Chapter Thirty-Three: Startling Fears
Throughout the rest of April and most of May, rain was present every day. Not a day went by that was void of rain; whether it be a quick afternoon shower or something akin to a monsoon. Everyone at camp quickly realized the held the low ground. It turned out that the river ran behind the prison, and was only a football field away. Overflow went quickly to the camp. This meant that the tunnels were at risk. After three days of relentless rain at the end of April, the officers ordered the tunnels to be closed for now. It was becoming a safety issue. Work details ceased as well. There was enough going on inside camp. Lining up for roll became an issue after a five-day stretch of rain when a 6-inch flood took over the compounds. Fortunately, all buildings were raised. But some questioned how long that would even last. Sandbags were ordered, and soon enough prisoners were outside laying out the bags around the camp's perimeter, preparing for the next big storm. When the water level in the ditches went down for a few days, the prisoners dug them deeper. A drainage system was implanted as well, demanding more digging from the prisoners. Despite the flooding issues, there were leaking roofs, cars stuck in the road, and very little clean water. There was a scare when a drowned deer got washed up to the fence. Now, the water had to be boiled before anyone could drink it. So, water from the well was hauled to the kitchens each morning to be boiled and then later served with the meals. Some prisoners created their own way to get a drink; they took buckets and cans and placed them under the holes in their roof. Whatever water they collected was fit to drink.
When the work on camp slowed, all anyone could do was wait for it to stop raining. When it didn't rain, the prisoners were allowed to mill around outside. But it was muddy, so few did. Instead, they congregated in other barracks, just for the socialization. Meals had a downturn because supplies came in slower because of the bad roads. Towards the end of May, more men were relying on the chocolate in the Red Cross packages. The Red Cross became a savior in the fight against boredom when a surprise delivery came with more board games. After everything was checked out to make sure no secret items were being smuggled in, the prisoners enjoyed more card games, backgammon, chess, and checkers. Since outside games were ruled out, tournaments were started. The English seemed to trump everyone in backgammon and the card game whist. But outside that, the variety of those who succeeded at all sorts of card and board games was astonishing. The second chess tournament they had ended up pitting Commandant Géraud against a Welsh private, with the private taking a spectacular win. In cards, any gambling game had less variety in winners. The card sharks—and everyone knew who they were—dominated the games. At one point, even the officers tried to police the poker tournament but the deed was eventually given up. Peter ended up winning two tournaments in a row, raking in a lot of chocolates and cigarettes. After taking some to hold him till the next Red Cross delivery, he offered the rest for his barracks mates.
It was there that the men discovered Luke did not smoke.
"You're ruddy jokin'," said Peter at once. "You've never 'ad a fag in your entire life?"
"Well it's only been eighteen years," Luke pointed out.
"Come on, old chap," said Dean. "Just take a whiff."
"I'd rather not," said Luke. "I actually find it disgusting."
"'Ow so," asked Peter as he blew out his nose.
Luke grimaced. "It smells for one."
The men chuckled. "Girls smoke," said someone.
"Well I've met girls who don't find it attracting," countered Luke.
"My wife doesnae find it attractin'," said Stephen. "She doesnae mind when I smoke a cigar, but I usually have tae go intae the studay fer that."
Peter glowered at him. "You're not 'elpin' the situation, mate."
"Oh, let him be," said Stephen. "If he doesnae want tae take a smoke, ye donae have tae force him."
"Thanks," said Luke.
"Though I've never met a gentlemen who never had a smoke once in his life," added Stephen.
The guys laughed, and Peter shoved a cigarette under Luke's nose. "C'mon, just one. If you don't like it, we'll leave it at that. But you at least 'ave to try."
Luke stared at it. "Well, all right. Just one." He took it and placed it in his mouth. Peter took out his lighter and lit it. Luke took one breath and then started coughing hysterically. The cigarette fell from his mouth as he collapsed on the table bench trying to catch his breath. The men laughed uproariously at the young man's attempt. When Luke finally stopped coughing he was not happy, and showed it by stomping out of the barracks quickly. Peter and Stephen went after him. It was raining again—unsurprisingly—so Luke was walking along the barracks under the roof that extended over the side, creating a dry place to walk. Peter and Stephen caught up with him quickly.
