The idea for this piece has been simmering inside of me since I read "The Book Thief" a few years ago. This result comes from that experience and my goal to finally feature Newkirk in a longer story. I have discussed this with quite a few people, and I thank all of you for your feedback and advice. And regarding Newkirk's accent... I've decided not to adjust his dialogue. You can all hear him in your head!
Hopes and Dreams
Chapter One
"The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame."
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
It was supposed to be an easy mission. In fact, Newkirk hadn't even balked when he was "volunteered" to go out that night. His job was to meet their contact, exchange the information, and come straight back to camp. Newkirk and the Underground agent were wrapping up, when both men froze, their senses alerting them to trouble.
They both were skilled enough that, like an animal, they could tell what was coming minutes before the rumble in the ground alerted someone with less experience.
"Trouble," the German stated. He sounded calm, but his body tensed. "Feels like a convoy."
"Bloody hell." Newkirk dropped to the ground. "Probably tanks as well as lorries."
The two headed for the brush at the side of the road. To their dismay, a convoy was heading their way, and to make matters worse, men on foot were walking alongside the vehicles. Some detoured onto the side of the road, shining lights into the wooded areas.
"They must be looking for saboteurs." Newkirk glanced back at the woods. "We should separate," he said to the older man. "No sense both of us getting caught." The Londoner began to run scenarios through his head. He was younger, in better shape, and while in civilian clothes, possibly able to convince someone that he was, indeed, an escaped prisoner. The man he knew only as Jack Sprat was in his 50's, and out past curfew. Newkirk made an executive decision. "You head back that way," he pointed. "Take the shortcut back to town. I'll make a run for it."
"You can't go back to camp the way you came," the civilian argued. "You'll most likely be seen."
"I have a place to hide." Newkirk patted the man's arm. "Go."
Jack nodded and took off.
Newkirk quickly turned and headed in the opposite direction. He kept as low as possible while keeping up a steady pace. The sounds of the vehicles probably drowned out the noise of the leaves and twigs, but any crunch or snap sent his heart racing. He knew where to go. Just a week ago, he and Olsen were out this way scouting for suitable hiding places for men and materials, when they came across a small cave. A deer spooked Newkirk-after all, he was a city boy-and while floundering, he fell into a large thicket of brambles. Once Olsen stopped laughing, he helped Newkirk up and then cleared away a bit of the brush, realizing as he did so, that the foliage did not seem natural. The two investigated further and discovered a hidden entrance to a cave. They decided to check it out, but when the skies unexpectedly darkened, they quickly headed back to camp rather than get soaked. No one since had the time to check out the spot. Well, Newkirk thought. This is as good a time as any.
Newkirk was a good tracker and had a great sense of direction. Running through the streets of London in his youth served him well. To his relief, he arrived safely at the spot. Once the convoy and troops passed, he would return to camp by morning roll call. Within a minute, he had the foliage cleared, and he was able to slip into the cave. Although it was pitch black, he managed to cover up the entrance from the inside. "Good as new," he murmured. Fortunately, he was not afraid of the dark, nor was he claustrophobic. He could not hear any signs of the foot soldiers heading his way, but, to be safe, he decided to step a bit further back. He placed his hands alongside one of the cold, clammy walls and slowly felt his way back several yards. Now he felt comfortable enough to turn on his torch.
"Let's have a look at what we've got." He ran the torch along the floor, then up to the ceiling, and then along the walls. The cave was like the others that dotted the area around Hammelburg. They were normally small and did not go back too far. This one appeared to be a bit larger, which was good. Doesn't look like anyone's been in here recently. Newkirk knelt down and checked the floor. The dirt was soft and wet, but he saw no signs of footprints. But why hide the entrance? And for how long? There was a small curve in the walls several yards ahead, and he could not see behind it. Newkirk hugged the wall. It always paid to be safe. The end of the cave was in sight, and thankfully, no one-not even an animal larger than a mouse-was there. His torch lit up the back wall. He then lowered it, and was startled by what he saw.
Newkirk instinctively stepped back. People had been in the cave. A set of crates, two to be exact, were on the floor by the back wall. "Blimey." Now over his shock, Newkirk's curiosity got the best of him, and he walked forward. He now saw the crates were on two pallets, raised up, he assumed, to keep any water from seeping in. Someone had taken great care when loading. In addition to the pallets, a waterproof tarp sat underneath the crates, which he guessed measured about three feet by four.
