Chapter Two: An Uneasy Welcome
The jarring movements of the truck as it bounced down a German road forced James Kinchloe to hold tightly onto the edge of his bench so not to go flying into his fellow prisoners, or worse, the two guards with rifles who were guarding them.
The weeks since his capture had been filled with a mixture of fear, uncertainty and loneliness. The death he had expected had never come as he had been processed with the other prisoners and sent from North Africa to a Luftdulag in Germany. His days in the interrogation center where ones he hoped to forget. He hadn't been ill-treated but the weeks in solitary confinement did things to a man's mind. Thankfully, he had been able to act unintelligent and his interrogators, convinced of the inferiority of his race, had fallen for it.
Time had passed since his capture but he wasn't sure how much. He knew that he had missed Christmas for the guards at the Dulag hadn't hidden their Christmas celebrations from their captives. That day had been the hardest of them all as he had tried not to think of how hard it must be for his family to celebrate Christmas without knowing if he was alive or dead. He had failed miserably.
A gust of wind brought his thoughts back to the present. The air was bitter cold and his uniform which had been comfortable in the desserts of North Africa was already proving to be inadequate for the German winter.
"Do you have any idea where we are going?" the young soldier sitting beside him on the bench whispered.
Kinchloe looked over Sergeant Timothy Leonard and shrugged. He didn't dare tell the truth which would mean admitting that he was fluent in German. Near the beginning of their trip, he had overheard the driver tell one of guards that they heading towards a Luftstalag on the outskirts of Hammelburg. Not that hearing that information had done any good; Kinchloe's knowledge of German geography was poor at best.
"Doesn't matter," the third and final prisoner, Sergeant Luke Washington, said. "We aren't going anywhere where we will be welcome. I can promise you that."
"Schweigt!" barked one of the guards.
One didn't have to understand German to understand that their guards didn't like them talking so the prisoners ceased their conversation and returned to their thoughts.
Kinchloe tried not to be jaded by Washington's words but the man had a point. There was a reason the military was segregated. The three of them had trained together at Tuskegee but had served in different bomber crews. So while he was acquainted with both men they hadn't been close.
They would have to be close now, Kinchloe mused.
The truck jerked as it came to a stop. Their guards jumped to the ground which allowed Kinchloe a view of small wooden structures and barbed wire in the distance.
"Raus! Raus!" the soldiers barked as they gestured for their prisoners to exit the truck.
As the closest to the exit, Kinchloe jumped to the ground, carefully keeping his hands in the air as he moved to the spot where the soldier pointed.
A small crowd braved the cold weather to watch and as Kinchloe scanned their faces he saw mostly looks of shock intermixed with some open expressions of hatred. The one exception was a man in an RAF uniform who simply looked disinterested in the whole proceedings as he stood apart from his fellow prisoners.
Once the three of them were out of truck, their guards were greeted by a large sergeant. Kinchloe barely paid attention to the transfer as he instead studied his new home. There were rows of wooden barracks that appeared to provide little protection from the fierce German winters. A ring of barbed wire surrounded the camp as guards watched from the towers or on foot as they patrolled with German shepherds around the perimeter.
It was a dreary, bleak and depressing place filled with people who clearly did not want him there.
This was going to be a long war.
Colonel Wilhelm Klink did not like surprises. He especially did not like surprises that upset the delicate balance of his Stalag. Therefore, the sight of three Negro soldiers standing at attention in his office definitely qualified as a very unwelcome surprise.
Klink had never met a Negro before today but he had heard that they were dangerous brutes and he shuddered to think of the problems having these men in camp would cause. It was time-consuming work keeping all the prisoners in line, insuring that there were no escapes, and the last thing he needed was another headache to deal with.
Why did Berlin send him all the difficult prisoners? It was not fair Klink decided; none of the other Stalags had anywhere near the number of problems that he had to deal with on daily basis.
However, orders were orders and Klink was good at following orders.
Standing at full height, Klink squared his shoulders as he inspected the new prisoners, grasping his swagger cane tightly in his left hand. It was important that they understood that he was in charge so that they would respect his authority. He could not afford to let the men see how intimidated he felt in their presence.
Looking at the tallest of the incoming prisoners, Klink asked, "You are?"
The man looked straight ahead as he stated, "Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe. Serial number: 16249153."
Klink asked the same question of sergeants Leonard and Washington before launching into the interrogation. That endeavor was short-lived as his attempts to learn the location of their airbase or the makeup of their units failed as the men simply stood there in stony silence.
As the silence stretched on Klink became aware of the lack of a certain presence. While Anderson was not an officer, the sergeant major was the ranking prisoner and he normally took that role seriously which included being present at all processing of incoming prisoners. Even though many of the things his charges did confused the colonel it was not difficult for Klink to guess the reasoning behind Anderson's absence.
Blast! He had known that these prisoners were going to be trouble.
Turning to face his sergeant of the guard, Klink ordered, "Schultz! Bring me Sgt. Anderson."
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."
An awkward couple of minutes passed but, for once, Schultz showed that he was able to be efficient and Anderson was escorted into the room.
Eager to pass his troubles onto the lap of another, Klink wasted no time in beginning introductions. "Sergeant Major Anderson this is Sergeant Washington, Sergeant Leonard and Staff Sergeant Kinchloe."
