Bugs Cole, in his second day of captivity, was convinced that Germans were not much different from Americans. For sure they had their own flag which they displayed the way many an Alabama white displayed the Southern Cross or, more commonly since America joined the fight, the Stars and Stripes. Bugs' knowledge of German was limited to those words he'd picked up in the movies (ja, jawohl, nein, auf wiedersehen, raus, mach schnell) plus the odd one he'd heard since his capture (he was quite convinced that genug!, barked by the sergeant who'd captured him in response to catcalls from the other men, meant "enough!").

As for catcalls, he'd heard plenty from white American soldiers. But those men, like the Germans whose breakfast he'd ruined, would shut up if an officer or noncom told them to. That sergeant seemed like a good guy. The officers he'd met were straight and professional, frosty but no worse than many a US Army officer. General von Scheider didn't seem to hold a grudge.

Von Scheider was being checked at a clinic in Bad Godesburg. Bugs was riding in a Mercedes limo with Colonel Portmann and two guards in the back, although with Portmann's build guards might be redundant. Fortunately Portmann seemed to be even-tempered.

They drove through Hammelburg, passing the scorched Speer factory with its small army of repairmen. Beyond town were woodlots of oak and beech, plus farms. Two horses and a gray-haired man (Germany didn't seem to have near as many tractors as the USA) pulled a plough through what looked like firm brown loam.

The towers of Stalag 13 came into view. At the gate, an aging guard with thick-lensed eyeglasses waved them through. Portmann let out a sigh, and his eyes continued to glare at the sight of a very fat German eating what looked like an apple strudel in front of a barracks, with American and British prisoners around him plus a short Frenchman - who was holding the German's rifle! "Heilige scheisse," Portmann said. A couple of the Americans were black like Cole himself, and mingling casually with the others.

The car parked in front of the best-looking building, which had a KOMMANDANTUR sign. The fat German, still chewing, collected his rifle and waddled over. A cheerful-looking American wearing an officer's hat and a dark leather jacket marched to the car as Portmann's guards escorted Cole out.

Cole read the American's name: COL. R. E. HOGAN. "Remember, name rank and serial number only." Cole nodded. Then Portmann barked, "Inside!"

Kommandant Klink (with that monocle you couldn't ask for a more stereotypical German villain) was waiting for them. He greeted Colonel Portmann with exaggerated friendliness and offered him a choice of drinks - brandy, schnapps or sherry. Portmann declined.

Klink grinned fiercely and wagged a finger at Cole. "My dear man, you are a guest of the most secure prison camp in all of Germany. Under my watch there has never been a successful escape. If you try, my guards will catch you. Or our dogs will catch you and tear you to ribbons."

Was it Cole's imagination or did Colonel Hogan, standing close behind, just snicker? Cole glanced around: Hogan wore the nearest thing to a smirk, Portmann looked singularly unimpressed, and the fat sergeant at the door looked as if he'd watched the same show about 144 times before.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Klink waved that finger almost like an agitated rattlesnake moving its tail. "If you outrun the dogs, any one of my guards can shoot you dead with one shot. One shot!"

Cole, remembering the man at the gate, snorted. He couldn't help it.

"Silence!" Klink screamed. "I do not tolerate insolence. Sergeant Schultz!"

The fat sergeant came to attention.

"Take this man to the cooler!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"Colonel Klink, I protest," Hogan said. "Sergeant Cole just arrived. Give him a little time to break in." Hogan sounded half-hearted, as if he was resigned to the inevitable, but his eyes had a look of reassurance.

"Your protest is duly noted, Colonel Hogan. Cole is still going to the cooler. Dis-miss." Klink turned to Cole again. "Mark my words, if this war goes on another ten years and they decide to keep you here, you will stay here and I will watch over you the whole time ... unless of course I get promoted to General." Klink smiled.

Cole's peripheral vision was good enough to see Portmann shaking his head.