It was a warm day in May in the German state of Bavaria; May 11th, to be exact. Colonel Wilhelm Klink stood outside the kommandantur of the Prisoner of War camp, Stalag 13, reaming out the American Senior Prisoner Of War Officer.
"Furthermore, Colonel Hogan, I expect you to exercise better control over your men. You don't see me permitting my guards to go around badmouthing you, me, or anyone else around here. Corporal Newkirk's remarks were inexcusable."
Hogan bit back a smile as he recalled an incident just last night when a group of Klink's own guards were laughing amongst themselves as they poked fun at their kommandant.
"You're absolutely correct, sir. I'll come up with my own punishment for him once he gets out of the cooler."
The discussion came to a halt as a staff car pulled up next to them. Crotchety Gestapo major, Wolfgang Hochstetter, emerged. He dragged a reluctant Corporal Louis LeBeau from within, by the collar.
"Is this yours?"
Klink's mouth dropped, and he turned to the Sergeant of the Guard, who had hurried up to them as the car approached. "Schultz! You told me the prisoners were all present and accounted for at roll call this morning!"
"But, Herr Kommandant, they were! I even double checked."
"Then how did this man get outside the camp?"
Schultz shrugged helplessly and sighed. "Herr Kommandant, I have no idea."
The German colonel turned to the French corporal. "And just what were you thinking? You know no one ever escapes from Stalag 13."
Hogan rolled his eyes at this as LeBeau protested, "But I wasn't trying to escape."
"Oh? Then just what were you doing outside the wire?"
"I was looking for strawberries."
"Straw– Do you really expect me to believe that, Corporal? What were you really doing?
"I was looking for strawberries."
Hochstetter snarled, "You were trying to make contact with Dietrich Unger."
"Who?" Hogan interrupted.
The German major glared at the American colonel, and turned to Klink. "We know the underground has been trying to get Unger out of Germany, and he was last seen in this area. I intend to set up a command post here in your camp, Klink."
He gave the Frenchman a quick look, then added, "I think I'll use your cooler, where I can keep an eye on this one while I'm at it. Oh, and Klink, I also suggest you send some of your guards out to help look for LeBeau's accomplice."
"Accomplice?"
"One of my men caught sight of the English corporal–what's his name? …Newkirk, I believe."
"But Major, Corporal Newkirk is in the cooler right now."
Hochstetter gave the camp commander an astonished look before bestowing a venomous glare upon the American prisoner.
"And just what is your part in all of this, Hogan?"
"Me? I don't know what you're talking about, Major."
Hochstetter snorted in disbelief. He turned to his driver. "Corporal Becker, you and Sergeant Schultz here, get the supplies I'll need and take them to the cooler. Get whoever you need to to help." Then, still gripping the Frenchman's collar, he himself headed in the direction of the cooler. With Klink at his heels.
"I don't understand, Major. Who is Dietrich Unger, and why is he so important?"
"All you need to know is that Unger has been working on a special project for the Fatherland–and we don't want it getting into the hands of the Allies."
Hogan watched them walk off with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Little did they know, he was already in possession of the hand-written specs. His expression sobered, however, when he recalled the cost:
~~HH~~
Peter Newkirk beckoned to their underground contact, Karl, who led an average-sized, prematurely-balding young man forward.
The Englishman smiled welcomingly, offering a hand, then signaled that Karl should take off, back to safety. "This way, Herr Unger. It won't be long now."
"I hope not," the man said nervously. "I've had so many close calls in the last few days."
"Not to worry. You'll soon be snug and warm. And you'll have company traveling to England with you, a Lieutenant Hollister. Escaped from Stalag 9. He's headed for Headquarters, as well."
They had gone about four yards when Unger stopped in his tracks. "What's that?!"
Newkirk heard faint movement in the brush seconds before he saw the Gestapo guards in the distance. He pulled his German companion to the ground and whispered in his ear. "Just keep calm; they're not headed this way."
"Yet."
"If you don't make any sudden moves, they won't notice us. It's not like they thought about bringing dogs."
Dietrich gave him a terrified look. "Not that we can see. Yet."
The corporal let out a silent sigh. How did he get saddled with this mission? It couldn't have been a bird they were trying to assist. He'd know how to ease her fears.
"Just what is this thing you're working on?" he asked quietly, trying to redirect the man's thoughts.
The German gave the Englishman a look of pride. "A long-range radar system. To be mounted in the nose of a fighter. Or a bomber. It will revolutionize defensive–and offensive–capabilities for the aircrews that use it."
Newkirk gave an appreciative whistle–but a quiet one. "Herr Unger, we'll do everything we can to get you safely to England."
Not long afterwards, Newkirk deemed it safe to continue.
