April 4, 1945
It was well into the wee hours of the morning, but the mountains of paperwork stacked in piles by priority across the large, antique desk did not seem to be diminishing in the least. General Albert Burkhalter, head of Luftwaffe Stalag Administration, had a scowl on his ruddy face as he read the latest orders received from the Reich Chancellery. The scowl was there because he didn't remember the order being issued as he received it.
Burkhalter was currently at Luftwaffe Headquarters in Berlin, and had in fact been in the War Room with the Führer when the original order had been issued. Not that he liked the order, or even agreed with it in principle; his only concern was obeying and avoiding Hitler's wrath at best, execution at worst. Noting the issuing officer was a 'Hauptsturmführer Erlich Strauss' rather than the regular adjutant Hans Pfeiffer, the General made a few inquiries as to who this new signature belonged to.
No office was ever unmanned, especially in Berlin. War was not a 9 to 5 job. Placing a call to the main switchboard at the Chancellery even at 2 a.m. got Burkhalter the answers he wanted to who this 'Strauss' was. Learning that everything was on the up-and-up, that Strauss was the new SS deputy adjutant, Burkhalter issued the order to all his Stalags with a great sense of relief. He guessed that the Führer had heeded his Chiefs' concerns after all, and changed his mind about ordering the mass execution of all interred POWs if a Stalag was faced with surrender to the liberating forces of the Allies.
The air was crisp and the breaths of the prisoners working on the road could be seen in the morning sunlight. A late winter snow had fallen overnight, but was quickly melting in the sunny patches of the woods and on the open road, turning the ground to mud in places. Birds returning after a long winter chirped happily in the forest beside the road and flittered through the branches.
The sun caught the edge of the shovel as one of the prisoners on the work detail moved a pile of dirt into a pothole. Carter paused in his work to give his back a break. As Senior POW Officer, he technically didn't have to do the manual labour, only supervise, but he'd always done his fair share on the work details and he wasn't about to change that now. Leaning on his own shovel, his thoughts returned to the barracks meeting from yesterday.
Coming out of Hogan's office, Carter approached the central table and stood at the head near the barrel stove. The chiefs from all the barracks were seated around the table, with his other team members sitting on nearby bunks. All were curious as to what had their new SPO in a dither.
"Hey, guys, thanks for coming." Carter stopped, his nervousness halting all the things he needed to say from coming out of his mouth. He thought about all the German officers he had portrayed and how he would issue orders swiftly and surely. Standing a bit straighter, he continued.
"We have a problem. Actually, it's more like a crisis right now but if we work together, we can hopefully minimize its impact to the camp.
"You all know that I had a meeting with Klink after roll call this morning. He's been told that the Red Cross packages will probably not be arriving this month." As soon as the words left his mouth, the chiefs started rumbling amongst themselves, making comments about Klink keeping them for himself, ignoring the Geneva Convention, selling them on the black market, and some derogatory comments. The noise level rose and they paid no attention Carter's attempts to continue speaking.
"Hey! I said, knock it off!" he yelled, thumping the table with a gloved fist. The men quieted down as they realized Carter meant business. Carter regained control of the meeting. "Boy!" he huffed. Calming down, he continued, "That's only a minor part of the problem. The worst is that all supply chains have been disrupted since the Allies crossed the Rhine. We aren't going to be getting resupplied with anything. That includes food." At the stunned silence that followed that announcement, Carter carried on.
"Klink has figured out how much we have left. If we cut back to one meal a day, we can stretch our food supply to two weeks. If we don't, we won't make it to a week and there is no way to be resupplied in that short length of time. He can't even guarantee that two weeks will be long enough."
The chiefs looked at each other around the table. Finally, Greenberg from Barracks 8 asked what they'd all been thinking. "So what do we do?"
"We pool our resources," replied Carter. "I want everyone to go back to their barracks and explain the situation. Gather everything everyone has left from their Red Cross packages and bring it here. We're going to combine whatever's left into one big stockpile. Then we can divide it up equally among all the prisoners. Some people may lose a couple of chocolate bars but in return they might gain a few extra cigarettes or whatever. We'll store everything in the Colonel's old office.
