Read Blackbone for Free Online Page A

believe we should be model prisoners. Offer no resistance, cause no trouble. Give them no reason to take reprisals. And that is how we will determine the true intentions of Major Gilman. I believe that, just as strongly as I believe that if we do step out of line, Gilman will act.”
    There were frowns and grumblings from the small core of true Nazis among the senior officers. While they didn’t subscribe to Bruckner’s wild statements, neither did they trust the Americans—any Americans. To them, Hopkins was more typical of the American character. Hopkins met all their expectations.
    “Major Steuben.” Mueller piped up from the rear, coldly contemptuous. Mueller was the senior Luftwaffe officer and resident escape artist—or so he fancied himself.
    “What is it, Mueller?”
    “Same as always, Major. When will I get a hearing before the escape committee?”
    “Let’s give Major Gilman a little time to settle in before we start taking advantage.”
    “I don’t understand that, Major. Are we supposed to hang up our balls until we find out if Gilman has any of his own? I’ve got serious plans that require discussion, and I’m willing to abide by the rules—no independent efforts. But there are other men involved, and we want a hearing.”
    Hoffman stood behind him, nodding.
    “So noted.”
    Mueller’s eyes went icy with hatred. He was a disciplined officer, but his patience was sorely tried by Steuben’s unbending reluctance to permit escape attempts. If Mueller didn’t get his hearing soon, he might go without approval, and Steuben knew it.
    “The escape committee will meet within the next forty-eight hours,” Steuben said, “to discuss the general issue of escape. No plans will be heard at that time. But we will let you know our thinking.”
    Mueller’s contempt only deepened. “What more could I ask for?” he said, then turned and walked out.
    “At least we know one thing about Gilman,” said Gebhard, the lone U-boat officer imprisoned at Blackbone. “He likes dogs.”
    Everybody glanced at Churchill and smiled. Churchill recognized the attention and let out a happy bark. Bruckner snorted. “Making love to the dog was for our benefit. If Hopkins killed it, do you think Gilman would punish him?”
    “It’s your own fault,” said Hoffman. “You had to go and name him Churchill.”
    “Right,” said Gebhard. “Maybe if we call him Goering and kick him now and then—”
    A few of the officers laughed. The Nazis in the corner glared at Gebhard.
    Steuben dismissed the meeting and cleared the room. He stopped Bruckner at the door. “Hans,” he said, “I don’t understand where you get some of your ideas. Do you really believe the Americans are trying to find a way to kill us?”
    “This is war, Major,” Bruckner said with a bitter smile. “Some things you wouldn’t dream of could already be reality.”
    Psychotic? Or just paranoid? Steuben wondered if he shouldn’t turn Bruckner over to an American psychiatrist. There was no one on the prisoners’ medical staff qualified to judge. But Bruckner was paranoid about American doctors, too, convinced that they were conducting horrifying experiments on war prisoners.
    A few months ago, when he had run a fever and suffered chills, Bruckner had not even admitted he was sick, he was so afraid of being turned over to the Americans for treatment.
    “In their hands, I would just disappear like a bug down a frog’s throat,” he had told Steuben in his delirium. “You would never see me again. I would end up cut into pieces. They would attach wires to what remains and run currents of electricity through me, and I would go on and off like a lamp.” He had ranted and raved, and Steuben had ended up nursing him alone, not even permitting the German medics near him.
    Since then, Bruckner had been more careful about his hygiene, his sleeping and eating habits.... And he had devoted himself to that dog, convinced that caring for another living being put