Chapter Five

Captain Walker felt better now that he had recovered. He had almost a week to adjust to Stalag Tiran, finding a place for himself amongst its prisoners. The long days, the nights of sleep followed by a rude awakening for roll call was a sharp reminder that he wasn’t on leave. The ragged collection of two hundred Soldiers and sailors turned out of their barracks and rushed to fall in before the buildings. Even though they were out of the war, they weren’t about to disregard the discipline that had made them fighting men.

There were two Sergeants and a Chief Petty Officer bellowing orders at their men, under the watchful gaze of Master Chief Bob Gunn, the senior enlisted man in the camp. He marched the length of the assembled prisoners and stood to the right of them coming to attention as the officers marched to take their positions facing Captain Walker.

By technicality, Walker was now the second ranking allied officer in the camp; it was his duty to assemble the men for inspection. Something he barely remembered from boot camp back States side.

He stepped forward and threw his shoulders back, “Attention!”

Lieutenant Templeman issued orders to the men from his barracks, they complied flawlessly, stepping one foot to the side and bracing their arms against their sides. Seconds later Lieutenant Appleby’s men followed suit.

Walker watched them come to attention, the two Lieutenants taking four steps forward and coming to attention themselves. Perfectly, as if he were marching to a beat, Colonel Maguire marched around to the front of his men, standing a few feet away from Captain Walker.

“Front!” Walker ordered, as he marched along the front of the prisoners, his face right in marching passing the two other officers, turned about and faced front, saluting Colonel Maguire, “Sir company formed.”

The Colonel returned the salute with deliberate exaggeration. And Walker walked around to take his place to the rear of the colonel. Maguire’s eyes shone with pride as his men performed the drill flawlessly. He turned himself to face the German officers marching out to meet them, less formally. He stood at attention in front of his men and met Obersturmführer Reichmann’s gaze.

Captain Walker watched the play between the two men, the tension in Maguire’s shoulders and the disdain in Reichmann’s eyes as he surveyed his prisoners. Obviously waiting for Maguire to salute, but as expected, Maguire refused to co-operate.

“All men accounted for, sir!” Captain Walker reported.

Maguire nodded, it was all pageantry, to show they may have been captured, but they weren’t defeated. The SS guards required roll call to be taken twice daily, usually first thing in the morning and again in the middle of the afternoon. After the prisoners had assembled Reichmann and two of his guards would count the men personally. It was as if he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. Only his own count was reliable.

Walker was surprised to see Italian troops walking the walls above them, as far as he knew it was a German camp. But there they were, looking uneasy in uniform. Italians always looked like they didn’t want to be there. They, as a people, were paying for the mistake of letting Il Duce seize power. The Italian officer, a Capitano was directing them from just behind Reichmann.

He was dark haired and obviously young. His searching brown eyes caught Walker’s and there was no malice in them, there was just pity. Pity for what the war had done, apologetic for the position men got themselves into because old men wanted to go to war. Then slowly and deliberately the Capitano’s eyes drifted away from him, flicking back once more and meeting his eyes again, before he turned back to direct his men.

Behind the prisoners a group of guards ransacked the barracks, looking for escape tunnels or contraband. It was a commonly known secret that there was a small radio somewhere in the camp, and the guards continued to over turn the bunks in an effort to find it. It was the same every day, a vain search for something they knew existed but couldn’t find.

Reichmann, satisfied with his head count marched around to stand in front of his prisoners a leer on his face as he scowled at Maguire, “There is a rumour circulating,” he began in his accented English, “A rumour that is an unfounded lie about the war in North Africa.” He set his hands behind his back and adopted a pose to begin to lecture, “Generalfeldmarschall Rommel has forced both the British 8^th army and the American II Corps out of Tunisia. It is only a matter of time until he drives them out of North Africa entirely.”

Walker exchanged a glance with Lt. Appleby; both had heard the BBC announcement the night before of the German withdrawal from Tunisia, of Montgomery’s victory in Africa. The evening broadcast from the small transistor radio hidden in a coffee can in the latrine had been heard by all the officers, it had been transcribed and distributed to the men before the German’s had ordered the lights out.

