Chapter 4
September 29th, 1942
Stalag 384
The Dispatch arrived by special courier in the late afternoon. The man was exhausted, but he could sleep here, for this was his last stop. He had been on the road since shortly after midnight, he and his fellows, and he was eaten up with curiosity. Something big was up, he knew, to need all these dispatches sent out so urgently by hand. But he got the Kommandant's signature as required, and called back to Headquarters in Berlin, confirming that he'd made all his deliveries. Now he could spend the next two days where he was, resting up from his frantic trip.
Dekker sat in his office in shock, reading over the dispatch. It had been close; he knew that. Still, it came as a shock…
«Kimmich! My Office!» he yelled against all proper protocol and common courtesy.
The sound of running feet answered his call, the Oberleutnant bursting into his CO's office without knocking. Kimmich knew that there'd been a courier; whatever could the news have been…? Concern furrowing his brow, he accepted the dispatch that Dekker held out to him, both men speechless.
He had to read it several times to make his mind grasp the words. He sank down into the office's extra chair in shock. He understood now – there was no way to truly prepare for this, even though they'd known for some time now that it was coming…
«I will make the Announcement during Morning Appell on the First, as directed,» Dekker finally found his voice. He shook himself mentally. This did not, after all, mean that his duties were finished; the clean-up afterwards would take a long time. «You will form our Men up outside the Prisoners' Compound, so that all will learn of this at the same Time. I believe that it will be best that way.»
«And your Hounds, mein Hauptmann?» Kimmich asked, concerned.
«What of them?» Dekker demanded, looking sharply at his Second-in-Command. «They are mine; they stay with me, no matter what. The Englisch Kommandos are more of a Problem, although I think that they will eventually go back to England with the Rest. I doubt they will cause any Trouble.»
«Do you tell Jimmy ahead of Time?»
«No. No one hears of this save yourself, until Thursday Morning,» Dekker decided. «You are the only one beside myself who is to know.»
"Zu Befehl, mein Hauptmann." Kimmich stood and saluted, then returned to his own office and the never-ending paperwork, a very thoughtful man now.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They knew that something was up; how not, when their very lives depended on Dekker's moods. But he said nothing, Kimmich said nothing, and everyone else was oblivious. So the Hounds, too, waited, although they knew not for what.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, October 1st, 1942
Stalag 384
The Hounds were up and ready for Appell, for they were too tense to sleep. Something, that unknown element in the air, said that today might be the day. For what… ah, now that was the question. But they were all up and dressed, even Brewster, who'd been sent to spend the night down with the others. Perhaps it was that change in the routine, but what ever the reason, all six men were over-ready when a tap came at their door.
It swung open to reveal Panzerschütze Wenigmann, who grinned momentarily upon seeing them up. He sobered somewhat to say "Unser Hauptmann vishes you to komm für inzpeksion im der hallvay."
Jim chuckled. «Good try, Günter, but stick to German. You're mixing your Languages too much.»
«Ach, you know what I'm saying, so what Difference does it make?» Wenigmann laughed back. «Best hurry, though; Hauptmann Dekker will be here shortly. You don't want to make him wait.»
«No, that's never a good Idea,» Brewster agreed, leading his men out into the hallway for their own inspection.
They snapped to attention when Dekker entered their hallway, eyes front. Still, Jim could see the barely suppressed grin, and the pride for them in Dekker's eyes when he passed down their line, carefully looking them over. The dissatisfied shake of their keeper's head that followed came as a bit of a surprise, but Brewster wasn't overly concerned.
«This will not do, meine Hünde,» he growled, but he still did not worry them. His scowl did not reach his eyes as he singled Brewster out. «Do you still claim to belong to the Englisch Army?»
«No, mein Hauptmann,» Jim answered for all of them. «We are yours; you know this.»
«One would not know it to look at you,» Dekker rebuked his men. «Get out of those Clothes before I throw you back in with the Rest, and into some proper Uniforms.»
They stripped down to their skivvies on the spot, shivering slightly in the now chill morning air. Fall was definitely making its coming felt, with winter not far behind. A couple of Gefeiters approached, carrying piles of… they looked like uniforms of some sort, Jim noted in surprise, but not ones that he was familiar with. The shirts, button-fronted and cut per Heer regulations, were black instead of white or grey. The pale grey trousers they were given resembled work pants, although they fit better than the normal ones. Black tunics without any piping or rank tabs completed the outfits. These were cut like the old SS panzer jackets: double-breasted, short-waisted and open-collared; they were actually comfortable, unlike the high, tight collars on the standard Heer uniforms.
Jim pulled his jump boots back on, and fell back into line. The tunic pulled oddly; he found himself altering his posture slightly to accommodate the unfamiliar fit. He could see his companions doing likewise, and realized that they now stood like the German troops did. He grinned despite himself.
