup. He was an officer, a Canadian major by his markings, and no doubt the Major MacKay the two Canadians by the door were talking about.

  Neumann and Aachen snapped to attention once they saw the younger man’s rank, offering a quick salute as they did. The major looked at them quizzically and then replied with his own salute. Neumann and Aachen dropped their hands, but stayed at attention.

  Major MacKay took several halting steps towards Neumann, hands behind his back, like a general inspecting his troops. He jerked his chin in their direction. “Who are these men?” he asked quietly. “And why have they been allowed into this room?”

  “That’s Sergeant Neumann, Major,” one of the scouts said.

  “Ahhhh,” MacKay said, narrowing his eyes, as if he was squinting to see Neumann better. He limped closer to the sergeant, but not too close. “So this is the famous Sergeant Neumann.”

  “I wouldn’t call him famous,” the scout said. “He’s just the local copper.”

  “I thought you scouts were the local coppers,” MacKay said without raising his voice.

  “Well, we are. Just that Neumann here is the local German version.”

  “Gestapo then?”

  All of the Germans flinched, but said nothing. MacKay harrumphed slightly and then lurched a couple steps to the side, as if Neumann was some kind of artifact he was examining.

  Before any of the Canadians could reply Neumann shook his head and answered in English. “No, sir, I am Wehrmacht.”

  “Didn’t think so. You don’t look the type. No matter what your PHERUDA says.”

  The two Canadian scouts gasped and looked at each other at the mention of that word. The Canadian major waved them away. “Relax, boys. I know these Germans are the enemy, but I think they’re smart enough to know about PHERUDA and what it means.”

  He turned to look at Neumann. “Am I right, Sergeant? You know what PHERUDA means?”

  Neumann nodded. “It’s a means of classifying prisoners into black, grey, and white, depending on their support of National Socialism, amongst other things.”

  The major raised his eyebrows, but nodded. He gestured to the other Canadians. “See? He knows. They all know.”

  He ignored the attempts of rebuttal from the two scouts and focused on Neumann. “They have you classified as a black, Sergeant Neumann, although looking at you and hearing how you deal with your camp, I would put you down as a grey.”

  Neumann said nothing to that. The major, seemingly tired of standing on his leg, sat down at the desk. “However, I believe you are probably the most dangerous man in this camp.”

  One of the Canadian scouts chuckled at that, but cut himself off. Still, MacKay slowly turned to address him.

  “You don’t believe me, Corporal Pier?” he said glaring at the scout who had snickered. “You don’t believe that Sergeant Neumann is the most dangerous man in the camp?”

  Pier froze, tightening to attention, and said nothing.

  “Come on, Pier. Don’t be afraid. Feel free to tell me your thoughts about Sergeant Neumann here.”

  Pier relaxed, but only slightly. “Well, sir, I think the sergeant’s partner, the young fellow next to him, is probably more dangerous.”

  The major turned and looked at Corporal Aachen, sizing him up. “Ahh, yes. The young Corporal Aachen.” Aachen blinked quickly when his name was mentioned, but since he couldn’t speak or understand English, he said nothing. “The great grappler you boys have been betting all this money on. I can see why you would deem him dangerous. He looks very strong, built like a bull. Could probably snap me in half with one of his impressive arms. But it’s very obvious that the corporal answers to his sergeant. So while he’s very strong, Aachen is less dangerous than Neumann. Which is why I need to know why he was let into this room without a guard and without anyone asking me about it.”

  The major waved at Pier. “Please, Pier, could you go and ask Oliver and Michalchuk to come in and answer that question for me?”

  “Now, sir?” Pier asked. “They’re guarding the door.”

  “There’s no need for that now. The prisoners have dispersed and with Sergeant Neumann and Corporal Aachen already inside, they don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”

  Pier shrugged and walked out of the classroom. The major kept looking at Neumann, tilting his head back and forth, but said nothing. None of the Germans said a thing; they just remained where they were. A few moments of awkward silence later, Pier came back. The two guards, Oliver and Michalchuk, followed behind. They entered the room, stood at attention next to Neumann and Aachen, and saluted.

  The
oldest one of the duo, the one who had let the two Germans pass, spoke. “You wished to speak to us, sir?”