Maguire threw a glance over his shoulder at his men and turned back to Reichmann, “That’s funny, I heard we pasted you. Your desert Fox was sent home with his tail tucked between his legs.”

There was a cheer from the men, and Reichmann stared at them furiously, “I will not tolerate insolence inside my camp…”

“And I won’t tolerate a liar.” Maguire responded, “Do you have anything else this morning or can I dismiss my men?”

Reichmann stared at him with angry eyes, “You will stand and listen to the announcements…”

Maguire turned, “Men, dismissed, return to your barracks.”

Reichmann stared in dumbfounded shock at the sudden insolence, and a couple of his guards raised their MP-40’s. The men glanced nervously at Colonel Maguire who simply nodded at them to follow his orders. And despite the screaming shouts of the German guards, they continued to funnel back into their barracks huts.

Reichmann stepped forward and drew his own pistol, training the Luger squarely at Colonel Maguire, “Call them back Colonel, or I will have them all shot.”

Maguire rounded on him, the German and the Irish American standing just a few feet away from each other, Maguire’s fists balled up ready to fight. “If you shoot us, you will have to explain to the protecting powers why you violated the Geneva Convention. I will take great pride in watching your courts-martial from a spectators box in hell.” The colonel turned to Captain Walker and nodded again as the pair of them walked away from a livid SS Colonel.

“That was risky,” Walker stated as they marched into the cramped barracks house the officers shared.

Maguire walked to the small stove and began picking up some of the cans the guards had turned out onto the floor. He found one of coffee and scooped up the dented pot. “Its all about resistance. The more I resist Reichmann the more the men gain hope. I am keeping morale high by challenging the German’s on every occasion.”

“Just be careful not to cross the line, sir.” Walker warned as he began righting chairs around the crooked table, “Reichmann seems the type to hide behind a firing squad.”

“He belongs in front of one.” Maguire replied as he turned to face the younger man. A third generation Irish American there was certainly a lot of the fighting heritage left in him. Over the week the colonel had asked strategic questions, getting a feel for how the war was going, in a place where the only news was filtered by the BBC world service, it was good to have another fighting mans perspective on it, even if that man had served in another theatre. Walker had grown used to Maguire’s shrewd questions, and a mutual respect had begun to form between the two men.

“Look I can handle Obersturmführer Reichmann, you just concentrate on the men. If I end up in solitary they are going to need you to be there for them.”

Walker winced, him in command? That was never supposed to happen. He was a pilot supposed to fly missions and shoot down enemy planes; he wasn’t supposed to be in command. It wasn’t part of his training. He looked up at Colonel Maguire regarding him with a critical eye. There was no one else; Lt. Appleby was a doctor, totally unsuited to dealing with the men outside of his role. Lt. Templeman was too busy trying to come up with mad escape schemes to get them off the island and back to Allied lines. If anything happened to Maguire then Walker would be all that was left to stand up to Reichmann.

He stood up, “I understand Colonel. I should make a tour of the other barrack rooms, see what damage the guards have done.”

Maguire turned back to his pot of coffee, just coming to a boil on the pot-bellied stove, “Stay out of trouble Captain.”

* * *

The barracks were prefabricated, hastily constructed wooden buildings that sat in the shadow of the fortresses keep, surrounded by the low inner walls of the fortress. The buildings contained a number of rooms where men were crammed together almost one on top of another

Walker stepped inside, looking about him at the men. This building was typical of the quarters they were forced to live in. There was a walkway down the middle with what looked like a short, wide, brick wall running the length of it. Walker thought he felt a little heat coming from it. It was not enough to heat the room. On either side were wooden bunks, three high and without mattresses or blankets. They were crooked and slanted and didn't look very sturdy.

The building was divided up into rooms; the barracks NCO, the person responsible for the men crammed into it, occupied the smallest of these.  At the far end the night latrine buzzed with the unsanitary sound of flies.

The main room that he stood in served as a living room, dining room, kitchen and bedroom for 15 men. The room possessed a small stove that was also used for some of the cooking and water heating. The light flooded in through a double casement window.  And after dark a single 40-watt bulb served to offer light for the poor men inside.