Dekker prowled the line, looking his Hounds over with no little satisfaction. The new uniforms looked good on them, he thought. It might be better for every day wear if the trousers were black also, though… perhaps just a darker gray? That would not show the dust as much as black would… he would consider it. For now, though, this served his purpose adequately. He let his grin show now, feeling wicked. They had not been issued ties to wear with the shirts, intentionally.
«For Dress and Formal Occasions,» he announced, his voice soft, «You will close the top Button of the Shirt, but pull your Dog-Collars out into view so they lay under the Collar of the Shirt. Not of the Tunic. Versteht? You will do so now.» He watched as they complied. Only Oberleutnant Wilkes seemed at all uncomfortable, though he did not hesitate to obey.
Dekker examined them once more. «Now you look good,» he said, pleased with the effect and with the men themselves. «We will have the Opportunity to - how do you say - tweak them? - later on. But you cannot be mistaken now.
«Outside, now, for Appell. There will be another Formation at 0900 also. Go.» He watched as they broke ranks and headed for the door, moving well in their new uniforms. Ah, yes; Life was Good.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They caused quite a stir amoung the prisoners in the compound when they lined up outside in their new uniforms. They'd expected this, and ignored the odd comment and cat-call directed their way. Dekker scowled momentarily, but forced himself to relax and let it pass. Instead, he cultivated patience as the men were counted, then moved forward to address them.
"Guten Morgen, gentlemen," he called out, catching their attention, for he was not in the habit of addressing them thusly. "Today iz the day ve havf all been vaiting für. Today the Var iz offichially ovfer. I havf been informed that Englandt und her alliez are offichially surrendering diese Morgen… thiss morning. You vill all azzemble heir again chust bevfor nine uvf the clock, und ve vill allow you to hear der BBC's broadcast at that time. Und zo you vill not havf to take my vord on thiss.
"You are dizmizzed für now." Then Dekker turned and left amidst shocked silence, heeled by his "Hounds". Behind him he could hear pandemonium breaking out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The guards brought a radio out and set it on a table in the prisoners' compound. They connected the speakers to it, ran power out, and turned it on at 0845. Then they left. The POWs looked at each other in shock, uncertain what as going on. These puzzled looks turned to glares as Davidson, in his new black uniform tunic, walked across the yard and was admitted to the compound.
"Hey guys, I'm just the messenger," he warned as one or two started to step threateningly in his direction. "The Captain wanted to be certain that you knew this was no trick. You can tune in to any station you want. He said the announcement was supposed to start at 0900, and repeat for an hour on all German stations. The BBC is supposed to give it at 0900 also, but he didn't know how long it would repeat, if at all. But it's up to you guys to tune it in, so you know he isn't trying to pull a fast one on you. If it's a hoax, he's as much a victim as you."
"Yeah? An' wot d'you get out o' this, mate?" one voice snarled viciously.
"Me?" Davidson looked at the men who now nearly surrounded him. "I get fed, an' I don't get the crap beat out of me. I don't get asked any militarily sensitive questions, because Dekker doesn't care what I might know – which is absolutely nothing anyway. I was a private, guys, 'Cannon Fodder' he called me. Primarily, I get work to do, an' I don't get locked up in a cage for the rest of my life. He coulda just shot me as a Commando; he coulda done almost anything to me, but he didn't – despite knowing I'm a Jew.
"It may not be much, but I got a home now; something you guys – most of you, anyway—never lost. But you better find a station, or you'll miss the broadcast." Then he turned on his heels and stalked away, stiff with outrage.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, October 5th, 1942
Stalag 384
The summons came with Monday's Dispatches, leaving Dekker cold and wondering if Lasch was finally going to destroy him. "Report to Berlin ASAP, bringing with you those Prisoners commonly referred to as your 'Hounds'. Kimmich to be left in charge. By Order of the High Command and the Inspector Generals' Office." And it was signed by one Generalleutnant Friedrich Sebastian Mannheim.
Like a man going to his execution, Dekker rose and sent for his orderly, sending Oskar running to pack his Hauptmann's bags. Gefreiter Jäger was sent to inform the Hounds, and to bring the staff car around. Delay would not help his case, Dekker thought morosely as he straightened his desk, then went to notify Kimmich.
They were on the road to Berlin before noon, a lunch packed to eat on the road. The staff car was crowded, but not as badly as it would have been had Dekker brought any of his troops with him. But all he had was the Hounds with him, for they would take no one's orders but his, and would live or die with him. And Dekker couldn't help wondering if Kimmich had truly changed allegiances, or if he were even now apprising Lasch of his coming.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At mid-afternoon Gefreiter Jäger appeared in Kimmich's office doorway. «Herr Oberleutnant? There is a Call for Hauptmann Dekker, from Berlin,» the young man nervously announced. He knew that something was going on, something bad, but he didn't know what, and it was unsettling him badly.
