Warning: Brief description of abuse of prisoners, but nothing too graphic.
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1945 – 1950.
Unfortunately the start of this diary is going to have to be a bit vague, because I don't remember everything that happened to me after Stalag 13 was liberated by the Americans. It feels like such a long time ago, and everything happened in a blur.
I know I was taken to Dachau, a camp formerly run by Nazis and then used by the Americans for many of their war crime trials. Many people, including myself, who were not war criminals, were taken there anyway until we were proven innocent.
I was not treated very well, although I can't fully blame the Americans, considering how we Germans treated so many allied prisoners of war. I had to share a small room with a single bed with four other people. We were forced to take it in turns to sit and sleep on the bed.
I know I deliberately sabotaged the Nazi war effort on more than one occasion, but I hid my tracks so well there was no proof of this, especially because my "disguise" was a bumbling idiot. My favourite trick was simply to frustrate the local Gestapo to the point where they often failed on their missions. If the Nazis had no idea that I had ruined a few of their plans, drugged a couple of generals and blown some things up, how could I expect the Americans to find out? As I lay or sat awake each day and night, all I could hope was that the prisoners at Stalag 13 reported that I was a humane Kommandant who followed the Geneva Convention to the best of my abilities.
I remember being shown around Dachau camp on numerous occasions, forced to see photos and dummies of dead people in gas chambers. As I stared in horror at the photos, trying my best not to vomit, I felt someone come up behind me and smack the back of my head, pushing my face into the wall. I distinctly heard a crack and could immediately feel blood running from my nose. Next to me, nine other people were also pushed into the wall of photos. All I could do was gently pinch my own nose to try and stem the bleeding.
As we were taken out of the room, I saw a group of ten more prisoners like myself being led in.
During my stay I heard lots of rumours, such as apparently the German guards of this camp were shot after they surrendered to the Americans. I also heard about the brutal treatment and even murders of German prisoners of war, although of course we were not considered prisoners of war because we were all "war criminals." We were denied the right to send any letters, not that I could think of anyone to write to. Both my parents were killed in an air raid during the war, and my brother was the unfortunate victim of a motor vehicle accident.
I don't know how long I was imprisoned in Dachau, although I'm sure it felt a lot longer than it was. Even so, I must have been a prisoner for at least six months, maybe longer. Eventually I was released with no charges, and later I found out it was thanks to Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior prisoner of war officer in Stalag 13.
I always knew he was up to something during his time as a prisoner, and I could tell when he was trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Usually I let him, because anything he could do to hurt the Nazi war effort was good in my opinion - although I didn't let on that I suspected him. Not too often anyway. I do admit though, that is attitude got up my nose at times so occasionally I tried to get back at him with tricks such as transferring Colonel Crittendon, a bumbling English idiot who outranked Hogan, to Stalag 13. This amused me greatly, and annoyed Hogan no end.
Anyway, as I later found out, Hogan had been running a full scale sabotage and rescue operation from underneath Stalag 13! I was astounded by the magnitude of it. Perhaps I had been acting like an idiot so much that I became one. But thanks to his operation, Hogan had a lot of influence after the war, and was able to get me released from Dachau, so for that I am forever grateful.
Once free, I chose to stay in Germany, even though I knew many Germans were fleeing. I received a letter from Karl Langenscheidt, a former guard at Stalag 13, in 1955, telling me that he had left for Australia and was now happily married with two children and a third on the way. I have kept in touch with him over the years since then, and even visited him in Australia once.
I spent my time from being free (I think it was in 1946, but I really didn't know at the time, and I still don't) until 1950 in Germany, making a living at first in any small way I could and then later I managed to get a job at the Schatze Toy Company. The Schatze Toy Company was then owned by Hans Schultz, former Sergeant of the Guard at Stalag 13 and also my best friend after the war. I am proud to say I still earned my job; I didn't get it just for being friends with the boss.
In 1950 I decided it was time to live one of my dreams; a holiday to France that would not go horribly wrong like the "holidays" I experienced during the war.
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Hans Schultz put down the diary at this point and chuckled. He remembered quite clearly the unsuccessful holidays in France, having been there for most of them himself.
"You know Monique," he began, "Wilhelm was always determined to have a nice relaxing time in France during the war, and maybe pick up a pretty girl. He never got to do either thanks to Colonel Hogan and the French underground – he was lucky to get to the hotel he wanted in one piece with none of his possessions missing!"
Monique wagged her tail happily as Hans laughed again. She may not have been able to understand every word he said, but she knew the name "Wilhelm" and she recognised the sounds of the words in the diary because Wilhelm had read it to her too, while he was writing it.
Hans picked up the diary again, deciding to read a little more before making dinner.
"1950 – My finally successful holiday to France..."
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Author's Notes:
I did some research before writing this chapter and found out that Dachau was a camp formerly used by the Germans to gas Jewish prisoners, and then by the Americans for many war crime trials. The experiences described by Klink apparently did happen to Germans during their imprisonment in Dachau.
P.S. I didn't want to write Klink's entire diary in italics, but if anyone would prefer it in this format, let me know. Thanks!
P.P.S. For anyone who is concerned, the next chapter will be lighter hearted!