John Steinbeck - Once there was a war

The Oberleutnant stared into his eyes. That what’s-in-the-hole look. The look balanced: call or toss in, call or toss in. The pause was centuries long, and then at last, “What treatment will we receive?” the Oberleutnant asked.

“Prisoners of war under Convention of The Hague.” The lieutenant was trying desperately to show nothing in his face. There was another long pause. The German breathed in deeply and his breath whistled in his nose.

“It is no dishonor to surrender to superior forces,” he said.

December 13, 1943 —When the lieutenant went up to the Germans with his bath towel for a white flag, the captain of paratroopers, peering through a crack between two buildings, watched him go. The men hidden below saw the lieutenant challenged, and then they saw him behind the white stone building. The watching men hardly breathed then. They were waiting for the crack of a rifle shot that would mean the plan for kidding the Germans into surrender had failed. The time went slowly. Actually, it was only about fifteen minutes. Then the lieutenant appeared again, and this time he was accompanied by three German officers.

The watchers saw him walk down to a clear place in the path and there pause and point to the ground. Then two of the officers retired behind the white building again. But in a moment they reappeared, and behind them came the German soldiers. They straggled down the path and, at the place that had been indicated, they piled their arms, their rifles and machine guns, and even their pistols. The captain, lying behind his stones, watched and counted. He tallied the whole eighty-seven men who were supposed to be there. He said to his lieutenant, “By God, he pulled it off!”

And now a little pageant developed. As the Germans marched down the path, American paratroopers materialized out of the ground beside them, until they were closely surrounded by an honor guard of about thirty men. The whole group swung down the path and into the little white town that stood so high above the harbor of Ventotene.

Since Ventotene had been for hundreds of years an Italian prison island, there was no lack of place to put the prisoners. The top floor of what we would call a city hall was a big roomy jail, with four or five big cells. The column marched up the steps of the city hall and on up to the third floor, and then the Germans were split into three groups and one group was put into each of three cells, while the fourth cell was reserved for the officers. Then guards with tommy guns were posted at the doors of the cells, and the conquest was over.

The lieutenant who had carried the white flag sat down on the steps of the city hall a little shakily. The captain sat down beside him. “Any trouble?” the captain asked.

“No. It was too easy. I don’t believe it yet.” He lighted a cigarette, and his shaking hand nearly put out the match.

“Wonderful job,” the captain said. “But what are we going to do with them?”

“Won’t the ships be back tonight?”

“I hope so, but suppose they don’t get back. We can’t let anybody get any sleep until we get rid of these babies.”

A trooper lounged near. “Those Jerry officers are raising hell,” he said. “They want to see the commanding officer, sir.”

The captain stood up. “Better come with me,” he told the lieutenant. “How many men did you tell them we had?”

“Six hundred,” the lieutenant said, “and I forgot how many cruisers offshore.”

The captain laughed. “One time I heard about an officer who marched fifteen men around a house until they looked like an army. Maybe we better do that with our forty.”

At the door of the officers’ cell the captain took out his pistol and handed it to one of the guards. “Leave the door open and keep your eye on us all the time. If they make a suspicious move, shoot them!”

“Yes, sir,” said the guard, and he unlocked and opened the heavy door.

The German officers were at the barred window, looking down on the deserted streets of the little town. They could see two lonely sentries in front of the building. The German Oberleutnant turned as the captain entered. “I demand to see the colonel,” he said.

The captain swallowed. “Er—the colonel? Well, he is engaged.”

For a long moment the German stared into the captain’s eyes. Finally he said, “You are the commanding officer, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” the captain said.

“How many men have you?”

“We do not answer questions,” the captain said stiffly.

The German’s face was hard and disappointed. He said, “I don’t think you have six hundred men. I think you have only a few more than thirty men.”

The captain nodded solemnly. He said, “We’ve mined the building. If there is any trouble—any trouble at all—we’ll blow the whole mess of you to hell.” He turned to leave the cell. “You’ll be taken aboard ship soon now,” he said over his shoulder.

Going down the stairs, the lieutenant said, “Have you really mined the building?”

The captain grinned at him. “Have we really got six hundred men?” he asked. And then he said, “Lord, I hope the destroyer gets in tonight to take these babies out. None of us is going to get any sleep until then.”

THE END.