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What's in a Name
Chapter 16
An Apple a Day
Captain Marceau's ride showed up the next morning. The staff never questioned the authority of the two soldiers sent to pick up the captain; after all, upon their arrival, they presented the appropriate paperwork to Sergeant Schultz. Klink admitted to himself that he was sorry to see the captain go, as having an officer in his camp could only increase his prestige. However, he realized that Marceau needed to be sent to his assigned prison camp; one specifically made for army officers, not enlisted airmen. As a courtesy, he notified Stalag 13 that their missing prisoner had been sent on his way to the larger staging area.
The captain's going away party was canceled. Hercules and his accomplice drove Marceau to the tunnel, where he spent the day in hiding. The staff car was deposited in a ditch on the other side of Hamelburg. They left it a mess, with empty liquor bottles in the back seat, and dirt and garbage all over the interior. Their hope was that the authorities would assume the car was stolen for a joyride. That night, Marceau left the area and began a long and dangerous journey that would eventually take him back to France.
Two weeks later:
Helga sighed and reluctantly knocked on the Kommandant's door. She knew he would not want to take the phone call. However, the officer on the other end was, as usual, gruff and persistent.
Klink was engaged in the never-ending, mind-numbing task of going through paperwork, and he welcomed the interruption. "Come in." He looked up at his secretary, and smiled. The smile quickly left his face when she told him who was on the other line. "Call for Schultz," he whispered. Helga nodded and left the office.
"Kommandant Klink, here. What a nice surprise to hear from you. It's been a while."
Schultz was just outside the office. He gathered his strength, entered the building, and along with Helga, walked into the Kommandant's office. The two could make out the yelling leaking out of the phone's receiver.
"He what? As I told you, he left here with two soldiers. All the paperwork was in order. I signed all the copies myself. Sort of like a package being sent out." Klink chuckled nervously. "Except it wasn't a package, was it? It was a person. A British captain, I mean.
"He never arrived, you say? Well that's not my problem; you see...He left the camp...
"He never arrived at the transfer point. But the other prisoners arrived at camp, as expected?
"So, somewhere between our camp, and the transfer point, he was lost. What happened to the two guards? I have no idea. No there were no air raids in the area, as far as I know...
"Yes, I agree it is suspicious, but again, once he left our perimeter, he was no longer under our jurisdiction. Yes, he must have escaped."
Klink puffed up in indignation. "It's been two weeks, sir. I'm sure he is no longer in the area, but if I hear anything, I will be sure to call you." He slammed down the phone.
"Captain Marceau never arrived at the transfer point, Schultz." He glared at the sergeant.
"As you said, Kommandant, Everything was in order."
"That is odd. What do you think happened, Kommandant?" Helga asked, attempting to switch the blame away from Schultz and on to someone else.
"It's nothing we did here. Our no-escape record remains intact. My guess is he escaped somewhere between here and there. Or there was an accident. Strange, the two guards appear to be missing as well." Klink shrugged. "The Gestapo has been notified."
"Did you tell the other Kommandant about the apples?" Helga asked.
Several days earlier, a large shipment of apples had shown up at camp. So large, the Kommandant ordered that two fresh apples be given to every prisoner. The guards each received three, while the kitchen staff was now working overtime making and canning applesauce. "No, I did not." Klink smiled wickedly. It was no secret that Klink had come to despise the bureaucrats at Stalag 13, and that the feeling was mutual. Misdirected shipments of useful items were considered fair game in both locations.
It wasn't long before the entire camp got wind of Marceau's supposed escape. Klink questioned Schultz about the guards who arrived to fetch Marceau, and was satisfied with the sergeant's assurances that the guards were legitimate.
Schultz mentioned the missing captain to Corporal Langenscheidt, who then expressed his surprise to the head cook. The head cook let the cat out of the bag to Corporal LeBeau, who was outside the kitchen hoping to trade some Red Cross supplies for ingredients to make apple strudel. Of course, LeBeau was fully aware of Marceau's escape, but he expressed the right amount of glee to the cook.
The smell of apple strudel wafted across the compound and put Schultz into a food trance. Like a bloodhound, he followed the odor to Barracks two. He opened the door and waltzed in. "What is that smell? It is wunderbar!" he exclaimed in a tone normally reserved for the schnitzel from his favorite restaurant in Hamelburg.
"It's apple strudel," LeBeau told the sergeant. He picked up a plate from the table and held it under the sergeant's nose. "You want to try?" he asked. LeBeau put the plate down and cut off a small piece. He handed it to Schultz.
The sergeant plopped the piece in his mouth and savored the flavor for several seconds before slowly chewing the piece and swallowing. A look of sheer, orgasmic pleasure came over his face; a look all of the men in the barracks had not seen or experienced in months.
"LeBeau, you are an artist," Schultz purred.
"Merci."
"He was a chef before the war," Newkirk stated.
Maddock sidled next to the sergeant. "Would you like another piece?"
"Oh, please."
"What have you heard about Marceau?" Maddock asked Schultz.
In between bites, Schultz began talking. "You all know he got away. It's all over camp," he said.
"Yes, of course." Maddock took away the empty plate and handed it to Deschamps, who plopped it in the sink.
Schultz wiped the crumbs off his mouth. "Our Kommandant and the Kommandant from the other camp had a conversation. Oh, they were angry. Helga and I could hear the yelling though the receiver, but we are not to blame. Captain Marceau has to be far away from here by now. It's been two weeks. Kommandant Klink told them everything was in order. The Gestapo has been notified, but we don't know where he is." Schutlz tilted his head. "Where do you think he is?"
"Far away from here." Maddock wiped some crumbs off Schultz's uniform. "I'll admit, we're happy he escaped, if that's what happened."
Schultz turned and addressed LeBeau. "Your strudel is better than my wife's." He bent down and whispered in the corporal's ear. "Can you make anything else?"
"If you get me ingredients. Spices. oh and more utensils. My friends come first, but I may be able to get you a taste, or a small portion."
Schultz stood up. "You are nice enemies. I will do what I can."
"Thanks, big guy." Maddock escorted Schultz over to the door. "If you hear anything else about the captain, you'll let us know?"
"I will let you know." Schultz left the barracks and walked over to the supply hut. The sergeant in charge was not there, but Schultz had a key. He let himself in and eyeballed the shelves filled with extra cooking supplies. Schultz had visited Stalag 5, one of the larger camps located within a day's drive. While there, he observed prisoners cooking their own food over the charcoal stoves placed in the middle of the long buildings used as barracks. He shuddered at the memory, for he knew that when winter arrived, the one stove would not provide enough heat for the large amount of men crammed into the hut. The men were using empty milk tins to heat up the food. The tins came from the Red Cross packages that supplemented the meager soup and black bread Stalag 5 offered the prisoners. He wondered if his boys knew how fortunate they were to be in a smaller camp, run by an admittedly annoying, but humane Kommandant. He grabbed some pots, pans, and utensils, and placed them in a box. As he walked across the compound towards LeBeau's hut, Schultz decided he would try and find more cooking supplies for the other barracks as well.
I believe I recall one scene in which the prisoners were told that cooking in the barracks was forbidden. But, that obviously is ridiculous, so I'm ignoring that. I've read numerous recollections of cooking in various memoirs, both in print and on-line.
for further information on barracks layouts, and use of Red Cross packages see: (take out the dot, slash and dashes, and replace with the symbols)
wwwdotmeddashdeptdotcomslasharticlesslashww2dashamericandashprisonerdashofdashwardashreliefdashpackagesslash
wwwdotb24dotnetslashpowslashstalag1dothtm