The Traitors of Camp 133

by Wayne Arthurson

  “Please, Corporal Knaup, the question. Could you answer?”

  “Uh, yes, sir. When Doctor Kleinjeld and I came into the room, Captain Mueller was hanging from that coat hook.” He pointed to the corner.

  “You cut him down?” MacKay asked.

  Knaup nodded quickly. “The doctor asked me to.”

  “And was he dead?”

  Knaup did a double-take at the question. “Excuse me?” he said after a moment.

  “Captain Mueller? He was dead when you cut him down?”

  Knaup looked about at his German counterparts, looking for some kind of assurance or assistance.

  “Please, Corporal Knaup. Was Captain Mueller dead when he was cut down?”

  “Yes, of course he was dead. He was hanging from the coat hook in the corner. Why wouldn’t he be dead? I don’t understand.”

  The major didn’t answer, only turned away from Knaup, indicating he was done with him. Knaup, with doubt and confusion on his face, looked to Neumann for answers. The sergeant shook his head at Knaup, giving a slight wave of his hand as a signal that he would deal with the situation later. Neumann then turned his attention to the major.

  “So a man found hanging in a room, with indications that he died of asphyxiation. Sounds like suicide to me,” MacKay said in English. All the other Canadians in the room nodded.

  MacKay turned slowly because of his leg and pointed at Sergeant Neumann. “Is that your conclusion, Sergeant Neumann?” he asked in English. “That Captain Mueller killed himself?”

  “It seems so,” Neumann said.

  “It seems so? That’s the best you can do? It seems so?”

  Neumann said nothing. The major looked at him closely, but the sergeant’s face was a blank slate.

  “Although I’m no expert, it seems to me that poor Captain Mueller decided to end his own life. For whatever reason.”

  MacKay pointed to Doctor Kleinjeld. “Okay, Doc, if you are finished, you can bring Captain Mueller to your morgue. We’ll expect a report concerning his death from you and one of our own doctors may do an examination to confirm your diagnosis. If it’s all kosher, then we’ll leave it at that.”

  Doctor Kleinjeld and Corporal Knaup flinched at the Jewish term. MacKay gave a slight smile when he saw that. “And if it’s not, chances are the Mounties will be called.” The major looked at Sergeant Neumann as he made that statement. After a moment, he whirled his hand in the air, a signal to wrap things up.

  “All right, men, let’s leave our guests to deal with their friend. Doctor Kleinjeld, can you and the two corporals handle the transfer of Captain Mueller’s body?”

  The doctor nodded. “Yes. And if we need more help, Sergeant Neumann can pitch in.”

  “I don’t think that will be possible,” the major said shaking his head.

  “Why not?” Doctor Kleinjeld was frowning.

  MacKay gestured towards the two Canadian corporals at the door and then pointed at Neumann. “Because Sergeant Neumann will be coming with us.”

  15.

  They put Neumann in a windowless room with a table and two chairs. A guard, not one of the scouts that had escorted him out of the camp, roughly pushed him down into the chair facing the door and pointed at him. “Stay put,” the guard said. And then he left the room, locking the door behind. He didn’t leave the area, though, his shadow visible underneath the door.

  Neumann sat unmoving in the chair and waited for about fifteen minutes before footsteps could be heard outside the door. Voices whispered for several seconds until the shadow of the guard stepped aside and unlocked the door. The door swung open and in limped Major MacKay carrying a file. He was followed by the much larger and older guard, who wore the insignia of a sergeant. The sergeant was carrying a rifle, an Enfield with the wooden stock so polished it almost shone.

  Neumann stood to attention and saluted the major. The quick movement caused the guard to raise his rifle in alarm while MacKay only looked up. He glanced at Neumann standing at attention and then put his hand on the barrel of the Enfield, pushing it down.

  “Stand down, Sergeant Murray. He’s saluting me, not invading Poland,” MacKay said with a quiet voice.

  “You can’t trust these Krauts, Major.”

  “Well I wish you were with me several moments ago. But my back’s not facing him and you’re armed and he’s not. So I think we’re okay.”

  “Just warning you, sir. You can’t be too careful. I saw plenty of Huns like him in Belgium so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes and I saw plenty of them in Dieppe last year so I know what I’m talking about as well. If you are going to hinder me in this investigation, you might as well leave.”

  Murray gave a distasteful look but said nothing. He lowered his gun and stepped aside. He stood in the corner near the door, at ease but intently looking at Neumann.

  MacKay gestured with the file at the chair Neumann had been sitting in. “Please sit down, Sergeant Neumann. Hopefully this will only take a few moments.”

  Neumann only stared at the top of the door behind the Canadian officer. MacKay didn’t seem to register this lack of movement. He set down and opened the file he had been carrying directly on the table. He pulled a small black notebook and pen from his pocket and set those down next to the file. After a moment, the major pushed up his glasses and sat back in his chair. There was a small look of surprise on his face when he realized that Neumann had not acquiesced to his request to sit.

  “Please, Sergeant Neumann, there is no need for you to stand,” he said, pointing at the chair. “Sit and make yourself comfortable.”