There were no markings on the outside, nothing to determine who owned them, who placed them here, or how long they had been in the cave. Newkirk walked around the three sides. We need to know what's in these. He was definitely sure Colonel Hogan would be interested. Explosives? Perhaps meant for another Underground unit? Was it a trap? Something the Nazis didn't want anyone to see? No, that didn't make sense. It was sheer luck that he and Olsen found the site. He knelt down a bit and then attempted to move one of them. It didn't budge. Heavy, definitely heavy.
Newkirk stood up. The appropriate and wise thing to do would be to report what he had discovered to Colonel Hogan. The colonel would then send out a team to look at the find; heck, he'll probably come out here himself. Newkirk decided to save his battery, and he turned off the torch. Using the wall as a guide, he slowly maneuvered his way to the front of the cave, and listened for the sound of the convoy. If it wasn't too long, it was probably gone and he could leave. He poked his ear out of a small break in the camouflage. It was clear. Newkirk crawled through the brush, turned and covered up the gaps. Now safe, he headed back to the Stalag.
A relieved Kinch greeted Newkirk as the corporal stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder that led up to the tree stump. "You're late." Kinch said. "Everyone is still up." He stole a quick look at Newkirk. Satisfied that the corporal was uninjured, he stepped back.
"No need to wait up, mate." Newkirk said, although it was pointless. The sergeant normally waited down below at night when operatives were outside the wire. Newkirk paused to brush off more of the brambles clinging to his civilian clothes. "Before I change, best go show them I'm in one piece."
"Second that." Kinch followed Newkirk up into the barracks. Most of the men were on their bunks, while several waited around the table. Hogan immediately put down the cup of coffee he was nursing and sauntered over to the bunk. He waited until both men climbed over the wood, and then he pressed the mechanism closing the entrance.
"Had to take a bit of a detour, Guv'nor." Newkirk removed his cap and fingered it.
"What happened?" Hogan asked. "Sit down. You all right?"
"Want some coffee?" LeBeau asked. "You look cold. Or I could make some tea."
Newkirk nodded. "Coffee is fine, if it's ready. And I'm right as rain." Newkirk grabbed a chair. "We almost ran into an unscheduled convoy, complete with tanks and Krauts walking alongside. The nerve of them. They were heading into the brush alongside of the road. We thought they were looking for something or someone."
LeBeau placed a mug on the table. "Ta." Newkirk placed his hands around the mug, warming them for a moment before he took a sip.
"I asked them to send us the schedules," Hogan joked. "So you both took off?"
"We separated."
Hogan rubbed his chin. "We need to make sure Jack made it back all right."
"Where'd you hide?" Carter asked.
"In the cave Olsen and I discovered last week." Newkirk took a sip of the coffee and made the usual face; the kind he made when his mum made him take foul-tasting medicine. He caught Hogan's look. "I know the cave wasn't cleared by a team, sir. But, it was in the right place at the right time."
"Well, you obviously didn't get discovered," Hogan answered.
"Hey, good thinking, buddy." Olsen hopped down off his bunk and shivered. He was in his bedclothes, and realizing his mistake, he grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself. "So, how was it?"
"Dark and damp." Newkirk grinned. "Not too deep, but deep enough…" He stopped for a moment and took another drink of the hot liquid, which now that he was warming up, didn't taste as bad. "But, I do have something to report."
After explaining his find, Newkirk went below, changed and returned to the hut. Meanwhile, Hogan decided to table the discussion until morning, and the rest of the men returned to their bunks. The crates weren't going anywhere, he said, and roll call was in four hours.
Thankfully, the morning count was over quickly and the prisoners scattered and went about their business. After a quick breakfast in the mess hall, Hogan and his core team gathered in his office to discuss what Newkirk found in the cave.
"I think we should open them, sir. There could be explosives, weapons, chemicals. Who knows?" Carter's enthusiasm was infectious and there were murmurs of agreement from the other men. "Maybe some resistance fighters we don't know of yet stored the crates there."
"Someone could be coming back for them, and it could be a trap set to capture resistance fighters." Hogan's common sense put a damper on the conversation. "Although, it's definitely not the best place to set a trap. Chances are no one would take the bait."