The kitchen facilities were just as limited; they consisted of two cabinets one for storing canned food and dishes, the other for vegetable storage. The two tables had seen better days, they were held together by bailing twine and prayer, and the benches tucked under them weren’t much better off. It was a sorry state of existence, and the grimy faces of the young men that lounged on the slanted bunks looked at him expectantly.

He nodded at the men as he passed through, leaning around the door to the latrine, an exceptionally foul smelling room. He resisted the urge to vomit as master Chief Gunn held up the radio tin victoriously. It had survived another inspection thanks to the sauerkraut soup the German’s insisted on feeding them.

The first time he'd seen the soup, he was sure he did not want to eat it. It looked like little more than dirty water with things floating in it. The things floating were not necessarily of much food value at all. He'd even found a button in it once, perhaps fallen off the cook's shirt. But after several days of having nothing else to eat, he was hungry enough to try anything. And since the soup was the only thing allowed him, he drank it, and subsequently vomited. Everyone did at first. But the next day came, and they were even hungrier. Then the soup stayed down.

“Bastards didn’t find it sir.” Gunn reported as he leaned to slip the radio back into its hiding spot on the ledge in the latrine itself. No German guard, no matter how determined or superior they thought they were, would bother to be that thorough. The Chief took particular pride in that fact, always the one to reach in to collect the radio. It was his way of proving himself better than the Germans.

Suddenly the door to the barracks burst open. All movement in the barracks stopped as two SS officers stepped inside the door. Neither of them was the Blockführer. Their faces were stern and their noses turned up in disgust.

Walker watched them and followed their movements. Everyone jumped down from the bunks. Walker straightened up, glad that he was back behind a bunk, he squared his shoulders and lined up like the others, as the Master Chief, out of sight of the guards in the Latrine stood up and pressed his back to the wall.

Within seconds the room was silent again. The SS had waited for the prisoners to line up, but now they moved down the block, each to one side of the 'oven', as Walker called it to himself. The brick structure that ran down the middle of the barracks was not used to cook anything, though it made a pretence at heating the building at night. The SS seemed to be surveying the prisoners.

Walker stepped out from behind the bunk, and stood rigidly at its end, and it did not take long for the SS to reach him. They walked with slow methodical steps, stomping loudly with their shiny, black boots. Walker forced himself to remain perfectly still and held his breath until the SS had passed. The thought of the Master Chief hiding in the latrine made him begin to sweat, but he didn't dare look up to see if they would discover him, that would give him away for certain.

The SS said nothing as they passed, but simply kept walking and Walker realized they were simply trying to intimidate. It was working. Walker knew what the SS were capable of. He was relieved when they reached the end of the block without entering the Latrine. The Master Chief was keeping deathly silent. If he was discovered, questions would be asked why he was there, a search would turn up the radio, and people would die.

The SS turned smartly and began walking back up the block, this time moving at a normal pace. One of the other men straightened up behind their backs, obviously relieved as well that the SS were leaving. Walker held his breath again as they approached his bunk. Two more steps and they would be beyond him.

But the one on his side of the oven stopped right in front of him. He was so close that Walker could see his own reflection in the toes of the other man's boots. "Hier ist der Amerikanischer Flieger," he said slowly, his tone filled with disdain. The second SS joined him.

Walker slowly blew out the breath he was holding and tried to remain calm. It was no use, however, and he could feel his pulse quicken in his chest. He clenched his fists as he tensed up, expecting blows or a quick bullet to the head. But neither of them drew their weapons. Why had they singled him out? He tried to come up with a reason that would not necessarily entail his own death.

"Komm her!" the first one barked.

Walker hoped that didn't mean what it sounded like. He didn't want to go anywhere with the German. He figured it had to be safer being part of the crowd. He felt his knees begin to shake and willed them to remain steady.

When Walker didn't move, the second man came over. "What's the matter?" he began, his tone mocking, but his words were in heavily accented English. "Can you not understand?" His voice rose. "Step out!" he screamed grabbing Walker by the shoulder and forcing him forward. "Out," he ordered, pointing toward the door.

For all its overcrowded filthiness Walker now did not want to leave the barracks. Whatever chances it offered for punishment and death, he felt his chances were better inside it than out.

He hesitated just for the briefest of moments, but found that it was too long. "Out!" the SS repeated, pulling his weapon. Walker began to move.