“Actually, I’m just doing the job I was assigned to do.” Neumann pulled out a pair of boots, tossed one boot on the bed and then dug into the other one.
“They won’t see it that way,” Aachen said.
A second later Neumann pulled out a sock, reached into it, and pulled out an impressive medal collection. He casually tossed it onto the bed. “Listen, Aachen, I appreciate your concern but have faith that I know what I’m doing.”
“But Sergeant—”
“—Enough,” Neumann shouted cutting Aachen off. “If I stand here arguing all day with you, I won’t have time to be ready. Remember I only gave those men an hour. So just go get a detention room for me and prepare it for an interview.”
Aachen picked up one of the boots from the bed and started to look around for a rag. “I’ll help you, Sergeant.”
“There’s no need for that, Aachen. I can dress myself in my pretty uniform. I’ve been a soldier long before you were born.”
Aachen found a rag and spat on the sergeant’s boot. He started rubbing. “True. But you were always slow, Sergeant. If I don’t help you, you’ll never be ready in time.”
Neumann opened his mouth with a retort, but held it back. He let Aachen spit-shine the boots while he polished his medals.
Less than an hour later, Neumann was ready and dressed in his uniform. Aachen offered the sergeant his hat. Neumann took it, tucked it under his arm, and stood up straight. “How do I look?”
Aachen reached over and adjusted the Cross around Neumann’s neck. Then he stood back and nodded. “Excellent, Sergeant,” he said with a salute. “I barely recognize you. You almost look like someone I should follow into battle.”
“Enough with the smart talk, Aachen,” the sergeant growled. “Just go set up for the interrogation. If all goes well, we should be there in about twenty minutes.”
“And if all doesn’t go well?”
“When have my plans ever not gone well?”
“Your plans are always well-thought-out but the enemy never seems to take that into consideration.”
“We are not dealing with the enemy here, Aachen. You know that?”
“Even so, be ready to improvise, Sergeant.”
“Your input has been noted. Now go. Get the room ready for me.”
Aachen again saluted, smiled at the sergeant, and walked out of the hut.
Not long after, all the other men had arrived. Neumann smiled when he saw them. They were dressed wonderfully, like real soldiers. He nodded at each one of them when they came into the area. He then asked them to line up in formation near the bunks.
“Thank you all for coming when I asked. And thank you for being so effecient. It is a great honour to see you dressed in this way.”
The men beamed, pushing their chests out farther as they stood at attention.
“I have an important reason for asking you to do this. I have to question a person about a matter that has occurred in this camp. Unfortunately, there is the possibility that this person will not come quietly—or his superiors will not allow him to come with me. But do not be mistaken, I am not using you gentlemen as a show of strength, but as a show of respect. The people that this man serves are good German soldiers, honourable German soldiers, and should be treated as such. Like you, they have done a great service to the Fatherland in some very trying conditions that even I myself would find horrendous. So that is why I am approaching them in this way: to show respect.
“And I expect all of you to show the same respect. To honour these men as fellow Germans, fellow comrades in battle. And hopefully, through this show of respect, they may see to our request. Do you understand me?”
The soldiers snapped their heels together as one. They also spoke as one, shouting “Yes, Sergeant” in clear, strong voices.
“Good. Now we are going to make our way across the camp in two lines of two. Of course, our dress and demeanour will attract much attention.”
“No shit,” said one. A couple of the men chuckled at that, but then they quickly caught themselves and snapped back to attention.
“No, no. That is true. We are going to be as obvious as Frenchmen firing back. So once we step outside and start moving, I want you to act like you are on parade. In fact, imagine you are on parade for the Führer. Somewhere out there the Führer is watching and if you make just one simple misstep or glance slightly left or right, he will see you and you will have brought disgrace on yourself and your family. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” the men barked at once.
“I asked you if you understood,” the sergeant yelled in the voice he used to shout at recruits.
“Yes, Sergeant!” the men shouted again, their voices ringing off the rafters.
Neumann walked up the line, inspecting the men, adjusting certain things about them: a medal here, a belt there. When he came to Corporal Knaup, he stopped. He eyeballed the corporal, but Knaup did not budge, did not follow the sergeant or react to his gaze. Neumann placed a hand on Knaup’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Good man, Knaup. You’ve done some great work for me recently. And along with this, I won’t forget it.”
Knaup blushed but still didn’t break. Neumann nodded and then stepped back. “Okay, let’s go.” He led them out into the camp.
26.
The appearance of Wehrmacht soldiers marching in dress uniforms led by Sergeant Neumann, who had all his medals on his chest, shining in the Canadian sunlight, attracted the attention of the other prisoners almost immediately.
They acted like children seeing a circus coming to town. They chased after the group, calling out to them and trying to block their way, more and more of them attracted by the commotion.
To their credit, none of the soldiers Neumann selected broke ranks. They walked true and tall, never wavering from their march behind the sergeant as they made their way through the barracks, past the mess halls, through the next section of barracks, and then north past the classrooms and workshops. Near the end of the march, as the men made their way to Recreational Hall 2, the calls from the other prisoners lessened. They continued to follow but they did so silently, showing respect for how the men looked and marched.
