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What's in a Name

Chapter 14

A Safe Solution, a Misdirected Guest, and Progress!

The seed planted by Sergeant Maddock, watered by Helga, and fertilized by Oskar and sympathetic members of the agricultural community, blossomed. It was not long before Klink and his staff were able to transfer all the Polish prisoners to farms. Foreign laborers were needed to keep the German food supply plentiful, and while the prisoners and their allies were concerned about the safety of the transferred men, this option seemed the least objectionable.

The Poles were stoic and courageous. They and their countrymen had suffered so much that they considered this latest stage in their war a minor setback. As Chernetsky told Maddock, before long they hoped to somehow make their escape to England so they could continue to fight.

While Klink would have preferred to keep his prison population intact, ignoring Burkhalter's order was not an option. When the duplicate order arrived from Berlin, the Kommandant dutifully notified both the general and Berlin that the order had been followed. No further action was needed.

The Red Cross lost contact with Polish prisoners in Klink's camp and throughout the Reich, but Helga made sure that she, Maddock and Oskar had records of where their prisoners were sent. And so, the first crisis of what was sure to be many, was handled the best way possible.

At the moment, there were several pressing concerns facing the conspirators. It was difficult for Oskar to communicate at will with the prisoners, and it was impossible for the prisoners to work on the tunnel system. For now, Helga was the intermediary, passing notes back and forth between Oskar and Maddock. Occasionally, Otto and a few other suppliers he had incorporated into their cell after a long process, would also come into camp and give information to the secretary. But everyone, including the prisoners, felt that was too dangerous. Another system had to be put in place.

"This area of the tunnel runs right under the dog pen," Otto explained to an underground member he knew only as Hercules. The strapping young man had arrived with two other friends to work on the system. They had to carefully follow the instructions of the experts imprisoned above them. Because of this obsession with safety and the lack of manpower, the expansion and shoring up of the walls and ceiling crawled along at a snails' pace. Their immediate goal was to break through into the pen, in hopes that the prisoners could use that entrance to get into the tunnel system and out of the camp. It was the little French prisoner, Louis LeBeau, who had first suggested this location. After all, he explained to the conspirators, none of the guards would even consider that the prisoners would have a tunnel hidden amongst the vicious guard dogs. Oskar had already delivered and placed the dog house they planned to use to cover the hole.

At a nearby table, a young woman worked on radio equipment. Katerina, a nurse in the local hospital, had taken care of a German soldier with loose lips. He mentioned that French resistance was being organized, and groups had successfully hidden downed Allied fliers from the Germans. The Nazis suspected that some of these fliers were passed back to England. The Hamelburg underground's goal was to make contact with the French resistance, thereby expanding their own operation, and hopefully acquiring more supplies and professional help.

The first bit of help unexpectedly arrived in September when a captured British captain was mistakenly deposited in front of Klink. Within several minutes, Klink dismissed both Schultz and Maddock, and offered the captain a seat and a drink.

"Your surname. It is French or Belgian, is it not?"

"I am a British citizen," answered Captain Jacques Marceau with a bit of defiance.

"Your father is French or Belgian? Your mother British?" asked Klink.

"Kommandant, I went through this extensively when I was captured. They got nothing more out of me, and nor will you, sir."

"Very well. You were supposed to be sent to another camp, Captain Marceau. " Klink stated. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

"C'est la guerre." Marceau took a drink of schnapps and glanced around the office. By now, the weary captain had sized up the Kommandant as a bureaucrat. So far, the Kommandant and his staff had been unfailingly polite. He chalked this up to either the novelty of receiving an officer in an enlisted man's camp, or to the fact that the camp was run by the Luftwaffe. Whatever the reason, it was a relief. His time with the Germans before arriving at this stalag had not been pleasant.

"This is actually a Luftwaffe camp," Klink prattled on. "But you must know that of course. The uniform?" Klink pointed to the medals on his chest.

"Oh, of course. I can see that."

