The Traitors of Camp 133

by Wayne Arthurson

  He also completed half a round of his regular isometric exercises: a series of squats, dead leg lifts, and chin ups. Then he ran two laps along the perimeter path, which was approximately six kilometres. The path, as well worn as a Roman road, ran alongside the inner perimeter fence.

  For the most part, the prisoners walked along the path in a counter-clockwise direction. Aachen ran in the opposite direction so they could see him coming and not be surprised if he ran up behind them. Even months from battle, several prisoners were jittery about sudden noises and movement. Everyone was used to him running around the camp on a regular basis, though, and for the most part, unless they didn’t see him, they stepped out of the way to let him pass. Sometimes they would shout out to him, cheers or jeers depending on what company or service they were in, but this time, no one said a thing. They stepped out of his way, but did not meet his eye. It was as if he did not exist, like an old Jew in the street that no one had the heart or inclination to beat. Better to just ignore him until the SS took him away or he died.

  So Aachen ran in peace, comfortable with the silence, doing his best to ignore the wind. He had completed two-thirds of his second lap when a football bounced in front of him. He stopped quickly and allowed the ball to go by. It hit one of the fence posts and bounced back, stopping in front of him.

  “Can you kick that back?” a voice shouted out to him. Aachen looked over and walking towards him was Staff Sergeant Nico Heidfield, former leader of Hut 14.

  Heidfield wore a pair of pilot sunglasses, making him look even more like a movie star. “Please, Corporal Aachen,” he said with a smile. “The ball.”

  Aachen kicked the ball hard towards the staff sergeant. Heidfield caught it expertly, but instead of going back to his game, he continued towards Aachen. As he did, he tucked the ball under one arm, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket with the other. By the time he reached Aachen, the cigarette was lit.

  He held it out to Aachen, but the corporal shook his head. Heidfield shrugged, put the cigarette in his mouth, and took a drag.

  “Hell of a day, isn’t it, Aachen?” Heidfield said nonchalantly. “Shame about what happened to Neumann. Even more of a shame about what happened to Mueller. I liked him; he was a good man. A bit stodgy at times, but he knew his stuff and liked to help the boys out, which in my book is a good thing, don’t you think?”

  Aachen nodded and then pointed at the ball. “I think your teammates are looking for something.” He gestured with his head at a group of prisoners who were standing in the middle of the field, waiting in clusters of four and five.

  Heidfield looked at the ball as if he had forgotten it existed. “Right. Hold on.” He turned and smoothly dropped-kicked the ball. It flew in a perfect high arc, bouncing once and then landing right next to a group of players. One of them stepped forward and stopped the ball with his chest, kicking it over to his teammate. The game continued on.

  Heidfield watched for a second and then turned back to Aachen.

  “Are you okay, Corporal? All this business with Neumann and Mueller not getting you down? Not going to be a problem with your match, is it?”

  Aachen waved his hand. “I’m glad my well-being is at the front and centre of your concern, Sergeant. I appreciate that.”

  “Well, you have been successful on the mat. I would hate to have something ruin any chance for future success.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment although I’m guessing it’s not just my success you are anxious about.”

  “Your success is good for my success—it’s a connection we both have.”

  Aachen nodded. “Thank you for your concern, Sergeant, but if you don’t mind, I have a run to finish. And I’d like to get it done before my mess shift starts.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Aachen turned to walk away but Heidfield called out to him.

  “But one more thing, if you don’t mind, Corporal? What did really happen to Captain Mueller? I’ve heard some conflicting reports so I was hoping you could set me straight.”

  “Captain Mueller is dead. Is that straight enough?”

  “But how? Did he kill himself or was he murdered? Who found the body in the first place?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t provide you with any information about the investigation except to say Captain Mueller is dead.”

  “So there is an investigation. That tells me you think he was murdered.”

  “I don’t think about anything, Sergeant Heidfield. I’m only a corporal and I only follow orders.”

  “But you must know something. Surely something must have come up since the Canadians took your sergeant away from you and locked him up. And since he is gone, you must be continuing the investigation in his place.”

  “Like I said, Sergeant, I’m only a corporal. I make no decisions except for when it’s time for me to train and run. Which I would like to return to before my mess starts.”

  “Come on, Aachen. Why can’t you tell me something? People are asking and I’m wondering if there is any way I can profit from this information. It won’t do any harm to tell me something, especially if I can share whatever I get with you.” Heidfield smiled behind his sunglasses. “If you want, I can order you to tell me to make you feel better.”

  “Ahh, now I understand. You wish to make money from the good captain’s death.”

  Heidfield shrugged. “Many people have profited from many deaths these past few years, so why shouldn’t I have a tiny piece of that pie. And I could use someone like you once the war is over. Not just someone strong but someone smart. My places of business after the war are going to need some security.”

  “Your places of business? How can you have places of business when you’re stuck in a prisoner-of-war camp.”