"Oi, mate," called Peter. Luke did not bother to stop until Peter jumped in front of him to slow him down. Stephen got on one side of him, and threw an arm around the younger man's shoulders.
"Yer not goin tae late a few men 'avin' a laugh get at ye, are ye," asked Stephen.
"Yea, we didn't mean anythin' by it," said Peter. "We were just bein' a bunch of rotten arses—makin' you do somethin' you didn't want to do. But, since you don't like it, it won't 'appen again."
Luke looked up at him. "I just thought it was dirty."
"It was," agreed Stephen readily.
"In 'indsight, o' course," added Peter quietly. Stephen smacked him on the back of the head. But Luke caught Peter's eyes and couldn't help but smile.
"It's just that…," started Luke timidly.
"Yea," encouraged Peter.
"I had a girl back home," said Luke. "I still do, I hope. And everything she liked about me I wanted to keep so that when I got back it would be less like something happened. It would be more like it was before."
Peter and Stephen smiled. "Well, there's certainlay nothin' wrong with that," exclaimed Stephen. "The gel still write ye?"
"Yes. Every time we get letters I get one from her," said Luke. "I'm just scared one day I won't get a letter from her anymore. She's a great girl. And when we get home, that's one thing I hope stays the same."
"With you, mate, it will," assured Peter. "You're one man anyone can count on, an' I don't see any smart woman dumpin' you."
"Thanks a lot, but I'm sure it's just something silly now," said Luke, his face and ears red.
"Love is never silly," said Stephen. "Not in times like these."
"I'd love to make some wise statement," said Peter. "But seein' as I've never 'ad much real luck wif women, I'm not goin' to try."
***** ***** *****
June 4, 1941
The rain ceased, and outside the men took the liberty of 'celebrating' a year in captivity. While a year had actually already passed for most, they had never been able to hold an actual celebration for it. The celebration was simply to be as patriotic as possible, especially around the guards. There was a good deal of singing and some fake speeches and such about the failure of the Nazis. The Brits took special pride in how the Luftwaffe had not squashed the RAF as they had promised. They enjoyed pointing out that no ground had been gained in their home countries. (Everyone decidedly ignored the battles taking place in Africa.) The French took pride in any news that came from home speaking of resilience. No one mentioned the word Underground, but it was implied. The guards tried to ignore the prisoners, but it was hard to when there were numerous little French and British flags flying around on barracks, or jeers were constantly called. More than a few men were tossed in the cooler for their insolence. Peter and Louis were not excluded from this, especially since Berg was now watching out for their mischief always. They spent one night in the cooler for following one guard around the camp, taunting him for a good fifteen minutes with songs and jeers.
When the rain did not return the next day, Duerr deemed it well to return to work outside the camp. It was a muddy job for a good week, but most prisoners admitted that getting out again was enjoyable. But there was no end in sight for it. The tunnels were reopened and damage had been done. They would be set back at least a month. The morale of the prisoners dipped low. To worsen matters, Jöchmann returned. But this time, he was not under the supervision of the Kommandant, Major Duerr, or even Allied officers. He came to inspect the prisoners one day out at their workplace.
Seeking out his favorites, of course, Jöchmann appeared at the Jakowitz farm. His arrival was a startling surprise to everyone, including the guards. As for those working out in the field, who did not notice him arrive, his sudden appearance at their side was even more alarming.
"I am glad you work hard," was the comment he made to alert them to his presence.
The men he stood over all turned around, Louis finding himself closest. He involuntarily took a step back because of the uncomfortable closeness. However, the prisoners stared at Jöchmann with equal contempt written on their faces.
"Ve alvays make sure zey vork hard," replied Berg, who came to stand beside Jöchmann. He saluted the officer civilly.
"That is good," said Jöchmann. "Because a prisoner who works hard will have less time to escape."
"I wonder why this concerns you, sir," said Peter, from two places down. "Seein' as you 'ave nothin' over us. We are Major Duerr's charges."
Jöchmann just smiled. "Actually, Corporal. That is no longer so. My role as security officer now extends into being able to inspect the prisoners as well. What little power Major Duerr and your Kommandant kept is now gone. The only role they hold now is that they were wardens. But, virtually, they are under my command."
The prisoners looked nervously around at one another.
"What does that mean for us, then," asked Luke.
