The Traitors of Camp 133

by Wayne Arthurson

  “If I had a mark for every time someone said that, I’d be a rich prisoner.”

  “The same for me. But the lack of bruising combined with the internal injuries, not to mention the cloth lodged in his throat … this situation is just too bizarre for suicide.”

  “Yes, it is clear that someone beat Captain Mueller. My guess is, beat him badly and then hanged him.”

  While Neumann was speaking, Dr. Kleinjeld rubbed his chin. “I don’t like the thought of that, Sergeant,” the doctor whispered after a moment. “It’s very disconcerting.”

  “There are many men in this camp who have killed before,” Neumann said with a shrug.

  “Yes, but killed the enemy. And in battle, during war. We don’t kill our own. We don’t kill fellow Germans.”

  Neumann chuckled. “Come on, Doctor. You and I both know that there are plenty of men in this camp who would have no compunction killing a fellow German if they thought they had justifiable reasons. Hell, a lot of my neighbours back home, good Germans who lived in my village for generations, are no longer there. They’ve simply disappeared. Along with a lot of other Germans who didn’t fit a certain mold.”

  Kleinjeld coughed with surprised. He turned red with embarrassment. “Yes, yes, that is neither here nor there” he said quickly, waving a hand. “But what justification would anyone have to kill Captain Mueller here?”

  “I’ve heard he was a Bolshevik. And plenty of German communists have been killed in the past decade or so.”

  “Mueller was no Bolshevik,” asserted Kleinjeld.

  “You and I know that, but there are others who would think him one,” said Neumann.

  “And would those people kill him? Now? In this camp?” The doctor shook his head in disbelief.

  Neumann shrugged. “I have no idea. And I’m not sure I want to find out either.”

  “So what should I do with Captain Mueller here?”

  “What do you do with any dead body you find?”

  “I note the time of death, find some way to take him back to the morgue, then notify camp command and the Canadians.”

  “The Canadians may already know about it. So I better go and leave you to deal with them when they arrive. Wouldn’t be good if someone like me was here for that.”

  Neumann turned and started to walk away. But the doctor cleared his throat to get Neumann’s attention. “But what should I tell the Canadians if they ask me how he died?” the doctor asked.

  Neumann turned. “They will ask you how he died. And so will everyone else.”

  “So what should I tell them?” the doctor asked.

  “Tell them what you told me: you found him hanging and determined he suffocated.”

  “What if they ask the same questions you did about someone killing him?”

  Neumann smiled. “None of the Canadians will ask you that. They’ll assume that Captain Mueller was depressed because of the invasion of the continent and killed himself. “

  “But what if a German asks me?”

  Neumann pointed at the doctor. “Best if you act dumb. Insist that Mueller committed suicide.”

  “I’m not the kind of person who acts dumb, Sergeant.”

  “Doctor, if someone asks you those questions, they could just be curious. Or they may also know who the killer is, or they are the killer themselves. And if they believe that Mueller was a traitor, or at least accuse him of being one, it’s not a big step for them to accuse you of the same thing, if you answer the wrong questions the wrong way.”

  Dr. Kleinjeld’s eyes went wide with fear. Then he noticed a movement behind Neumann and his eyes went even wider. “Who is that?” he whispered, pointing at the door.

  Neumann shrugged and slowly turned. “Probably Knaup…”

  Neumann stopped speaking when he saw that the person the doctor was pointing at was neither Knaup nor Aachen. Backing out of the doorway of the classroom opposite them was another German prisoner. He was an older soldier, at least a decade older than Aachen, lanky and unshaven. The prisoner froze, like he had been caught in a bright spotlight from one of the towers, but only for a second. He dashed down the hallway, heading towards the north entrance of the building.

  Neumann gestured to Aachen who dashed out the door in pursuit. Neumann quickly followed, clambering to get around desks and chairs. He knocked over a couple, tripped on one of the table legs, and then tumbled to the ground. He jumped up almost instantly, kicked some more chairs out of the way, and rushed out of the classroom.