  “I have my ways. But listen, Corporal Aachen, I’ll take care of the business and financial side of things. I learned it at the feet of my father and he always told me to look to the future, to see where things are going when others don’t. He saw the rise of the Führer and invested wisely. He also told me to stay away from the fighting, to attach myself to some administrative position. But I was young. I wanted to fight like my friends for the Fatherland. Although I was smart enough to join the Afrika Corps instead of go to Russia. Even a boy like me knew to stay out of that insanity. Only stupid soldiers and criminals ended up there.”

  “So I’m either stupid or a criminal.”

  “We’re all stupid when we’re young. Thinking in the now, not looking to the future.”

  “In my future I would finish my training for my match and have a shower. Maybe have something to eat.”

  “See? Only looking at the short term. Your match, your shower, food for the night. You’re a smart man, Corporal Aachen, and I know you can do better.”

  “Thank you for your compliment, but please, I must go back.”

  Heidfield put his arm around Aachen like an old friend. “Bear with me for another moment, Corporal. The time you lose here could pay off in the end.” He gently steered Aachen around and started them walking slowly around the path. “Look at these men, Aachen. For the most part they are all good Germans—some smart, some not, some strong, some not. But most of them fought well for the Fatherland. They had their reasons, like you and me, and they did their best in difficult situations. But in the end they got captured and sent here: a great place with good food and plenty of classes to take and games to play to pass the time. And sure, it can be boring but no one is trying to kill us, which is very good in my mind. Unfortunately, for the most part, most of the men here are wasting their time. They are missing a fantastic opportunity this camp can offer.”

  “Men like me, I assume?”

  “No, no. Of course not, Aachen. Look at you and look at these men. Most of them are content to walk in circles, in the same direction, day in, day o
ut. Some of them have been doing this every day for months, for years. They do nothing else except sleep, eat, and walk. You, at the very least, go the other way. And you run. That alone makes you a different sort.”

  “I only do that so I don’t surprise these others with my running. It’s nothing special.”

  “It shows how smart you are. You’ve looked at the situation from many angles and picked one that not only works for you, but also works for your fellow comrades. It’s the same strategy you’ve used with Sergeant Neumann—attaching yourself to him. That was brilliant thinking.”

  “I did not attach myself to Sergeant Neumann,” Aachen said with irritation. “He was my squad commander and I just decided to continue in that capacity here.”

  “Again, that shows how smart you are. Most men have forgotten what squad they fought with and let themselves settle into the boring life of the camp because it was the easy thing to do. And not only are you Neumann’s adjutant, you’ve taken courses in order to pass your Abitur, which you did, I hear. This shows that you are looking to the future.”

  “You are assuming that I have put much thought into these things,” Aachen said. “That every action I have undertaken is some conspiratorial attempt to improve my life. The reality is I’ve just done these things because they felt like the correct things to do.”

  “And that shows you have an instinctive desire to do things which are good for you. As I said, you see many angles before you act, and my goal here is to show you that there are many other angles out there that you haven’t seen and to help you look for them.”

  “Could your discussion on angles wait until I finish my training? Geometry always made me sleepy.”

  Heidfield ignored him. “Well your training is part of one of the angles I wish to talk about.” Heidfield stopped and removed his arm from Aachen’s shoulders. He stepped in front of the corporal, standing only a metre away from him. “Please tell me Corporal Aachen, why do you train? Why do you put yourself through this difficult and time-consuming regime?”

  “First, it makes me feel better. But second, if I wish to defeat my opponent in the match, then I must train hard. Lieutenant Neuer is a difficult opponent and no doubt he is training as well.”

  “But why do you need to defeat him?”

  “I guess I don’t need to defeat him. I would just like to.”

  “Why? Is there a trophy? Will you get a medal from the Führer? Is there prize money involved?”

  “Of course not,” Aachen said, now fully annoyed. “I don’t wrestle for those things. I wrestle for the competition. For the honour of winning, I suppose.”

  “Honour is overrated. You know that. We were both in North Africa. You were in Stalingrad for God’s sake. I bet you didn’t see much honour on that battlefield.”

  Aachen took a step back from Staff Sergeant Heidfield. “I’m sorry, but is there a point to this discussion?”

  “Of course, there is always a point in my conversations.” He reached out and gently tapped Aachen on the chest with his finger. “What will happen if you lose the match against Neuer?”

  “If I lose,” Aachen said, blinking several times, “I guess I’ll feel disappointed. But it’s only a match—the disappointment wouldn’t last.”

  “Ah, the disappointment wouldn’t last,” Heidfield said, raising his finger into the air. “And would your fellow soldiers be angry at you if you lost? Would they disrespect you?”

  “A few, might,” he said with a shrug. “But I believe most would understand as long as I put up a good fight.”

  “As long as you put up a good fight. Very good, Corporal Aachen.” He tapped him again on the chest. “And what if I told you that there would be more potential for your future if you lost?”

