Camp 30 (8 page)

“Nobody's here,” Jack said. “But I guess that makes sense, because of roll call.”

“So what do we do?”

“Wait.”

The corridor emptied into a big room. Light streamed in through windows on the second level. There were empty desks, and doors leading off in a number of directions.

“Echo!” Jack yelled, and I jumped as his words bounced back at us off the walls.

“Why'd you do that?”

“Just for fun. It's not like anybody's around to hear—”
“Wer ist da?”
called out a loud voice.

Jack and I exchanged startled looks, and a man—a big man with shiny black boots and a scowl on his face— appeared at one of the doors.

“
Was tun Sie
… what are you doing here?” he demanded angrily. “You have no right to be here!” he thundered as he strode toward us threateningly.

“We have the mail!” I exclaimed, digging into my bag and pulling out a handful of letters as proof.

“You should not be snooping around. You have no right!”

“We're not snooping. We're just bringing in the mail,” I said.

“We're following orders, that's all,” Jack said.

“Leave the mail and get out!” the prisoner snarled. He grabbed the bag that was on Jack's shoulder.

“You get the mail, but you don't get the bag!” Jack shot back, grabbing the bag, refusing to release it.

The prisoner looked surprised and stunned by Jack's resistance. I was a bit shocked as well. Jack was big—for a fourteen-year-old—but this man was much bigger and stronger.

“You will give me the mail!” the man shouted, and I jumped back.

“You can have the mail, but you can't have my bag. It's mine and you can't have it!” Jack yelled back.

“Enough!” yelled a third voice, and I spun around. It was Captain Kretschmer.

The prisoner released his grip on the bag and came to attention, his eyes focused straight ahead.

Captain Kretschmer barked out something in German.
“Jawohl, Kapitän!”
the prisoner called. Then he saluted, spun around and marched out of the room at a double-quick pace.

Captain Kretschmer came forward, looking at us, with a questioning look on his face.

“We came with the mail,” I explained in answer to his unasked question. I held out the handful of letters
I was still clutching.

“And that goon tried to take my bag!” Jack added.

“What is a
goon
?” Captain Kretschmer asked. “I do not know that word.”

“A goon is a big, strong—”

“He didn't mean anything by calling him that,” I said, cutting Jack off before he could go any farther.

“It sounds like it is not a complimentary word,” Captain Kretschmer said.

“He shouldn't have tried to take my bag!” Jack snapped.

“You looked as if you were prepared to fight him if necessary.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn't have won, but he would have known he'd been in a fight,” Jack said.

I half expected the captain to laugh, but he didn't even smile. He just nodded his head in agreement.

“You Canadians are nice people … but not people to be angered. In a fight Canadian soldiers are known to be very brave, very tough … not willing to give up even when badly outnumbered.”

I could almost see Jack's chest puff out at the description. That also described my brother.

“We thought everybody was outside for roll call,” I said.

“Everybody was, but they allow some of us, officers and those needed for administrative business, to be dismissed once we are accounted for. It is not correct for
a field marshal to stand at attention in the hot sun. Now, if you would kindly leave the letters and parcels, I will make sure they are given out. The mail can be placed here on this desk.”

Jack and I began emptying our bags onto the desk. A few letters flowed over the edge and fell to the floor. Captain Kretschmer bent down and grabbed them before I had a chance.

“We picked them up from the post office,” I said. “We took good care of them because we know how important they are … how important our letters from our father are.”

“Obviously Colonel Armstrong has faith in you boys.” He paused. “I think I also have faith.”

I turned my bag inside out, making sure that no letters remained.

“Now, before you boys depart, could I interest you in a bowl of ice cream?”

“Ice cream?”

“Nothing too exotic. Only vanilla, but it is good ice cream.”

“That would be—”

“We have to go,” Jack said, cutting me off.

I wanted to say something to Jack because the ice cream really did sound good, but the serious look on his face warned me off.

“Perhaps another day,” Captain Kretschmer said.

“That would be nice,” I said.

“Come then, I'll walk with you two and we can talk. You could help me. My English … I have some questions.”

“Your English is great!” I said.

“It is improving, but I am only learning English from books. It is very formal. I was hoping to learn more words … different words … terms people use in daily living. Could you explain to me these terms?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Things like … like … like …
goon
. Tell me how you really meant it.” Captain Kretschmer started to laugh, and Jack and I laughed along with him.

As we headed for the door, it opened and a number of prisoners came into the building. Roll call must have been completed. A prisoner held the door open for us and saluted the captain as we left.

“Would you like to see a picture of my family?” the captain asked.

Before we could even think to answer one way or the other, he pulled a picture from his shirt pocket and handed it to me.

“That is, of course, my wife, and these are my three children. The girl, she is the oldest, is named Bruna, and is sixteen. My boys, Wolfgang and Peter, are fourteen and eleven.”

“That's sort of like us,” I said, “except I'm twelve, but Jack is fourteen.”

“I would have taken you both for older, at least a year or even two,” he said.

I handed the picture to Jack for him to have a look.

“Canadians are big people,” the captain said. “Good food, lots of exercise and fresh air. This is how life should be lived. Not in a prisoner-of-war camp, but in the open spaces.”

“We used to live on a farm,” I said. “Still would if our father hadn't joined the army.”

“Ah, this war has changed many things for many people. Me, I would be teaching engineering at the university if not for the war. Teaching and returning each night to my wife and children, watching them grow up.”

He stopped talking and I knew he was thinking about his family. It would be as hard for him not to see his kids as it must be for our dad—and as hard for those kids not to see him as it was for us.