  Neumann did not move. The major looked at him for a moment, then removed his glasses and pointed them at the chair. “Come on, Sergeant, there is no need for these games.”

  After a moment, Neumann stepped in front of the chair and sat down. He did not lean back in it, but instead sat upright, like a musician responding to the rising baton of a conductor.

  “Thank you. So much better, don’t you think?” MacKay asked.

  Neumann said nothing.

  “So, Sergeant Neumann, even though we’ve already met, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Major MacKay and at the moment, I’ve been put in charge of the investigation into the death of your comrade, Captain Mueller. And it is my job to determine what role, if any, you played in Captain Mueller’s death. Do you understand?”

  MacKay gave Neumann an expectant look but got nothing in return. MacKay waved his right hand.

  “You can answer or not, it’s no matter to me. But it would make things go much more smoothly if you answer. I’m not asking for secret plans to Hitler’s bunker or anything, I’m only asking if you understood why we’re here. So if you do understand, then just give me a nod and I can move on. If you don’t, then we’ll just end things right here and Sergeant Murray will remove you from this room and place you in an isolation cell where you’ll spend the next two weeks or so. Who knows, maybe in that time we’ll have crossed the Rhine, overrun Berlin, and the war will be over. But even if that happens, I don’t expect you’ll be allowed to go home because then the RCMP will have this file instead of me and they’ll probably charge you with murder. And with the war just ended, I don’t think any Canadian jury will have any problem finding you, a German soldier, guilty.”

  Major MacKay leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table and then his chin on his palms. “Do you understand that?”

  Neumann waited for a moment. Then he nodded, deciding to play along with this interrogation game for a bit. MacKay smiled and sat up straight. “Excellent. So do you also understand why we are here, why I must ask you questions about Captain Mueller?”

  Again, a nod from Neumann.

  “Very good, Sergeant. Two for two. Here’s another one. Did you know Captain Mueller?”

  Neumann nodded after a short pau
se.

  “Good,” said the major, picking up his notebook and pen and writing. “Let’s try something verbal, okay? In what capacity did you know Captain Mueller?”

  For the first time in the interview, Neumann looked directly at MacKay. “I do not understand what you mean by ‘what capacity.’”

  “Ah, he finally speaks,” the major said, turning to look at the guard behind him. “See what a bit of determination can do, eh Murray?”

  Murray grunted noncommittally.

  MacKay turned back to Neumann. “I’m asking you if he was a friend of yours, if you served together in combat, stuff like that.”

  “Mueller was a tank commander, a captain. I am just a lowly sergeant in the infantry,” Neumann said slowly, pretending he was trying to find the proper words in English, his responses prompting MacKay to scribble more in his notebook. “That should say enough about whether we were friends or not.”

  “So you did not serve in combat together while in Africa? You did not meet on the battlefield?”

  Neumann shook his head. “Africa is a very big place. Millions of square kilometres. And there were millions of soldiers fighting on both sides.”

  “But you in the Afrika Korps were known for coordinating tanks with infantry. You did not meet Mueller then, during some coordinated battle?”

  “No. I did not.”

  “But you did know him, did you not?”

  “I knew him here in the camp. Probably in the same way you know your sergeant here and vice versa. That is all.”

  Sergeant Murray started to chuckle, but stopped himself. MacKay frowned. “But let’s be truthful, shall we, Sergeant Neumann,” MacKay said tapping his finger on the file. “While Sergeant Murray is a fine soldier who’s served his country well, he is only one of several guards at this camp. You, however, are not an ordinary prisoner; you are part of the command structure, are you not?”

  “I am the Head of Civil Security.”

  “And what exactly does the Head of Civil Security do in Camp 133?”

  “As you already know, I am the person who is charged to keep the peace in the camp, to ensure that the prisoners act in a lawful manner, and to investigate situations when they do not.”

  “As you noticed in the classroom some time ago, some of our scouts say that means you are the local cop, the chief-of-police, so to speak.”

  “That is a good comparison, yes.”

  “But does your role go any deeper?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean is it your role to ensure that prisoners act in a lawful manner as outlined by your government—that they must act like good Nazis or be punished?”

  “I do act according to German law and military law, but only in matters of civil security. It is not my job to control the political feelings of the prisoners.”

  “So you aren’t Gestapo?”

  “You already asked me that and I said I wasn’t. I am Wehrmacht.”

  “Maybe you could educate me about it.”

  “I think you already know about that.”

  “If you please,” said the major with a smile.

  Neumann stared at MacKay. He shook his head in slight exasperation. “As you wish. Wehrmacht is the regular army. The Gestapo is the state police.”

  “So you serve the regular army, not the state.”

  “I serve the German commanders of this camp, many of whom are members of the regular army. Some are not.”

  “And those are?”

  “Please, there is no point in me discussing the command of the camp with you because I know you already have that information, as well as the information about me and my role in this camp. And we have already discussed this.”

  “I’m just trying to point out that you are not just a member of the infantry, a lowly sergeant as you call yourself. You are the local cop in this camp. And as the local cop, you are probably more aware of your fellow prisoners’ lives than let us say, I am aware of Sergeant Murray’s life and vice versa.”

