Winfred

22

Official Report

British Intelligence

Code: 3986

Kathleen Winfred

A Bombing

Apparently, as a former hotel that many outside of France and Germany did not know had been transformed into a prison, our location was not at a high risk for any bombings.

That may be why the guards were so startled when, one night, the quietness of the dark prison was interrupted by an explosion, some distance away, from which the noise reached us. 

Some of the women in my wing of the prison screamed, some cried, and the guards fled.

Fear was an almost tangible thing among us prisoners for several tense moments. We thought that the guards had left to take shelter, abandoning us to a fiery death, should one of the bombs hit our prison.

Soon, however, the door at the end of the corridor was opened and Von Steubon led in a group of guards, Pirot among them, who unlocked all the cell doors, gathered us into a group, and herded us downstairs and into the hotel's basement. Jessica and I were last in line, and I saw that Von Steubon did not leave until all the prisoners were out.

In the basement, it was cold. There was no heat downstairs. The Nazis, of course, had coats, but we were forced to sit as close to one another as possible to get warm. I, being on the end, remained half cold until Pirot sat down next to me, warming me. I gave her a quick smile.

Looking around the basement, I was able to see, truly, the different variety of people who occupied the prison. There was the cook and the cooking staff, who only saved their true skills for the Nazis, and not for the prisoners. There were a few woman secretaries. I noticed some other woman guards whom I had seen before. There were male prisoners, who spent all their time on another floor and were kept separate from the women. There were more Nazi soldiers, some who I had seen before and some I had not. Heinrich Schwab's nose was purple and swollen and when he reported to Von Steubon that his wing had all made it to the basement, his voice sounded funny, a fact I could not help but smile about.

Pirot said nothing; she simply sat next to me in silence. I wished I could talk to her; it would have passed the time much better than the silence. However, it would not have been acceptable in the company of the soldiers. She pressed her arm against the length of mine and just her presence and her warmth was a comfort. 

I noticed that there was some uneasy quiet chatter among some of the other German soldiers, but the basement remained mostly silent.

My gaze found Von Steubon, sitting by himself in a corner. He seemed distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else and, when an explosion went off, he flinched slightly, but kept his gaze trained on the ground.

One of the German soldiers brought out an accordion and played a few melodies until another bomb exploded, this one sounding closer, and then the room lapsed into silence. 

The basement must have been used as some sort of storage for the kitchen, because there was a pile of potatoes in one of the corners, which the cook and his men were now peeling, in order to distract themselves from the explosions outside. 

Eventually, Jessica fell asleep against my shoulder. I felt tired, but every time another bomb exploded, I was shocked into being awake once more. I soon gave up on sleep and tried to shift myself so that Jessica could be more comfortable.

I looked around once more. All around the room, people were falling asleep. German guards sitting back to back. Prisoners using each other for support. Pirot, next to me, leaning back against the wall. You could hear the sound of the cook's peeler scraping across the potatoes. Someone played a radio quietly. 

The night crawled on.

I looked at Von Steubon again. He was not asleep, as some of his other men were. His mouth was set into a hard line and his brow was furrowed. He looked almost as if he had withdrawn into himself, into his thoughts, shutting out the environment around him. Schubert lay between his feet, his chin resting on one of his master's boots. 

I finally found myself growing tired enough to drift off for little snatches of sleep.  

Finally, through a mind foggy with tiredness, I heard the "all clear" emanate from the radio.