The internees were jamming into the mess tent. A half dozen irrepressible younger men were kicking around a football on the strip of grass outside. He would have loved to join in, to run and tackle, show off how good he was, but he dared not. A couple of months ago, he’d foolishly revealed some of his skills when a loose ball had come his way. They’d pestered him then to join in. But teams were demarcated, skins or shirts. His scars might be noticed and he couldn’t risk that.
Fear had raced through the camp like a wind. First, a big white Bentley arrived and the driver, a typical tweedy Englishman, upper crust, had hurried over to the major’s tent. Nobody’d seen him before, but one man said he was the local squire. One of the guards at the gate was summoned and he quick-marched to fetch the translator. The squire stayed about half an hour, then drove off fast. A while later, one of their regular sentries had bicycled into the grounds. There was usually two of them arriving in a lorry. The soldier, an older man, had also gone straight to the major’s tent. This unusual activity had started to attract attention and rumours sprang out of nowhere that the second soldier was dead, shot by a Jerry parachutist. Something was up. More whispering. Another rumour. The Nazis had taken London. The beginning of the invasion. Churchill was dead.
The older sentry emerged and went to the guard towers where he had a confab with the sentries. Must be the invasion. All activities stopped. The men started to gather around the camp father, Dr. Bruno Beck. He had been a psychiatrist by profession and it stood him in good stead. He listened to the agitated comments and questions of the internees and reassured them that there was no invasion imminent, nor was Churchill dead. The commandant would tell them soon enough what was afoot.
Yet another car drove in. Not a toff but a man with authority. He too went into the commandant’s tent.
He wondered what his next orders would be. Hold tight, look and listen. “Never show them your fear, they will turn on you like a pack. No matter what you feel, no matter how much pain you are experiencing, never ever show it.” That had been drilled into him in the early days, and time after time in the training sessions, he had been put to the test. And never failed. Truth was he missed that. Longed to show his mettle again, to be commended and praised. It was all very well to say he’d been specially selected for this important task, but there was nothing exciting about being stuck behind barbed wire for months, with nothing to do but watch and wait.
One of the guards came with the message to gather in the tent. Roll call was going to be taken. He joined the others and squeezed himself into the back row. There weren’t enough tables for everybody to sit in one shift, and getting all the internees together meant many of them had to stand. There was a lot of grumbling and, in spite of Dr. Beck’s reassurance, the anxiety in the air was palpable. Dr. Beck set the roll call in motion, each section leader checking off his list.
Finally, they were done and the group fell silent. Three people from outside the wire, plus a guard, were coming through the gate: the commandant, the female translator, and the man who had been the last to arrive. The major, stick under his arm, led the way. He was soft and out of shape and he always looked worried.
He had only contempt for such transparency.
The woman was different, which was why he rather admired her, although she wasn’t really his type. Too long in the tooth and too thin. He liked his women young, coarse, and full-bodied. Nevertheless, he had to admit she had presence, a cool English elegance that he could see would be attractive. She had an erect carriage, head high, chin up. Her clothes were of good quality but not ostentatious. In her dealings with the internees, she was invariably pleasant and had quickly become popular in this woman-starved environment. However, he found her hard to read. He wasn’t sure if her aloofness was a typical characteristic of the well-bred Englishwoman, or if it was from some other cause.
The third member of the trio was walking at her side. He was above medium height, with carrot red hair, and he looked as if he’d been in the sun too long. But he wasn’t a milksop like Major Fordham. He seemed fit and strong. He was in civilian clothes but there was something about the way his eyes roved quickly around the assembled men that suggested invested authority.
As they entered, the red-haired man stood back to let the woman through first, and as she went by he touched her lightly on her back.
Most men would have missed that, would not have seen the feeling in the redhead’s body, but he saw it. So that was the story, was it? He coveted her. Was the feeling returned? It wasn’t possible to tell at this point, but he registered the impression. You never knew when such knowledge would come in handy.
The doctor called for silence, and the commandant made his announcement. The woman translated fluently. She spoke excellent German with a Swiss accent.
What the major said was very disturbing.
A Land Army girl had been found dead. He knew who she was. A tasty bit he’d often fantasized about. She had been shot with a German Luger.
For a moment he doubted himself, but he knew nobody could have stolen the gun he had hidden so carefully. It had still been there this morning. He checked daily.
The redhead was a policeman, as he’d suspected, and his speech was brief and to the point. “Please do not think you are betraying a comrade if you report to me any suspicion, however slight. I will assess any information. This is a vicious murder we are dealing with.”
He’d got through to them, although the likelihood of any of this bunch telling on one of their fellows was slim. They had learned to be leery of any police authority. “See everything, say nothing.” They were, after all, enemy aliens.
Dr. Beck raised his finger for attention. His English was impeccable. “I am sure I speak for all of my fellow internees when I say that I am deeply shocked to hear what Inspector Tyler has said. Miss Bates was a kind and generous young woman in the prime of her life. We will miss her. We will, of course, do everything we can to help you facilitate his investigation. However, I do want to point out that we here in this camp are at a disadvantage. Most of us are irrefutably German and it is possible one of us may be familiar with weaponry, as you say, particularly German weaponry, but we are here behind barbed wire and we are guarded. We hope there will not be what perhaps might be referred to as scapegoating if the real perpetrator of this crime is not found soon.”
There were murmurs of agreement from those of the men who understood, and they translated for the others around them, not waiting for the Englishwoman to do it.
“Our relationship with the local people of Shropshire has improved over the summer,” continued Dr. Beck. “Some of them even come to our entertainments. I would hate to see that friendly climate spoiled by the irresponsible spreading of rumour regarding this particular gun.”
One of the internees, their captive poet and self-proclaimed genius, waved his clenched fist to emphasize his support.
“I agree with Dr. Beck,” he yelled.
The commandant asked the section captains to start organizing the men for the search. All belongings were to be placed outside the tents in orderly rows. With everybody’s co-operation the whole thing wouldn’t take long and they could soon resume their regular activities.
He had to reassure himself of the security of the hiding place he’d created for his own gun. But he knew the search would be perfunctory. Nobody wanted to act like a Nazi toward their own countrymen.
The trio was leaving now. The redhead went through the gate and the woman was close as she passed. He was right. The policeman did desire her, and perhaps the feeling was returned; he couldn’t quite tell. They were not strangers to each other, he was certain of that.
The internees started to move away, talking excitedly and nervously among each other. With this incident and the policeman, a door had opened. Suspicions could be discreetly voiced. He’d have to be very careful. This stupid girl’s death could really upset everything.