The Traitors of Camp 133

by Wayne Arthurson

  A surge of prisoners rushed towards him. Aachen came to his rescue. He stretched his arms wide and roaring, grabbed a bunch of them in a massive bear hug, and held them back. But there were too many of them. They knocked him onto his back, a number of them kicking and punching him. Others simply ran over Aachen, pursuing Neuer. Still, the few seconds that Aachen held the crowd back allowed Neuer to free himself from the barbed wire and he started running for the fence again. His hands waved in the air and this time he shouted for help in English.

  The mob surged towards the inner fence, pushing against it, screaming for Neuer’s blood. A couple began to climb it and soon others figured they could too.

  Neuer faced the outside of the fence, banging his hands and body against it, pleading for help as two Canadian guards pointed their rifles at his chest, their fingers on the triggers.

  A shot rang out.

  Neuer gasped and started to fall back, but one of the Canadians reached through the fence and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him up.

  Another shot rang out from the same sentry standing high above on one of the towers. The prisoners froze, falling back from the inner fence. A few struggled against it, trying to move forward. There was a third shot, this one hitting the ground not far from the fence. The bullet ricocheted from the dirt striking one of the prisoners on the arm. He fell back screaming. It was only a flesh wound but it left a long strip of blood along the outside of his arm.

  The crowd fell back, many of them scrambling away from the mayhem, their anger quashed by the shots. A few of the prisoners lingered by the fence, staring at Neuer. The Canadian who hung onto the lieutenant’s shirt smiled at him.

  “Don’t worry, buddy. You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you.” He then turned to his colleague. “Hey, Mike, help me get this guy out of here.”

  “Sure thing, Dove. Let me cut a hole in the fence so you can drag him outta there.”

  Mike pulled out a pair of wire cutters and started slicing bits of the fence away.

  “Jesus, McDonald, not that big of a hole will ya, the commander will have our asses as it is.”

  “Can’t help it, he’s a big fella. He’s gonna need a big hole.”

  “Hurry it up, okay. Those Krauts are really pissed at this guy.”

  The Canadians pulled Neuer through the hole and then guided him to the south where the protective custody barracks were located. Slowly, the rest of the prisoners dispersed, some feeling sheepish for how they acted, others angry that Neuer evaded them.

  A few others, Sergeant Neumann and Corporal Knaup included, didn’t move. They were frozen to the spot, staring at the body of Corporal Aachen who lay unmoving in the dust of the Canadian Prairie.

  30.

  Almost every single prisoner came out for the funeral procession. They lined the roadway from Rhine Hall, where the actual funeral was held, to the front gate, all in dress uniforms—whether they were Wehrmacht, SS, Kreigesmarine, Luftwaffe, Foreign Legion didn’t matter. The entire camp stood side by side watching the flag-covered coffin as it was pulled along on a wagon by a horse borrowed from a local farmer.

  An honour guard of local prisoners, which included Sergeant Neumann, walked in front of the horse-drawn wagon. The Veterans Guards even had their own Honour Guard in front of the Germans, a piper playing “Amazing Grace”, and bagpipe arrangements of “O Esca Viatorum” and Beethoven’s Funeral March. Despite the strangeness of German music being played on something as un-German as bagpipes, it was a thoughtful contribution by the Canadians.

  The Canadians also allowed the German national flag to be draped across the coffin. And all the German soldiers, no matter which service they were part of, gave the flag the Nazi salute, rather than the traditional salute favoured and still allowed for members of the Wehrmacht.

  As the procession approached the inner front gate, it swung open, allowing them to pass. Not long after, the outer gate did the same and the entire procession, including the German Honour Guard, left the camp.

  More Canadian guards stood outside the gate, doing their best to remain respectful, while still ensuring no members of the German Honour Guard made a run for it.

  There was even a large group of civilians about ten metres down the road from the gate. And while they seemed more curious to see the German prisoners involved in the procession as well as a public display of the Nazi flag than anything, they did respectfully remove their hats or place their hands on their hearts as the coffin bearing the body of an enemy soldier passed them by.

