What's In a Name
Chapter 24
Meetings of the Minds
Maddock strolled through the compound on the way to the Kommandantur, exchanging nods and greetings with both the guards and prisoners he passed along the way. He had only a few minutes to think of an excuse to visit the office, as his regular weekly meeting with Klink had come and gone. It was unthinkable that he, a sergeant, would show up for a friendly chat with an Oberst. While his relationship with Klink was respectful and somewhat cordial, Klink had his limits.
"I've already complained about the ingredients in the bread, the lack of hot water, the electricity, and the lice." Maddock stopped talking to himself as he stared at two guards and a German civilian wheeling an electronic contraption into a shed.
"That's right!" Maddock realized he had not yet complained to Klink about the devices being brought into camp. This past week, he had seen one general, an SS officer, and now this civilian paying a visit.
Maddock sighed. He admitted he was tiring of this cat and mouse game and that he wished when the time came, he could escape with the rest of the men. However, that was not possible. His German was mediocre, and he needed to be in the camp to take the fall and prevent Klink from punishing the prisoners who were left behind. He did not ask to be shot down or chosen as MOC; but as long as he was the prisoners' spokesperson, Maddock was determined to fulfill his duty and obligation to the men under him.
The 28-year-old barkeep was an unlikely leader. He was of average height and looks, and not particularly adept at sports or academics. He was, as people who knew him said, a nice, young man who was comfortable with people, and people were comfortable with him.
Maddock had several Jewish friends, and he was acquainted with refugees that patronized his pub. Politics was something he usually thought about right before an election, but Maddock knew right from wrong. What he had seen on newsreels made him sick and he realized Nazism needed to be wiped out before it spread any further.
He and some friends did not trust Hitler to stop after Germany annexed the rest of Czechoslovakia. They thought the RAF would provide better training, so they enlisted. Maddock's family and his fiancée were sad and frightened, but they supported his decision.
Maddock's personality and way with words quickly earned him the respect of the men imprisoned in camp. After the Polish prisoner, Chernetsky, decided to relinquish his post, the prisoners elected the British sergeant as the new Man of Confidence.
He smiled at the guard standing on the office porch. As always, the guard stepped aside, and let the sergeant in. Helga looked up as he entered.
"Is the Kommandant in, Fraulein? I need to speak with him. It's urgent." Maddock removed a piece of paper from his pocket and slipped it to Helga.
She palmed it, and stood up. "I'll announce you."
"Come in, Sergeant." Klink remained seated behind his desk. The Kommandant liked the young British airman. Maddock was polite, respected decorum, and seemed to know his place. Klink had heard from other colleagues that some MOCs and senior POW officers abused their authority, a few not seeming to care how the men under their charge were treated. Klink was bothered by these stories. He felt that these leaders, even though they were the enemy, had to work in the best interest of the men under them, and Maddock certainly did just that.
"Sergeant, I'm very busy. What do you want?" Klink really was not that busy, but this was his usual start to a conversation.
Maddock stood at attention. "Kommandant, I believe you and I have achieved an understanding and a decent working relationship."
"I agree."
"Good. Well, I find that I must lodge a formal complaint."
Klink sighed and opened a drawer. "I have a running list. What is it this time?"
"I believe it's against the Geneva Convention to have weapons brought into a POW camp."
"There are no weapons being brought into camp, Maddock." Klink's eyelid twitched, a sure sign he was lying.
Maddock stepped forward, suddenly realizing that he had come over to the office to make a point. The use of Stalag 13 as a way station for generals, SS goons, and what could be experimental weaponry, was indeed a problem and should not be tolerated.
"Kommandant. In the last few weeks, we've noticed a lot of comings and goings, and some of those coming have brought equipment in that doesn't seem to belong here. We could be bombed if weapons are stored in the camp or nearby. That could be dangerous for everyone, including civilians."
Klink gulped, removed his monocle, polished it and put it back in. "Sergeant, I assure you that nothing illegal is going on in this camp. The officers coming in are here legitimately, and their visits are not your concern. Dissmissed!"
