Midway out the outside door, I turned back to the sergeant—Schultz, I believe. Got to remember that. "Um, Sergeant." I tapped his arm. He was like Andre the Giant to me. I hate being short! Although it does have its advantages, like people never thinking that you need to buy longer pants. Or that your socks are ugly.

"Yes?" He asked, much like a favourite uncle of mine.

I tried not to look too embarrassed. "Could you direct me towards my, um, barracks?"

He smiled. "Of course. This way." He started down across the compound. Maybe I could get used to this. Or maybe not. This was prison. "These are your barracks. Eight."

I stared up at the small hand painted sign. Eight was my cabin number back home. Creepy. I thanked the sergeant and went back inside the open door. The unconscious Argent—man was gone, but there were two others sitting at the table in the aisle between the bunks. I stopped for a minute, scanning the bottom bunks for the worn cover of The Three Musketeers. Spotting it, I flopped down on the bunk.

"You're new, aren't you?" The one facing my way said, tipping his back off his forehead.

"Aye," I didn't move from my sprawl.

The other turned around. I was relieved to see neither was one of the ones from before my big entrance from under the bunk. "You were in the kommandant's office for a long time."

I shrugged. "Yeah, ask the guy a question about himself and he just keeps going and going."

The first narrowed his eyes. "Don't you know you're only required to tell your name, rank and serial number? You were gone too long for just your compulsories."

"Oh, right, name rank serial number. My bad." I shrugged, opening the book to somewhere around page two hundred.

The second shrugged as well. "Drop it, O'Neil. He probably doesn't know enough to talk about anything."

O'Neil glared at his friend, giving me one last suspicious look before getting up and leaving the barracks. The second guy turned around on the bench to face me. "I'm Sergeant Curtis."

Watching his hand for just a second, I realized that I was supposed to be civil. "Right. Sorry. Corporal Penn Boyd." I grasped it and shook firmly. This was weird. I couldn't remember the last time I shook someone's hand when I was introduced. Um, I think it was the minister for the last Christmas church service I attended. I was seventeen.

"So you already had your interrogation by Klink?" He smiled; obviously this was some sort of inside joke.

I smirked. "If you can call it that. More like I was being clever and he grew cross. Rather quickly."

Curtis laughed. "I can see that. Klink isn't one for keeping his cool."

"Never would've guessed." He looked at me for a moment, then realized I was being sarcastic. I tried to remember some of the questions that were written for the new prisoners. "So how long have you been here?"

"Too long," he laughed, "much too long. It's been I think about a year now."

I raised an eyebrow. "And you haven't tried to escape?" Usually at that point one of the others would make a crack about 'not for lack of trying.'

"Nope. No one has ever escaped from Stalag 13 successfully."

Taking note, I shrugged in acceptance. "I'm not one to mess with tradition."

He looked slightly surprised. "What did the colonel say when he heard that?"

I scratched behind my ear underneath the hat. "Um, Klink? Nothing."

"No, no, I meant our colonel. You know, the commanding officer."

"Oh. Haven't met the guy yet."

Curtis raised both his eyebrows. "Really? He tries to talk to everyone before they go into Klink's office. He missed you?"

I stood up. "I'm kind of hard not to miss."

"You are short," he sounded amazed.

"Should I be insulted?"

"Nah. You're not the shortest one in camp. I think."

"Wonderful. I'm second shortest." I grabbed an olive green hat off my bunk and pulled it firmly around the other. It was the kind with the flaps that you could tie up or over your ears. I chose neither, leaving them standing out like some type of odd semaphore.

"Nah, it won't be that bad. Listen, I gotta run and meet some guys. Can you find the way yourself?" he moved closer to the door. He probably couldn't wait to get away.

I shrugged. "Sure."

He went through the open door. That was interesting. I didn't think I had anywhere else to be, so I decided to return to the bunk and read a bit. As I settled back with a good view of the door, I realized that this seemed a lot like summer camp. There was your bunk and your little area of personal space, you shared with people you've never met, and how you know that despite the fact you lived there, you would leave. And the fact that when I went to camp I sat in the cabin most of the time and read sparked a few less than pleasant memories.