But an immediate answer was not forthcoming. The men remained at attention for another thirty minutes, occasionally shuffling their feet against the cold, shivering. Thankfully, the drizzle stopped, but the skies above them lightened only dully as the sun rose, revealing a wide gray world.
After nearly an hour, the kriegies saw Colonel MacNamara and Major Clark accompany Oberst Von Reiter through the front gate, and disappear into the camp office building. They had still not been counted, which Tommy found surprising.
He did not know what was going on, and his curiosity was energized.
Anything out of the routine of camp life, he thought, was to be welcomed in its own way. Anything that was different, anything that reminded them that they were not isolated. In a way, he hoped the Germans had discovered another tunnel. He liked acts of defiance, even if he wasn't altogether comfortable issuing them himself. He liked it when Bedford threw the bread to the Russians. He was pleased, although surprised, at Lincoln Scott's rashness at the wire. He liked anything that reminded him that he wasn't merely a kriegie, but an actual person. But these things were few and far between.
After another lengthy wait, Fritz Number One came to the head of the formations. In a loud voice, he announced, "At ease. The morning count will be delayed for a few moments more. You may smoke. Do not leave your position."
The captain from New York called out, "Hey, Fritz! Whadda 'bout letting us go take a leak. Some of the guys gotta go real bad."
Fritz Number One shook his head sharply.
"Not allowed. Not yet. Verboten," he said.
The kriegies grumbled, but relaxed. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted about him. Tommy, however, noticed that Fritz Number One, who by all rights should have immediately cadged a smoke off some prisoner, remained standing, his eyes searching over the columns of men. After a few seconds, Tommy saw that Fritz Number One had spotted the man he was looking for, and the ferret strode forward toward the men from Hut 101.
Fritz Number One approached Lincoln Scott.
"Lieutenant Scott," the ferret said in a normal, but low voice, "you will please to accompany me to the commandant's office."
Tommy saw the black airman hesitate for an instant, then step forward.
"If you wish," Scott said.
The pilot and the ferret then quick-marched across the assembly ground and through the front gate. Two guards swung it open for them, closing it just as swiftly behind them.
For a second or two, the formations of men were quiet.
Then abruptly voices picked up, like the wind right before a storm.
"What the hell?"
"What do the Krauts want with him?"
"Hey, anybody know what fer Christ's sake is going on?"
Tommy kept quiet. Now his curiosity was racing, fueled by the voices around him. It's all very strange, he thought.
Strange because it is out of the ordinary. Strange because nothing like this has ever happened before.
The men continued grumbling and muttering for nearly another hour. By now, whatever morning was going to penetrate the gloomy skies had managed its weak efforts and whatever warmth the day could promise had arrived. Not much. Tommy thought. The men were hungry. Many had to go to the toilets. All were wet and cold.
And all were curious.
A few moments later, Fritz Number One again appeared at the gate. The guards opened it and he half-ran through, heading straight for the men from Hut 101. Fritz Number One was slightly red-faced, but there was nothing in his approach that indicated anything about what was going on.
"Lieutenant Hart," he said, coughing back short gasps of breath, "would you please come with me now to the commandant's office?"
From directly behind him, Tommy heard a man whisper, "Tommy, get the lowdown on what's going on, will ya?"
"Please, Lieutenant Hart, right away, please," Fritz Number One pleaded.
"I do not like to keep Herr Oberst Von Reiter waiting."
Tommy stepped forward to the ferret's side.
"What's going on, Fritz?" he asked quietly.
"Just to hurry please, lieutenant. The Oberst will explain."
Fritz Number One was quick-marching through the gate.
Tommy stole a rapid glance around him. The gate creaked as it swung shut behind his back, and he had the distinctly eerie sensation that he was walking directly through a door that he'd never known existed. He wondered for a moment whether the sensation he felt at that second was the same as what the men who bailed out of their stricken planes experienced, as they tumbled free into the cold, clear air, everything they'd known before as familiar and safe abruptly cut away from them in that instant of panic, leaving only the single passionate desire to live. He decided it was.
He took a deep breath, and hurried up the wooden steps to the commandant's office, his boots resounding off the floor like a volley of rifle shots.
On the wall directly behind the commandant's desk was the obligatory full-color portrait of Adolf Hitler. The artist had captured the Fuhrer with a distant, exulting look in his eyes, as if he were searching Germany's idealized future and saw it to be perfect and prosperous. Tommy Hart thought it was a look few Germans had anymore.
B-17s in the daytime and Lancasters at night in repeated waves make the future look less rosy. To the right of the portrait of Hitler was a smaller picture of a group of German officers standing beside the charred and twisted wreckage of a Russian Topolev fighter. A smiling Von Reiter was in the. center of the group in the photograph.
The commandant, however, wore no smile as Tommy walked to the center of the small room. Von Reiter was seated behind his oaken desk, a telephone at his right hand, some loose papers on the blotter in front of him, next to the ubiquitous riding crop. Colonel MacNamara and
Major Clark stood to his left. There was no sign of Lieutenant Scott.
Von Reiter stared across at Tommy and took a sip from a delicate china cup of steaming ersatz coffee.
"Good morning, lieutenant," he said.
Tommy clicked his heels together and saluted. He stole a single glance at the two American officers, but they were standing aside, their posture alert, but at ease. They, too, wore stern, rigid expressions.
"Herr Oberst," Tommy answered.
"Your superiors have some questions for you, lieutenant," Von Reiter said. His English was accented but excellent, every bit as good as
Fritz Number One's, although the ferret could probably have passed for American with the slang he'd acquired slinking around the American compound. Tommy doubted the aristocratic Von Reiter was interested in learning the words to "Cats on the Roof." Tommy half-turned to face the two Americans.
"Lieutenant Hart," Colonel MacNamara began slowly.
"How well do you know Captain Vincent Bedford?"
"Vic?" Tommy replied.
"Well, we're in the same hut. I've made trades with him. He always gets the better of the bargain.