  Neumann and one of the other members of the Honour Guard looked over to the Canadians. They kept their eyes forward, following the Canadian Honour Guard and their bagpiper. Fifty metres out of the camp, the procession turned west and followed a short road to a fenced area—the cemetery for prisoners who had died in the camp. There were already five headstones in the cemetery and now there was a freshly dug grave where the sixth body would go. There was, as of yet, no headstone for the new grave.

  The priest was already waiting at the top of the gravesite with his Bible and a trio of Canadian guards, each of them in their own version of dress uniforms and armed with an Enfield.

  The Canadian Honour Guard entered the cemetery area, moved in unison to the far side of the grave, and stood about five metres away. Since the horse and wagon couldn’t enter the cemetery, the Germans, led by Neumann, removed the coffin from the wagon and carried it to the gravesite. They walked in a slow march, then set the coffin down on the bed of ropes used to lower the casket into the grave and stepped back, standing at attention a couple of metres away from the site. The actual ceremony was short. The priest said a few words, the Canadian riflemen fired three shots to honour a fallen soldier, and the casket was lowered. The bagpiper played the “Last Post.” Although it was a British tune and the dead soldier was German, it did not offend anyone.

  Once the song ended and the Germans saluted the grave, they were slowly led back by a group of guards. Less than five minutes later, the gates shut behind them and they were all back in Camp 133.

  The Honour Guard dispersed leaving Neumann to himself. The lines of Germans also dispersed, quietly going back to their duties or whatever they normally did. Neumann slowly made his way back to his bunk in his barracks.

  No one approached him or acknowledged him in any way. No doubt some were still angry that he permitted Neuer to escape vigilante justice. But the rest were probably just ashamed of what happened to Corporal Aachen and their role in it.

  Back at his bunk, Neumann slowly removed his dress uniform and all its accessories, gently folded it, and placed it back into his duffel bag. He put on his regular uniform, looked about for a moment, and then sat down on Aachen’s bunk. He stayed there for several moments, just breathing.

  “It’s a terrible shame,” a voice said. “I hate funerals.”

  Neumann looked up and at the end of the bunk was Staff Sergeant Nico Heidfield. He was still in dress uniform and looked very dapper.

  “What do you want, Heidfield?” Neumann said with a deep sigh. “I’m not really in the mood for anything you have to say.”

  “I just wanted to express my sorrow for what occurred with Corporal Aachen. It was a terrible shame.”

  Neumann laughed, a reaction that surprised Heidfield. “That’s quite ironic considering the fact that you were the one that had him beaten in the shower.”

  Heidfield stepped back and frowned. “Neuer told you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he offered me information in exchange for saving his life. You shouldn’t be surprised because we both got an excellent bargain. That’s how you operate isn’t it, making deals?”

  “I would disagree with your concept of an excellent deal. If you would have left Neuer to the mob, what happened to Corporal Aachen wouldn’t have occurred. It’s sad too. I didn’t want to kill Aachen—he’s a good man, tough and smart. But I made hi
m an offer. Asked him to take a fall during his match because there were a lot of bets on him. But despite my best efforts to convince him, to make him think of the future, he spurned me. So I had to do something to protect myself. Unfortunately, one of the men took things a bit too far. He’s new to the camp, used to a more violent way of doing things. I’ll make sure he understands that we’re a little more subtle here than in Camp 130.” Heidfield narrowed his eyes. “But you knowing that I had Aachen attacked makes no difference. I can’t be hurt by that.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Neumann warned.

  “To be honest there’s not much you can do with that kind of information,” Heidfield said with a shrug. “The man who gave it to you is now in protective custody, a home for informants and traitors. So any testimony he would offer would be circumspect. No one with any pull in this camp would listen to it.”

  “At least I’m aware of it, which is important to me.”

  “So that’s a kind of threat, I’m assuming. I’m not afraid of you, despite who you are.”

  “And I’m not afraid of you, despite your corruption.”

  “Then we’re at an impasse, which is too bad. I was hoping we could work together, reach some sort of compromise, so that I could continue to function without interference.”