"The biggest thing to stress here is NO HORDING! The whole camp has to do this as a team to make this work. We'll ration the remaining foodstuffs as well. Have everyone turn in their packages before you tell them about the shortages, and hopefully we'll prevent a lot of bingeing and hording from taking place.
"LeBeau, I want you to head up the supply committee, especially the food rationing. Newkirk, you help him look after the other items. Every morning after roll call, I want each of the barracks chiefs to report to LeBeau for their daily rations. You each can divide it out in your own huts. Anything not used by the end of the day gets returned to LeBeau for redistribution.
"Baker, I want you to contact the local Underground. See if there are any additional foods that can be sent in from town. Klink is still getting some supplies from there, but I want you to see if we can get more. Any questions?"
Astonished faces looked back at him.
"Carter," said Newkirk, breaking the silence, "Did you come up with that all on your own?"
"Yeah," replied Carter, getting defensive. "Why? What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, mate. It's bloody brilliant!"
At the praise voiced by the Englander, several of the barracks chiefs started banging the table and whistling in approval. Carter sagged in relief, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, a light blush creeping up his neck at the applause.
"Uh, gee, thanks fellas, but there's one more thing. I need a volunteer from each barrack for a road repair detail tomorrow morning. I wrangled an extra hour of Rec Hall time from Klink for it, to keep us busy in the morning and evening since we won't be eating at the mess. Hope that's ok. It's not like Klink has any supplies to bargain with."
There was no major grumbling at this announcement, so Carter dismissed the chiefs, pleased at his first staff meeting.
Carter came back to the present. There had been no problems getting volunteers for the work detail. The rest of the day had been spent sorting Red Cross package remnants. Now Hogan's office looked like the supply depot at HQ. Boxes were stacked everywhere – the floor, the bunks, the desk. The first set of rations had been distributed this morning, and so far, the men were taking the shortages in stride.
Putting a few more shovelfuls of dirt into the holes and tamping them down, Carter saw Schultz being ever-vigilant: sitting on the front bumper of the camp truck, his rifle propped by his side, snoozing in the warmth of the early spring sun.
The shortages were going to be the hardest on the guards, as they had no Red Cross packages to get additional food from. Carter made a mental note to make sure Schultz and some of the nicer guards were slipped any extras that could be spared.
Many hands make light work and the road was finished before long, with everyone back at camp in time for the noon meal. Carter was helping LeBeau with the laundry after lunch when Baker came out of the barracks, blue piece of paper in hand.
Taking a quick look around to see if there were any German ears within hearing distance, Baker came over and said "Message from London."
Reaching out with a suds-covered hand, Carter took the slip of paper from Baker. Squinting at the scrawled message, he flicked his wrist to dislodge some of the frothy bubbles and immediate dropped the note into the laundry tub. Flustered, Carter quickly scooped out the soggy paper, trying to preserve the communiqué that was now virtually illegible.
Trying not to roll his eyes, Baker asked, "Why don't I just tell you what it said?"
"Uh, gee, yeah, that sure would be helpful," replied Carter, looking up at the radio man with an apologetic look on his face.
"The Allies are 200 clicks north of here and spreading eastwards. We've been advised to stay inside the wire. Sounds like things are pretty chaotic out there and London doesn't want us to risk any missions right now. We're to sit tight for the next 3 days, when we'll be updated on where things stand. Until then, we're to maintain radio silence."
"Sacre chats!" exclaimed LeBeau. Overhearing the Frenchman's expletive, Newkirk paused as he was walking by the trio beside the barracks.
"'ere, now! Wot's all the fuss about now?" he asked, pausing to light a cigarette.
"Word from London. The Allies are 200 km north of here. We're on radio silence for 3 days and not allowed outside the wire," summed up Baker.
