My Painting is Missing

Langenscheidt was sitting on a stool in the mess hall kitchen munching on a stale Lebkuchen and chatting with Unteroffizier Lukas Kappel. Kappel was a middle aged man who looked more like a side of beef than a solider of the Third Reich. He stood a head taller than Langenscheidt and his shoulders were twice as wide. He had become Stalag 13's cook six months ago due to loosing part of his right foot to a landmine in Belgium. A man of even disposition, he rarely got angry but would not take any flak from anyone, enlisted, NCO or officer. In his kitchen, he reined supreme. He also was a hard worker who got up at 0400 hours to start breakfast and worked until 1900 when the last dinner dish was washed. Since he was stuck in the kitchen all day with only disgruntled enlisted men and the occasional prisoner, all who had the misfortune of having to pull KP, he was happy for anyone who was willing to give him the camp gossip while he worked. If Kappel liked you, you often got a tiny tidbit he had been saving for just such an occasion. Karl had just brought up the topic of Gefreiter Keller's newborn daughter when Oberfeldwebel Hans Schultz came into the kitchen.

"By order of the Kommandant, everyone must go outside and join in the search," said Schultz as he eyed the last bit of Langenscheidt's cookie. Karl quickly finished off the rest of the cookie and smiled innocently at his NCO.

"What search?" responded Kappel. "I have a lot work to do or the men's dinner will be late."

"There'll be no dinner until the painting is found," Shultz replied with a mournful look at the pots cooking on the stove.

"Are you crazy Oberfeldwebel? The men get little enough to eat as it is. If I delay dinner to look for some stupid picture we'll have a riot on our hands," he said placing his hands on his hips in defiance.

"General Burkhalter gave the Big Shot a priceless painting for safe keeping and someone has stolen it. Now we all have to get outside and help in the search or we'll all face a firing squad."

"What painting are we supposed to be looking for?" asked Kappel.

"The Boy with the Fife," replied Schultz. "It's a painting by Moan-nay. The General, he stole it…. took it….uhm…he got it from the Musée du Louvre for Göring's birthday and now it is gone."

"You mean 'The Fifer' by Manet?" interjected a surprised Langenscheidt.

Schultz shrugged his big shoulders. "All I know is the Kommandant has canceled all leave and everyone not on guard duty is to search for the painting. Every time the General comes to visit, something happens. I wish he would stay home." Schultz replied in exasperation.

"I think I might know where it might be," replied Karl getting up from his place by the stove.

"You do?" Schultz asked hopefully. "Where?"

"Never mind, I need to talk to Oberst Hogan," Langenscheidt said as he hurried pass Schultz and out of the kitchen. Karl almost ran across the compound. He was able to catch up to Hogan just as he was leaving the Kommandantur.

Zipping up his jacket and turning up the collar against the cold, Hogan shoved his hands into his pockets and took long measured strides towards the barracks. He had a grim no nonsense look on his face. Momentarily, Karl's nerve failed him. Last thing he wanted was to get on Hogan's bad side. I'm not even sure he has the painting, Karl reasoned to himself. Who am I kidding; of course he has the painting. Summoning up his courage, he approached the Senior POW.

"Oberst Hogan," began Karl, while vainly trying to match pace with Hogan. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

Hogan never so much as glanced at Langenscheidt before verbally dismissing him, "Not now I'm busy."

Karl skipped a few paces ahead and stepped into Hogan's path which caused Hogan to have to come to an abrupt halt. For the first time Hogan looked at the young German. His mouth stretched into a thin frown as he regarded the man in front of him. Standing with his feet apart and hugging himself, Hogan waited for Langenscheidt to speak.

"Forgive me Oberst but I think I know who has the Kommandant's painting," Karl began nervously.

Hogan remained silent but raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I think I know why he did it," Karl continued rapidly, afraid that he might lose his nerve if he didn't blurt it out all at once. "A painting such as 'The Fifer' should be where everyone can see it, not hidden away in someone's private collection. Not to mention it was stolen from the French people."

"Why do you care, Langenscheidt?"

"Have you had the pleasure of seeing 'Horse in a Landscape' or 'The Lamb' by Franz Marc?"

Hogan shook his head, "No I don't believe so."

"I'm not surprised. He was a German artist, an Expressionist who was fascinated by Cubism and Futurism. He died at the Battle of Verdun. His work with color and contours is breathtaking. "

"Interesting but what does it have to do with Klink's painting?"

"In 1936, the Nazi party decided he was an entarteter Künstler, a degenerate artist. Like so many of the modern artists, his work was removed from the museums. Many of their works have been destroyed; beauty that the world has lost forever. Others sit in backrooms and cellars, never for the world to view their splendor again. So I can understand why the little Frenchman would be so moved by the painting and try to save it from those who cannot really appreciate it."

"LeBeau has the picture?"

"Yes Oberst," Karl replied. "I saw him go into the Kommandant's office. Please do not be angry with him. Perhaps you could leave it somewhere so it could be found and he won't get into trouble."

"Why didn't you sound the alarm when you saw him go into the office?"

Karl spread his hands and gave a small shrug. "I couldn't be sure what I saw. The sun was in my eyes."

"I see," replied Hogan. "Ok, I'll take care of it and I'll make sure LeBeau doesn't get into too much trouble."

Karl smiled. He felt a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. As he watched Hogan enter Barracks Two, he marveled and how well the Oberst took care of his men. Their problems became his problems. He could see why they were so loyal to him. Feeling confident that Hogan would take care of everything, Karl turned and headed for his barracks. If he was lucky, after polishing his boots and getting his uniform ready for his next duty rotation, he might just be able to get seven good hours of sleep.

a /n:

Unteroffizier: Sergeant is the best American equivalent.

Lebkuchen is a spicy cookie prepared especially during the Christmas season. Since Göring's birthday is January 12 and Burkhalter stated his birthday was in a few weeks, this episode must have happened sometime around Christmas. (I can only remember his birthday because it is the same day, but not year, as my dad. Of which I am kind enough to constantly remind him.)

KP duty "kitchen police" or "kitchen patrol", military slang for mess-hall duties. Duty consists of peeling potatoes, washing dishes, washing trashcans, working the service line, etc. The only thing nice about KP is sometimes the cooks will slip you a special treat. Otherwise it is a dirty nasty job that no one wants.

Oberfeldwebel: Master Sergeant

In this episode the painting is referred by Burkhalter as 'The Boy with the Fife.' This is incorrect as the title of the painting is 'The Fifer' or 'Young Flautist'. It hung in the Musée du Louvre until 1986. It was then moved to the Musée d'Orsay where it is still displayed today.