Camp 30 (9 page)

“That's amazing.”

“And inspiring,” Captain Kretschmer said.

“You know what I don't understand?” I said. “Why do people even try to escape? It seems like you're treated really good here.”

“We are treated exceptionally good, but it is our duty to attempt to escape. To do less would be disloyal to our uniform and our country. Now come, I must speak to Colonel Armstrong.”

We walked through the outer office. Doris gave us a wave and a smile—although I thought she was looking more at the captain than at us. We stopped at our mother's desk. She was on the phone, but she nodded.

“I understand,” she said into the phone. “Supplies are limited for us all, but we have priority for building materials.” She listened to a response we couldn't hear. “Good, I'll expect the truck here tomorrow. Thank you.” She replaced the phone in its cradle.

“Good day, Mrs. Braun.”

“Guten Tag,”
she replied.

“I was hoping that Colonel Armstrong might have a minute … I apologize for not having made an appointment.”

“I'll see if he's available.” She reached over and pushed a button on a box on her desk. “Colonel Armstrong, Captain Kretschmer is here. He was hoping you might have a moment to see him.”

“I'm rather busy,” he replied, his voice tinny and detached, “but I will certainly put aside a few minutes. Send him in.”

My mother looked up. “Please go in.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly and then turning to us. “And perhaps you boys would care to join me, since I am here to discuss you.”

“Us?” I gulped. Were we in trouble? I knew we shouldn't have been in that building, and maybe we shouldn't have been in the compound to begin with, but we really hadn't done anything that was that wrong or—

“Do not look so worried, George,” he said. “This is not bad. Come.”

I looked over at our mother—she looked as confused and concerned as I felt.

The captain knocked on the door and then opened it. Jack and I followed him in.

“Good day, Colonel.”

“And to you, Otto,” he answered, his head bent over his papers. “What can I do for you on this fine—” He looked up and saw Jack and me and stopped. Now he looked confused too.

“I simply wanted to compliment you on your plan to
have these two fine young men deliver the mail.”

“They helped us out in a tight pinch today and I offered them the job on an ongoing basis,” Colonel Armstrong confirmed.

“Excellent. We are always greatly appreciative when there are fewer guards intruding in the compound, so it was good to have the boys bring the mail to our office building.”

Colonel Armstrong's brow furrowed. “I had only intended them to take the mail to the gates and have one of my guards take it inside the compound. You boys weren't in the compound today, were you?”

I knew I was right, that we shouldn't have gone in. And now we were going to be in big trouble.

“We went to the gate and the guards told us the mail was supposed to go to the prisoners' offices,” Jack explained. “We didn't know. We just thought we were doing what we were supposed to do.”

“As did I,” Captain Kretschmer said. “I did not know this was not intended. Nevertheless, would it be possible for them to take the mail inside in future?”

I expected Colonel Armstrong to bark out a no, but he didn't. He looked at Jack and then at me … looked at us carefully, as if he was hoping to see the answer written on our faces.

“I will take your request under advisement,” he finally answered.

“Thank you for your consideration,” Captain Kretschmer said. “I do not wish to take up any more of your time.” He saluted and Colonel Armstrong returned the salute.

“Boys,” Colonel Armstrong said, “could you remain?”

The captain left, closing the door behind him. Colonel Armstrong stood up and circled around his desk. He sat down on the very edge.

“So you boys were in the compound again today.”

“I'm sorry, we didn't mean to do anything wrong,” I said.

“We thought we were supposed to go in to deliver the mail,” Jack added.

“I'm sure you did. Did you feel comfortable being in there?” Colonel Armstrong asked.

“I was nervous … at first,” I admitted.

“And what do you think about Otto … Captain Kretschmer's request? Would you be willing to go into the compound every day?”

“Sure, no problem,” Jack said quickly.

“George?” he asked.

“I'm okay with it too … if that's what you want us to do.”

“The prisoners like to minimize the number of times my guards enter the compound. Roll call happens three times a day—that's unavoidable. And they accept that a certain number of unscheduled patrols have to take
place. Most of my guards are excellent, first-rate officers and gentlemen, but some others can lack a certain tact in dealing with the prisoners. If you would be willing to deliver the mail, it would eliminate a source of tension.”

“We'd be more than willing to help,” Jack said.

“There is one thing, though, that I have to have your word on. It is necessary that you not talk to people about what goes on here at the camp.”

“We wouldn't talk to anybody about anything,” Jack assured him.

“Do you want us to sign an oath under the Official Secrets Act, like our mother?” I asked.

“Generally that isn't requested with people your age, although I imagine it could happen in certain extreme situations.”

Jack and I both knew about those situations. We'd signed the oath already because of our involvement in Camp X, but even telling him we'd signed the oath would probably be breaking it. We couldn't admit our involvement at the camp, although I wondered if Colonel Armstrong already knew, and that was part of the reason he'd agreed to hire our mother in the first place. It was sure hard to know who knew what in wartime.

“You won't come across any secrets here,” he continued. “But there's always a lot of talk, especially in a place as small as Bowmanville, and some of the locals are upset that the prisoners are given certain rights and privileges.”

“Like the food they get to eat,” I said.

He nodded his head. “That's exactly the type of thing. It sounds as though you've already heard some of that talk.”

“We heard, but we didn't say anything. We just listened. We'd
never
say anything,” Jack said. “You can count on us.”

“I haven't known you boys very long, but I believe I
can
count on you. And knowing your mother, I feel certain you two are cut from stout cloth,” he said.

“Stout cloth?” I asked, looking down at my shirt in confusion.

“It means you are strong … solid … reliable. The job is yours if you want it.”

