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stiffly past the Germans and up to the gate.
    Steuben stared after him curiously.
     
     

 
    Chapter 3
     
     
    Hopkins slammed the door as he walked into headquarters. The company clerk, Corporal Chilton, looked up from his typing briefly, then continued, out of the corner of his eye watching Hopkins go to the window. Hopkins lit a cigarette and stared out at the camp, his brow furrowed with anger. He rolled the cigarette around his fingers like a magician rolls a coin, over the knuckles and under the tips then back and up into his mouth for a long draw. He was thinking.
    Chilton stopped typing and lit a cigarette for himself. Finally, their eyes met. “So, what’s he like, sir?” said Chilton.
    “He’s like shit,” said Hopkins.
    “What’s his beef?”
    “That’s what you’re going to find out.”
    “Sir?”       
    “I want you to plug into the pipeline and get whatever dope is available on Major Gilman. I want to know exactly how he screwed up in France. I want names, dates, and places. I want to know if he crossed anybody, or fucked a general’s wife.” Hopkins rolled the butt through his fingers again. Then he flicked it across the room, and it landed squarely in Chilton’s ashtray.
    “I want something on him,” Hopkins growled. “I don’t care how you get it.”
    “Tall order, Captain.”
    “Is it worth a week in Frisco?”
    “Are we talking leave, sir?”
    “Could be.”
    “I’ll get right on it, Captain.”
     
    Steuben’s room served as the unofficial headquarters for the camp’s senior officers. There was a pinup next to the door, a magazine photo of some buxom Bavarian blonde with an extremely prominent behind. Some claimed it was Steuben’s wife, others his mistress. But everyone to a man who entered the room paused to pay homage, even if it was no more than an affectionate pat or a sideways glance. It served its purpose well, loosening tensions and promoting a lusty camaraderie.
    But there were serious faces filing into Steuben’s room after Gilman’s walking tour. Within ten minutes after Steuben returned, the room was filled with fellow officers wanting to know what the new amerikanischer Kommandant was like.
    “By the book,” said Steuben. “Tough, direct, but fair. I think we’ll see some improvement.”
    Leutnant Hoffman sneered. “How soft is he?”
    “Not soft at all. He is as likely to come down on us as he did Hopkins.”
    “You think he’ll transfer Hopkins out?”
    “No, but he’ll get him under control.”
    “I doubt that.” Bruckner was sitting on the window-sill, stroking Churchill’s ears. “Major Gilman may start off behaving like a saint, but he’s not immune to temptation. He has a campful of enemy officers at his mercy. Was Hopkins such a bastard when he came here? No, it took time for the disease to fester. It will be the same with Gilman—”
    “That’ll be enough, Bruckner,” said Steuben.
    But it wasn’t enough for Bruckner. His eyes flashed and he tightened his grip on Churchill’s leash. “They are plotting things, Hopkins and his pawns. And Gilman is part of it. He’s going to be nice to us, give us food and blankets and extra coal, and make us think he’s on our side. And then when he’s got us where he wants us—”
    “We’re already where he wants us!” Steuben snapped. “We’re prisoners! What more can they do to us?” He paused to control his anger then worked toward patience. “Hans, you have more theories and fears than I have hairs on my head. Accept one thing at face value, will you please? Nobody is plotting evil against us. We’ve been here too long and we’ve survived. Nobody has died in this camp! Nobody! Even Hopkins, with all his little tortures, has killed no one. We know the limits of what they will do. Hopkins is the worst, but he’s unique. I am prepared to believe that Gilman is more representative of the way this government wants to treat us. And until we get evidence to the contrary, I