Kimmich looked up and sighed, pushing back from his desk. «You'd best route it to me, then,» he said, obvious reluctance in his voice. «I'll see if I can handle it.»
«Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant,» Jäger responded, saluting crisply and returning to his desk to do as directed, secure in the knowledge that, whatever followed, he had done his duty properly.
Another sigh, then Kimmich picked up the phone.
«Panzer Battalion und Stalag 384, Oberleutnant Kimmich heir; how can I assist you, Sir?»
There was a momentary silence at the other end, as if Kimmich were not the one expected, then… «This is Leutnant Weber, Generalleutnant Mannheim's Aide. Is Hauptmann Dekker there, Sir?»
The voice was young and fairly uncertain, and Kimmich couldn't quite stifle his grin. «Hauptmann Dekker has already left for Berlin, Leutnant Weber. I am his Second-in-Command; perhaps I can assist you?»
«Well, Sir, it's about Hauptmann Dekker's Trip to Berlin…»
«I told you, Leutnant Weber: Hauptmann Dekker has already left. Have his Orders been changed? I can perhaps have him turned back at one of the Checkpoints.» Kimmich was growing irritated now.
«No, Herr Oberleutnant, it's not that,» Weber hastily assured the older Offizier. «General Mannheim just wished to know if Hauptmann Dekker needed any special Arrangements or Facilities to contain his Hounds. We had hoped to have whatever he needed ready for him when he arrived.»
«One Minute, Herr Leutnant,» Kimmich cut in. «I am confused. It begins to sound as if Hauptmann Dekker is in no Trouble after all. Is this the Case?»
«Herr Oberleutnant, Hauptmann Dekker is in no Trouble that I am aware of,» Weber responded, his voice sounding certain now.
«Ah, gut… sehr gut!» Kimmich breathed in relief. «We had thought… But no Matter. As for the Hounds, Hauptmann Dekker will just need a Room or two for Quarters for them; there are six of them. I do not believe that there will be any Trouble from them – not any that they will start, that is. They are quite good at ending Trouble that finds them. The 'Pack Leader' stays in his Quarters with the Herr Hauptmann at Night as a Bodyguard; I believe that he will just require a Pallet of some sort near the Foot of Hauptmann Dekker's Bed.
«They will not need to be kept under Lock and Key, or under any type of special Guard, for they will not run. You had best give Warning though, that they are all very protective of 'their Captain', especially the Pack Leader, who is very much like a Rottweiler in that regard.» Kimmich chuckled briefly in memory of his own run-in with Jimmy. «Oh, and Leutnant Weber? Be warned that they actually take a certain Pride in being likened to Guard Dogs… But, you will see.»
«I have seen some of them already, Herr Oberleutnant, though only from a distance; I was with Generalleutnant Mannheim when he came to inspect your Facilities back in late July. We were just not sure how they would be, away from their familiar Camp. Thank you for you Assistance, Sir.»
«Glad to have helped. Ende.» And Kimmich hung up the phone, wondering just what was going on here.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Berlin streets were still overflowing with the air of celebration, civilians streaming along the walkways. Some – no, many, truth be told – were staggering along drunkenly. Dekker wondered when they'd started their drinking this day… or had they been on one big, continuous binge since the end of the War?
He shook his head, trying to swallow his irritable grumbling, and directed Perelli through the streets towards the old SS headquarters on Prinz Wilhelmstraße. He fully expected to be arrested there, but his only other choice was to run… and there was nowhere in Europe, now, to run to. Already there was too much traffic to maneuver easily or fast; he'd expected less traffic this late in the day. But they persevered, and eventually Perelli pulled the big staff car over and parked where instructed.
Dekker took a deep breath to brace himself, then gazed around at his Hounds. «You will all stay here in the Car, except for Jimmy; he will come with me. If Soldiers come for you, you will go with them quietly. Is that understood?» He tried to sound severe, but his worry showed too clearly in his voice.
«Don't worry about us, Herr Hauptmann,» McKeigh tried to soothe the young captain. «We won't start any Trouble. There's no way to win, here, an' none of us likes Bruises.» He actually got the ghost of a smile from Dekker for this, but the German quickly sobered again.
«Very well. We should know something fairly quickly. Come, Jimmy; waiting will make this no better.» He turned then, and led the way into the building, not even looking to see if his Kommando was following. He could feel the curious looks that came his way, and knew from those that Brewster was right where he belonged.
A battle-scarred Veteran sat at the Reception/Information counter. Professionalism oozed from him as he studiously ignored Dekker's shadow. «How can I assist you, Herr Hauptmann?» he asked, his voice gravelly from the damage to his throat.