  When he got to the hallway, Aachen had just reached the back door. Neumann raced down the hall after them.

  12.

  Once he stepped outside, Neumann saw the prisoner running away with Aachen right behind him. The prisoner moved from classroom to classroom, watching for any Canadian scouts who may be walking about, but also looking behind him to see where Aachen was.

  Neumann went after them.

  Even though the prisoner was faster than Aachen, he kept looking behind himself, and the corporal gained on him. Desperately, the prisoner entered a classroom building, opening the doors to the individual classes, interrupting the students as a distraction, and then dashing out the other side. But the corporal wasn’t fooled; he simply waited outside for the prisoner to rush away, heading towards the lanes between the barracks.

  Sergeant Neumann followed behind more slowly, leaving the pursuit up to Aachen.

  The camp was still crowded and the fleeing prisoner tried to lose himself by weaving in and out of groups of other prisoners and backtracking through lanes. He slowed to a walk to avoid attracting attention. Aachen did the same. He walked in and out of groups, greeting various prisoners, and doing his best to blend in while still keeping an eye on his quarry.

  Eventually, Aachen snuck into one of the barracks, and stood next to a window, keeping an eye on his prey. When the prisoner, still milling about with the others, his eyes darting side to side, seemed to relax, Aachen smiled. He waited for several seconds and when the prisoner took one last look about and started to move away, Aachen followed.

  He stayed out of sight as the prisoner confidently walked along the lanes. When he came to his barracks, the most southerly building in the second row, he looked about one final time. Aachen ducked behind a corner, standing next to a group of prisoners smoking and playing cards. A few members of the group gave the corporal questioning looks but when he waved them off, they continued their game.

  The prisoner entered and Aachen smiled again. He left the gamblers and walked towards the door. He grabbed the handle, but hesitated when he saw the insignia on the door.

  He stood there for about half a minute, waiting for the sergeant to catch up with him. Neumann finally appeared, breathing a bit heavily. He looked at the door and sighed.

  “He went in there?”

  Aachen nodded.

  “Damn. This only complicates things.”

  “I can go in after him, if you want,” Aachen offered.

  Neumann shook his head. “No. It’s better if I go in. I have a bit more standing in this camp than you.”

  “I’ll go with you, then.”

  “Thank you but no, Corporal. Best if I go in alone.”

  “I wouldn’t advise that. The legionnaires are quite strict about their segregation. They will not be pleased that you are in their hut.”

  “I’m not pleased about going into their hut, but if I want to know why that soldier was there, I have to go in.”

  “Please reconsider, Sergeant. Let me go in with you.”

  “It’s better if I go alone. Besides, if something happens and you get hurt, even slightly, you might have to forfeit your match.”

  “The match is of no real importance to me, Sergeant. I thought you knew that. I only do it because it keeps me fit and the men enjoy it, almost need it, especially since the war isn’t going s
o well.”

  “Then all the better that you don’t come in. The whole camp would be very disappointed not to see you take on Neuer. It’s the highlight of the month.”

  “But what if something happens to you while you’re in there?”

  Neumann scratched his head and smiled. “I think I can take care of myself.” He walked towards the door and grabbed the handle, but didn’t open it. He looked back at Aachen.

  “Don’t wait for me, Corporal Aachen. Head back to the classroom and help Doctor Kleinjeld. He’s going to need help to move the body.”

  “I’d rather stay here and wait for you, Sergeant.”

  “And I’d rather you go help the doctor … and that’s an order, Corporal, so get moving.”

  Aachen frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought the better of it. Reluctantly, he began to move away, facing backwards for several steps, keeping his eye on the sergeant, before turning and walking away from the hut.

  Neumann watched the corporal walk away, waiting until he turned the corner. After a second, he shook his head, opened the door, and stepped into the legionnaire hut.

