Camp 30 (10 page)

I felt a rush of fear. He didn't mean our mother, did he? She'd been kept in the dark this long and I'd hoped that wouldn't change.

“I have to discuss this with Little Bill,” he continued.

“Little Bill … are you sure … he's pretty busy, isn't he?” I asked.

“We wouldn't want to bother him,” Jack said.

Bill was important. But Little Bill was really,
really
important. Too important to be bothered about the stupid kind of trouble we kept getting into.

“For some reason, he has continued to take a very personal interest in your welfare,” Bill explained. “Now, you two had better get going before you're fired today. Say, that might not be a bad idea … No, on second thought, just continue doing your job until you hear from me again.”

That was a relief. “I have a question,” I said. “I was just wondering—if you can tell us—how you knew about us getting this job.”

“I told you. We know everything.”

“Please?” I begged.

“Can't you two figure it out?” he asked.

I turned to Jack. I certainly had no idea. Jack shook his head.

“Where do you think the mail you're carrying comes from?” Bill asked.

“From the prisoners' families … from Germany,” I said.

“That's where it starts off, but it makes a few stops between there and the prisoners at Camp 30.”

“Like the post office,” I said.

“Like the official censors,” Jack added.

Bill smiled and nodded. “And where do you think those censors are?”

“Camp X?” I asked.

“That's right. All the mail is examined at Camp X before it gets to the prisoners,” Bill said. “And one of my men who was dropping off the mail saw you two pick it up. Now, I want you to go ahead and do your job as if nothing happened. Can you do that?”

“Sure, of course,” Jack said.

“Good. You'll hear from me.” Bill opened the door of the truck and then stopped. “And until I do get in touch, keep your eyes and ears wide open.”

CHAPTER TEN

“
A LITTLE BIT LATE TODAY
, ain't you, boys?” the guard asked.

“A couple of minutes, sir,” I said.

“Let's 'ave none of that
sir
stuff. It's just Smitty, plain Smitty, 'kay?”

“Sure, Smitty,” Jack said.

Smitty was one of the Veteran Guards of Canada— maybe the most veteran of the guards. We hadn't asked him his age but he had to be in his sixties at least, and he spoke with a thick English accent. He was actually harder to understand than some of the prisoners!

“Should we sign the registration book?” I asked, reminding him so he wouldn't get into trouble.

“Spoke to our sergeant major, I did, and 'e said because ya was coming in regular-like that you didn't need to. You're not gonna be long, is ya?”

“Not long. Just got to deliver the mail and get back out.”

“Better 'urry. Roll call is just about over.”

Smitty opened up the first gate and ordered the second to be unlocked as well. We scurried through and then squeezed past the inner gate before it had opened more than a foot.

We were barely in before the guards dismissed the prisoners assembled for roll call, and men started scattering in all directions. We took the path that led straight for the prisoners' office building … straight through a throng of men still standing and milling around after being dismissed.

There was a dream-like quality to the whole scene. Hundreds of German soldiers and sailors and air force officers, all in uniform, speaking German, and we were in the middle of it. Stranger still was the way we were greeted—smiles, hellos (almost always in English), pats on the back, questions about who we had mail for … as if we'd know.

We reached the stairs and a soldier at the top opened the door. With a deep bow, he invited us in. We took the steps two at a time and bounded into the building. Directly at the end of the corridor, behind his big desk, sat Hans, the prisoner responsible for distributing the mail. Actually, although we didn't know him very well, it was becoming clear that he was the person who actually ran the compound, and not the big officers who sat behind closed doors.

He looked up at us and then glanced down at his watch.

“Sorry we're late,” I said.

“You can correct that tomorrow.”

We unloaded the letters and parcels from our bags, and Hans began arranging them in neat, orderly piles. Order and punctuality were important to him.

He picked up one letter, turned it over and made a clucking sound with his tongue. The flap of the letter was open.

“The censors did not reseal this one properly,” Hans pointed out.

“Censors?” I asked, trying my best to sound uninformed.

“All letters and parcels are examined by government officials to see if we are giving or getting secret information.”

“What sort of secrets would you have to give?” Jack asked.

“If I told you, then they would not be secrets, now would they?” Hans said, and he began to laugh. “Other than the fact that we had liver for lunch on Wednesday, I am not too sure what secrets I have to give. Actually,” he said, suddenly lowering his voice dramatically, “we are not
allowed
to write about our meals.”

“The Canadian government won't let you talk about what you eat?” I asked.

“Not your censors. My commander … the field marshal.”

“Why wouldn't he let you talk about food?”

Hans looked around anxiously. “Maybe I should not be saying this to you.”

“Who are we going to tell?” Jack asked.

“Well … it is just that we eat so well here. He thought it would not be good for the morale of our families to know that prisoners in Canada eat better than civilians in Germany.”

“You guys eat better than civilians in Canada,” I pointed out.

“We do?” Hans asked.

“Sure. We have rations for things like sugar and eggs, and most people don't get the fresh fruit and vegetables I've seen here.”

“Then ice cream must be equally difficult to come by,” a voice chimed in from behind.

We turned around. It was Captain Kretschmer. Hans leaped up from his desk and saluted.

“Ice cream is hard to get,” Jack admitted. “Especially chocolate.”

“Chocolate is difficult, but I do have vanilla … if that is of interest today?”

It was of interest to me. I could practically taste it, but I knew Jack was going to turn him down again.

“Ice cream would be nice,” Jack said. I turned to him
in shock. “Don't you want ice cream?” he asked me.

“Yeah, sure, of course!”

“Excellent. Let me put my bag in my office and we will go to the kitchen.” The captain was carrying a leather satchel. He took a few steps and then stopped and turned around. “Hans, I need to see you in my office.”

