The door swung open, and the two men jumped away from the bunk. "Newkirk, Carter! What are you doing in here? These are not your barracks." This newcomer's diction was incredible. I instantly loved the way he rolled his r's.
"Schultz," the Englishman said charmingly, "we were just visiting Williams, 'ere. 'e's feeling a bit under the weather."
Schultz, I'm assuming, was the one who just entered. Made sense, yeah. German name, German accent. "Okay then. Have you seen a Corporal Boyd? The Kommandant wishes to see him."
"Corporal Boyd? I don't recognize the name, Schultz. Sorry." The American.
"Who?" The Englishman.
If that wasn't my cue, I could no longer be part of Drama Class. I slid a little ways closer to the outside of the bunk, grabbed the edge above me, and pulled myself out. I ended up facing the two men who were there first. I was right—one American and one English, at least according to their uniforms. Grinning, I spun on my heel to face a vast German. Even from my "diminutive" height of five foot one, this guy was huge. He'd shop at the Wide and Tall store. Enough description.
There was an awkward moment when I forgot I was a soldier and stuck out my hand for him to shake. He almost did, remembered he too was a soldier, and left his hand still stuck out and waiting. I smiled, and saluted—not the one-fingered that I was so fond of, unfortunately.
He returned it. "Corporal Boyd?"
"Aye, sir." I cursed my accent. If the Englishman was Austin Powers, I was Fat Bastard. Not literally, size-wise I was more like Mini-me. Enough Austin Powers references! I command myself.
"The Kommandant wishes to see you." I could see this sergeant as a mother hen, he held himself like a proud chicken on a litter of chicks, or whatever they call it.
I smiled. "How opportune. I was wishing to see the Kommandant."
The German was at a loss for words. I took pity on him. "Should I follow you?"
"Yes, yes," he said, then turned to the other prisoners. "And stay out of trouble, you two!"
I didn't look back as I followed the portly sergeant out. "You came in this morning, ja?" The sergeant asked, walking rather leisurely.
I decided to see if this German was as unobservant as I got the idea he was. "Nein, spät heute nachmittag."
"You came late this afternoon? That is why the Kommandant has not seen you yet. He was eating lunch." He nodded self-importantly and opened the door to the office. "Hello, Hilda," he said to the blonde secretary. I rolled my eyes, and stood there with the sergeant awkwardly until the inner door opened to reveal a man of medium height, balding, wearing a monocle on his right eye.
"This is the new prisoner, Schultz?" He looked at me carefully, but I didn't think he'd figure out I was a girl. "He's rather little, isn't he?"
I rolled my eyes, not caring if he noticed my contempt or not. He practically screamed incompetence.
"No, sir, I think LeBeau is littler."
"Are you sure? This Corporal looks very, very short." I sighed impatiently over the Colonel's reply.
"The Cockroach is smaller, this one is just wearing a hat."
Moving around the portly German, I walked past the Kommandant and headed into his office. Ignoring the stares I felt on my back, I sat down on the chair in front of his desk and propped my feet on it, staring at the laces. How I wished for my skater shoes. I could slip them off right now, and then not have to worry about tying them, and just slip them back on again, and then I would stop worrying about losing the feeling in my feet, and I got about another inch on my height. Oh, for my shoes.
The Kommandant cleared his throat behind me. I looked over my shoulder without expression. "Please, sir, come in, have a seat. Make yourself at home."
He glared at me and moved to sit behind his desk. "I ask the questions, Corporal."
"All right. I'll give you…" I pulled a number from the air, "six."
"What?"
"You can ask six questions. Well, five."
He frowned. "I am a Colonel, I do not take orders from Corporals."
"That's an awfully pedestrian way of viewing things," I smirked as his expression changed from displeasure to confusion back to displeasure. It seemed at home on his face.
"I am Colonel Klink, kommandant of Stalag 13. Your new home." He took some sort of twisted delight in telling me this. Being an actor, you learn to read emotions. This guy could come in handy the next time I had to model an incompetent.