By the time they reached the Rhine Hall, almost one-sixth of the camp had gathered, with more on the way. A couple of Canadian scouts noticed the situation but only hovered around the edges as there was little they could do to break up the crowd. Neumann halted at the door and the soldiers halted with him. He nodded at Knaup who stepped out of line and opened the door. The sergeant walked in and the group of eight followed. Some prisoners tried to come with them, but Knaup stopped them with an upraised hand. It seemed that the dress uniform had some kind of hold over the men and they stepped back. Knaup stepped into the hall, shut the door behind him, and took his place in line.
Like the last time Neumann was in this building, there were three groups inside: the tumblers, the orchestra, and the marching submariners. The tumblers’ pyramid building scheme collapsed at the sight of the Wehrmacht soldiers in dress uniforms. Once they recovered, one of the tumblers remarked, “This will be good.” A few others saw the possibility of something bad and fled the building.
Since the orchestra was on the other side of the hall, it took several more seconds before someone there became aware. There was a loud squawk from a saxophonist, which threw off the entire piece and drew the ire of the conductor. But when a viola player stood up and silently pointed, Liszt turned and saw Neumann and his group.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Rehearsal is over. Save yourself if you wish.” Then he gathered up his score and dashed out of the other side of the building. He was followed by a number of the musicians, but like the tumblers, a few remained behind to watch. Or to participate in whatever happened next.
What happened next was that Sergeant Neumann marched his group up to the submariners who were again conduc
ting some close-order drill. The presence of the Wehrmacht squad distracted a few and they stumbled. Captain Koenig barked angrily at his men, trying to get them into formation until he heard the sound of marching footsteps. He slowly turned, his face full of incredulity as he watched Neumann and his men approach him.
They marched with precision, every footstep sounding like one. Three metres away, Neumann stopped, turned to face Captain Koenig, and stamped his right foot on the floor. He barked out an order and the men turned to face the same way in two single-file lines. Another bark and the men in the front separated allowing the back line to move forward and merge with the front.
When they were done, Neumann took a few steps forward, and stopped in front of Captain Koenig who was still staring, his eyes wide. Neumann stomped his right foot again and stood at perfect attention. His right arm snapped out into a perfect forty-five degree angle, palm facing the ground.
“Heil Hitler,” he shouted. There was no disrespect in his voice, no irony in his salute.
A half second later, the rest of the Wehrmacht soldiers repeated the gesture. “Heil Hitler,” they shouted as one.
Koenig froze for a second, stunned by this spectacle. And then quickly, he replied, his salute not as crisp or as loud.
Neumann and his men stood at attention, waiting for Koenig to realize that he had to speak.
“What is the meaning of this, Sergeant Neumann?” he finally asked, icily. “Is this meant to mock me and my men?”
“No, sir. The furthest thing from my mind is to mock you. My men are here to show respect because I have a request to ask of you, Captain.”
“A request? You have got to be joking, Sergeant. I’ll have your stripes for this, no matter how many shining medals you may have.”
“This is no joke, sir. I wish to talk to one of your men about an incident the other night.”
“This is not about that Bolshevik, Mueller, is it, Sergeant? Like I told you four days ago when you felt it necessary to draw a weapon on me, my men had nothing to do with Mueller, despite his leftist leanings. We are civilized and honourable men, we who serve in the submariner corp. That cannot be said about you, despite your fancy dress.”
Neumann ignored the jibe. “No, Captain, this is about another incident that occurred the night of the escape. One of my men was beaten by a group—”
“—and every time this happens you must lay blame on us submariners? I will not stand for this, Sergeant Neumann. I don’t care what you did in the last war or how many medals you have. You have gone too far with this kind of harassment.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I am not laying blame on your men as a whole. I just wish to speak to one who may have information about this incident.”
“And why would one of my men have this information?”
“Because we have evidence that he was there.”
“Evidence? Something you cooked up?”
“No sir, the victim identified him through various markings on his body including a tattoo and some scars.”
“Really. And what kind of tattoos and scars?”
Neumann told him.
“Your plan is too obvious. Of course your victim has identified Lieutenant Neuer who has those same markings. And of course it is he who is facing your own Corporal Aachen in a match. So you wish to detain Neuer in order to prevent his victory over Aachen. I tell you, this will not work. I will not only report this matter, but I will ensure that Neuer defeats Corporal Aachen in the most terrible way possible.”
“It was Corporal Aachen who was beaten. Although he claims he has recovered from his injuries, I do not think he will be able to continue with the match.”
Koenig pondered for a moment. “Injured or not, he will either have to fight or forfeit. I will not allow you to postpone the match by detaining Lieutenant Neuer. It is a most devious plan, Neumann, but it will not work. You Wehrmacht scum will have to accept the loss. Lieutenant Neuer will not go with you.”
“Then maybe you can return him his war badge. He seems to have dropped it. Corporal Aachen managed to pick it up after he was beaten.”