“We do, sir,” Jack said, “and we won't let you down.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE TRUCK ROARED BY
, leaving us on our bikes in the choking, swirling grit it kicked up on the road. I closed my mouth completely and my eyes partly as I turned my head to the side and pushed into the cloud of dust.

“What the—?” I skidded to a stop as I practically rammed into the back of Jack's bike.

“Why did you stop?” I demanded.

“Because he stopped.” Jack pointed up the road. Through the cloud I could see that the truck had pulled off to the side of the road. The wind blew the dust trail off the road, into the field, and it faded away.

“It could be anybody and anything,” Jack said, reading my mind.

“Then why did we stop?”

“Because it could be
anybody
and
anything
. Weren't you listening?”

“What do we do then?” I asked.

“We have three choices. Go back, wait here or just ride past it … on the far side of the road.”

“And which of those three are we going to do?”

“I'm thinking, so I guess we'll be doing the waiting part. Look before you leap.”

This was our third day delivering the mail. Yesterday had gone pretty smoothly. We knew where to pick up the mail, the guards knew we were coming, we went straight to the place where we were to drop it off, and all the prisoners were friendly to us—nobody yelled, like that first day. We even had another nice conversation with Captain Kretschmer. He did seem like a good guy, and he invited us for ice cream again. But we turned him down again. Actually, Jack turned him down. I was really ready for some ice cream.

“How long do we wait?” I asked.

Almost in answer the passenger door opened and someone stepped out.

“It's Bill!” I practically yelled.

He waved his hand, motioning for us to come. We raced our bikes over to the truck and skidded to a stop once again.

“You two planning on making me wait all day?” he asked.

“We were just being cautious,” Jack said.

“Cautious?” Bill asked, pretending to look surprised.
“
Cautious
isn't a word I'd normally use when describing either of you two.”

“We didn't know it was you. This isn't the truck you were driving the last time we saw you … or the time before that, or the time before that,” I said. “Do you ever drive in the same vehicle twice?”

“Sometimes twice, but not much more. All part of the game. People don't notice other people as much as they notice what they're driving. And I needed to talk to you boys about your new part-time jobs.” He tugged at the strap of my newspaper bag, which was filled with letters and packages.

“How do you know about our jobs?” I asked.

He smiled. “We know everything. You must have figured
that
out by now. Well … except for one thing.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“We don't know what possessed the two of you to take a job that puts you in daily contact with hundreds of German prisoners.”

“We were asked to deliver the mail up to the camp, and then one thing just sort of led to another,” Jack explained.

“And somehow that led to you boys going right inside the compound. Judging by the way you kept sneaking into Camp X, I suppose you have no idea whatsoever what fences are designed to do. I'll explain it. Fences, especially those that are twelve feet tall and topped with barbed wire, are designed—”

“To keep prisoners in,” Jack interrupted.

“And to keep other people
out
. Do you remember why we went to all the trouble to relocate your family in the first place?” Bill really didn't sound happy.

“Yeah,” Jack mumbled.

“We needed to get you away from possible contact with Nazis. And now here you are, associating with hundreds and hundreds of German soldiers.”

“But they're not Nazis,” I tried to explain. “At least, that's what everybody tells us.”

“They're not. And they're certainly not spies, they're soldiers. But that doesn't mean they're not in contact with Nazi spies.”

“But how?” I asked.

Bill didn't answer immediately. “I'm afraid that is something I'm not at liberty to discuss.”

“But if you didn't want us here, why did you get our mother a job at the camp?” Jack asked. I had to admit, that was a good question.

“That's the key,” Bill said. “We got your
mother
a job. You two are supposed to be playing baseball, or swimming at the lake, or getting to know kids in the neighbourhood. And if you did want a job, why couldn't it be delivering papers—you have experience, you know—or cutting your neighbours' lawns?”

“We didn't know we were doing anything wrong,” I said apologetically. “We're sorry, really sorry.”

Bill let out a big sigh. “I guess it's my own fault. I should never have approved any plan that put you two anywhere near another sensitive military site. Both of you are too brave to be smart.”

There was no way the brave part applied to me. Actually, the smart part didn't really fit either. I was just curious, and I let Jack lead me to places—and ideas—I knew were wrong.

“I guess another week or so won't matter much,” Bill said. “Summer will end and then you'll be back in school and—”

“We were going to keep delivering the mail,” I said.

“But you'll be in school.”

“We worked it out. If we leave as soon as the bell rings, go straight to the post office and bike straight over here, then we can do it,” I explained.

Bill shook his head slowly. He didn't look pleased. “A few weeks wouldn't have been good, but it would have been acceptable. Anything longer isn't. You boys will either have to quit or—”

“If we just quit, Mom will want to know why,” Jack said.

“Then I guess you'll have to make it somebody else's decision. You'll have to get fired.”

“Get fired!” I exclaimed.

“If you misbehave at school the teachers will give you detentions, and then you won't be able to pick up
the mail on time. Do that a few times and the colonel will have no choice but to find somebody else to do the job.”

“We can't do that!” I protested.

“Sure you can. Shoot some spitballs at somebody, dip little Suzie's pigtails into the inkwell, don't do your homework. It'll be easy—might even be a bit of fun.”

“You don't understand,” I said. “If we do that, our mother will kill us.”

“It sounds like you're more afraid of your mother than you are of Nazi agents.”

“You don't know our mother,” Jack said.

Bill burst into laughter, and the tension that had been building just dissolved.

“Couldn't you talk to Colonel Armstrong and explain it to him?” I suggested.

“No can do. He doesn't know about your involvement with Camp X and he's not going to find out.” Bill paused. “There is, however, one person I need to discuss this with.”