They had gone about twice as far this time, when Unger tripped on a root, and fell with what seemed to be an extraordinarily loud crash. "You only think it's that loud," Peter started to reassure himself, but he heard a cry coming from the man as he fell.
"No," the English corporal cringed, then hurriedly helped the man to his feet. "Run!" he urged, hearing the volume of shouting in the distance increasing with every millisecond that ticked by.
The two were stumbling along when they heard gunshots coming from behind. Peter caught the grunt of pain that had escaped from Unger's lips as he again fell to the ground.
Newkirk pulled the man into a nearby thicket, and begged him to stay silent. Unger whispered desperately as he pulled some papers from an inside coat pocket and shoved them at his companion.
"Quick. Take these. See that they make it to England."
Newkirk glanced at them as he accepted them. "Is this all?"
Unger nodded painfully. "The rest is in my head. Once I decided to defect, I was afraid to write any more down. Your scientists will have to figure out the rest by themselves."
Newkirk's heart gave a jolt as the man collapsed. "Herr Unger?" He looked into the man's ashen face, and hearing the thundering of footsteps closing in, decided there was nothing he could do. The man was probably gone, and he himself still needed to get away.
Sure he had been spotted, the RAF corporal ran for all he was worth, praying he'd make it back to camp; back to the safety of the tunnels. Dreading the news he had to deliver.
~~HH~~
Inside the cooler, at the front section–the area encountered before one met up with the enclosed, solitary confinement cells–Major Hochstetter walked past the empty first cell. He decided to commandeer that one for his own use, and shoved the Frenchman into the one next to it. This roused Corporal Peter Newkirk, who dozed in the third cell.
"Louis! What are you doing here?"
Louis LeBeau just mumbled despondently.
Major Hochstetter looked over at the Englishman with suspicion, but refrained from making any comment. He caught sight of Sergeant Schultz entering the first cell, carrying a chair, "Sergeant, bring me a radio."
"Jawohl, Major."
As Schultz hurried from the cell, Klink cleared his throat. The Gestapo officer looked him in the eye. "Is there anything I can do for you, Herr Major?" he fawned.
"Yes, Klink, there is. Get Lost."
Newkirk snickered, earning a dirty look from both men.
Klink drew himself up in indignation but, as usual, was afraid to demur. "Jawohl, Herr Major." He turned to leave, and had to press himself up against the wall as two Gestapo men carrying a desk, and followed closely behind by Private Kurt Goeller, one of Klink's guards, bringing another chair, pushed past him. This put a damper on his planned dignified exit.
Goeller watched Klink disappear, and turned to the major and smirked. "I bet you're glad to see the back of him."
Hochstetter looked down on the older, shorter man with disdain. There was no way he was going to grant this "reject" with even a hint of favoritism. And, there was something about this one he immediately did not trust. Not that he favored many with his trust!
"That will be all, Private."
Goeller obediently left, disappointed that he had failed to impress the Gestapo officer.
~~HH~~
Later in the day, Wolfgang Hochstetter sat back in his chair as his second-in-command on this venture, Captain Axel Liebermann, gave his report.
"The patrol found Unger's body a short while ago, Herr Major. But there was no sign of any type of paperwork. We searched his body and clothing very carefully–and the surrounding area, in case the breeze might have caught them and carried them away from him." The captain tilted his head. "Do you think there even were any?"
"It is possible he didn't have any with him, but keep looking just in case. If we're lucky, all of the information was in his head, and that will be the end of it. Have you seen any signs of the Underground?"
"No, sir. Nothing. However, it may be possible we scared them off when we shot him."
"Ja. But you should post patrols overnight. We'll see if anything comes of that."
"Jawohl, Major." He clicked his heels and gave the Nazi salute. "Heil Hitler!"
The major returned the salute with a sense of gratification. It was so satisfying being a member of the superior race, being able to serve with pride.
As Liebermann departed, three of Klink's guards entered, carrying trays of food.
Corporal Karl Langenscheidt entered the major's makeshift office; a sulky Private Goeller brought his tray to Corporal Peter Newkirk, and Sergeant Schultz headed to LeBeau's cell.
"Danke, Corporal," the major acknowledged. Langenscheidt nodded respectfully and backed out of the cell.
Goeller unlocked the Englishman's cell. "Here," he snarled. He plopped the tray onto the cement and shoved it forward with his foot, before pulling the door shut with a bang.
"Thanks ever so much, Mate." Newkirk grumbled as he went to retrieve his food.
Schultz, on the other hand, approached LeBeau's cell with hesitancy. "LeBeau? Dinner."
"I'm not hungry."
"I'll just set it right here," the big guard said. He held up a paper bag. "Here are the strawberries you wanted. I got the nicest ones they had. A dozen. Just like you wanted." He set the bag down next to the tray.
"Merci, Schultz. I don't think it matters now, though."