"Well, unfortunately, we have an agreement with your original destination," Klink said with obvious distaste. "It's quite funny, you see. We're supposed to be...Well, never mind. We'll have your transfer papers worked up and completed in no time."

Marceau leaned forward and looked Klink straight in the eye. "Your accommodations, Kommandant, are most satisfactory." And closer to the channel. By the looks of it, I should be out of here within a fortnight.

"Yes, we think so. But we're strict. No one has escaped from our stalag. Nevertheless, we'll be sending you out as soon as transport can be arranged. Meanwhile, seeing as you're an officer, we'll put you in Barracks Two. They have separate quarters. Sergeant Maddock-he's the spokesman-can be moved from there temporarily."

"I assure you, sir. That is not necessary."

"Oh? Well, that's irregular, but up to you." Klink pushed a button on his intercom. "Fraulein Helga. Please ask Sergeant Schultz to come in and escort the captain to Barracks Two."

The door opened and the portly sergeant saluted and turned to Marceau. "Captain, if you please."

Marceau smiled at the secretary before leaving the outer office, and was pleased to get a smile in return. His walk across the compound was uneventful, although he noticed the copious amounts of curious stares coming from the prisoners milling about. Several offered him a salute, which he half-heartedly returned. Right now, he was more concerned with the war than protocol. The occupation of his ancestral homeland, Vichy traitors and of course, the bombing of England, were always on his mind. He was soon deposited at Barracks Two. The door opened and a bunch of disinterested men looked up and sized up the new arrival.

Sergeant Schultz cleared his throat. "Captain Marceau. He's here for a short time."

The door to the other room opened and Maddock, who had first met the captain in Klink's office, walked out.

"I'll take it from here, Schultz."

"But..."

"We'all take good care of 'im." Newkirk gently led the sergeant to the door. "You can check on us later. All right?" Both Newkirk and LeBeau had moved into the hut after the Polish prisoners were transferred. With more room in the camp, prisoners disbursed. Newkirk had become an indispensible part of Maddock's staff; not only due to his German langauge skills, but because of the other talents that had slowly come to light. He and LeBeau were tied to the hip, and Newkirk had refused the move unless his French friend could join him.

Schultz rolled his eyes. "No monkey business," he ordered as he left.

"Here, sit down, sir." Maddock pulled up a chair. "Coffee?"

"No thanks. Just had a drink of schnapps with Klink."

"The old boy must be beside himself. Having an officer in his little fiefdom," Newkirk chuckled.

Maddock nodded. After the MOC had returned from Klink's office, he and the rest of the barracks went over how to determine if the new arrival was a plant. Given the new prisoner's last name, Maddock thought it would be a good idea if several Frenchmen helped quiz the new man. The men in the barracks questioned the captain for over an hour. He answered all questions patiently, despite his fatigue.

The captain was definitely a native Brit, but he willingly revealed that his father's family came from France, and that he was fluent in the language. He had relatives in the unoccupied area, and that was where he was heading when he was captured. Prior to that, he had been hidden by civilians and had changed safe houses several times.

Once his interrogation was complete, Marceau had one question. "So, who's on the escape committee? I'd like to get out of here before I end up at that other camp. Too far into Germany for my liking."

"Not yet," Maddock said.

"Fair enough. Don't blame you. I'm sure you've noticed that the layout of this camp is a bit odd. Woods right next door. Huts level with the ground. What's up with this?"

"It used to be a recreation camp." Maddock walked over to a footlocker in the middle of the floor. He shoved it aside, pried open the floorboard and removed the papers hidden underneath. "Here's a diagram of the camp. And a map of the surrounding area." The sergeant cleared off a space on the small table, and unfolded the papers. One map remained hidden.

Marceau walked over and studied the diagrams. "Impressive artwork. How did you get the information about the area?"

"We have made contact with some friendly natives," was all Maddock was willing to say at the moment.

"I see." The lieutenant yawned. "Well, I don't know how long I shall be a guest of Kommandant Klink, but hopefully before I get transferred, we can figure out a way to put a stop to it. As I said, a trip further into this hellhole is not in my best interest."