  “Does the expression ‘Fuck you’ mean anything to you?”

  “Ahh, not surprising. You’re a smart man, Sergeant, but you have no vision for the future.”

  “And fuck your future, too. Fucks like you, Heidfield, are nothing new. Jesus, there were even fucks like you in the trenches of the First War, always blabbing about their great plans for the future, their incredible ideas for how they would rule the world, or whatever tiny little empire they had their eyes on. Most of them didn’t survive that war.”

  “So far I’ve survived this one. And will probably make it to the end. It only takes a great man to survive, we’ve all seen that.”

  Neumann laughed loudly. “Take it from me, Heidfield, you are not a great man. I’ve seen your type over and over again. You’re a low-rent criminal and you may have some success after the war, but something bigger will come along and destroy you. That’s how it always works.”

  “Maybe I’m different.”

  “Ha. Your type always thinks you’re different. Thinks you’re special. But you’re just a piece of shit.”

  Heidfield shrugged and backed away. “I just hope you stay out of the way and don’t bother my operation. That’s all I ask.”

  “All I’m asking—” Neumann pushed himself off the bunk and stood over Heidfield “—is that you stay out of my way.”

  “So again, an impasse. Whatever shall we do about it?”

  “Well, I was going to do something like this,” said Neumann. His right hand flew up and grabbed Heidfield by the throat. He shoved and Heidfield fell back against the barracks wall. Neumann squeezed tighter, holding Heidfield against the wall.

  A few prisoners in the barracks jumped at the sound and looked over to see the commotion, but when they saw what was happening, they left the area or turned away. Only Corporal Knaup, who had his bunk nearby, remained. A couple of large prisoners burst through the door. Knaup moved to cut them off, but Neumann raised his free hand.

  “Stop where you fucking are or I’ll snap his neck. You too, Knaup. Stay where you are.”

  Heidfield’s bodyguards froze, almost falling over themselves to do so.

  “And if you motherfuckers take another step towards me,” Neumann said, pointing at the two bodyguards, “I will kill this piece of shit and then come over to do the same to you. If you think I can’t kill you two idiots then just give it a try and see what happens.”

  The two bodyguards looked at each other and then backed away. Neumann looked to Heidfield who was struggling to break free, his face red, his eyes bugging out. “See, like I said, you can make all the plans you want for the future until someone stronger comes along and destroys you. Could be someone like me. I could kill you right now and no one would really care. Or it could be a rival criminal, could be the Ivans for all I know. But before I decide to kill you or not, I’d like you to answer me one last question, is that okay? One answer before you possibly die.”

  Heidfield tried to nod, but Neumann held his neck so tight, he couldn’t move. But the effort was enough for the sergeant.

  “I understand why you had Aachen beat up. Didn’t like it but I understand the reasoning behind it. I’ve seen it before from criminals like you and it probably made sense to you,” Neumann said. “But Mueller I don’t get. Why did you have him killed? He was a threat to no one, especially someone like you.”

  “I, I, I didn’t kill Mueller,” Heidfield managed to croak.

  Neumann leaned in close, his face only a couple of centimetres from Heidfield’s. “I’m sorry, it sounded like you said you didn’t kill him. Now, don’t lie to me, Heidfield, or you won’t take another breath. You’ll probably wet yourself, but you won’t breathe.”

  “I didn’t kill Mueller.”

  “I said don’t lie to me!” Neumann shouted, squeezing tighter and lifting Heidfield off the floor. The smell of urine filled the air as Heidfield’s bladder let go.

  “I didn’t kill Mueller,” he croaked. “I didn’t.”

  Neumann held Heidfield in that position for several more seconds and then tossed him to the ground. Heidfield fell down at the feet of his bodyguards. They tried to pick him but he batted them away, cursing at them.

  He slowly picked himself up and did his best to save his dignity. “This isn’t finished, Neumann.”

  “No, it’s not, Heidfield. I could come by and kill you in your sleep some night. So keep your eyes open.”

