Camp X (15 page)

“On one of their trips onto the grounds they witnessed a mock attempt by four of our agents to blow up a train while it was on a trestle,” the Lieutenant-Colonel explained.

The door opened and Bill walked in carrying a tray. On it sat a teapot, some cups, milk and sugar, and two bottles of orange pop. He set it down on the table beside Little Bill.

“Let me pour,” Little Bill said.

He picked up the pot and steam rose as he carefully poured tea into three china cups.

“Sugar and milk?” he asked the Lieutenant-Colonel.

“One lump and a dash of milk, please.”

He took the tongs and placed a single lump of sugar in the cup and then added a little milk.

“And what would you like?” he asked Bill.

“Just milk, please.”

He poured milk and then handed the cup and saucer to Bill. “And, boys, why don't you have your sodas,” he said, as he passed the bottles over to us.

I immediately took a sip. It tasted cold and sweet and refreshing. What with the shortage of sugar, it was pretty rare for us to actually have a soda.

Little Bill proceeded to pour himself a cup of tea. The only sound in the room was the Lieutenant-Colonel's spoon clinking against his china cup.

“So,” Little Bill began, “if I am to understand correctly, in the space of a few short hours these two young men have managed to infiltrate both a secure manufacturing plant and this highly restricted training school.”
Bill and the Lieutenant-Colonel nodded their heads in agreement.

“We just did what Bill told us,” I explained. “He sort of trained us.”

“Indeed,” Little Bill said. “He trained you very well. Bill, if you would now explain things further I would appreciate it.”

Bill took a quick sip from his tea and set the cup down in the saucer.

“I was thinking that our enemy seems to know little in the way of moral boundaries in warfare, so I suspected that they would put no limits on their conduct of espionage.”

“What does that mean?” I said it before I realized that I shouldn't be saying anything. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, George,” Little Bill said. “It means that the Nazis don't ever fight in a fair or honourable manner. They will do whatever it takes to win, regardless of what they need to do to reach that goal.”

“Exactly,” Bill said. “And I reasoned that they wouldn't be above using children, or pregnant women or old people, to their advantage, to deliver bombs and such. I needed some way to test this theory, so I asked the boys to help.”

“And indeed they did.” Little Bill paused and took a long sip of his tea. “You boys of course realize that nothing of what has happened can be discussed with anybody.”

“We signed the oath,” Jack said.

“But we wouldn't have told anybody anyway,” I added.

“When did they sign the secrecy oath?” Little Bill asked.

“After they were found on the grounds the second time
and we became aware of just how much they had observed,” the Lieutenant-Colonel explained.

“And as a result of interviewing the boys we've made significant changes to the security here at the camp,” Bill added anxiously.

“Have you?” Little Bill asked. “And I suppose some other changes may still be in order, wouldn't you think?”

Bill looked down at his cup. I felt so bad about getting him in trouble.

“I believe an order should be given to all members of the camp concerning any and all visitors previously known. I'll leave that to your expertise to institute. Please have a word with the gentlemen who drove the boys into the compound.” He paused and took another sip of tea. “Remember, a mistake is only a mistake if you fail to learn from it.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill said. “I'll go right now and make those—”

“Please, that can wait until we've finished our visit with Jack and George. So, gentlemen, your mother works at the munitions plant. And your father?”

“Would you like their files?” the Lieutenant-Colonel asked.

“Oh, no, certainly not. This is tea, not an interrogation,” he answered. “So where is your father?”

“He's in the army,” I said.

“In Africa serving with the St. Patrick's Regiment,” Jack added.

“I know that regiment. It is composed entirely of men who volunteered to fight for King and country. You must be very proud of your father.”

“We are,” Jack said.

“And if he were to know what you have done here he would be proud of you both.”

“He would?” I was startled to realize that Jack and I had asked the question in unison.

“Most certainly. Are you aware that you have helped your father?”

Jack gave me a confused look—one that I was sure was mirrored on my face.

“You have assisted the men who are training and being trained here. That help will be of benefit to our side in a most terrible form of war. Do you know anybody who has been through a war?”

“Our Uncle Jack was in the First World War,” my brother said. “I'm named after him.”

“And there's Mr. Krum, too,” I added. “He was a hero.”

Bill and the Lieutenant-Colonel looked up from their tea and stared at me. Had I said something wrong?

“Can I refill your cups?” Little Bill asked as he lifted the teapot.

Both men held out their cups and he poured more tea. He then added milk to both cups and another cube of sugar to one.

“I wasn't aware you two knew Mr. Krum,” Little Bill said.

“I have a paper route,” Jack answered.

“And I help out, but Mr. Krum said I could have a route of my own soon . . . maybe.”

“I'm sure you'd do an excellent job, George. And Mr. Krum has spoken to you boys about the last war, has he?”

“Not much about the war,” Jack said.

“That doesn't surprise me. Does your Uncle Jack ever tell you tales of the war?”

“Never. He doesn't talk about it at all.”

“It was . . . a terrible war. I had hoped that we had learned from it, but I was sadly mistaken.”

“Were you in that war?” I asked.

He nodded his head ever so slightly.

“Were you in the army?”

“I started in the army. But a gas attack ended my days as a soldier. I was too sick to ever return to the trenches.”

“That's too bad,” I said.

“I thought so too. So I learned to fly above the trenches instead. I became a pilot.”

“You flew one of those old-fashioned airplanes?”

He nodded his head and smiled. I guess I shouldn't have called them that, but he didn't seem to mind.

“They certainly seem that way, looking back, but at the time we thought of them as the finest things imaginable.”

“And Little Bill was among the best,” the Lieutenant-Colonel hastened to tell us. “He was an ace and was highly decorated.”

“I don't think we should talk of that,” Little Bill said. “Far too embarrassing.”