  The musky smell of hundreds of men living in close proximity to each other hit him as soon as he entered the building. Because he had come from the bright sun to a more dimly lit interior, he stopped for a several seconds as his eyes adjusted. In those seconds, two large prisoners stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Like the fleeing prisoner, they were older, perhaps in their thirties. They said nothing, just stared down at him with menace, their arms crossed in front of their chests. Neumann tried to move past them, excusing himself, but the two stayed with him, blocking his path. He moved to push between them, but they firmly pushed him back.

  “Is there a problem, gentlemen? I would like to get through,” Neumann said.

  The two prisoners said nothing.

  “As the Head of Civil Security of this camp, I must ask you to step aside.”

  “We don’t accept your authority in this barracks,” a voice said in the distance. “So it would be in your best interest to leave.”

  Neumann leaned to the side and peered around the two large prisoners. In the shadows, a prisoner sat on the top berth of the closest bunk, his legs swinging below him. He was wearing the blue colours of the prisoner uniform, but it had been cut strangely, sewn into a robe like a Bedouin with a strip wrapped around his head like a keffiyeh. He also sported a full black beard and glasses and was knitting what looked to be a pair of socks.

  “I was following a prisoner into the barracks and would like to have a word with him,” Neumann said. “So it would be in your best interest to ask these fellows to let me pass.”

  “It would be in your best interest if you just turned around and left us alone,” said the robed prisoner.

  “You have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know me, but I do not know you.”

  The Bedouin sighed. He put his knitting down on his bunk and jumped to the floor. He adjusted his keffiyeh and walked over to tap one of the large prisoners on the shoulder. The giant moved aside, although he kept staring at Neumann.

  “My name is Colonel Ehrhoff.”

  The sergeant snapped to attention and saluted.

  “There is no need to salute me, Sergeant. Despite us both being Germans, you are Wehrmacht and I am Foreign Legion.”

  “Regardless, Colonel Ehrhoff, you are an officer and it’s my duty to salute an officer, even one serving a different…” Neumann paused, trying to find the correct word for what he was about to say.

  “The word you are looking for, Sergeant Neumann, is probably commander, although that would be incorrect, implying that we are in the same army, serving the same interests. We may not be enemies, but we are not on the same side.”

  “Still, you are an officer and since were not facing off in combat, I salute you the same way I would salute a German, a Canadian, even an American.”

  “Well, you have honour, I’ll give you that. Which is one reason you haven’t been tossed out of this hut the instant you walked in,” said Ehrhoff. “I don’t wish to see you come to harm. But if you insist on being persistent about your pursuit of our comrade, I will have no choice but to ask these fine gentlemen to remove you. And despite your size and probable strength, they will cause you harm.”

  “So you admit the man I was pursuing is a legionnaire.”

  “I admit nothing except that if you don’t leave in the next several seconds, you will suffer many injuries.”

  Neumann looked at the two men, sizing them up. “Your men will suffer their own injuries if they choose to attack me, you can be sure of that.”

  “But your injuries will be worse.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Colonel Ehrhoff smiled without showing his teeth. “Hans, Philip, throw him out,” he told the two men. The two legionnaires nodded as the colonel turned and walked back to his bunk.

  The man on Neumann’s left, the larger of the two called Hans, reached out to grab the sergeant’s forearm, like a bouncer getting set to remove an unruly patron. Neumann batted the hand away and then slapped his palms against the man’s chest, shoving him back the way one would push a barrel onto a cart. Surprised by Neumann’s forceful attack, Hans stumbled backward several steps, losing his footing and falling against the edge of a bunk.

  The other legionnaire, Philip, threw a right hook at Neumann’s head. The sergeant leaned away, managing to dodge the bulk of the blow, but Philip’s fist still glanced off his head just behind the ear, snapping his head to the side and causing his torso to twist away. Neumann kept his feet planted on the floor and like a sling-shot snapped back, torqueing his body quickly to deliver a powerful open-handed blow to Philip’s solar plexus.

