Free Camp 30 by Eric Walters

startled looks, and a man—a big man with shiny black boots and a scowl on his face— appeared at one of the doors.
    â€œ Was tun Sie … what are you doing here?” he demanded angrily. “You have no right to be here!” he thundered as he strode toward us threateningly.
    â€œWe have the mail!” I exclaimed, digging into my bag and pulling out a handful of letters as proof.
    â€œYou should not be snooping around. You have no right!”
    â€œWe’re not snooping. We’re just bringing in the mail,” I said.
    â€œWe’re following orders, that’s all,” Jack said.
    â€œLeave the mail and get out!” the prisoner snarled. He grabbed the bag that was on Jack’s shoulder.
    â€œYou get the mail, but you don’t get the bag!” Jack shot back, grabbing the bag, refusing to release it.
    The prisoner looked surprised and stunned by Jack’s resistance. I was a bit shocked as well. Jack was big—for a fourteen-year-old—but this man was much bigger and stronger.
    â€œYou will give me the mail!” the man shouted, and I jumped back.
    â€œYou can have the mail, but you can’t have my bag. It’s mine and you can’t have it!” Jack yelled back.
    â€œEnough!” yelled a third voice, and I spun around. It was Captain Kretschmer.
    The prisoner released his grip on the bag and came to attention, his eyes focused straight ahead.
    Captain Kretschmer barked out something in German. “Jawohl, Kapitän!” the prisoner called. Then he saluted, spun around and marched out of the room at a double-quick pace.
    Captain Kretschmer came forward, looking at us, with a questioning look on his face.
    â€œWe came with the mail,” I explained in answer to his unasked question. I held out the handful of lettersI was still clutching.
    â€œAnd that goon tried to take my bag!” Jack added.
    â€œWhat is a goon ?” Captain Kretschmer asked. “I do not know that word.”
    â€œA goon is a big, strong—”
    â€œHe didn’t mean anything by calling him that,” I said, cutting Jack off before he could go any farther.
    â€œIt sounds like it is not a complimentary word,” Captain Kretschmer said.
    â€œHe shouldn’t have tried to take my bag!” Jack snapped.
    â€œYou looked as if you were prepared to fight him if necessary.”
    â€œYeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t have won, but he would have known he’d been in a fight,” Jack said.
    I half expected the captain to laugh, but he didn’t even smile. He just nodded his head in agreement.
    â€œYou Canadians are nice people … but not people to be angered. In a fight Canadian soldiers are known to be very brave, very tough … not willing to give up even when badly outnumbered.”
    I could almost see Jack’s chest puff out at the description. That also described my brother.
    â€œWe thought everybody was outside for roll call,” I said.
    â€œEverybody was, but they allow some of us, officers and those needed for administrative business, to be dismissed once we are accounted for. It is not correct fora field marshal to stand at attention in the hot sun. Now, if you would kindly leave the letters and parcels, I will make sure they are given out. The mail can be placed here on this desk.”
    Jack and I began emptying our bags onto the desk. A few letters flowed over the edge and fell to the floor. Captain Kretschmer bent down and grabbed them before I had a chance.
    â€œWe picked them up from the post office,” I said. “We took good care of them because we know how important they are … how important our letters from our father are.”
    â€œObviously Colonel Armstrong has faith in you boys.” He paused. “I think I also have faith.”
    I turned my bag inside out, making sure that no letters remained.
    â€œNow, before you boys depart, could I interest you in a bowl of ice