  Neumann nodded after a pause. “I’ll grant you that.”

  “So I’m going to repeat my question from before: Did you know the late Captain Mueller?”

  “Only slightly. We didn’t mingle personally and I never took any of his classes.”

  “So he was a teacher?” MacKay asked, scribbling. “Interesting job for a tank commander.”

  “He was a professor before the war, mathematics and sciences. Since there was no longer any need for his skills as a tank commander in this camp, he decided to help the boys, give them something to do, maybe improve themselves during their incarceration.”

  “Sounds like a good man.”

  “He was a good man, at least from what I’ve heard.”

  “So why would he kill himself?”

  Neumann shrugged. “Could be many reasons. But as I said, I didn’t know Captain Mueller very well, only by reputation. I wouldn’t feel comfortable making guesses.”

  “Humour me,” said the major with a smile. All he got back in response was a confused stare.

  “I don’t understand that expression, ‘humour me.’ Are you asking me to tell a joke about Captain Mueller? That would be distasteful.”

  “No, no,” the major said, waving his hands. “I meant no disrespect. It’s an expression and it means I’m asking you to offer some opinions about why someone like Captain Mueller would decide to hang himself.”

  Neumann looked at MacKay and sighed. He allowed his body to relax and leaned back into the chair. He leaned an elbow on the table and rested his head in that hand, rubbing his face for a moment. He looked at the sergeant and then back to MacKay. He shook his head and sighed again.

  “Although I’m reluctant to discuss Captain Mueller personally, I can talk, at least vaguely, about possible explanations for why someone would take their own life in this camp.”

  “Sounds good to me. Let’s start there,” said the major.

  “First of all, I do not wish for you to take this personally, both of you. As far as I and many other prisoners are concerned, we have been treated very well by you Canadians. You have provided us with adequate shelter, plenty of nourishment, and enough facilities, tools, and opportunities to keep us busy.

  “That said, none of that can hide the fact that we live in a prison, that our lives are under the complete control of our captors. You tell us when to wake up, when to stand to be counted, when to eat, when to stand to be counted again, when to go to bed. You control what information you give us and force us to attend classes on democracy, as if we don’t understand how the concept works.”

  “You are ruled by an authoritarian society headed by a man you all call the Führer, are you not? Our reeducation efforts are designed to open your eyes to other political opportunities and systems.”

  “You have forgotten that the Führer was lawfully elected by German citizens to be the political leader of our country in 1933 so we understand how to vote.”

  “Yes, but the Enabling Act of—”

  Neumann cut the major off with a wave if his hand. “I really do not feel comfortable discussing the German political situation with those who are, at the moment, members of the army who are the enemies of my country. You have asked me about the possible reasons why someone in this camp would consider suicide and I would prefer to continue in that vein.”

  “Okay, certainly. Please go on.”

  “Being captured by the enemy in battle is very difficult to deal with. Defeat and surrender are difficult for soldiers.”

  “Defeat and surrender are a part of war,” said the major.

  “Yes, but defeat is very destructive to those on the losing side, and not just physically. Look at you, Major. I am quite sure that you are still recuperating from your defeat at Dieppe, especially considering the circumstances in which it occurred. No doubt you
r leg injury is the least of your anxiety.”

  MacKay flushed but Neumann either didn’t notice or didn’t care; he turned his attention to Murray. “And it is extremely difficult when many of your countrymen are still fighting and you are prevented from doing so because of something out of your control, like how age is preventing a well-seasoned veteran like yourself, Sergeant, from serving on the battlefield.”

  “I serve where I am ordered to serve,” Murray said grimly, his face unchanging. “That is all I can do.”

  “Still, I’m quite confident in saying that this is probably the last place you would like to be.”

  None of the Canadians said anything for several seconds.

  Neumann sat up straight in his chair. “See what I mean? That kind of guilt or disappointment can be hard on a man, any man, no matter how strong they may look on the outside.”

  After a moment, MacKay spoke. “So, you are saying that this is what happened to Captain Mueller? He felt guilty about being captured and would rather be back on the battlefield?”

  “Remember, I am not specifically talking about Captain Mueller. I am only discussing the circumstances in this camp. And you and I both know that there have been other prisoners who have taken their lives, some even leaving notes to explain their feelings—the feelings I have just talked about. And considering the recent invasion of the continent, I believe there will be a few more.”

  Sergeant Murray grunted. “Then good riddance.”

  The major turned towards the sergeant. “Please, Murray, keep your comments to yourself. You are not helping matters. If more of the men in the camp decide to kill themselves, it will not make our lives easier. It’s better if we find some way to keep the men as happy as possible. Or at least, not suicidal. More deaths would not look good to command, if you get my meaning.”

  Murray shrugged, muttering to himself.

  The major then turned towards Neumann. “So to prevent any such deaths, is there anything we can do to help you, Sergeant Neumann?”

  Neumann looked at the major and blinked. “There is one thing you can do.”

  MacKay turned to look at Sergeant Murray who responded with a slight rise of his left eyebrow. The major turned back and leaned forward with anticipation. “And what is that, Sergeant Neumann?”