War, Spies, and Bobby Sox by Libby Fischer Hellmann

Author:Libby Fischer Hellmann [Hellmann, Libby Fischer ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-938733-98-7
Publisher: Fischer Hellmann Communications

Chapter 4

Reinhard

Our dinner—or supper, as the farmers call it—was waiting for us when we returned to camp. Pork tonight, with mashed potatoes and cabbage. I would rather have cleaned up and sipped a glass of wine before eating, as I did back home, but that, of course, was out of the question.

I showered after dinner. It was to be a quiet evening until lights-out, so a few of us decided to play cards. Franz, Friedrich, and a young soldier who’d just arrived in camp joined us for skat. It turned out he was damn good. We talked between tricks. Johannes Kohl was from Leipzig. He’d been in Tunisia, in the Twenty-First also, operating a tank. He said he actually met Rommel.

I turned the conversation to the German-American Federation. Protests against the Nazi organization’s leader, Fritz Kuhn, had been growing.

“They say the US is going to deport him.” Franz shook his head. “Too bad. At one point, the Bund was up to twenty thousand members.”

Kohl was dummy this hand. He pulled out a cigarette. “Yah, but he is in prison. Embezzling money. What does that say about the man?”

I threw down my cards. “What do you mean?”

Kohl inhaled, the tip of his cigarette firing orange. He blew smoke in my direction.

“Do you believe everything the Jew newspapers tell you?” I said. “Fritz Kuhn is loyal to the Führer.”

“Except that he stole nearly fifteen thousand dollars from the Bund,” Kohl said.

“Are you a party member?” I asked.

Kohl cocked his head. “Is that important?”

“It is always important to know who one’s allies are.”

Kohl shrugged. “Kuhn is a fraud. Nothing more than a crook. A mobster. I hope he isn’t one of your ‘allies.’”

Franz jumped in. “Kuhn went to Germany and met the Führer in ’thirty-six.”

“Does that make him less of a thief?”

Franz and I exchanged glances. I drew myself up. “I am Reinhard Deschler. My father was a Zellenleiter in Berlin. And I was a Blockleiter.”

Kohl grinned as he blew out smoke. “A lowly Blockwart, eh?”

Friedrich started laughing. When he saw my expression, he covered his mouth and turned the laugh into a cough.

“I am no snoop. I am proud to call myself an officer of the National Socialist Party.” I let it sink in. “It appears you do not share that opinion.”

Kohl flicked an ash onto the ground. “I’ve heard about people like you in these camps, Deschler.” Then he stood up. “This tourney is over.

I called after him. “Wait.”

Kohl slowed but didn’t turn around.

“Be careful with whom you associate, Kohl. The war is not over.”

Kohl didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he spun around. “It is for us, you idiot.” He paused for a moment, then clicked his heels, threw out his hand, and called out, “Heil Hitler.”

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