"We'll put our heads together, Captain. Hopefully, we'll think of something," was Maddock's answer.

Newkirk walked over to the table. "Pardon me, sir. But have you heard anything about the bombings in England? I'm from the East End. A lot of us are getting sick from worrying."

"Don't blame you, Corporal. I'm worried for my family as well." Marceau sighed. "I wish I had good news for you. But the Jerries have been sending planes over every night. I'm afraid civilians are also bearing the brunt of this war. Don't you have access to a radio?"

"Not yet," Maddock answered. "We've got some men working on it. We're getting close, but so far the equipment hasn't been reliable. We are just using what we have in camp, of course."

"Well, I can take a look tomorrow if you'd like. I used to be an amateur wireless operator. I'm afraid you'll only be able to hear, but not transmit."

LeBeau stepped forward. "About that, sir. You hid for some time. Is there some form of organization operating in France, or is it just random resistance cells? Maybe Belgium or the Netherlands? Is there any way we could get in contact with them? We need certain items if we ever want to escape. We have the silk maps of Germany, some compasses. You know the stuff they fitted air crews with. But that's not much of a help."

"Escaping, if you want to do it properly, will take a long time. You need civilian clothes, papers, photos, food, many things. It's a difficult proposition, especially inside Germany. If you were in an occupied area, that would be different, but even so, I got caught. And others have as well. But yes, the French are helping, at great risk to their own lives. And there are collaborators to worry about as well. As I said, that's how I got turned in." Marceau spat on the ground.

"As for Belgium and Holland. I don't know. It's easier to hide out in France because there is more open space. Holland is densely populated and has a lot of open terrain, as you know. It would be harder to hide activities, I would think. And they are surrounded by Nazis. I also heard they aren't letting any Dutch near the coasts. It's easier to control a smaller area. Belgium?" Marceau shrugged. "It's small as well. For now, I'd bet my life that our best chance is hoping that the French resistance becomes more organized. But I have to tell you something, Louis, and the rest of you. Back in June, the 18th, I think it was. General De Gaulle made a speech. We heard it. He asked the French people to continue to fight, to resist."

LeBeau's eyes swelled with tears. Newkirk patted his friend on the back. "Steady mate."

"We are all trying. There's free French, Czechs, Poles, even some Irish are helping out, if you can believe it. Any victory, no matter how small is worth it." Marceau smiled. Now, if you don't mind, I am very tired."

"Of course, sir. Right this way. We've made room. My aide moved to another hut temporarily. I'll bunk out here so you can have some privacy." Maddock said.

"No need, Sergeant. Formalities have a place, yes. But some are more important than others."

"As you wish, sir."

The door closed behind the officer, and after a while sounds of snoring could be heard coming from the private room. A few of the men went back to their own barracks, while the residents of Barracks Two, plus a few members of Maddock's staff, gathered around and began to discuss their newest comrade.

"Poor bloke," Newkirk commented. He walked over to the sink and began rinsing out the mugs. "To hide for so long and then get caught."

"I think there are some things he's not sharing," Maddock replied.

"I agree," said LeBeau. "He's hurting. I can tell. May be his interrogation, and definitely being turned in by collaborators is probably what's bothering him more than anything.

"It would be horrible to have him sent to that other camp," Deschamps, the other French prisoner, noted. "We should try and do something."

Maddock, now seated at the table, played around with a pencil as he mulled over the problem. "Wish we could intercept those transfer orders."

"If we did, then what?" asked another prisoner, Sergeant Glassman. "Klink knows he has to go. He's just waiting for another load of men to be sent southeast. They won't send just one man all that way. It has to be worth their while, and be cost-effective."

Maddock turned and faced Glassman. "How do you know that?"

"I overheard Schultz and another guard discussing it in the outer office when I was picking up garbage."

The men in the room laughed, and Maddock slapped the sergeant on the back. "Good thinking! Looks like your German lessons have paid off, Newkirk."

"That and it's close to Yiddish," Glassman replied. "What's even better, is I threw the garbage there myself! And the guards didn't bother shooing me away. As long as I looked busy, they didn't care."