“Yes, sir!” Hans jumped to his feet again. He looked worried, but then again, he always looked worried. He followed the captain into the room.

“I wonder if he's in trouble for talking to us,” I said quietly.

“That wasn't what I was wondering about,” Jack whispered. “I was wondering what's in that bag he's taking into his office.”

“Probably papers or … Jack, why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering, that's all,” he said, and shrugged.

Jack being curious could not lead to anything good.

“I was wondering something myself,” I said. “Why did you agree to go for ice cream this time?”

“Just following orders.”

“Captain Kretschmer didn't order us, he just invited us.”

“Not him … Bill,” Jack said, the last word just barely audible.

“Bill!” I exclaimed.

Jack reached out to poke me but I jumped away.
“Sorry.” I stepped back so I'd be close enough to my brother to whisper. “What are you talking about?”

“Bill ordered us to keep our eyes and ears open, so that's what I'm doing.”

“He didn't mean here,” I objected.

“Why not here? He just said—”

“Now, are you young gentlemen ready for a big bowl of ice cream?” Captain Kretschmer asked as he walked out of his office. Hans trailed behind him, his head down.

“We sure are,” Jack said.

The captain turned to Hans, who was now at his desk again, and barked out a couple of orders. Funny, when he was speaking English he sounded friendly, but when he spoke German he sounded formal, angry, even frightening.

“Let us go.”

Rather than heading out through the front door, we went past Hans's desk and down another corridor. I felt uneasy. I looked over at Jack. His expression was calm, and I drew some comfort from that. If there was danger, he'd let me know—unless he was the one causing it. I had this vision of Jack excusing himself, going back, thinking up some reason to get into the captain's office and looking into that bag.

“Could I ask you a question, Captain?” I said to Captain Kretschmer as we exited through the back of the building.

“Of course, but please,
Captain
is such a formal title. You should call me Otto.”

“Sure … okay, I guess.” I shot Jack a look. This guy was sure being chummy with a couple of kids. “I was just wondering, what was it like being on a submarine?”

“It was like many things. Sometimes very quiet and calm. Other times scary. I really do not like enclosed places. I feel trapped.”

“But you were a submarine captain!” I exclaimed.

“That is what makes the fear so real. I do not suppose I will ever be on a submarine again.”

“Never?” I asked.

He shook his head. “My time will be spent here until the war is over. And then, whether we win or lose, I doubt I shall—”

“You're going to lose,” Jack said, cutting him off. I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.

“I believe,” Captain Kretschmer began, “that the war is not going in our, how do you say, direction, but it is far from over … unfortunately. My greatest fear is not that we shall lose the war but that I shall lose my son. He is like you, Jack, only two years away from being expected to fight. To not see him for these years has been difficult. To never see him again would be … would be … tragic.”

I'd had those same thoughts about our father. Funny, we were safe here and it was our father who was in
danger. With Captain Kretschmer—Otto—he was safe, and it was his family that was in danger.

“Could you boys please do me a great favour?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I know you have your opinions—and I respect those opinions—but there are some within the camp who would not be so respectful. I think it would be wise simply to avoid this type of discussion about the war.”

“I'm not afraid of anybody,” Jack said defiantly.

“I know you are not, my young friend,” the captain said, placing an arm around Jack's shoulder. “Do it simply as a favour to me … if you could.”

“I guess I could,” Jack agreed.

As we passed by one of the residences—they were all identified by number, and this was House Four—we heard the sounds of an accordion being played. Rounding the corner, we saw a man, sitting on a stool, playing. He was playing a polka, and while he was loud he certainly wasn't very talented. I was surprised that nobody had come out and asked him to be quiet. I'd have hated to have him playing underneath my window.

We continued walking until we reached the mess hall. Rather than going in the front door we circled around to the back. The captain pulled open a door and we entered the kitchen directly. One wall was lined with big, black stoves, and on another I could see a shiny metal door—it looked like a walk-in freezer.

There were four men at a table in the middle of the room, laughing and talking and yelling as they took turns throwing down cards. They wore aprons, and two had on chef's hats as well.

Suddenly all four jumped up from the table, knocking over chairs, to come to attention. They all saluted Captain Kretschmer. Along with the cards I noticed a pile of money in the centre of the table.

“We were just playing cards for a minute, Captain, just for a minute,” one of the men said.

“The meal is prepared, sir,” another added.

“And what is tonight's meal?” the captain asked.

“Beef tartar, cheese, butter and milk, sir,” the first soldier answered.

“Good. Good.
Wie Sie waren,
” he said, and the four men visibly relaxed. They grabbed their chairs and sat back down.

Jack leaned over. “He told them to go back to what they were doing,” Jack whispered to me.

“I just came to get some ice cream for myself and my two young friends,” the captain said.

“
Sicher, mein Kapitän
. I will get it immediately,” one of the men said, and he started to get up again.

“Nein, nein, nein,”
the captain told him as he reached over and put his hand on the man's shoulder, easing him back into his seat. “I certainly know where it is kept, unless it is now in the oven instead of the freezer. While
I get the ice cream, you gentlemen could perhaps explain to my friends what you are playing.”

“Jawohl,”
one of the men said as the captain walked away. “This game is called skat,” he said. “Do you know it?”

“Never heard of it,” Jack said.

“In Germany it is known to even the littlest of children.”

“We're not in—”

“Could you explain it?” I said, cutting Jack off before he could say anything else.

“
Sicher
… um, certainly. It is simple to learn.”

“If it is so simple, how come you never win?” asked one of his companions, and the other two men laughed.

“I said it was simple to learn. To master is very difficult. Come, pull up seats and I will show you.”