Without a word Dekker handed over his Orders and waited, trying to hide his concern. The Hauptfeldwebel looked them over and nodded. He reached for his phone, spoke a few words to whoever answered it, then looked at the man who stood so quietly at Dekker's heels.
«This Man is one of your 'Hounds', Herr Hauptmann?» he asked, his voice betraying nothing. At Dekker's confirmatory nod, he looked back down at the Orders briefly, then his eyes shifted to hold Dekker's gaze. «He is the only one…?»
Dekker's grin bore no relation to amusement. «There are five more, waiting out in my Staff Car. They will come in when they are sent for. I will warn you now: they are not accustomed to Abuse of any kind.»
The Hauptfeldwebel possessed a matching non-grin. «It is never a good Idea to try to beat another Man's Dog.» He turned and gave a quiet order to a nearby guard, then shifted his attention back to Dekker as footsteps echoed up the corridor behind him. He glanced briefly over his shoulder, nodding.
«This is Leutnant Weber, Generalleutnant Mannheim's Aide. He will take you and yours to the General. Good Day, Herr Hauptmann.»
Dekker stood tall and straight, letting none of his disquiet show as he waited for the rest of his Hounds to be brought to him. The young Abwehr Leutnant who came to escort him looked familiar…
«He came out with that General this Summer.» Jim's voice was low as he provided the identification. A very slight nod indicated that Dekker had heard his 'Rottweiler', so Jimmy stepped back a pace and resumed his designated position.
«Good evening, Herr Hauptmann. Would you please come this way to your Quarters? The rest of your Men and your Baggage will be brought to you there.» The young Leutnant had a pleasant voice and showed no discomfort in Jimmy's presence; Dekker gave him mental points for that. He inclined his head in acquiescence, and fell into step beside his guide.
They moved deep within the large building, finally heading into what appeared to be living quarters of some sort. At last Weber stopped by a door near the end of their current corridor. He opened the door, then stepped aside for Dekker to precede him. A simply furnished sitting room lay before them, with a bedroom visible past an open inner doorway.
«There are Quarters for your Men in two other Rooms, Herr Hauptman. I hope that these will suit you and your Bodyguard.» The young Leutnant's voice was level and non-judgmental. He waited patiently, showing no surprise when Jimmy pushed past both of them to prowl quickly through the offered quarters. A quick look at Dekker showed Weber that this was expected behavior; this information was filed away, to be told to his General later.
Dekker relaxed at Jimmy's nod. «These will be more than adequate, Herr Leutnant… Weber, was it? But I would see the other Rooms, if you would be so good?»
«Certainly, Herr Hauptmann,» Weber responded. «They are the last two Sets of Quarters, right this way...» He backed out into the corridor and opened the two doors at the end of the hall, opposite each other. The room beside his was fairly small, and contained only two beds, but the one across the hall was another small suite, with a sitting room and two small bedrooms. Each had two beds in it, which raised one of Dekker's eyebrows in question.
Weber chuckled. «We were told that your Bodyguard sleeps in your Room with you, but we did not know if the Duty was traded off among all the Men. There is a Pallet in your room, Herr Hauptmann, but this way each Man has his own Bed if they do share the Duty. They are close enough to hear if you need them, and close enough for you to watch them, if needed.» Now a touch of amusement could be heard in the Leutnant's voice, which drew a smile to the corners of Dekker's mouth.
«This Arrangement will work very well, Leutnant Weber,» he assured his escort. «I gather that we will be here for some Time…»
«General Mannheim anticipates at least a Week, Herr Hauptmann. I hope that this will not be too great an Inconvenience?» Weber let his concern show now.
«My Second can handle Things very well; he is quite competent,» Dekker answered with no hesitation. His concerns were easing; he was apparently in no trouble, for these were clearly not quarters for someone under arrest. It was a puzzle, but no doubt he would soon learn what was going on. But his attention was caught by the sound of a number of men approaching. He tensed, as did his Hound, until the men rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor. Then he could see that they were the rest of his Hounds, with all their baggage, escorted by a nervous-looking Soldat.
Dekker nodded at his men as they stopped and came to attention before him. «Gut. Put my Bags in there,» he pointed at his room, «And Jimmy's over there across the way. Two of you, take that end Room; the rest of you go in with Jimmy.»
With heel-clicks and chorused «Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann,» the Pack split into the indicated rooms with no discussion, to Weber's amazement. The only one still there with Dekker was the one he'd heard called 'Jimmy'.
«If you and your Men are hungry, I can show you to the Mess, Herr Hauptmann,» Weber offered. «General Mannheim will see you first thing in the Morning. I will come to escort you at 0730, right after Breakfast. We have already arranged to feed your Men in the Mess; we have been told that they will not need Escort or Guard while they are here. Do you confirm this, Sir?»
«They will go only where they are told they may,» Dekker confirmed, his eyes growing cold now. «Where did this Information come from, if I might ask?»