"Crikie! We'll all go bloomin' stir-crazy in three days," he said, taking a long puff and blowing smoke into the air.
"It's not like we haven't had stand-down orders before, Pierre, and we've survived."
"Aye, but we didn't like it then, either." Newkirk knocked some ashes from the end of his cigarette. "Hey, Carter, what you thinking about? You haven't said a bleedin' word the whole time I's been standing 'ere."
Carter looked up at his long-time friend with something akin to fear and hope on his youthful face. He whispered, "What if we get to go home?"
Hogan was hard at work in Strauss' office when the news came in. The Allied forces, led by the US Third Army, had pushed the Western Front back past Gotha, and liberated the Ohrdruf Forced Labour Camp. The other office members of the SS were taking this as a hard blow, but Hogan was inwardly ecstatic. As he looked up where Gotha was on the map, he realized that there was now a band of Allied occupied territory between Berlin and Stalag 13. He worked out the distances and discovered Gotha was approximately 200 km northeast of Hammelburg.
It suddenly dawned on him that the liberation of Stalag 13 would likely happen before the war was over and long before he could get out of Berlin. Mixed feelings hit him hard: excitement that his men would finally be out of danger and get to go home; disappointment that he wouldn't be there to share in the celebrations; questions about what would happen with the shut-down of the organization; an unexpected concern over the fate of Klink and Schultz; a deep longing to be on friendly soil himself.
Until peace was declared, he nevertheless had his duty to do. He turned back to process another stack of papers, his thoughts still on his former men, imagining himself back at camp.
He stood on the steps of the Kommandantur, Klink and Schultz beside him, waiting for the Allied arrival. Word had been sent from the Underground that the tanks were only 15 minutes away. The rumbling as they made their way through the surrounding area had been teasing the prisoners for days, but was now markedly louder.
Suddenly the head tank appeared on the dirt road leading to the camp. The guard towers were already abandoned; Klink planned on surrendering without a fight. At the sight of the tanks, the sentries opened the front gates, allowing them free passage into the compound. The lead tank halted in front of the Kommandantur and a US Army Major climbed out and saluted.
The handover of Stalag 13 went peacefully. The prisoners broke out the supply of wine from the barracks and Klink's private collection. Everyone was partying, some singing, all relieved that the war was over and that they were prisoners no longer.
Hogan was snapped out of his reverie by a loud rapping on his office door.
"Are you ok, Strauss?" asked a concerned Hans Pfeiffer. "I've been knocking for a few minutes but you seemed miles away."
"Sorry, sir," said Hogan, straightening up in his chair. "Just reminiscing about a pretty frauline I left behind at my last posting," he covered with a grin.
"You have not had much chance to get to know Berlin, ja?" said Pfeiffer. "We both get off duty at 18:00. Let us have dinner together, and I will introduce you to one of the best taverns in town – good food, good music, good beer, even better women. We'll celebrate your new posting. It will be good to get out, get to know each other a little better."
Hogan had not wanted to establish any personal ties with the soldiers he was stationed with if possible, not knowing what actions he might have to take in the future. Add to that his sudden vague feeling of what you might call homesickness for Stalag 13, meant Hogan was less than enthused by Pfeiffer's suggestion. However, he was hardly in a position to protest his superior's wunderbar idea. Pasting what he hoped passed as a willing smile on his face, Hogan reluctantly agreed to a night on the town.
A/N: Ohrdruf was a forced labour or death camp that was liberated on April 4, 1945, by members of the 4th Armoured Division and 89th Infantry Division of the US Third Army. It was the first concentration-type camp that was liberated by the Allies. General Eisenhower visited the camp on April 12th due to the extreme atrocities that were discovered there.
Gotha is pronounced Gō'tă. It was on the southern edge of the former East Germany, whereas Hammelburg ended up in West Germany. When I was there 10 years ago, you could still see wide bare swaths of land through the forests on the outskirts of Gotha where the Wall use to run. I experienced a wide variety of emotions when I saw it and what it represented.