  “Yes. Corporal Oliver, I was going to ask you why you let these two men into this room.”

  “Well, sir, the Kraut sergeant here, he did a top-notch job of getting the Germans to disperse. Pretty much saved our butts. Yours as well. And since we know who he is, we figured that it would be no problem if he came in. We figured you could handle him, sir.”

  “Well, that’s darn nice of you to think I could handle him, despite my injury. I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome. But again, do you really know who this man is, Corporal Oliver?”

  “Don’t know his name for sure, Neumar or something like that. But I do know that the Krauts think of him as a sort of chief-of-police in the camp.”

  “His name is Sergeant August Neumann and he’s a little more than that.” MacKay pointed at Corporal Pier who had gone out to get the two men. “Corporal Pier can you whisper to Corporal Oliver what I said about Sergeant Neumann?”

  Pier hesitated but MacKay gestured for him to continue. When Pier whispered in the Oliver’s ear, Oliver chuckled. He turned to Pier and mouthed “Really?” Pier nodded.

  “Yes, I do think that Sergeant Neumann is the most dangerous person in this camp,” said MacKay. “And it’s the reason I’m very upset that you let him into this room without telling me and it’s why I’m going to write you up for it.”

  “But sir—” Oliver said.

  MacKay cut him off, rising quickly and steadily to his feet. “—No ‘but sir’, Corporal Oliver!” the major shouted angrily. He wobbled a bit as his leg gave way because of the sudden movement, but he kept his balance by pushing a finger against the top of the desk. “You allowed a dangerous enemy soldier into this room without telling me about it and without escorting him. That’s a major dereliction of duty.”

  “But, sir, it was only the local German cop. We’ve seen him around. He doesn’t talk to us, but we know who he is. He’s not a threat.”

  MacKay sighed, a hand to his forehead.

  He waved vaguely in Neumann’s direction but didn’t turn to look at the sergeant. “Please, Sergeant Neumann, could you inform my fellow Canadians of why I think you are the most dangerous man in the camp?”

  Neumann blinked, like an innocent man being accused of a crime. “I have done nothing in this camp to warrant the description you are speaking of. I follow the rules and ensure that others do the same,” he declared in English with an accent that was easy for the Canadians to understand.

  “Yes, yes,” MacKay said with a couple of quick nods. “I am sure you are a model prisoner: you do your duty, you show up on time for the counts, you cause little or no trouble. However, I am talking about your life before the camps, prior to the moment you were captured.”

  “If you are talking about fighting in North Africa and other locations, I was only doing what every single soldier does out of duty for his country in the time of war. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s try a different tact,” MacKay said, slowly walking a couple of steps toward Neumann. He waggled a finger at Neumann’s chest. “I know you do not wear them in the camp, but I also know you are a well-decorated soldier. You have earned some of the highest honours that can be bestowed on someone of your rank.”

  “I have been decorated many times, yes, sir, that is true,” Neumann said, clearing his throat.

  “Could you explain the reason behind them?”

  “There were many reasons for them.”

  “Yes, no doubt since you served in the Great War like these fine men I command. You have probably done many remarkable things that deserved medals and honours.” MacKay raised an index finger and joggled it in the air. He smiled at Neumann, but did not show his teeth. “However you did fight in the battle which we here call the Somme, did you not?”

  Neumann paused for a second and then nodded. MacKay smiled and turned to Corporal Oliver. “Just like you, Oliver. You fought in the Somme as well.” Oliver said nothing but looked at Neumann with narrowed eyes. The major turned back to Neumann.

  “And how many people did you kill in that battle, Neumann? How many Canadian and British lads died at your hands?”

  Neumann shrugged. “I don’t keep count of such things.”

  “Yes, but you received a medal for that and when they give medals, they usually offer a figure, a number of enemies killed in order to justify the awarding of the medal. It is said you killed 128 men in that battle, and at least a dozen in hand to hand combat.”

  Oliver’s face became red as he stared at Neumann. For the first time since he entered the room, Neumann made eye contact with the major. The major glared back. “I make it a point to know the background of all the key members of the German command structure in this camp. Like you, Sergeant Neumann, and you, Corporal Aachen. Not only do I know that Corporal Aachen has the distinct honour of being the only survivor of Stalingrad in this camp, I also know that this is not the first time you have been a prisoner of war.”