  A rush of air blew out of Philip’s mouth as the wind was knocked out of him. He fell against the wall and bounced forward. Neumann then delivered a hard slap to Philip’s face, knocking him down to one knee. Philip gasped, trying to get his breath back.

  By this time, Hans had scrambled to his feet and rushed towards Neumann, roaring like an animal. The sergeant had no time to move out of the way of this rushing train so he let his body go loose as Hans drove his shoulder and head into his stomach. As he flew backwards with the large legionnaire jammed into his torso, Neumann wrapped his left arm around Hans’s head and jerked it over so it was nestled near his ribs. And when Neumann’s back slammed against the wall, the sheets of clapboard cracking, so did the top of Hans’s head.

  The legionnaire went limp as they fell away from the wall. Neumann landed on the balls of his feet, still gripping Hans’s head. With his right hand, he threw two uppercuts into the legionnaire’s side.

  Philip had regained his breath and jumped up, throwing a wild punch at Neumann and catching him on his left cheek. Blood sprayed from his mouth, splattering his face and Philip’s hand. Neumann shook off the hit, released Hans from the headlock, and pushed him aside with a quick jerk of his knee. Hans fell to the floor in a slump, spitting blood from his mouth and the top of his head bleeding from a large gash.

  The sergeant brought his left arm up just in time to block Philip’s follow-up right hook. He then grabbed Philip’s shoulder and twisted, entangling the legionnaire’s arm with his own. With his free right hand, he delivered two fast and hard punches to Philip’s rib, the second one creating a cracking noise.

  Philip screamed in pain, but still managed another attempt to throw a jab with his left hand. Neumann easily batted it away, slapping him across the face. Philip tried to raise his arm another time and again Neumann batted it away.

  He pulled back his fist and made ready to punch the legionnaire in the face.

  “Stop! Enough!” Colonel Ehrhoff shouted.

  Neumann dropped his fist and then released Philip’s arm. He pushed the legionnaire with the flat of his palm and Philip staggered back a step or two, hit the wall of t
he barracks, and then slid down to the floor in a seated position.

  Neumann snapped to attention, his lip still trailing fresh blood, as Colonel Ehrhoff walked towards him. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, Sergeant Neumann.”

  “Colonel Ehrhoff, I did not come here to get into a fight with you and your men,” he said, holding his position and not making eye contact with the colonel. “I just wanted to talk with the man who recently walked in here. It’s very important that I do so.”

  Ehrhoff sighed deeply. He looked at his two guards as they slowly struggled to their feet. “And the purpose of this conversation?” Ehrhoff asked.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Sergeant, we are at an impasse and I am willing to be flexible. But only to a point.”

  Neumann looked at the two guards, then at the colonel. “If you wish, Colonel Ehrhoff, you could send another couple of your legionnaires to throw me out. And then we would be back in this position again. However, I would prefer if I could discuss this without any witnesses. Or more violence.”

  The colonel looked at the guards. The two battered men looked at Ehrhoff, but they seemed to be having trouble focusing. They attempted to stand at attention, but didn’t have the coordination, leaning on each other like drunks after closing time. “Go get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Philip helped his partner Hans and turned around. They staggered away.

  “Okay, Neumann,” Ehrhoff said once the injured guards had moved out of earshot. His arms crossed in front of him. “You have the floor.”

  “This morning, Corporal Aachen and I discovered the body of a Wehrmacht soldier.”

  “Whose body?” asked Ehrhoff, raising his eyebrows.

  “A tank commander named Mueller. Captain Mueller.”

  Ehrhoff’s eyes widened for a second. Then he blinked several times. “The teacher?” he said from behind his hand.

  Neumann nodded.

  “He was a good man,” Ehrhoff said with a shake of his head. “How did he die?”

  Neumann wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. But he said nothing.