"It means you will learn a new order of living," replied Jöchmann.
"How," demanded Luke. "We have the Geneva Conventions." He stuck out his chin defiantly.
Jöchmann laughed. "Junge, would you like to see what I have done with your Geneva Conventions?"
"Done with them," inquired Luke.
"Ja," said Jöchmann. "How I do not follow them."
The prisoners just stared at him. He narrowed his eyes at Luke. "Well, do you?"
"No sir," answered Luke quickly.
Jöchmann smiled. "That is too bad, because I have already made up my mind." He looked to his men, and ordered them to take Luke to the car. Though the specific words were not comprehended by the prisoners, the meaning was; especially when two SS guards started pulling Luke from the ditch.
Immediately, there was a small uprising from the surrounding prisoners. The Wehrmacht guards pushed back, though. They realized they had no power here; not with a SS officer. Peter struggled against Berg with a ferocity few had seen in him.
"You can't take 'im! You can't take 'im! You let 'im go!"
Jöchmann just watched the reaction with pleasure, and he stepped forward to Peter with frustratingly perfect composure.
"One day, Corporal, you will learn as well," he said. "But for now, I will educate others. They can tell you all about it later. Or, you can wait, and see for yourself when the time comes for your camp."
Peter had gone still as Jöchmann talked, coming to the sudden realization that this Jöchmann was beyond creepy. He was the most sinister man; a devil in human form, and relentless in his motives. Peter feared him. But furthermore, Peter feared the fate of someone in his hands. And right now that someone was Luke, the young man he felt he had a duty to protect. Their light in the dark could not be tarnished by this demon.
"You can't take 'im," Peter repeated softly. Pleadingly. Desperately.
"Are you begging," asked Jöchmann with a hint of surprise, but mostly amusement.
"Wot?"
"Are you begging for your friend?"
"I will if I need to."
"I thought the English were too proud to beg."
"I am never too proud to beg."
Jöchmann lost his amusement at the seriousness of Peter's tone. He stepped back. "Well, you do not have to beg, because as I already said: I have made up my mind."
Without another word, he turned around and walked away, his guards following as they hauled Luke along. Luke looked back one last time, and caught Peter's eyes. He was scared. They all were.
***** ***** *****
Louis sat outside the barracks on a crate, listening as boots squelched back and forth in the mud in front of him. Normally, he would have been irritated by the sound and motion. But now, his thoughts were elsewhere so that he scarcely noticed it. He was envisioning the sight of the hole and the smells it had produced. The fear he could taste in the air. The camp's tone was something he never wanted to feel again. And when he had been taken back, he was sure he would never have to feel it again. But he had been wrong. It was back. It was back as he thought of what Luke may be seeing or feeling at this very moment.
After Jöchmann had marched off with Luke, Berg left the farm to relay the news to his superior officers. The Kommandant and Major Duerr had left immediately. It was now late in the afternoon, and still no one was back. Berg was in charge of the camp, which had almost gotten Peter sent to the cooler. Berg was so afraid that the Englishman would do something, that he threatened him with the cooler again. Berg had worried about Louis as well, but the Frenchman had been in a daze since Luke was taken. Peter had not left his side since. No one had. The groups of friends had collapsed in on one another. The ranks were closed, for fear of being singled out. And most were avoiding Peter and Louis, who had already made a name for themselves. Only Stephen and Marcel stood beside them.
Louis was finally snapped out of his reverie when the squelching boots stopped. He looked up. Peter had stopped pacing and was staring at the wire. Louis stood up quickly.
"Non."
Peter turned around. "Huh?"
"You are looking at the wire funny."
"I wouldn't charge it, Louie. I was just wonderin'. No…I was 'opin' that maybe it would just fall down or somethin'. Needless to say, I'm lookin' for a miracle."
"Giving up," asked Louis.
"Maybe," answered Peter. "I mean, wot if the creep really does get control o' us. We'll end up like that other camp that you saw."
"I will not dare believe it until it 'appens," declared Louis. "And that is only if it 'appens." Peter just stared at him, obviously in doubt. Louis went on. "Listen to me, Pierre. You cannot let this get to you. You 'ave to be strong. You 'ave to be strong so that we can escape and you can make it 'ome, and you 'ave to stay strong for Luke. Because if you give up, as 'e fears and tries to prevent, then he will lose 'ope. And I know that is what you fear most."