«I… called your Base yesterday afternoon, to see if you required any special Accommodations for your Men. You had already left, but Oberleutnant Kimmich said that these Arrangements would be adequate. Was he in error, Herr Hauptmann?» Weber could sense that something was not right here, but just what was uncertain. He found it even more puzzling when Dekker relaxed again at his explanation.
«No, this is all fine. Dinner would be good; I find that I am actually hungry now.
«Hünde, kommen. We will go and eat,» he called , not that loudly, but both doors popped open, and the Kommandos reemerged.
It was an odd arrangement, Weber thought, but the Prisoners moved well and seemed to trust their Captor. He noted this too, and wondered what Mannheim would think of all this, when he reported to him this evening after supper.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mannheim, apparently, was not one of those high-ranking Offiziere who felt that they had to keep one waiting to prove their own importance. Weber left the young Panzer Kommander in an outer office and went in to tell his General that Dekker had arrived. Within moments he was out again, trying to contain a wide smile.
«Mein General will see you now, Herr Hauptmann; would you please go in?» Weber held the inner door open for Dekker, and closed it quietly once the young Hauptmann had entered.
Mannheim showed his guest unexpected old-world courtesy, rising to greet Dekker even though he was of a much lower rank. «Good morning, Hauptmann Dekker,» he greeted, returning the salute that Dekker gave. «Be seated, please. We have much Ground to cover, many Questions to be answered. First, though, would you care for anything? Kaffe, perhaps, or Tea?»
«No, thank you, Sir,» Dekker answered, feeling more confused than ever. «I just had Breakfast…»
«Very well; we shall get started then. I require you to tell me everything you can about your experiences with Generaloberst Lasch…»
His head was swimming by the time he got back to his temporary quarters for a lunch break. Jimmy was concerned at first, until he heard the news: Lasch was under arrest, to be tried via Court-Martial for treason. Dekker, and others, had been called in to give testimony against him. And Dekker was given to understand that the trial itself was a mere formality, that so much evidence had been gathered against Lasch that the result was a foregone conclusion: his coffin was already ordered for him…
Still, Dekker would be required to stay until all the evidence had been seen, all testimony heard, which meant a week at least. But there would be compensation, for him and for the others, for wrongful harm, slander, and the intentional, malicious sabotage of their careers. And once the verdict was in, he, Dekker, would be a Major due to his exemplary service record, pay retroactive for six months.
He would have to be available all the rest of that day, in case the Officer for the Prosecution had further questions, or required any clarification, but then he would be free until at least Sunday. Free, in Berlin, with money. What a concept!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By Monday evening, everyone's nerves had settled. The Hounds lounged around their sitting room, carefully staying out of trouble. Jim Brewster finally allowed himself to relax. He'd half expected the German troops to harass them, but everyone was pretty much ignoring them here at Headquarters. Sure, they'd gotten lots of strange looks when Dekker took them out on the streets to be fitted for 'good' uniforms, but it went no further than that. They were even going to their meals unescorted now.
Jim leaned back and grinned as he laid his cards down on the table. The others groaned and slapped their hands down, laughing in their defeat. It was a peaceful evening, with a radio playing music softly in the background. They were left to amuse themselves; Dekker was at some sort of social function for Lasch's victims, since they were all gathered together for the trial. Jim understood from the Hauptmann that there were more 'victims' than anyone had previously suspected. This first day of the trial had been quite a revelation for Dekker…
They all looked up at the knock at their door, but it was Wilkes who got up to answer it. He was the closest, having opted for a book instead of the poker game, and none of them stood on their old ranks anymore, really. He was grinning, relaxed – until the door swung back to reveal their visitor. Wilkes stepped back sharply, clearing the door as their visitor advanced, and called the room to attention out of old habit. And out of old habit the Hounds all sprang to their feet and straightened as the Abwehr general came in and looked them over.
And all of their salutes came in unison, save for Wilkes' a beat later.
The general waved a casual salute back, a smile in his eyes if not on his lips. "At ease, Gentlemen," he finally said as they remained at attention before him. They relaxed as far as Parade Rest; a minute frown creased his brow before he realized… "Ah, no. Uhm – 'As you were', I believe I should have said. I am General Mannheim; I believe you know me by sight, if not by name. Yes?"
His English was excellent, Jim thought briefly. "We know you, Sir," he answered for all of them, his tone courteous as they eased their stances further. "How may we assist you? Unser Hauptmann is not in this evening; I'm not sure where he is, exactly, Sir."
Mannheim's gaze settled on Brewster. "You are the one he refers to as his 'Packleader', yes?"
"Actually, Sir, he calls me his Rottweiler," Jim corrected with a careful grin. "I'm Brewster, former Staff Sergeant. Hauptmann Dekker calls me 'Jimmy'."