Schultz gave the little Frenchman a concerned look, glanced at Newkirk, and shrugged before exiting.
The Gestapo major surreptitiously watched each of the exchanges between the guards and the prisoners, but made no comment.
He sampled the food on his tray, made a face, and forced himself to eat the tasteless meal. Unless the prisoners were served something entirely different, it was no better than they deserved, so he suffered in silence. Pulling out some reports, he feigned reading them as he ate, but in reality, his focus was on what was going on in the adjacent cells.
He had noticed that the French corporal had started out his stint in the cooler in exasperation. But before long, this had turned into sullenness, and he had refrained from answering the Englishman's persistent questioning. By now, he was pensive, and somewhat melancholy.
"Okay. Just answer me this, Louis. If you were having Schultz get strawberries for you, why did you need to go out looking for them?"
The Frenchman gave the Englishman a pitying look. Their gazes locked for an interminable moment before LeBeau finally broke down and relented. "I needed both."
"Both?"
"The ones Schultz got, and fraise des bois."
"Why on earth would you need both? What's the difference? And what exactly is fraise des bois?"
"Woodland strawberries. They are more flavorful, and aromatic. But they are too small to be used effectively for decorating. So you need larger berries for Fraisier."
"Oh… I don't think I understand. Why not just use cultivated strawberries for the whole thing, if you are so intent on decorating with them."
LeBeau shook his head. "Most people do. But most people are not Frenchmen. Or at least, most people are not my family."
"What has your family got to do with it?"
LeBeau took a deep breath to steady himself before answering in a nostalgic voice. "This is the way Maman always makes it. We would go out and gather the berries ourselves. After choosing the berries from the food stalls. Woodland berries don't stay fresh for as long as the cultivated types. She always insisted we use fraise des bois, because Fraisier has a much better flavor with them. But to properly decorate the outside edge of the cake, you have to use cultivated berries; the most perfect, most evenly sized ones you can find!"
"But what's so important that you had to do it now?"
The Frenchman looked wistful. "Tomorrow is her Birthday. We always make it for her birthday. We would make sure we had everything else we needed, and then would go out and gather the berries. Then, after we were ready to start, she would turn on the phonograph, and would play it as we worked. We always started with Debussy's "Toccata." He smiled and added, "She liked to interrupt what we were doing, from time to time, and dance to the music…"
"That's beautiful, Louis. My Mum loved to dance, too. I'm sorry you're locked up in here and can't make your fancy cake. I would have loved to try it."
LeBeau gave a sigh. "It's not your fault, Pierre. It's this stupid war."
"Yeah," Newkirk agreed. He flopped back onto the cot in his cell, having long since given up on their so-called meal, then groused, "Now I'm depressed."
In the first cell, Wolfgang Hochstetter frowned pensively. Tomorrow would have been his own mother's birthday, had she still been alive.
~~HH~~
Early the next morning Hochstetter's troops reported that there had been no activity, other than their own, overnight.
"It looks like the case can be closed," the Gestapo major conceded as he wrote something on a piece of paper. "There is still one more thing that needs to be done before we leave, however. Round up some of Klink's guards, and meet me outside with ours.
"Afterwards, we can return to headquarters, and Klink and his men can return all this–" he indicated his makeshift office, "back to where it belongs."
~~HH~~
Twenty-four hours after his arrival, Major Hochstetter gave permission for LeBeau to be released…after he made his own departure. As Schultz acknowledged these instructions, Langenscheidt entered with a box for the major.
"As you requested, Herr Major."
Danke, Corporal." Hochstetter took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to the young guard. "Give these to the Frenchman after I'm gone."
Karl Langenscheidt and Hans Schultz exchanged puzzled glances. "Jawohl, Major," the young man agreed, and the Gestapo officer strode from the building without looking back.
Neither Newkirk nor LeBeau had paid the Germans any mind that morning, other than to note their departure.
"Good riddance, I say," the Englishman mumbled and rolled over.
"Oui," the Frenchman agreed.
Not long after, the two German guards approached the cells. "You are free to go, LeBeau," Schultz announced.
"What about me?!" Newark demanded.
"That is up to the Kommandant," Schultz responded as he unlocked the Frenchman's cell.
As Schultz swung open the door, Langenscheidt held out the box and the note.
"What's this?"
"I'm not sure. It's from Major Hochstetter," he confided.
LeBeau raised an eyebrow. He lifted the lid, discovered the box was filled to the brim with woodland strawberries, then opened the note.
"What does it say?" Newkirk demanded.
"Im Hinblick auf Ihren besonderen Tag."
"What's that?" the Englishman inquired.
The German corporal translated: "With regard to your special day."
The prisoners looked nonplussed, while Schultz, with a glance at Langenscheidt, shook his head in wonderment. "Sometimes you find sentiment in the strangest places."
The End?