Maddock stepped back. He made his point, and nothing more was to be gained during this visit. "Thank you, sir."
He left the office and stopped at Helga's desk. Helga handed Maddock a small piece of paper. He pocketed it and returned to his barracks.
That night, Maddock met with Oskar and Otto in the tunnel system. The two Germans had not been down there for quite some time, and they were amazed at the progress the prisoners had made.
"You could almost live down here," exclaimed Otto.
Maddock laughed. "Well, it's not that cozy." He put his lit lantern on the table. "We could use more light. But I didn't ask for a meeting to discuss interior decorating. Something odd happened. We got a mail delivery today. One of the men received a coded letter from his brother, three weeks after a letter was sent out. That is really quick."
"That is odd," Otto agreed.
"That's not all. They knew about Newkirk and LeBeau helping that flier, and the code said that if we could continue to do that, that would be great. Matlack, sorry, that's his name. He only mentioned that their escape was foiled. Nothing about the flier. Two explanations. Either someone is trying to get to us somehow, or the letter was fast-tracked, and sent forward. Which means someone in Germany managed to slip it into the mail."
Oskar stroked his chin. "I'm confused. We don't know anyone with that opportunity. Bypassing the mail service, that is. I wouldn't even know how to go about doing something like that."
"What about our French contacts?" Otto asked.
"We'll bring this up to their leader." Oskar stated. "Anything else? When are you planning on making the next escape attempt?"
"Soon. Otherwise, the weather will be an obstacle." Maddock stood up. "Thanks for coming by and for checking this out."
"Thank you. If someone else around here is involved in our cause, we need to know." Oskar reached into his pocket and brought out a dog collar. "Before we go, I have something to show you. Look here." He revealed a slit in the leather. "These are specially made. Can you see the space? You can slip a message in there. Wolfgang and Heidi will have these collars."
Maddock checked out the collars. "Brilliant, Oskar. Brilliant. Do you two have a few more minutes? I'd like to get LeBeau down here. He's the closest to the dogs. We'll need to work out a signal to let each other know when there are messages."
"We can stay for a bit longer," Otto stated. "In fact, I have some radio and telegraph equipment to show you."
"Great. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a bit." Maddock disappeared up the ladder.
While they waited, Otto and Oskar took a quick tour of the tunnel complex, for that is now what the old mine entrance had become.
"Where's this spur going, I wonder?" Otto asked.
"Helga told me they are digging into the cooler," Oskar replied.
"Now why would they do that?"
"Because they can," Oskar answered with a chuckle.
Newkirk had trouble falling asleep that night as he contemplated Maddock's report. The corporal's mind was working overtime as he thought about the possibility of someone higher-up in Germany being involved with the prisoners. Using dog collars to deliver messages was intriguing, as was the technical equipment Otto had brought with him. The prisoners soon hoped to have a telegraph system set up so that they could communicate with the Underground. Their German allies would handle the outside wiring, while the prisoners would have to find a way to string the wires inside the camp.
By 2 am, Newkirk decided to sneak out to the latrine. He could have stayed in and used the chamber pot kept underneath the bunk, but he decided he needed some fresh air. Fresh was not the word the prisoners and guards would have used to describe the air around the latrine, but Newkirk preferred some semblance of civilization, and being from the slums in the East End, he was used to dealing with a multitude of not-so-nice smells. The escape committee had decided that this area was off-limits for clandestine activities; it was too obvious.
Sneaking out of the barracks at night was a serious offence. If caught, prisoners risked a sentence in the cooler, or worse, being shot on sight.
So far, the few who had dared venture somewhere other than the dog pen were lucky. Up until now, those caught in the latrine area at night were let off with a warning, and it was a well-known fact that the guards were not trigger-happy. But there was always the chance of becoming an example.
However, Newkirk was all about taking chances. It had been several months since he had attempted this, so he assumed it was safe to have a go. Being careful not to wake up anyone, he threw on some clothes.
As he slowly made his way across camp, he spied a fellow insomniac heading in the same direction. They safely met up at the latrine and once inside, exchanged pleasantries.