"And these others probably call you 'Sir' behind your back. Make them known to me," the general ordered, his voice casual as he watched this 'Jimmy's' reaction.
"Sir, I believe they just call me 'Sarge'. Since I wasn't an officer." Brewster could feel his smile growing wider. There was something about this general that put you at ease, he thought as he made the introductions.
Mannheim nodded and casually strolled to a chair. "So," he said as he sat. "Tell me what you think of your Hauptmann Dekker, and of all of this."
There was dead silence at first, then nervous shifting of feet.
"Umm, Sir?" Jimmy cautiously ventured. "I'm not sure we understand what you want to know. Hauptmann Dekker is… well, he seems to be a very competent Officer. His men would follow him through all the fires of Hell, Sir. So would we, now. He… acts, rather than over-thinking a situation. What might look like a hasty action is most likely carefully considered well in advance, his mind works that fast. He's extremely paranoid, with apparently just cause. He doesn't abuse prisoners… Is that what you want to know, Sir?"
"And your own situation?" Mannheim pressed.
"…could have been a lot worse. We've nowhere else to go, and for myself, I'd rather not die in a barbed-wire cage. We didn't have to swear to him; he'd probably have thrown us back in with the rest of the POWs if we'd asked him to, once the fighting was over."
"And if you Could go back now?"
"Won't happen. I can't anyway, I've already sworn, and I doubt he'd release me from my oath. Besides," Jim added, a thoughtful look in his eyes, "I'm not sure I'd want to go back, if half of what we've been hearing is true. It just doesn't sound like the same country it was when we left."
"So you are happy with your situation?"
"Sir, what's the point of this?" McKeigh cut in. "We can't go home, we're not welcome in England, so we've made the best of the situation. Happy? Not really. Willing to tolerate an improving situation? Definitely. It wasn't a hard choice, since Hauptmann Dekker treated us pretty decent, all things considered. So why all the interest?"
"Yeah," Perelli added his two-cents' worth, not as obnoxious as usual in the face of a general. "It's not like we'd go runnin' around, blowin' stuff up behind Dekker's back or nuthin'. I mean, you don't bite the hand that feeds ya, unless you're a real jerk."
"So you are all in for the… long haul, I believe you say?"
"Bought and Paid For, General," Brewster growled, tiring of the constant prodding.
"Gut. That is what I wanted to know. Do you think others of your Countrymen might feel the same way?"
That question stopped them for a moment. "General, I'm not sure you really understand," Jim cautiously tried again. "Hauptmann Dekker could have just shot us out of hand. We were Commandos, caught in the act as we tried to insert in-country. The Kommandobefehl has not been repealed; we knew that. He could have tortured us. He could have done a lot of things; instead he fed us, kept us dry and reasonably unharmed. He just secured us so we couldn't cause any trouble. We didn't 'come cheap', Sir. No one else will either."
"But, you are Mercenaries, of a sort," Mannheim was thoughtful now himself. "For the right price, loyalty could possibly be bought… or earned, rather. And once given?" He looked at the Hounds with a raised eyebrow.
Jim shrugged. "That depends on the man. You got someone in particular in mind, Herr General?"
Mannheim blinked, then chuckled. "I am… considering one. Blame yourselves if I do try it – you and your Hauptmann gave me the idea."
"Okay, Sir," Brewster laughed. "We'll consider ourselves blamed. Pick your man with care, but most of us have a pretty strong sense of Honor. We wouldn't be here, otherwise."
"That is true," Mannheim agreed, his eyes seeming to lose focus as he lost himself in thought. Then he sighed and rose. "I thank you gentlemen for your candor; I will leave you to the rest of your evening in peace. Gute Nacht, meine Herren."
"Gute Nacht, Herr General," they responded enchorus, and then he was gone.
"Do we tell Dekker?" Connolly asked cautiously.
"I will, tonight," Jim declared, then turned back to the table. "Whose turn to deal?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, October 18th, 1942
Stalag 384
Major Johann Dekker gazed at the pile of paperwork waiting on his desk, and actually laughed. His usually pristine desktop was covered in piles of the stuff; one good shake would cause an avalanche of paper. It went without saying that Kimmich had done all that he could to keep the piles down; he could just imagine what the Oberleutnant's desk looked like also. Running a POW camp, it seemed, generated way more paperwork than a Panzer Battalion, as hard to believe as that was.
Granted, he had been gone two weeks. Kimmich had said nothing but welcome back; still, he must be green with envy that Dekker had had nearly two weeks, most of it free time, in Berlin. To his great surprise he had actually enjoyed himself, now that he no longer had to worry about Lasch twisting everything he did into something that could get him killed – or worse. He had gone to several parties and gatherings. He had even gone to the theater once; he'd brought his Hünde with him for that, to the dismay of many seated near them. Now, though, he was back to work, and actually eager for it.