"Seriously?" Maddock shook his head. "Will wonders never..." he was interrupted by the lookout at the door. Any time clandestine activity was discussed, all barracks were required to have a lookout. It was plain common sense, but Maddock decided you coulnd't be too careful, and he made it an order.

"Schultz coming."

"All right, we'll discuss this later". Maddock quickly put the maps back, and shoved the footlocker over the board.

"You know Maddock," Newkirk whispered. "I can break into the office and steal those orders." He stopped as the door opened. "What do you want, Schultz?"

Schultz was eating an apple. He was obviously enjoying his snack, and the smell of the fresh fruit made the prisoners' mouths water. He finished it, core and all, and swallowed. "Pardon me." Removing a handkerchief, he wiped the juice off his chin. "I have something for a few of you," he stated with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, what is it? Hand it over?" Deschamps demanded.

Schultz reached into his jacket and removed several envelopes, which he held in the air. "Mail."

"I think I have something!" Katerina held her head close to the battery operated radio she had been working on. Germans illegally listened to the BBC, but she and her friends were hoping to get more equipment working and to store it, along with other items, in the mine tunnel. The radio was crackling, but voices could be heard on the other end. She waved the men over. They crowded around, and they too could make out the sounds of the BBC.

"I feel safer listening in here than at home," Katerina stated with a smile.

"Definitely," Otto concurred. "We still have a lot of work to do."

Katerina turned off the radio and moved over to another small table set up along a far wall. There were piles of clothes to sort through, a donation made by an elderly Scandinavian couple who seemed to have a secret way of acquiring fabric and, to their surprise, several complete sets of German uniforms. She began sorting through the pile, brushing dirt off some of the clothing, and folding the fabric, placing the material neatly on a shelf attached to the legs of the table. Meanwhile, the men continued the slow and tedious work of digging into the ceiling, hoping to show signs of breaking through into the dog pen.

A clank stopped everyone in their tracks. Hercules stopped his work, stepped down from the small ladder, and rubbed the sweat off his brow. "Looks like we hit the doghouse," he said. The rest now hurried over.

"You sure?" asked Otto.

The younger man grabbed a small spade and hopped back onto the ladder. He carefully and slowly began to move some of the dirt around, tossing bits and pieces onto the floor. Several days earlier, prisoners had snuck out of their barracks at night, and had undertaken the dangerous mission of loosening the dirt underneath the house. Fortunately, as they suspected, no one would expect any prisoner, in their right mind that is, of going anywhere near the dog pen, much less inside of it. The combined work on the earth helped Hercules, and after a few minutes he broke through. Now, the next step was to build a ladder leading from the doghouse into the mine tunnel, and to somehow install hinges on the back of the doghouse so that it could move in an easier fashion.

"Looks like we are in business," Oskar said. He felt triumphant and vindicated. His next step was to notify Helga and the prisoners that their combined work against the Nazis could continue.

This chapter was a bit of a rough go, as Newkirk would say. As some of you may have read on the forums, I was having difficulty with technical details...namely the radio, dates, and geography as well. (Thanks to Konarciq for pointing that out to me..again! By now, you'd think I would remember where Belgium and Holland were, in relation to Dusseldorf). I hope I dealt with the geography issue to everyone's satisfaction. Based on the small amount of research I did on the resistance movements in the 3 countries (Belphegor did a great job with that on her latest story) the explanation that Marceau gives is hopefully pretty factual.

At this time in the war, the resistance in France was mainly in the north. By now, there were already papers being printed. De Gaulle did make that speech. In May of 41, the first SOE agent dropped into France, so I'm a bit ahead of the game here. MI9 was the British agency responsible for escape and evasion...helping soldiers make it back to England. There was a 50 percent chance of making it back to allied lines. During the war, more than 5000 men were helped by 12,000 French civilians. Most of the information came from historynetdotorg, as well as other sites on the web. I still have to work out the radio details, which is way over my head, but for now, I wanted to move the story forward.

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