"Couldn't sleep, Dietzler?" Newkirk asked, surprised to see the mild-mannered resident of Barracks 5 out and about. He did not admonish the other man for being outside after lights out. As long as their actions did not affect him, his friends, or camp operations, what the other prisoners did or did not do, was none of his business.
"Too much coffee. Runs right through me. You?" Dietzler, a corporal from the Cotswolds, had Swiss ancestors. He spoke excellent German and was one of the future escapees.
"A lot going on," Newkirk replied.
Dietzler did not ask for an explanation. He knew the rest of the camp would find out soon enough. "Did you see the Kraut in the business suit?"
"Yes. Wheeled some kind of contraption into a supply shed. Maddock complained to Klink today about weapons coming into camp." Newkirk poked his head out. There were no guards in sight. "Clear," he said. The two washed their hands.
"I'd love to see what the thing is." Dietzler was a tinkerer. He had already managed to take apart and fix an old tape recorder he had found in the trash behind the now-empty German officers' quarters.
As they left the building, Newkirk glanced over at the shed. The civilian was staying in the VIP quarters, and only one guard was guarding whatever it was that needed to be guarded. "Why don't we find out?"
"You c..c..crazy?" Dietzler stammered.
"Piece of cake. I'll open up the window around the back, and then I'll distract the guard. You pop in, take a look, pop out and that's that. I always carry my tools."
"No. You're already in trouble, remember? I'm surprised you would even come out. I'll distract the guard, and you pop in." Dietzler sounded adamant.
"But I won't know what I'm looking at!" Newkirk countered. "You go."
Dietzler pondered that for a moment. "All right. But if you get transferred to another hellhole, don't blame me."
Newkirk and Dietzler slowly made their way over to the shed, coming along the rear of the building so as not to draw the attention of the guard. Newkirk easily pried open the window and Dietzler climbed through and dropped to the floor. Newkirk was about to distract the guard, but seeing the coast was clear, he decided to take the plunge and join Dietzler. He pulled himself up and followed Dietzler into the shed, startling the other corporal.
"You almost gave me a heart attack! I thought you were going to distract the guard," Dietzler whispered.
"He didn't need distracting. I think he dozed off."
"Never mind that, let's see what they're up to." Dietzler walked over to a table. He bent down and started to examine the equipment left there. After a few minutes, which to both of them seemed like hours, he moved back. "I think it's some kind of radio detector."
Newkirk let out a quiet whistle. "That's not good."
"See, look here." Dietzler pointed to some dials and a screen. "I think this helps triangulate signals, so they can eventually narrow it down to an area. Can't be sure, of course, but that's my guess."
"What type of radios?" Newkirk asked.
"Don't know. Maybe civilians listening to the BBC, or the Underground sending messages." Dietzler began running his hand on the back of the machine. "Let me see your knife. I may be able to get the back off." After a moment, the back slid open. "Hmm. I think I may be able to do some damage!" Dietzler grinned.
"Now you're crazy." Newkirk was beginning to get nervous. "We have to get out of here."
"No, it's simple. A little tweak here. Not too obvious. There. I may have cut a connection. Should take them a while to find it." Dietzler replaced the back. "Damage is done. You know, Newkirk. Glad I ran into you. This was fun."
"Charming." Newkirk took back his knife and shook his head. "Let's get going."
The guard was still dozing.
I know nothing (hey, I sound like Schultz!) about radios, but in the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, "All The Light I Cannot See," one of the protagonists is involved with radio detection. That's where I got the term "triangulate signals." I highly recommend the novel, btw.
I truly believe that the guards in Stalag 13 (as per the show) are from the bottom of the barrel. (except for Langenscheidt, of course! I think he's more like Schultz) Otherwise, they'd have caught on to everything and reported everyone, leading to a firing squad or worse, and subsequently, an early tragic end to the series.
Regarding the comment made about MOC's and Senior POW officers. I've read a couple of accounts in memoirs of bad behavior, ranging from ineffectiveness, to actual collaboration. Rare, but it did happen. Most, of course, handled their duties bravely and did what they could for the rest of the prisoners.