"Oi, really? I never had a real home," I leaned forward as if telling him a secret. "I was in and out of boarding schools since I were seven, and finally now, in Germany of all places I find meself a place to call me own. D'ye mind if I call ye da?" Okay, so maybe I was laying it on a bit thick. Still, it was fun to watch his expression. Oh, the da comment! Besides, I needed to practice my Fat Bastard. Why couldn't Boyd be a Canadian? My nationality of choice.
"Of course you cannot call me that. I am your superior officer."
"Oops, my bad." I shrugged and leaned back, the Scottish orphan act forgotten.
He looked like he was going to ask me what I meant by that, but instead chose a more traditional path. "Where were you captured?"
Four left. "I have no idea. Sorry, mate."
"Were you aware of any plans for any attacks?" He was persistent, I suppose, in a strange way. Three to go.
"Um, don't think so. Wait, wait…" I rubbed my chin, "wait. I think there was one to get Evil Peter, but I think we scrubbed it. No, we did have plans still."
"Plans for what?" Two questions remaining.
I couldn't look him in the eye. He was just so eager. "Pillow fight."
He sighed angrily. No wonder. I was just being a pain in the
The secretary from the outer office walked in. "Colonel Klink?"
"Yes?" He replied without looking from my oh-so-captivating visage.
"There is a matter requiring your attention out here, sir." He sighed and got up, casting me a warning look. He shut the door firmly behind him.
I waited for about seven seconds before getting to my feet and taking a look at the room. Peering carefully at the helmet on the desk, I realized then that I was whistling. But what song was it? I continued. "Hogan's Heroes Theme." I moved closer to the wall to examine wallpaper.
"I know you're listening," I said in a singsong. I really didn't, but if someone was, they'd be all freaked out. "I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm not from around here. I'm from the best country in the world, and never let anyone tell you any different."
I turned as I heard the door open again, with the Colonel behind it. He came back over, standing behind the desk this time. I didn't sit, but stayed next to the wall to observe him more carefully.
"Who was your commanding officer?" One…
I shrugged casually. "You have one question left. Michael Robertson. He was great, really, he didn't treat us like flowerpots, you know, just there to look at."
His cautiously interested expression made me continue. "He never made us call him sir, or stuff like that, you know, like most of the guys like him do. We got to tell him what we thought, and in return, we let him win at ass…butt…er, President. That's a game," I clarified.
"I can still remember the last thing he said to me." I pretended to wipe away a tear.
He raised an eyebrow. Obviously he was keeping in mind he only had one question left.
"It was something to the effect of…enough with the German already, or I'll make you one."
"You speak German?"
"Yeah…I do. I also speak English, really bad Quebec French, and some Spanish. School was boring, but at least I became trilingual. Sort of."
I stood and brushed off the front of my shirt. "If that's everything, then…"
"You cannot go!" He stood as well, alarmed. I was a cocky corporal, wasn't I?
"Why not? I gave you your six questions."
"I told you before, you do not ask the questions."
I held up a hand. "I know, I know. You do. So I let you."
"Very well, then, as long as that is understood."
I shrugged, flopping back down into the seat. "Go ahead."
He frowned. "I do not require your permission."
"Of course not." Oops, cut the patronizing. Bad Penn.
"I have seen your records, and as such, I would require your clerical services
I thought a moment, ignoring his displeasure at being kept waiting by a mere corporal. Of course, I guess I wasn't. A mere corporal, I've been a general once, near the opening scene of Prisoner of War. "Isn't that a little trusting of you to give me a job like this? Doesn't it require a little test of my loyalty or something like that?"
"Normally, but my secretary needs help filing, and we cannot afford to hire anyone else. You said yourself you speak German."
"Okay."
"What?"
"Free labour—all right! Go for it, Herr Kommandant!" I gave him thumbs up.
"You should respect my rank!" He leaned over on the desk, probably to threaten.
I rolled my eyes. "Sure, I respect the rank. It's the Nazi part I don't give a sh—"
"Out! Go back to your barracks. Sergeant Schultz will instruct you on when to help Fraulein Hilda."
"I won't stand for this!" I tried my best stuffed-shirt nasally English accent and threw my shoulders back, insulted. "I'm going to look for my shoes." I pretended to toss a cape over my shoulder, and pranced out of the office.