  Aachen straightened, a look of repulsion coming over his face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, don’t be surprised, Corporal Aachen. You know a large number of the men in this camp bet on these matches. They bet on everything in this camp. How long the count will take, how did Mueller die, there’s even a poll on for when an escape will occur. It helps pass the time. And of course someone has to organize these things.”

  “As well as take a percentage.”

  “It takes a lot of work to deal with these things so those who do should be compensated. This happens with all gambling. Even the splendid casino in Monte Carlo operates in this way.”

  “So you are asking me to lose the match against Neuer. On purpose.”

  “I’m asking you to think more about your future, Corporal Aachen. You’ve done reasonably well working with Sergeant Neumann, passing your Abitur, but once the war is over, what will that give you? Neumann will go home and become the local copper in his village again. You can’t go with him. As for university, most places of learning have been turned into rubble. No one will be getting an advanced education in Germany for a long time, I can promise you that. And young strong men like you will probably be conscripted into moving rubble or rebuilding things. So despite your efforts here, you’ll just be another grunt moving rocks. But unlike you, I have made plans to ensure that doesn’t happen to me. I—”

  “—Yes, your nightclub, you have talked about it.”

  “The nightclub is only a minor part. Through this camp, I have made connections that I never would have made in Germany. I’ve connected with people who have other and even better connections than I do. My plans are much bigger than a simple nightclub. And I’m inviting you to be part of those plans. I need someone like you after the war—a good security man who is not only strong, but smart. That’s a rare combination, you know.”

  “And all I have to do is lose my match against Neuer? That’s it?”

  “That’s the first step in showing your commitment to my plans. I would also ask you to pass on any information that could be useful to me. So I can adjust my planning.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, this morning you and Sergeant Neumann paid a visit to Chef Splichal about the pilfering of supplies in his mess.”

  “You wish for me to inform you when we are going to deal with people like Splichal?”

  “No. Nothing of the sort. Splichal got out of hand and deserves what he gets. But if someone had known that Splichal was stealing so much, someone would have clamped down on it earlier so as not to attract attention.”

  “Ah, I see what you are getting at. It makes a lot of sense.”

  “It does, doesn’t it,” Heidfield said with a smile. “It’s all about thinking and anticipating the future and adjusting to it so you can succeed.”

  Aachen paused and returned the smile. “Okay, Sergeant Heidfield. I understand and thank you for thinking of me. So let me start by telling you one thing and you can do with it what you want. At the same time, it will give you your answer to the request for me to lose my match against Neuer.”

  “Excellent, Corporal Aachen. I knew you were smart.” Heidfield leaned in close after Aachen bade him to do so.

  “Okay, Sergeant. You first asked me about Captain Mueller. So let me start there. I did file a report about the situation today, with everything that happened with Captain Mueller and Sergeant Neumann. Not much of a report, just a simple verbal description of what happened. All of which you probably know, given your sources.”

  Aachen tapped the sergeant gently on the chest, the same way Heidfield had tapped him earlier. “I gave that report to a lieutenant in the administration,” he said, continuing to smile. “Although I’m not sure if you’ve met him. He’s a quiet sort of fellow for a Waffen SS and he is very good at his job.”

  At the mention of this, Heidfield’s smile vanished and he stepped back.

  “I’ll bet if you go and ask him,” Aachen added, “he’d be keen on talking to you.”

  “That’s not funny, Aachen. Not funny at all. I’m only trying—”

  “—in fact, I’ll
do you one better since you’re so inquisitive and so interested in my well-being and future. Next time I see this lieutenant, I’ll mention your name and I’m one hundred percent certain he’ll be keen on talking to you. Probably for a very long time.”

  Heidfield backed up quickly, hands in front of him. “Okay, okay, Aachen. I get your point. You don’t have to be so malicious about it. I was just hoping to invite you into our plans.”

  “And I’ll be sure to tell him that as well. No doubt he’d be very interested in your operation, so to speak.”

  Heidfield’s face went white. He backed away farther. “No, no, no. That’s not necessary. I mean, just forget I brought it up, there’s no need to say anything. Just forget we even had this talk, okay, Aachen? There’s no need to bring the blackshirts into this, okay?”

  Aachen turned and started to walk away. In a few steps, his walk turned into a run. He ignored the shouts from Heidfield, picked up speed, and didn’t even notice the wind. He also didn’t notice that by the time he felt like stopping his run, he had done an extra lap of the camp.

  For the rest of the night, he was left alone again. Even during supper in the crowded mess, he was on his own—a single prisoner at a table designed for six men, with his own bowl of food, the same stew that he had cut potatoes for, his own loaf of freshly baked bread, his own bowl of strawberries—enough food for six men. There was even one pint of beer for each prisoner, although Aachen was only given one, instead of six for his table.

  He ate one quarter of the stew and bread, silently passing the rest on to a table of grateful prisoners, a number of whom had served in the same company in North Africa. Still, they only acknowledged their thanks with short, quick nods that were designed to be seen only by those close by.