  Heidfield and his men scrambled away. Corporal Knaup slowly approached Sergeant Neumann. “Holy shit, Sergeant. I thought I had seen your bad side, but I guess I was wrong.”

  “That wasn’t even close to my bad side, Knaup. Not even close.” The sergeant clapped the corporal on the shoulder. “But thank you for trying to come to my rescue. I won’t forget it.”

  Knaup flushed and shrugged. “I just thought it was something Corporal Aachen would do.”

  “It was. So thank you.”

  Neumann again walked over to Aachen’s bunk and sat down. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. Knaup followed and stood leaning on the bunk.

  “Have you visited him yet today?” Knaup asked quietly.

  Neumann shook his head. “I was part of the Honour Guard for Mueller’s funeral. Haven’t had the time. Did you?”

  “Yeah. I went before the funeral. I read a bit for him. The doctor says it’s good if you read or talk to him while you visit.”

  “Any response?”

  “Not yet. But the doctor said it’s been only a couple of days. He could wake up any minute now.”

  “I should go visit him,” Neumann said.

  “You should. You want me to walk you over? In case those kinds of boys show up again?”

  “No. I’ll be fine,” Neumann said with a smile. “I’m not afraid of those kinds of boys.”

  31.

  Sergeant Neumann sat in an old wooden chair next to the hospital bed. Corporal Aachen looked a little bit like a mummy with bandages around his head and chest and a couple of casts, one on his right arm, the other on his left foot. Neumann sat there without speaking for a long while and picked up the book that was sitting on the table by the bed, the one Knaup had been reading. He opened it up at the bookmark, read a few lines to himself, but then set it back down.

  “You know Klaus, I had a discussion today with Sergeant Heidfield. You know that prick. Looks like a movie star, acts like he’s best friends with all the men. Well it got out of hand at the end with my hand against his throat, threatening to kill him.” Neumann waved his hand at Aachen as if the corporal had responded. “I kn
ow, I know. I let my temper get the best of me. But I just couldn’t take it anymore. He told me what he talked about with you. About him asking you to throw your match and you refusing. I can’t believe he had the gall to do such a thing. He obviously knows little about your character.”

  Neumann laughed, instinctively looking to Aachen for a smile or any kind of response. His laughter ended quickly when he realized that none would come. He sat back in the chair, sighing. “Heidfield also admitted that he was the one who gave the order to have you attacked. Not killed but attacked. Konrad got out of hand. You probably knew Heidfield was behind it. I could tell from your questioning of Neuer that you figured that part out but at least you have some consolation that they really didn’t want to kill. Though it makes little difference, I guess.

  “And did you see me whispering to Neuer? I wasn’t just telling him where to run if the crowd turned ugly, I was pumping him for information. I couldn’t help it—I’m an old village policeman and it seemed like the right time. He was in the right mood to talk, especially since I told him we were saving his life and he owed us. So he told the truth. Heidfield also confirmed it, bragged about it to me, before I had my hand to his throat. Apparently he didn’t like the fact that you spurned his offer, so he decided to take you out of the competition. Again, shows that he knows little of your character. Nor mine or he wouldn’t have bragged so much to my face about it. Those bruises of my fingers on his throat are going to linger for a while.

  “But while I had my fingers on his throat, I thought it would be a good time to ask him about Captain Mueller. It’s an old and probably outdated interrogation technique. Although I bet some of our countrymen in black still enjoy using it. And I can understand why. It did feel good to have that fucker’s life in my hands. I’ve killed many men in my time, you know that, Klaus, you’ve helped me kill them, but I’ve taken no joy in doing so. It’s all part of war. But let me tell you, holding Heidfield by the throat, seeing him struggle to breathe, smelling his piss as he wet his pants in fear—that was quite enjoyable. In fact, later tonight I might pay him a visit and do it again, just to get out of this depressing mood. I know you’re stuck here and I’m glad to see you, but this is a very depressing place. And it’s been a bad day with Mueller’s funeral and all. But I guess I shouldn’t complain considering the state you’re in.”