  Neumann said nothing in response to this.

  “Come on, Sergeant Neumann, you know what I am talking about,” MacKay said, moving his arms out to the sides, palms up. “I wish to impress on my men that just because someone looks harmless, it doesn’t mean they are. Quite honestly, Sergeant, this is my first posting since I was wounded in Dieppe and since that venture was such a failure, I wish to do a better job here and help those who serve under me become better soldiers. You command men—perhaps you could help me in this matter.”

  Neumann cleared his throat. He hesitated. Finally, in a low voice, he said, “Yes, I was captured in the First War.” After a moment of silence, he added, “But only for a short time.”

  “Yes, four days, was it?” MacKay said, pointing both index fingers in the air.

  Neumann nodded his head.

  “And why only four days, Sergeant? What happened?”

  “I escaped,” Neumann said after a pause.

  “Of course you escaped, but could you be a bit more specific? It would very much help my men understand that they must not let down their guard at any time.”

  Neumann paused for several seconds. And then he took a breath. “It was war.”

  “Of course, of course. It was war,” MacKay said. “I’m not holding a trial here, Sergeant. I’m just trying to make a point.”

  “Then make it,” Neumann said quietly.

  “Okay, Sergeant Neumann, I won’t force you to talk. But I will tell the story.” The major sat down at a desk. He turned his body to address the other Canadians. “You see, this Sergeant Neumann, as a younger version of himself, probably even younger than me, was captured by a squad of Brits. But instead of accepting his fate, he convinced an unsuspecting guard that he was sick. And when that guard came to help him, he killed that guard—strangled the life out of him with his bare hands. Then he stole that poor Tommy’s knife, sliced a couple of throats, made his way from our side of the front to his own, and killed anyone who got in his way. Got a medal for it.”

  Every single Canadian soldier in the room looked at Neumann with a mix of awe and disgust.

  “So you see, gentlemen, this man you allowed to enter this room without informing me and without escort is one of the most dangerous men in this camp.” MacKay pointed at Corporal Pier. “Turn your back on this, man, Pier, and you may never see your lovely wife again.”

  “Corporal Jenson,” he said, pointing at the Canadian scout who was standing next to Doctor Kleinjeld, “Sergeant Neumann would rather kill you than look at you.”

  “And you, Corporal Oliver,” the major said, spitting the words as he spoke, “you managed to survive the previous war but twenty-something fucking years ago a good many others didn’t because this German, the one you let in without no
tice and without an escort, decided that he didn’t like being a prisoner. So he killed them. With his bare hands. Without a thought, without remorse. So now do you understand why I’m going to put you on report, Corporal Oliver?”

  Oliver didn’t back away. “I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t. That’s why you shouldn’t have let him in unescorted and without telling me. Do you understand?”

  Oliver snapped to attention “Yes, sir. I am sorry for letting our guard down. It will never happen again.”

  MacKay took a deep breath and gathered himself. The tension in his body faded and his shoulders and head drooped as if deflating. He sat in that position for several seconds, as the rest of the men in the room stood in an awkward silence.

  After a moment, he snapped to life again, raising his head and straightening his shoulders. He stood up and clapped once. “Okay then. I guess we’re done here,” he said with enthusiasm. “Nothing for us to do now but finish up.”

  He slowly turned away from Oliver and limped across the room to the table that held Captain Mueller. “So, Doctor, you are quite sure of your assessment that this man, Captain Mueller, died of asphyxiation?”

  Doctor Kleinjeld nodded. “That is my assessment, yes.”

  “And you found him hanging from a coat hook.”

  “Yes, in the corner over there,” the doctor said.

  “Were you by yourself or was there someone with you?”

  “Corporal Knaup was with me.” Kleinjeld said, pointing with his chin.

  Knaup stiffened at the sound of his name, his eyes darting back and forth.

  “Does the corporal speak English?”

  The doctor shook his head and the major shrugged. He turned to look at Knaup.

  “Corporal Knaup. Was Captain Mueller hanging from the coat hook when you came in with the doctor?” MacKay asked in German, much to the astonishment of almost everyone in the room. His use of the language wasn’t perfect but it was clear enough.

  Knaup’s eyes flickered.