“I never believed the war would go on this long,” Captain Kretschmer said. “Four years.” He shook his head. “I only pray it ends soon. My oldest son is not long from having to volunteer to fight.”

“I'm going to enlist as soon as I turn sixteen,” Jack said proudly.

“That would be unfortunate,” the captain said.

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

“Nor would be my son. Fear comes later. Those of us
who have been in battle know that fear is constant. You wear it like a coat, feel it with each breath.”

“Our father's not afraid of anything,” Jack said.

“And my son would say the same in my defence, but he would be wrong. Both your father and myself would be terribly afraid of one thing.”

I waited for him to continue.

“My greatest fear was that I would not live to see my children again. And now, as the war pushes farther into Europe, I fear for their safety the way they had feared for mine. At least your father knows you are safe—that must be reassuring.”

It was reassuring that neither of our parents knew how much danger we had already been in.

We stopped in front of the gate.

“Thanks for walking us here … and for helping with that soldier,” I said.

“You mean that big goon?” he asked, and smiled.

“Yeah, with the goon.”

“It was my pleasure. Are you boys now going back to the administrative office?”

“Yeah. We're gonna wait until our mother gets off work so we can walk home with her,” I said.

“I am sure she'll enjoy your company, as have I. I think I will go with you to speak to Colonel Armstrong.”

“Go … to his office, you mean?” I asked, feeling confused.

“Yes, his office.”

“But you can't just go up and see him there, can you?” Jack asked.

“I know he is busy, so usually I make an appointment, but perhaps he has a moment to spare. He is usually very … how do you say … accommodating.”

“But his office is outside—you can't just leave the camp,” I said, feeling more confused by the minute.

“Well, yes, I can. Here, I'll show you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“
GOOD DAY, GENTLEMEN
,” Captain Kretschmer called to the guards at the gates.

“And a good day to you as well, Captain.”

I'd never seen this guard before. Actually, I'd never seen any of them before. The four guards who had let us into the compound must have gone off duty and been replaced.

“Would you be so good as to open the gates?” the captain said. “I wish to go and see Colonel Armstrong.”

“Sorry, sir, I'm afraid I can't do that,” he replied.

I looked at Jack. Of course he couldn't do that. Prisoners can't just walk up to the fence and ask to leave.

“I can't open the gates until I know the identity of those two young men with you,” the guard continued.

“What?” I gasped, unable to believe my ears.

“These boys are the sons of Colonel Armstrong's new assistant, Mrs. Braun,” Captain Kretschmer explained.

“Are they?” the guard questioned. “When we came on duty there was no mention of them being inside the compound, and they weren't signed in.”

“We … came to deliver the mail,” I stammered. “See?” I said, holding up my empty newspaper bag—which, of course, made no sense.

“I guess Herbie was so anxious to get home to his missus and a warm meal that he forgot to mention any of this to us.”

“They came under the direction of Colonel Armstrong,” the captain added. “You could call up to headquarters for confirmation.”

“No need. If you say that's who they are, then that's good enough for me.”

The second guard unlocked the gate and it started to swing open.

I stood stock-still. “You mean … we can all go?
He
can just leave?” I asked, pointing at Captain Kretschmer.

“'Course he can. He always comes back.” The guard turned to the captain. “You will return on your word of honour?”

“You have my word as an officer and a gentleman.”

This wasn't real. I stumbled forward as the inner gate closed behind me and the outside gate began to open.

“I should not be any more than thirty minutes,” he said to one of the guards manning the outer gate.

“Take your time, Captain. We're not going anywhere.”

 
We all walked away from the compound—me, Jack and a prisoner!

“You seem surprised,” Captain Kretschmer said with a grin.

“Well … yeah … a little,” I stammered.

“Just a little?”

“A lot,” Jack said. “It's kind of crazy that they just let you walk out.”

“I must admit that it struck me as strange the first time,” Captain Kretschmer agreed.

“So anybody can just go up and see the colonel any time they want?” Jack asked.

“That privilege would be limited to myself, the field marshal and some of the other high-ranking officers in the camp.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I agreed.

“But there are many other reasons that prisoners leave the camp,” he added.

“Other reasons?”

“In the winter the cross-country ski team goes on outings. In the summer there are groups of men who go down to the lake to swim.”

“The lake … but Lake Ontario is miles and miles away,” Jack said.

“It is a good walk. At a brisk pace it takes more than an hour. Then there is the group of men who go up to the farm every day.”

“They go to a farm?” Now I'd heard everything!

“We raise most of our own vegetables and there are some fruit trees. Also goats and two cows.”

Jack stopped at the door to the administration building. “So you're telling me that they just let prisoners walk out any time they want.”

“There are some limits and restrictions.”

“But what's to stop the prisoners from just leaving … and not coming back?” Jack asked.

“Their honour. Each man gives his word of honour that he will return.”

“And they do?” Jack asked in amazement.

“Every man has returned.”

“We heard there have been escape attempts,” I said.

“Yes, there have been a number of attempts.”

“But you just said everybody came back.” Now I was even more confused.

“Everybody who goes out, giving his word of honour, has always returned. Escape attempts are different.”

“Like the guy who went out in the laundry truck, right?” I said.

“That was one attempt. Perhaps not the best thought out.”

“But why do people even bother trying?” Jack asked. “There's no way anybody could make it back to Germany. It's impossible.”

“Difficult, but not impossible. One man, Lieutenant Hans Krug, got across the border in the United States
and then travelled throughout that country. He was apprehended in Texas—no more than one hundred yards from the Rio Grande. If he had been able to cross, he would have been in Mexico and free.”