Free Camp 30 by Eric Walters Page A

cream?”
    â€œIce cream?”
    â€œNothing too exotic. Only vanilla, but it is good ice cream.”
    â€œThat would be—”
    â€œWe have to go,” Jack said, cutting me off.
    I wanted to say something to Jack because the ice cream really did sound good, but the serious look on his face warned me off.
    â€œPerhaps another day,” Captain Kretschmer said.
    â€œThat would be nice,” I said.
    â€œCome then, I’ll walk with you two and we can talk. You could help me. My English … I have some questions.”
    â€œYour English is great!” I said.
    â€œIt is improving, but I am only learning English from books. It is very formal. I was hoping to learn more words … different words … terms people use in daily living. Could you explain to me these terms?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œThings like … like … like … goon . Tell me how you really meant it.” Captain Kretschmer started to laugh, and Jack and I laughed along with him.
    As we headed for the door, it opened and a number of prisoners came into the building. Roll call must have been completed. A prisoner held the door open for us and saluted the captain as we left.
    â€œWould you like to see a picture of my family?” the captain asked.
    Before we could even think to answer one way or the other, he pulled a picture from his shirt pocket and handed it to me.
    â€œThat is, of course, my wife, and these are my three children. The girl, she is the oldest, is named Bruna, and is sixteen. My boys, Wolfgang and Peter, are fourteen and eleven.”
    â€œThat’s sort of like us,” I said, “except I’m twelve, but Jack is fourteen.”
    â€œI would have taken you both for older, at least a year or even two,” he said.
    I handed the picture to Jack for him to have a look.
    â€œCanadians are big people,” the captain said. “Good food, lots of exercise and fresh air. This is how life should be lived. Not in a prisoner-of-war camp, but in the open spaces.”
    â€œWe used to live on a farm,” I said. “Still would if our father hadn’t joined the army.”
    â€œAh, this war has changed many things for many people. Me, I would be teaching engineering at the university if not for the war. Teaching and returning each night to my wife and children, watching them grow up.”
    He stopped talking and I knew he was thinking about his family. It would be as hard for him not to see his kids as it must be for our dad—and as hard for those kids not to see him as it was for us.
    â€œI never believed the war would go on this long,” Captain Kretschmer said. “Four years.” He shook his head. “I only pray it ends soon. My oldest son is not long from having to volunteer to fight.”
    â€œI’m going to enlist as soon as I turn sixteen,” Jack said proudly.
    â€œThat would be unfortunate,” the captain said.
    â€œI’m not afraid,” Jack said defiantly.
    â€œNor would be my son. Fear comes later. Those of uswho have been in battle know that fear is constant. You wear it like a coat, feel it with each breath.”
    â€œOur father’s not afraid of anything,” Jack said.
    â€œAnd my son would say the same in my defence, but he would be wrong. Both your father and myself would be terribly afraid of one thing.”
    I waited for him to continue.
    â€œMy greatest fear was that I would not live to see my children again. And now, as the war pushes farther into Europe, I fear for their safety the way they had feared for mine. At least your father knows you are safe—that must be reassuring.”
    It was reassuring that neither of our parents knew how much danger we had already been in.
    We stopped in front of the gate.
    â€œThanks for walking us here … and for helping with that soldier,” I said.
    â€œYou mean that big goon?” he asked, and