The evening was going well, for which Klink knew Marie should receive the credit. She was sharing her attention equally between the other two guests, but even Staremberg didn't seem put out at the friendly relations she had established with Hogan. As for the Kommandant himself, he was bubbling over with happiness. Everyone in the world was his friend, even Hogan. Even Carter, hovering in the background, immaculate if slightly ridiculous in white jacket and gloves. Yes, even Staremberg...no. That was a step too far. He put it out of his mind. Nothing was going to spoil this unexpected joy.
My sister. I have a sister. He could hardly keep from jumping up and telling everyone. He felt like calling a special assembly so he could announce it to the whole camp.
Hogan was watching him with a curious, bemused expression. He knew there was something going on, but clearly had no idea exactly what it was. Usually it was the other way around; Hogan had something he was keeping secret, and Klink was the one who was confused. The Kommandant almost laughed aloud. It was hilarious. Fabelhaft!
He refused to look at the down side; the many lost years they might have shared, and the likelihood that they might not have many more ahead, unless Staremberg's plans came to nothing, or unless the general could be persuaded to keep him on at Stalag 13. Now there was more reason than ever for Klink to hope for that, even if it meant sacrificing the last few principles he owned.
LeBeau put his head around the kitchen door, beckoning to Carter. The chef had taken a shine to Marie, just like everyone else did, and if the aroma drifting in from the kitchen was anything to go by, he'd excelled himself. He whispered a few words in Carter's ear, and disappeared again.
Carter edged over towards the Kommandant. "LeBeau says the first course is ready, sir," he murmured.
"Excellent. Madame, gentlemen, if you please…"
It was no surprise that Staremberg took his seat at the table at Marie's left hand; by some mysterious process, Hogan claimed the chair to her right, with a mocking sideways look at Klink. If he thought it would trouble the Kommandant, he was mistaken; Klink was quite happy to sit opposite. More than happy.
The soup was excellent, although Staremberg made things a little uncomfortable by insisting on exchanging his plate with Hogan. "Just to be sure," he said, with a chilly smile.
"You know, if LeBeau did poison it, Schultz would be lying dead in the kitchen by now," Hogan pointed out, tucking in without hesitation. "But if it makes you feel better, General..."
Over the noisettes the conversation turned back to Marie's work. "You must have travelled a lot, collecting all these stories," remarked Hogan.
"Not as much as I'd have liked," said Marie. "There's a whole body of work to do with comparative studies of oral tradition in native cultures. I was just getting interested in it when...well, you know how difficult it is now. I was planning a trip to Canada to research Inuit legends when war was declared, and then when I'd just arranged to visit the United States, your government decided to join in. Of course I know, after the war, but who knows when that will be?"
"You know," Klink broke in, "there are a number of the prisoners who have native blood. Even Carter here is part Indian, or so Schultz told me."
Carter, who had just started removing the plates, went scarlet, as everyone turned to look at him.
"Really? Oh, that's fascinating," said Marie, tilting her head a little. "Subcontinental or American?"
With a self-conscious look at the Kommandant, Carter murmured, "Sioux Indian, ma'am. On my mother's side."
"So there would be stories - traditional stories - that you would be able to tell me?" persisted Marie, hot on the trail of a new research opportunity.
"Well, sure, I guess so." Carter was unconsciously mirroring her head tilt as he thought about that. Then, recalling his duties, he added, "Maybe later, some time. Excuse me, ma'am," and hastily resumed his work.
Klink was delighted. He'd found a way to do something for her. He would make sure she had the opportunity to talk to Carter as soon as possible. He allowed his gaze to wander from her face to Hogan's. Hogan, with just the beginnings of a crease between his eyebrows, was looking at Staremberg. And Staremberg was looking at Carter, and it wasn't a friendly look.
The Kommandant's sense of well-being began to evaporate. Surely the general couldn't have taken offence because Marie had taken a purely academic interest in Carter. Staremberg didn't feel threatened even by Hogan; it wasn't remotely conceivable that he'd see Carter as a rival. But there was something hostile in his gaze as he watched Carter disappear into the kitchen.
A hush of discomfort fell across the table. Hogan was the first to break it. "General, you look like something's bugging you," he remarked.
Staremberg's eyes were now focused on the half-empty glass of wine in front of him. "Madame Rochaud," he said at last, "did you ever meet Professor Fischer?"
"I know of him," replied Marie. Her voice was almost devoid of expression. "I don't socialise in those circles."
"He's done some interesting work in the field of eugenics," Staremberg went on. "Especially in the area of interracial breeding. I've been corresponding with him for some time, and I think his work has a lot of merit."
Under the table, Klink's hands clenched slowly, as he realised what he'd just done.
"I'm guessing he's not in favour of it," said Hogan. His voice remained quite level, but there was a dangerous look on his face.
Staremberg laughed softly, as Carter came back from the kitchen. "Just look at him. He could almost pass for German." Carter stopped in his tracks. Blond hair, fair colouring, regular features; there was nothing the least exotic about him. "That's the danger, with mongrels," Staremberg went on. "So often they go undetected, because you just can't tell."
He turned a cool, assessing gaze on Carter, who stared back, with a confused look that modified into incredulity as he started to comprehend what Staremberg was saying.
"Pardon me for bringing this up, General," said Hogan, "but wasn't there a statement once, from someone fairly highly placed in your government, to the effect that the Sioux were classified as Aryan?"
