Winfred

5

Official Report

British Intelligence

Code: 3986

Kathleen Winfred

I ruddy well ran out of room on that stationary, but my description of the hotel-turned-prison was mostly in completeness. I do not know what exactly to write here, so I suppose I will simply start with my arrival at the Prison Camp. Ah, how funny, it is storming now, and it was storming then too. 

I was brought in the front door, quite roughly, by two Nazi soldiers. Thankfully, I was still in my clothes, though they afforded little relief from the cold and wet that had pervaded the air outside. Of course the two Nazis were in overcoats and hats, and were quite warm the entire time. Commodities are not wasted on such trivial and disposable things as prisoners. I was taken to a small, bare room, where a woman with a clipboard was waiting. She saluted the soldiers, who saluted back, and they exchanged their "Heil Hitler!" and stood off to the side. The woman came forward.

She looked me over as one looks over a piece of meat at the butcher's before making their selection. Sighing, she ordered me to remove my clothes. The two soldiers standing at the back of the room had a jolly laugh at my expense. I wished that I could slap them. I blushed beet red. 

The woman scowled at the two with a glare that immediately shut them up, although I could hear them snickering softly to themselves as the woman continued. Now that I think about it, her actions were similar to those of a British female nurse giving a pre-duty physical to the members of the WAAF. It dawned on me then, that she was giving me a pre-physical before I went to prison. However, I did not see what it would accomplish, seeing as how I would only be tortured, perhaps until I was unrecognizable. 

Finally, she finished her poking and prodding, and, nodded to the two soldiers, who came forward and each took one of my arms. The woman proceeded to catalog each of my pieces of clothing, any documents she found, and my silver heart locket, given to me by my mother. I was quite distraught when she took that, but a smart slap across my face by one of my male guards shut me up. I put my hand to my face, and imagined the bruise that would form later.

I am proud to say, however, that I did not make one noise at all when it happened. Only then, when the lady was finished cataloging my belongings, and filling out a few papers, I was brought to an interrogation room. I shivered in the cold air. I tried to hug myself and blow on my hands to keep warm, but was prevented from doing so by the two soldiers.

Suddenly the door opened. The two soldiers snapped to attention. I looked falteringly in the direction of their salute. A man, dressed to the hilt in a Nazi uniform, with polished boots and medals and patches for his jacket, was standing there. He made a slight motion of his hand, and the two goons next to me fell out of their salute, but remained standing ramrod straight. They acted completely different around this newcomer, than they did with Pirot. 

SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Freidrich von Steubon is quite an intimidating man. I shall pause now, to recall his exact manner and looks, as he is an important part of this story. He is head of this particular prison. I was told by Pirot that he commands respect from his men, and usually gets it. Anyone who is insubordinate is not tolerated. She also told me that he is the youngest captain in the Gestapo. I was unsure whether or not to be impressed with this, but she seemed to be. I think Pirot liked Captain von Steubon, but I cannot be sure. And, since he did not show much affection for anyone, other than a Miniature Dachshund that he owns, I do not think he liked her in return.

Von Steubon looks the part of Hitler's idea of the ideal German. Blonde hair, and eyes bluer than mine. He's scary, sometimes, because it seems almost as if his eyes stare into your very soul. If you tell a lie, and he finds out, beware the consequences. He runs the prison like just that: a prison. Even the soldiers are kept on a tight rope. 

We had heard about him, even over in England. Apparently, he was constantly reading about new torture methods, or developing his own, just to get information out of the prisoners under his command. It was him who made the final decisions at the prison, and anything done there, must first go through him. And, it was him who would be interrogating me. 

When forced to stand and face the captain, I was a bit shaky on my feet. I could tell he was displeased. The thing about Captain von Steubon is that he already stands like a stiff board. I guess all Nazis stand like that, but him more than others. However, when he gets upset, he stands even straighter, and even stiffer, if that were at all possible. And his eyes get that angry look to them. Not only can he seem to see what you're feeling, but he shows his emotions as well, unless he takes special caution to hide them.

Anyways, I was forced to stand before him, as he walked around me, inspecting me just as the woman had done. I wanted to shout. I wanted to scream: when will people stop treating me as though I am an animal for sale at the market? Finally, he stopped before me. I am not tall. I am five foot three and quite petite. Captain von Steubon was about average height, standing at around five foot ten, if I had to guess. Something about him made him seem bigger, however, and scarier, more intimidating. 

While he was staring at me, fully concentrating on what sort of torture to perform to get me to talk, Pirot was staring at him with puppy-dog eyes. He however, was oblivious to her. The two soldier guards were standing there with bored looks on their faces, one tapping his foot, probably anxious to get started with the torture.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, von Steubon stepped away from me, spoke softly to one of the guards, and exited the room. Pirot was back to being all business. I waited with bated breath as the guards led me down the hallway. I did not know for sure where they were taking me, but I had a good idea, and I had no desire to go there. 

***