“Do you still have your medals?” I asked.

Little Bill didn't answer right away, but he took a long sip from his cup. “I have them . . . I think they're in an old tobacco tin in my hall closet.”

“Not in a fancy case?” Jack asked.

“That's how Mr. Krum keeps his,” I added.

“Mr. Krum has shown you his medals?”

“Yeah, he has a bunch,” I told them.

“Indeed. He was highly decorated.”

“You've seen them too?” I asked.

Bill and the Lieutenant-Colonel burst into laughter and I felt embarrassed for asking.

“I can understand why you would think that,” Little Bill said, defending me. “I am familiar with Mr. Krum by other means.”

“Like the file you have on him?” Jack guessed.

“What makes you think we have a file on him?”

“Because he tried to get in here once,” I said. “Like us.”

“He said he was following a truck filled with lumber because he wanted to see what was being built here.”

“That, and other reasons,” Little Bill said, taking another sip of his tea.

“You mean because he's the editor of the paper?” I asked.

“That is significant.”

“My brother thought he was a spy.”

Jack shot me a dirty look. I knew I'd pay for opening my mouth once we got home.

“A spy?” Little Bill asked. “Why would you think that?”

“Well . . . he was asking about the camp,” Jack explained.

“And when he asked what did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Mostly we just listened. He already knew a lot,” Jack added. “He was the one who told us that it was a special army base.”

“And Jack didn't believe him at first when he said this was an army base.”

“You didn't?” Little Bill asked.

Jack shook his head slowly and looked even more embarrassed.

“What did you think was going on here?”

“I sort of thought it was like, maybe, it was a German spy base,” he said quietly.

“That's why we kept sneaking into the place. We were looking for spies. But of course we know better now. We know Mr. Krum's not a spy. He's just asking questions because he's a newspaperman. He's just being nosy, even though he knows he can't print what he finds.”

Little Bill took another sip of his tea. A long, slow sip. His expression remained calm, but his eyes seemed to get dark and stormy.

“Do you boys think there might be spies about here?”

I shrugged. “I don't know . . . maybe, I guess.”

“Perhaps I've been in this line of work too long, but I believe there are agents of the enemy at work throughout this country.”

“Chief Smith could be a spy,” I blurted out.

“Chief Smith?” Little Bill asked.

“He's the head of the local police force,” Bill explained.

“But really his name isn't even Smith,” I said. “It's Schmidt, and that's a German name.”

“Indeed,” Little Bill said. “It's as German as, say . . . Braun.”

Suddenly I was the one who felt embarrassed.

“Now if you boys will excuse us I must talk to the Lieutenant-Colonel.”
I put down my empty soda bottle and stood up along with Jack. Little Bill rose to his feet as well.

“It has been a pleasure to meet two such fine young men.” He reached out and shook our hands. “Bill, would you be so kind as to arrange to bring them home?”

“Thanks. And goodbye,” Jack said, and then Bill ushered us from the room, closing the door behind him and leaving the two men alone in the Lieutenant-Colonel's office.

“I suppose the first thing I should do after dropping you two at home is call Mr. Granger and inform him that I now owe him
two
boxes of cigars,” Bill said.

“Sorry about that,” Jack offered.

“And about getting you in trouble,” I added.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I've been told to fix things, and nothing more will be made of it. Little Bill is like that.” “Is he in charge of the camp?” I asked.

“This camp? He's in charge of a whole lot more than this camp.” Bill laughed. “I can't really say anything else, but I want you two boys to remember this meeting. One day, probably long after the war is won, you'll learn just who that was.”

“He must be important,” I said.

“More than I can say. Come on, let's get you two home before your mother gets back from work.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“
IF YOU'D LEARN
to count we wouldn't have this problem,” Jack snorted.

“I can count! I guess I just . . . sort of . . . counted wrong.”

Peter Cook was sick again and I was doing his route.

Unfortunately, when I'd got to the end of my newspapers I still had five more houses left to deliver to. Somehow I hadn't taken enough papers.

“Walking across town once to deliver the papers was bad enough, but having to go back a second time to pick up extras,” Jack grumbled, shaking his head, “that's even worse.”

“You don't have to come with me.”

“Yeah, right, and if Mom finds out I didn't, then you know whose head it'll be.”

We walked along in silence for a few houses.

“Do you think we'll see him again?” I asked.

“See who?”

“Little Bill.”

“Probably not. But I didn't think we'd ever see anybody from the base again, and then Bill called us. So who knows?”

“Who do you think he was?”

“Some sort of general or something. Do spies have a general?” he wondered.

“Beats me, but they do have a boss. Everybody has a boss . . . don't they?”

“I guess so, and we'd better get those papers and get them delivered before somebody calls our boss and complains.”

We doubled our pace, cutting through an alley that led to the back of the newspaper offices, where the loading dock was located.

“I just hope there are still five papers left,” Jack said.

“Why wouldn't there be?”

“The papers all get sent out by truck to be delivered to stores after the paper boys take what they need.”

“There's
got
to be five papers left over.”

“Let's hope.”

What I could see from this distance was that the two newspaper trucks were gone from the back. That wasn't a good sign. They'd left with their loads of papers.

“Let's hurry,” I said.

“I'll tell you something, George. Either there's enough papers still at the office or you're going to have to hurry a lot more.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're going to have to run and catch the trucks!”

I jumped up onto the loading dock. It wasn't just the
trucks that were gone, the whole place was deserted. Except for some office staff—I could hear a phone ringing in the inner office and the sounds of typing.

Jack went over to the sorting table. “There are only three papers here,” he said. He walked over and dropped them in my bag. I looked over by the big printing press. There were scraps, pages that hadn't printed right, but nothing near a complete paper.