Neumann held out the badge that Aachen found on the shower floor.
Koenig blanched at the sight of the badge and brought his hand to his mouth. He stared at the badge, saying nothing.
“Captain Koenig, I do not wish to bring disgrace to you or your men. I have great respect for the service you have done for the Fatherland and apologize for any untoward and unprofessional actions I have done in the past. I have come with my men, dressed as we are, to show you the respect and honour you and your men deserve. However, I have evidence that one of your men may have been involved in the incident with Corporal Aachen—”
“—Lieutenant Neuer!” Koenig shrieked in anger. “Front and centre!”
Neuer jumped out of the line and quickly moved to the front. He snapped to attention behind the captain. “Yes, Captain.”
Koenig whirled on the lieutenant, glancing up and down at his uniform. “Sergeant Neumann said you were involved in the beating of Corporal Aachen a few nights ago, is that true?”
“No, sir. That is not true. They are only—”
“—Silence!” Koenig shouted. “One of the assailants had similar scars and tattoos that you have. How do you explain that?”
“Corporal Aachen and I have wrestled before. He would be quite aware of my tattoos.”
“True. But tell me, Lieutenant Neuer, where is your war badge? The one I gave you personally for completing your second war patrol? I don’t see it on your uniform. And as you know, during our training, I require all to wear their badges.”
Neuer blinked several times, his face turned red. “I’m sorry, sir, I must have left it back at the barracks.”
“Ah, a common mistake. One I will overlook this time as long as you can go get it.”
“You wish me to get it now, sir?”
“That is correct. I wish for you to get it now.”
Neuer didn’t move for several seconds.
“Is there a problem, Lieutenant? You haven’t left yet to fetch your war badge.”
“But sir, I just … uh, I mean, it’s just not the—”
Koenig’s right hand flew up and struck Neuer across the face. Neuer’s head snapped back, though he did not lose his balance. Koenig’s hand came back the other way and he slapped the lieutenant on the other side of his face with the back of his hand. This time Neuer stumbled as blood flew out of his mouth.
“You are a disgrace, Lieutenant. You have brought dishonour to me. You have brought dishonour to your crew, your fellow sailors, and to all those who have served and died aboard the U-boats. You have brought dishonour to the Reich and the Führer.” Koenig struck him again. “You have no right to be called a submariner and if I never see your face again, I would not miss it.”
Koenig whirled around and faced the sergeant. He gave him the Heil Hitler salute which Neumann returned. Koenig took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it around his hand as a bandage for his split knuckles.
“Get this filth out of my sight, please, Sergeant. As quickly as possible.”
27.
Neumann and his men quickly escorted Neuer out of the recreational hall and marched him to one of the nearby classrooms where Aachen had set up a space for interrogation.
The march, though, was not without its difficulties. Word had gotten around camp that the sergeant had captured someone, someone who may have killed Captain Mueller, so there was a mob outside the hall.
More Canadian scouts had gathered and made a move to push into the crowd. But the prisoners pushed them back. “This is German business, not yours,” one prisoner shouted in English. More shoving ensued so the Canadians backed away. As soon as they did this, the prisoners again turned their attention to Neumann’s escort and the Canadians made no more efforts to break things up; t
he crowd was just too big for them to deal with. A good number of the prisoners were just curious to know what was going on, others had heard rumours that Mueller had been killed by someone and were angry about that.
For the Canadians, as long as the mob stayed focused on matters within the camp and did not make any move towards the fence or any of the scouts, they seemed content to follow the crowd from a distance. A couple of the scouts, though, headed towards the gate, presumably to get direction on how to deal with this situation.
The prisoners allowed Neumann and his group to pass, but some jeered at Neuer, thinking he was responsible for Mueller’s murder. And though Neumann’s group was stolid in their movements, they marched at a much quicker pace than they had going to the hall.
Neuer tried to ignore the crowd but the fear on his face was obvious. Seeing his nervousness and certain of his guilt, many of the prisoners jeered even louder, picking up on the rumours.
Finally they arrived at the classroom building. As soon as they entered, they immediately locked the door and then collectively breathed a sigh of relief—including Sergeant Neumann. Corporal Knaup sat Neuer into a chair and the submariner collapsed, dropping his head into his hands.
Aachen glanced at him for a second and then peeked out of one of the windows. “Things aren’t pretty out there, Sergeant. It’s best if we stay in here until they settle down.”
“Or toss that fucker out and let the mob have their way with him,” said one of the escorts, a corporal named Seidenberg who had served in the same platoon as Neumann and Aachen. “Safer for us, too, because they’re not going to let us leave.”
Neuer looked up. His face was white. “You can’t send me out there, Sergeant Neumann. They’ll tear me apart.”
“You should have thought of that before you killed Mueller, you motherfucker,” Seidenberg yelled. “If the sergeant wasn’t here, I’d kill you myself. Leave you hanging from the rafters in this room the way you left him hanging.”
The Traitors of Camp 133 Page 20