He had not bothered to go and view Lasch's execution. Oh, he'd been 'invited', but he'd carefully explained that he did not enjoy killing or viewing dead bodies, and for all intents and purposes, Lasch had been technically dead from the moment that sentence had been passed on him. Dekker carried enough demons in his soul; he did not need to add vengeance to that load. He only stayed long enough to hear that sentence had been carried out, his Hounds using that time to pack up the Staff car, fuel it, and ready them all to leave.
So now he was back, money in his accounts from six months back-pay as a Major, new braided shoulder-boards on his uniform, and replacements, both men and machines, promised to arrive soon to bring his command up to proper strength. Little could make him happier at the moment. He took a sip of his Kaffe, the real thing, purchased in bulk in Berlin for all the mess, and wondered which stack to begin on first. With a sigh he shook his head and rose, carrying his cup back out of the office. He dropped it off in the kitchen with a smile for his cook, then headed out the back door of the old farmhouse.
Within ten feet he felt the expected presence at his back as he crossed the yard towards the Prison Compound.
«Guten Morgan, Jimmy,» he said, not looking around. Dekker was usually an early riser, but his Rottweiler had actually beaten him up this morning, and had been nowhere in sight when Dekker had arisen.
«Morgan, Herr Major… That's gonna take some Time to get used to, you realize, Sir,» the ex-commando laughed at his Superior.
«I am sure that you will cope, you and the Rest,» Dekker laughed back. Nothing could spoil this day, it would seem. «Anything that I should be aware of, that I was not told already?»
"Hmmm." Brewster followed in silence for several steps, then chuckled. «You're gonna be a Vater?» he offered, more for effect than anything else. And he got a reaction, right enough.
«What?!!» Dekker gasped, spinning around to face his man.
«That's the Word I heard. That little Katarina was here last Week with her Papa, looking for you. They never even got as far as the Office, or Oberleutnant Kimmich; apparently Oberfeldwebel Seidel headed them off, gave them a few of the Facts of Life – you don't plan on marrying the Girl, do you? – and suggested that they'd best leave quietly. Kimmich doesn't know about this, so he couldn't tell you when we got in last Night.»
«Scheiße.» Dekker paused, then gave a crooked grin. «I doubt that this is the first, and it probably won't be the last. Now that Lasch is dead, I can at least claim my Children, even if I do not marry the Mothers. I will see that she has what she needs so the Child will be healthy.»
«I don't think she can ask for much more,» Brewster agreed, falling back into step as Dekker started walking again. «I know you; you wouldn't have promised that Girl anything, lest Lasch have something to get to you through.
«How many you figure you have, anyway?»
The German pursed his lips thoughtfully, slowing his pace. «I am not sure… but I doubt that there could be more than two or three Others. At least, not that could be proven. I did not stay with anyone else long enough to be sure it could be mine. And now that I think about it… One, at least, is very likely. I will have to check and see, when I next have Time.» He cast a wry look at his Hound; they both knew how likely that would be.
«Any other Surprises?»
«Nah. The Natives are a bit restless, the older Cow looks like she's gonna have a Calf, the younger dun Mare is lame again, but that's it.» Dekker nodded his head: information accepted.
«And the Crops?» This, Dekker was worried about, especially after his Hound sighed.
«We'll lose a lot of it if we get too hard of an early Frost, mein Major. I wonder if we can set up some Greenhouses, or something like that.»
Again Dekker stopped to look over at his Hound. «And where would we put something like that?» he growled in exasperation.
«Alongside the Barns?» Brewster offered hesitantly. «We have to heat the Barns anyway; what if we put Greenhouses along the South side of the Barns? We can leave the Windows over the Stalls open so the Heat can reach them. They wouldn't have to be all that warm for Peas and Beans, just enough that the Frost doesn't get them. Getting the Glass will be more of a Problem, I'd think.»
«You don't make things simple, do you Jimmy?» Dekker complained with a sigh. «Let's go check on our restless Natives, shall we?»
«Jawohl, mein Major,» was the laughing reply as both men headed for the compound once more.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With Dekker back in camp, the threatened trouble didn't materialize. He had too great a reputation for solving Disciplinary Problems with a bullet from his Mauser pistol – the weapon a carry-over from his Waffen-SS days, since most Heer Offiziere were issued the smaller-caliber Lugar pistol. Slowly the mountain of paperwork on Dekker's desk diminished, despite daily additions. He rode, continuing his Hounds' equestrian education, until eventually he was satisfied that they could stay on through almost anything a horse could do, short of its actually going down. Life was good, although everyone knew that it couldn't last.