"Politics, Hogan." Staremberg was still looking at Carter. "At least, so I understand. Tell them what they want to hear, get them on our side, then when we no longer need them..."
"That's assuming they fall for it." Carter spoke under his breath, but everyone in the room heard him. Hogan sent him a warning look, and he flushed again.
Klink, aware that his internal spasm was likely to start up at any moment, gave a nervous laugh. "General, I'm sure that's all very interesting, but...but perhaps this isn't the time..."
"I don't think it's ever the time," interrupted Marie. "And to be honest, General, it's not particularly interesting, either."
Up till this point, Staremberg had taken every reaction - Hogan's anger, Carter's hostility, Klink's embarrassment - in his stride, but he was brought up short by this. He looked at Marie, who was folding her napkin with deliberate care, as if there were nothing more important in the world than making a neat job of it.
"Willi," she murmured, "I should have asked before. How is your mother?"
In the face of such a perfect snub, so beautifully delivered, Staremberg went almost as red as Carter had a couple of minutes earlier. He could hardly show his resentment openly, but if the gleam in his eyes and the involuntary muscular twitch over his cheekbone were anything to go by, he was furious.
It was not looking good for Klink's future employment prospects. And from the cool, detached upward glance he received from Marie, it seemed she wasn't pleased with him, either.
A question popped into his mind: Well, who do you want to please - Marie, or...
He didn't have an answer for that, so he sighed, and started telling Marie about his mother's sciatica, a subject guaranteed to occupy quite some time.
The atmosphere remained tense, until LeBeau's gateau made its appearance, and the sheer artistic beauty of it was enough to lighten the mood. True, Staremberg only toyed with his, and Klink's inner workings were still so disturbed that he didn't dare let himself go, but Marie, in the daintiest manner imaginable, polished off her share without ceremony.
"Willi, that was superb," she sighed, as she laid down her fork. "I really must speak to the chef."
"Certainly. Carter, fetch LeBeau," said Klink.
Carter was still very quiet, and seemingly a bit preoccupied. He gave a start, as Klink spoke, then stammered, "Yes, Kommandant," and disappeared into the kitchen. LeBeau emerged a moment later, with Schultz following; Carter slipped past them, and stood awkwardly to one side.
"Monsieur, that was the best meal I've had since I was last in Paris," said Marie. "And as for the gateau, well,if I weren't supposed to be a lady..."
LeBeau glowed with gratification. "Merci, madame. It was a pleasure." He glanced at Staremberg's undiminished portion, and some of the light went out of his face. Klink almost felt guilty about his own lack of appetite, and he had a sudden desire to hide the evidence. Catching Carter's eye, he gestured towards the table.
Quite how it happened was unclear. Marie stood up; her fellow diners immediately followed her example. Carter, picking up the Kommandant's hint, had just started removing the dessert plates. Somehow he managed to get into Staremberg's way, and the general's uneaten portion tipped out of his hand.
It would have been hilarious, if anyone other than Staremberg had ended up wearing that quantity of cake, raspberries and créme chantilly. Even as it was, LeBeau gave a muffled snort, Marie suppressed a giggle, and a very peculiar noise escaped from Schultz. But neither Hogan nor Klink was amused, and Staremberg was livid.
And at that point, Carter made things worse: "Oops. Sorry."
Staremberg stared down at the mess on the front of his uniform. "You will be," he said softly.
The movement was so fast that Klink couldn't even assimilate it. One moment they were standing face to face; the next second Carter was against the wall, gasping with shock and pain. Staremberg had grasped his hand, twisting his arm up over his shoulder, rotating the wrist in a direction it was never meant to turn, and bending the fingers back at an angle that seemed anatomically impossible.
LeBeau started forward, but Hogan grabbed his arm. Normally any physical attack on one of his men would have brought a fierce protest from him, but this situation had one additional element: the pistol which Staremberg had produced from somewhere, and which was now pressed against Carter's temple.
What kind of a man brings a gun to the dinner table? The thought drifted through Klink's mind without really registering.
"Close your eyes," said Staremberg. Carter, breathless and as white in the face as a frozen corpse, stared at him, then pressed his lips together and gave a small, jerky shake of the head.
Schultz covered his ears and turned away, unable to watch, and Klink had to fight the urge to do the same. He was aware that Hogan, realising his own helplessness, was looking at him. LeBeau was still trying to free himself, desperate to intervene. There was no point; Carter would be dead before he got within arm's length. Staremberg might even shoot the cook, as well; Hogan, too, although he wasn't usually too fussy about leaving witnesses.
Please, Kommandant. The message in Hogan's eyes was so clear, Klink could almost hear it. He looked towards Marie, and she had a message for him, too.
Willi, don't be such a girl.
An involuntary, barely vocalised whimper from Carter, as Staremberg increased the pressure on his wrist, broke the paralysis. Klink braced himself, and took a step forward. His voice squeaked a little, but he pressed on.
"General Staremberg, as Kommandant of this Luftstalag, I must inform you that I cannot permit you to treat one of my prisoners like this. Please put down the gun, and release Carter at once."
Then he held his breath, and waited for the universe to collapse.
Notes: Carter's Sioux ancestry was raised in Drums Along The Dusseldorf (Series 3).
The statement that the Sioux people were considered Aryan has been attributed to Goebbels, but so far I've only found it reported in unreferenced secondary sources; if anyone can either direct me to a primary source, or in any way clarify the veracity of the story, I would be most grateful.