Peter smiled at him. "I know. I'm…I'm afraid."
"We all are," said Stephen.
"But we can't let it overcome what we need to do…which is stick together and work our way through this," said Marcel. "Right?"
"Right," concluded Louis assertively. He looked at Peter and narrowed his eyes. "Right?"
Peter smiled. "Sure, why not?"
Louis chuckled, but it died away simply because the mood couldn't handle it. He sat down again, and Peter's boots were squelching in the mud again as he started up his incessant pacing. Louis stared at the little valley the pacing was making in the mud. It was filling up with water now, and suddenly they all realized that it was raining.
***** ***** *****
Most were worried about the events of the day, and also about the fact that Luke had not returned. The Kommandant or Major Duerr had no either. The afternoon had been a depressing one, and the rain only mimicked their mood. At night, it continued to rain, and normally the pattering of raindrops on the roof would have sent Peter's eyes dropping. But not tonight. He had not even bothered to get undressed. He was just lying on his bunk on top of the blanket, staring up at the bunk above him, which was usually sagging with the weight of Luke in it. But it was still, tonight.
Peter reflected then on how much the men around the camp had come to mean to him. The role they played in his eyes…even here where the dullness might have wiped away any since of community. Louis was his best friend; one who could always read his mind and know how to steer him back onto the right course; hard when he needed to be, but soft when he needed to be. Stephen watched over them all with his fatherly instincts, and always seemed to understand what each man feared but also how to deal with it the most mature way possible, without losing his composure. Marcel was patient and thoughtful. He was calm enough that one could never feel too lost with him nearby. And Luke was there for all of them to look at and remember that they were okay. There was always something to do, something to smile about, and something look forward to. To Peter, he was a little brother. Seeing as he already was n older brother, he was compelled to protect his friend. And when he could not, he was always afraid.
Around midnight, another sound penetrated the pattering rain. It was the sound of an engine. Peter sat up quickly, rolled off the bunk (nearly hitting Stephen in the process) and opened up the window. Of course, being further back in the rows of barracks, they couldn't see the compound. But they could hear a car engine more clearly. Someone had definitely come back in camp. Peter shut the window as the searchlight came around and looked at Stephen.
"You think it might be 'im," he asked.
"We'll just have to wait an' see," replied Stephen softly. They sat down on the bunk. The barracks was fully awake now. Peter took out a smoke in hopes of calming his nerves. It wasn't working out so well, so he stood up to pace. That drove everyone up the wall, so Stephen pulled him down to sit at the bunk again. Only minutes later, when Peter thought he was going to lose it, the barracks door opened up.
Everyone jumped up to see who it was. Berg stood in the doorway, dripping wet.
"Corporal Newkirk, you are needed at the cooler," he announced.
"Cooler," echoed Peter. "Wot for? I didn't do anythin'."
"Just come," ordered Berg.
Peter sighed and pulled on his cover and battledress jacket. He left the barracks with Berg, who was wearing a rain jacket and did not see a reason to hurry through the rain. Thus, Peter was forced to endure the wet. He shivered when they stepped into the cooler, but at least it was dry. He looked down the narrow hallway and spotted Duerr solemnly standing outside one cell. He looked up when they entered.
"Corporal Newkirk," he said. "Your friend is back."
Peter stepped forward quickly to enter the cell. Duerr held up his hand and he stopped. "He is not well. And he is being punished. I want you stay with him tonight, so that maybe he will tell you something. I need to know what happened to him."
Peter just nodded. It was all a riddle to him. Being punished…what could Luke have done? And Duerr did not seem angry right now. He seemed weary, but determined. There was no anger directed at Peter, and he could not sense any towards Luke.
"In the morning," Duerr continued. "I will call on you and hopefully you can tell me something."
"Yes, sir," replied Peter. "And sir, can you get Louis out here as well?"
"Who," asked Duerr.
Peter straightened. "Corporal LeBeau, sir. Please."
Duerr shook his head. "The fraternization between British and French prisoners is going to cease."
Peter was shocked and his expression showed it.
"That is the new order for security," Duerr said. "Issued by the SS."