The biggest problem, Dekker found, was maintaining morale amoung his English prisoners. It was now mid-November, first frost had come and gone. Repatriation had begun; the few French that he'd held, save for the two who'd come from Labor camps, had already been shipped out. Granted, there hadn't been many of them… The Belgians and Dutch were being trucked to the nearest rail-line the next day, but there was no sign that the Engländers were going anywhere anytime soon. There had also been unsettling rumors that the English were not releasing their German prisoners, nor would they authorize or allow the release of those held in Canada. All together it presented a very worrisome problem; Dekker knew that Something would have to be done about it, and soon.
He expected orders to arrive for them any day, now that they were up to full strength again and had been training together for some time. Surely High Command wouldn't leave an experienced Combat Unit like this one just sitting, rotting, in the Polish-Ukrainian borderlands like this. But no orders came, and the snow began to pile up, until only the tanks and half-tracks could get through the muck that underlay everything. They would be there all winter, it seemed. Dekker rapidly became very grateful that he'd been issued half-tracked trucks, slow though they were. He had cursed the man who'd designed them at first, for they were slower than his other supply vehicles, and their tracks required nearly as much maintenance as those on his Panthers, but his prisoners would have starved without them. As it was, he had to send them to the nearest station for supplies every week to keep them all in food. Gott help them if the trains couldn't get though…
November crawled into December, and the Greenhouses finally started to produce. According to his French Market-farmers, the deep beds of fresh horse manure that he had laid under the actual growing beds were what allowed the vigorous growth and abundant production: they provided heat to the plants' roots as the manure rotted, as well as needed nutrients. He could have tried fancier crops, but the staples were all that interested him right then. Caring for the Greenhouses provided an additional plus, in that it helped occupy at least a few of the prisoners.
They were bored now, kept inside most of the time by the weather. Very few of the men held there had warm coats – it was hard enough on them to go outside for Appell these days. Dekker found that he was using the same men over and over for wood-cutting details – and it showed. They were losing weight visibly, from the hard work and the cold. Reluctantly he made the assignment semi-permanent for that group, and got the expected complaints and grumbling… until they realized that their rations had been substantially increased, and were of better quality also. Most of the other prisoners wisely kept quiet about this, realizing that this wasn't a sign of favoritism, but an acknowledgement of their increased need.
In mid-December rumors started to fly again, but not of an impending invasion of England or renewed activity against Russia. This time word slipped about that Italy would be their target. Few believed this; why would they invade an ally, poor fighters though the Italians were? The courier that was overheard saying this was severely reprimanded for spreading such gossip: if false, it could create problems with the Italians; if true, the Italians might hear of it, and be forewarned. But in the privacy of the Kommandantur, Dekker and Kimmich discussed these rumors, witnessed only by Brewster.
«They would have nothing to gain there,» Kimmich insisted. «The Italians are dirt-poor – worse than these eastern Peasants. We go through their Country when and where we wish. We have no reason to invade them.»
«They still hold to the Fascisti,» Dekker pointed out, trying to think of any other reasons besides this. «Mussolini still holds Power there, if barely.»
The two Offiziere fell silent, contemplating this, but it was Brewster who spoke next.
«Is there anything in Italy that Germany might consider to be theirs? Something that the Italians won't return or release? Something being destroyed, or ruined or… I don't know. Any Ideas?»
«As far as I know,» Dekker said, his voice thoughtful, «We don't even keep any Garrisons there. They supply their own Weapons and Munitions, their own Supplies. There has been no fighting there; the Italians saw some Action in Crete and Greece, and North Afrika, but not that much. To be truthful, the only thing that I have heard they were good for was holding the AfrikaKorps' Prisoners of War there.»
Brewster looked up at that. «Have they sent any Home, now that the War is over in Europe?»
Both Germans looked at each other in surprise. «I do not know» Kimmich answered slowly. «But surely we would not attack an Ally over that.»
Dekker got a sour look on his face. «I have heard some nasty Rumors of severe mistreatment of Prisoners there. That might just possibly be Cause enough.» He snorted in disgust. «I had enough hard Looks in Berlin over meine Hünde; even they do not think that they are mistreated. The Italians, though… It is possible, I suppose. We will have to wait and see. The Rumors being spread by that Courier said that our Forces would go after Christmas, if we go at all.»
«So. We will know in two Weeks, or so,» Kimmich muttered, looking unhappy.
«We would have to leave well before that, if the 384th is to participate,» Dekker pointed out morosely. «It will take us a Week just to get out of this Muck and out to a Rail-head for entraining. I doubt that they would have us Convoy so far by Road. We may have very good Oil and Fuel Supplies now, but these Panthers drink Diesel Fuel faster than Russians drink Vodka. The High Command will not waste it on that. The Train would get us there faster, too, and we would not have Break-downs strung out all along our Line of March.»
«Besides, you would have heard something Official by now,» Jimmy added in a quiet voice. «Christmas is the end of next Week, Guys. Today's the 16th.»