Newkirk frowned, as he was now having second thoughts. "You could be right. What if they're booby-trapped? Maybe by the resistance. Or something we do can set them off? We open them, and boom!"
"Oh, that's easy to find out, Newkirk," Carter said. "Did they say danger, explosives?"
Newkirk rolled his eyes. "If they said that, they wouldn't be booby-trapped then, would they?"
Hogan walked back and forth for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. "Carter, there is a way we can find out if there are any explosives in there, isn't there?"
"Oh, sure, Colonel. First of all, I doubt there is a timer already going off. They would have to know that someone would be in there. So listening with a stethoscope isn't gonna help. We need Blümchen. She's got the nose for explosives." The smaller, friendly shepherd boasted many useful skills, and detecting volatile substances was a new addition to her repertoire.
Hogan nodded. "We need to find out what's in those crates before a civilian gets hurt. LeBeau, can you get Blümchen into the tunnels tonight?"
"Of course, Colonel. She's not on night duty this week."
"Good," Hogan stated. "You, Carter and Newkirk are with me. Tonight, we'll head back to the cave and see what is in those crates."
Just past midnight, the four men, dressed in their black camouflage outfits, struggled to get Blümchen up the ladder and out the emergency tree stump entrance. The dog balked.
"Mon Dieu." LeBeau wiped his brow. "She's usually not afraid."
"It's a new environment. I don't think she's ever gone out this way." Hogan reached down, scratched the dog's head, and was rewarded with a tail wag. "The rungs are steeper. They're straight up."
This was true. The rungs that lead from the doghouse entrance to the tunnel system were staggered.
"All right ma petite fleur." LeBeau reached down and scooped the dog up in his arms. "I'll hand her up. No wait. I can't reach." He handed the dog to Hogan.
"Carter, you go up first. I'll hand her to you."
"Right, Colonel." Carter scrambled up the ladder and opened the lid of the trunk. He held his hand out as a warning that the searchlight was passing. Once it was clear, he reached down and grabbed the dog. "Good girl. Down." Blümchen flopped on the grass. He rubbed the dog's back. "Okay. It's clear for one more," he yelled.
The four men and the dog headed into the woods and took the quickest path to the cave. Within a half-hour, they reached the area, and Newkirk led them to the hidden entrance. It was untouched since he left the previous evening. "Watch the brambles," he warned. "Nasty. They'll poke right through your clothes if you're not careful."
He and Carter carefully removed the obstacles and made an entrance wide enough for the dog to pass through unscathed. After the group walked through, they replaced the foliage from the inside.
"This way." Newkirk took the point.
All four torches were on as they walked down to the far end. They gazed at the crates. Hogan then did the same as Newkirk the evening before. The colonel walked around them several times, touching the top, pausing and then stepping back. "What do you think, Carter?" he asked his munitions expert.
"They seem to have taken a lot of care to keep them dry." He knelt down and took a better look. "Anything could be in here."
"All right. Let's get the expert on it," Hogan ordered. "LeBeau. You're up."
"Come on, my little flower." He reached into his pocket and gave Blümchen a treat. "Let's see if you smell anything bad in there. Or good, perhaps." Schnitzer trained the shepherd to sit and paw the ground if she detected anything with explosives residue. LeBeau led the dog to the crates and took her off the leash. "Search," he stated.
The dog, tail wagging, began her task. She sniffed all around the crates, and was able to crawl in between the crates and the wall as well. After about ten minutes of sniffing, she walked back over to LeBeau and barked.
"Nothing," LeBeau said. "Good girl." He patted her on the head and gave her a few more treats.
"Good." Hogan stepped over to the crates. "I guess it's safe to open these up. Newkirk. You found them. Want to do the honors?"
Newkirk picked up the crowbar and pried open the lid on the crate nearest to him. Once it was loose, he and Carter gingerly slid it off and placed it on the floor next to the pallet. The men took their lights and shined them inside. An oilcloth covered the contents.
"Let's get that oilcloth out of here," Hogan said as he reached in and picked it up. He folded it and put it down next to the lid. "Okay. What is hiding in there?"
"Oh, my." Newkirk was the first to get a look inside the crate. He looked up at the three men. "I don't think these belong to the Nazis or the Underground, sir. Looks like books." The books were packed in layers, each layer covered with another piece of oilcloth. He reached in and came up with a handful.