Anderson didn't even look at his new charges. "Give the Coloreds their own barracks and keep them away from us."
Klink furrowed his brow; he didn't like the idea of segregating his prisoners. He had been very intentional about placing men of different nationalities together. He figured that would make it more difficult for men in any one barracks to work together to plan escapes. Separating a certain group of men would be asking for trouble. "I do not think so, Sergeant. I will not waste resources by giving three men a barracks to themselves. They will bunk with the other men. If your country lets these men fight then you will have to live with them until your country surrenders."
Klink couldn't help but feel smug at his decision but that feeling was quickly ruined by the unease he felt at how the incoming prisoners had stood at attention the whole time as if they were oblivious to the conversation happening around them. No wonder the Führer taught that Negros were of lesser intelligence.
Anderson, however, looked furious but which only confirmed to Klink that his decision was the right one. Now that he had put Anderson in his place, Klink turned his attention to his new charges.
"Men, for you the war is over. I suggest that you make yourselves comfortable as Stalag Thirteen will be your home until the Third Reich achieves her inevitable victory. Know that I run an efficient camp and tolerate no troublemakers. Any attempts at escape will be dealt with swiftly and the guilty party severally punished."
Klink was unable to keep the smugness out of his voice as he concluded, "Dismissed!"
As the new prisoners were escorted out of the office, Klink allowed himself to feel some pride over how he had handled that difficult situation. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe, if he wasn't so good at his job then his superiors wouldn't keep sending him all the troublesome prisoners.
Deciding that was the answer, Klink sat back down at his desk and returned to the never-ending task of paperwork.
Kinchloe's introduction to the delousing shed was not one to write home about, nor for that matter was his introduction to his barracks' mates. After leaving Klink's office, the three prisoners were escorted to the delousing shed and told to clean up. After that ordeal was finished they were split up and Kinchloe found himself assigned to Barracks Two which also happened to the home of the very unhappy Sergeant Major Anderson.
Anderson seemed resigned to the situation and after introducing Kinchloe assigned him to the bunk opposite his private quarters. At first glance, it looked like he received prime location as the bunk was separate from the rest which would give him a little quieter sleep but Kinchloe was no fool. By giving him a bunk alone in its corner, Anderson was sending him an unspoken message that he was going to be expected to stay away from the rest of the men.
In that moment, Kinchloe realized the Colonel Klink was wrong. The war was not over – not for him – it had just moved to a different battlefield.
Looking at the rest of prisoners, Kinchloe tried to remember Anderson's hastily given introductions. Aside from Anderson and himself there were two other Americans: Sergeants Olsen and Brown. In addition, there were three members of the Royal Air Force present: two sergeants and corporal whose names he had already forgotten. Anderson mentioned a fourth RAF occupant a Sergeant Clayworth who was out of the barracks at the moment. The final occupant of their hut was to Kinchloe's surprise a corporal from the Free French forces.
Yet as Kinchloe studied his fellow prisoners he didn't fail to notice that the nine men only filled a little more than of half of the available beds. That was a depressing thought as Kinchloe realized that the Germans expected the war to last long enough for all those empty beds to be filled.
Conceding that no one was going to strike up a friendly conversation, Kinchloe climbed up to the top bunk. He had an exhausting experience and if no one was going to bother him he might as well catch up on missed sleep,
That plan, however, was interrupted as a man who Kinchloe figured was the absent Sergeant Clayworth stormed into the room. "Newkirk!"
It was the English corporal who responded nonchalantly as he shuffled a deck of cards. "Present."
The RAF sergeant didn't look happy. "One of the guards has informed me that they are missing a bottle of schnapps from the guard's mess. He is demanding that it be returned or we will all be in trouble."
Newkirk shrugged as if to say it wasn't me while Clayworth walked straight over to Newkirk's locker, kicked it open and grabbed the bottle from where it was resting right on top.
The accused man failed to even look apologetic. "What can I say? It was sitting out and I couldn't resist."
Clayworth growled, "You won't have been tempted if you hadn't been where you don't belong in the first place."
Before Newkirk could reply, Anderson walked out of his quarters. "What is going on here?"
Clayworth reply was to hold up the schnapps and tilt his head toward his fellow countryman.
Anderson sighed. "Again?"
"I'm sorry, Sarge. It's just the krauts make it too easy."
"Newkirk, we all appreciate some of the extras you get us but I have told you to stay away from the alcohol. Now I have to discipline you or the krauts will."
Newkirk shrugged as if he was expecting as much.
Anderson paused for a moment to think before saying, "Your duty for the next couple days is to orient the three new prisoners. You can start by giving them the grand tour."
"I will do so as soon as I finish up this game."
"You will do so now, Corporal."
Newkirk laid down his hand and gestured for Kinchloe to come. But on the way out the door, Kinchloe noticed Newkirk brush up against the French corporal. In that moment, a small bundle changed hands as the American heard the Englishman whisper, "See the trouble I get in for you."
Looking closer, Kinchloe thought he saw a potato poking out from underneath the cloth. So Newkirk was stealing more than just schnapps. Kinchloe suspected that the corporal must have stolen the liquor knowing that its absence would be noticed and make the guards forget about the missing food.
Was the food situation that bad that Newkirk had to steal in order for them to have enough to eat?
Or was something else going on here?
Either way, it looked like Kinchloe was going to have plenty of time to figure it out.