Peter's jaw clenched in anger, and he did not wait to be dismissed by Duerr. Instead, he stepped past him and went into the cell. Luke was sitting against the wall, looking completely lost. He did not even acknowledge Peter being in there. He only looked up when the cell door was shut. He locked eyes with Peter.
"'Ello chum," said Peter. "'Ow you feelin'?"
"Tired," answered Luke solemnly.
Peter went and sat beside him. "I bet so. Where did the creep take you?"
"To the same camp he took Louis," replied Luke. He looked at Peter. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"I don't think we 'ave a choice, mate," said Peter.
"What makes you say that," asked Luke.
"I think the Major wants to 'elp," said Peter. "'E doesn't believe in wot Jöchmann does at that camp. An' 'e doesn't want to see it 'appen 'ere. I think, that if 'e can find a way, 'e'll stop it. But you 'ave to tell us wot 'appened, so that 'e can do somethin' about it."
Luke looked at Peter again. "It was murder," he whispered finally.
"Murder," asked Peter, shocked. "Wot are you talkin' about?"
"Just listen," said Luke. "The camp, it's for Polish prisoners, like Louis said. But there's more to it than what Louis saw. It's just as brutal, but in more ways. The prisoners work too, but the work is harder, and their rations terrible. They just get this soup—and you think our soup is watery? Their soup has absolutely nothing in it. At night, they get a piece of stale bread, But that's it, and some of the prisoners said that sometimes they get even less. Like maybe just bread one morning, but nothing at night. They're so thin. Their barracks are little huts with no floors. There's no windows, just one doorway, but no door. It's every man for himself too, mostly. Some prisoners are like wardens for their own people, and for that they get more food. They sell one another out for more food, and those that are too weak to work anymore, or get in trouble…they just get killed. Hung or shot. And then…they burn their bodies in this giant crematorium, or their bodies are just dumped in this big hole in the middle of the camp. It's like a reminder of what might happen to you."
Peter's jaw had dropped. "That…that's murder!"
"I know!" Luke looked away. "It…It was terrible. I never thought I'd ever see something like that. I didn't even know people were capable of it. But…but Peter listen. There was more to it."
"More!"
"The people. We've only seen Polish soldiers, right? Well, it's not just soldiers."
"What?" Peter's tone was clipped as he thought of what he pleaded was not true.
"They have civilians there as well. There's another part of the camp that Louis must have never seen. It's civilians. They have the same treatment, too, but it's…it's women and children and old men and boys. They do the same work, are killed the same…but…" Luke's voice broke off as tears built up in his eyes. Peter had looked away, and was now staring at the ceiling.
"They can't do that!"
"I know…I know," whispered Luke. "It's murder. But they're doing it."
"It's atrocious as it is with soldiers," said Peter. "But women? Children? I—" He was lost for words.
"Peter," said Luke. "There was this kid. He was working in a field—right there in the camp—and he was coughing. He was coughing a lot, and anyone could tell he was just sick. He was kind of tall, but he couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. His face was just so young. He just kept coughing…and then this guard came by and pulled him out of the field. He said he was too sick to work, and told him to go to the infirmary. The other children were crying. I asked why, and they said he wasn't coming back. When you were sent to the infirmary, you didn't come back."
"Who were these people," asked Peter suddenly, his voice hoarse. "They were Jews? Gypsies?"
"Jews," answered Luke. "How did you know?"
"Louie got a letter from 'ome," explained Peter. "An' it talked about 'ow Jews an' Gypsies an' other people were disappearin' an' bein' relocated. I think—I think this is wot it means to be relocated."
Luke suddenly couldn't take it anymore. He bowed his head and just started sobbing. Peter put his arms around the younger man and let him dry it out. Peter's heart was quivering as well. How could someone escape this evil?
The following morning, Peter related to Duerr what Luke had told him. Through much of it, Duerr's face was composed. But at the mention of civilians, Duerr began to look outraged. Peter hardly blamed it, and when he was finished, was glad to be dismissed. He had no desire to be present when Duerr let go of his anger.
Since it continued to rain, they were not a work today, so Peter went to the barracks. He found Luke sound asleep in his bunk, and everyone wanting to know the story. Even Lawrence and O'Neill were there. Peter sighed and told them. Afterwards, everyone knew things had changed. Now, they could definitely not let the camp go that way. They had to stall it as long as possible, so that they could escape from it forever.