"The people that put them there took a lot of care to make sure the books were safe from the elements." Hogan reached in and picked up another handful.
"What kind of books, Colonel?" Carter peeked into the crate and looked up. Meanwhile, LeBeau, who had perched himself on the end of one of the pallets, rose up and headed over to the others.
Hogan and Newkirk piled the books on top of one of the closed crates and began going through the collection.
"Literature not on the Nazi's approved reading list, that's for sure," Hogan murmured. "A mix of German and other languages. Einstein, Hemingway. Proust."
"I've got Jack London. Mark Twain. Both translated into German," Newkirk said. "Some of these other authors…I don't recognize them. Wolf, Steiner."
"Wolf is Jewish, and I think Steiner was Austrian," Hogan replied.
LeBeau and Carter were now examining the next layer. "Several volumes of Verne." LeBeau handed them to Carter who placed them next to Hogan and Newkirk's finds. "H.G. Wells. Helen Keller, and these look like children's books."
Newkirk looked up at Hogan. The light of the lantern just outlined the Cockney's face. The corporal wiped tears out of his eyes.
"You all right, Newkirk?" asked the colonel.
"They were trying to save their personal library. It's criminal." Newkirk began placing the books gently back into the crate. "I feel like we're trespassing."
The three other men looked at one another in surprise. That was the last thing they expected Newkirk to say.
"Are we going to open the other crate, sir?" LeBeau asked.
Hogan took a deep breath. He looked at Newkirk for a moment and then nodded. "Yes."
Newkirk did not protest, but he stood aside and watched as Carter removed the lid of the second crate. Like the first, the contents of the crate were carefully and lovingly packed. The corporal sighed and headed over. "Just as I suspected." He reached in and brought out another book. "Hebrew." He handed a prayer book over to Hogan.
"What else is in there?" the colonel asked. "Looks like more than just books."
This time, a now curious Newkirk and an equally curious LeBeau, carefully emptied the entire contents. After they were done, the group examined their find.
"Not what I would expect." Carter looked but did not touch anything. "Doesn't seem to be valuable."
"It's valuable to the owners, it is." Newkirk pointed to what appeared to be a scarf. He put on a pair of gloves and carefully removed the material. Unfolded, it measured about 6 feet long and 4 feet wide. The material was silky, with a simple pattern of blue and white lines on the end, and knotted fringes attached to its four corners "Look at this. It's a prayer shawl."
Hogan pointed to a small piece of material. "A yarmulke."
"What are these books?" Carter asked Newkirk. He was pointing to a set of small books with colorful illustrations on the covers.
Newkirk held his torch close to the cover. "Passover books. Haggadahs. For their Seders."
"They're beautiful," LeBeau whispered. "You said you've been to a Seder."
"Friends of ours in the East End." Newkirk gently picked up a wine glass. He checked it over carefully. "Not worth much. But old." He placed it down. There were other items, none worth a lot of money; but they were of obvious sentimental value. He picked up a tiny, but pretty, rectangular box. He wasn't sure of its meaning, but he recalled seeing similar items on many doorjambs in the neighborhood. He placed it down, and then unrolled a scroll in Hebrew. "Not sure what this is," he mentioned to the others.
"No photographs?" Hogan asked.
"No, sir. That's it. Just the books and the religious heirlooms." Newkirk sighed, wondering whom the items belonged to and what happened to the owners.
"Let's pack everything up the way we found it, and seal up the crates." Hogan stepped back and took a short stroll. After a few moments, he returned.
"I think we should try and find the owners." Newkirk looked up at Hogan.
"Absolutely not. We can't let anyone know. Asking questions and spreading this around would garner too much interest from the wrong people." Hogan's voice was firm. "And this cave is off-limits to us. Shame, it's a decent hiding place. If we do ever come back, I'll want to know if someone has been here. We'll need to set a trap."
Hogan and his operatives were experts when it came to returning items so no one could tell they were touched. He helped his men by covering up some of the wine glasses, and a large menorah. Once the men replaced the lids and nailed them back down, the men set a trap only they could see, rearranged the brambles and other camouflage at the entrance, left the cave and headed back to the Stalag.
Yes, this is a story with a Holocaust connection, but it is not graphic in any way. I chose not to make LeBeau Jewish in this story.