"Get you cleaned up, Inglis. Get you on to a bed with double rations. Shouldnt treat anyone like that." The M.O spoke in a kind and re-assuring way. Jon, beyond caring, acted like a baby, and was bathed and fed and put to bed. He slept for forty-eight hours, and then youth triumphed. With double rations, he soon sat up on the hard bed and started to laugh and joke, and within a week he was back in the Main Camp with Chalky and Sefton, ideas for another escape floating around in his head.
Again, after a time away in solitary, the spirit in the Main Camp had changed. Men were walking with heads held high, and conversation seemed full of hope. Through the grapevine, and the illicit wireless that had been smuggled into the hut, word had come that the Allies were already on German soil, and were advancing.
"Cant be long now," said Sefton, more cheerful than for a long while.
"Theyll rough us up before they surrender us. Give us a hard time, thats for sure," Chalky who usually looked on the bright side of things cast gloom over the rising spirits.
Sefton, still cheerful took no notice. "Wonder if I'll get my old job back. Wonder whose been doing it all this time. In the two letters I got from my missus she never said nuffink about work, she only ..."
"Not got a job to go back to," interrupted Chalky. "Apprentice I was. Dont know what it'll be like. Maybe well all sell matches on the streets. Like last war."
"Come off it," Jon countered. "Keep your spirits up this last bit. Me, I'm off as soon as I can. Dont want to be around when the balloon goes up. As Chalky said it could be really bad. Going to beard the Escape Committee tonight."
The Colonel in charge of the Escape Committee gave Jon a very cool reception. "You know, Inglis, every time you're caught it makes it that much harder on us. You are putting the lives of the other escapees at risk. Dont you think you've done enough?"
"Hell, no sir. Excuse me, sir. I want to be away when the Allies come to the camp. Think the Germans will rough us all up before they arrive. Rather take a chance and be on the loose."
"Dont bank too much on the Allies getting here quickly," the Colonel replied. "Therell be much more bombing before German industry is halted. And There's a long way to go yet on German soil."
"Please, sir. Give me one more chance."
"O.K Inglis, but it will take time. I gather you got a passport from your own resources last time."
"However did you know that?" asked Jon bemused.
"We have our ways," said the Colonel mysteriously. "But dont forget that when we get a passport for us to use with your identity it makes it dangerous for the original owner. And it takes time. But I'll do my best."
Every second day Jon pestered the Escape Committee, and at last, and a little grudgingly a passport was produced with a suitable suit of clothing, hat and shoes. The passport was for a technician, small engineering, who was on his way for an interview for a new job. "Good luck, Inglis. Money and food you must deal with yourself. I believe you know the ropes. Try not to make trouble." Jon felt the Colonel wanted nothing more to do with him.
Jon had a genuine sore on his behind and one on his foot, and he cajoled the M.O for dressings. These he kept till he felt time was right. The task in hand for the inmates was to work on the rail track again, and Jon noticed that soon they would be working on a piece of track with a curve to the right, nicely cambered. He waited till the working party arrived at the curved area. Even Chalky didnt know of the proposed plan.
"Hi, Chalky," said Jon.
"Got something up your sleeve?" laughed Chalky. "You look fatter than usual," after they had returned from working on the curved track.
"Shurrup, you twit," Jon chided. "Its all underneath. Having a dress rehearsal. This weeks the week. Final try. Want to be well away when the Allies arrive. Perhaps I can join up with them and come back with them and release you all. Wouldnt that be a lark?"
"Just fantasising you are. Think you're going round the bend a bit, getting carried away. After four long years it really looks as if its finishing. Why not wait a bit and see what happens. Still its up to you." Chalky shrugged his shoulders.
"Thats just it. Its up to me. And I'm off when the occasion presents itself."
"Good luck, chum. But steer clear of me before you go," Chalky slapped him on the back and left the hut. Jon disrobed and hid the escaping gear under the floor boards.
That night Jon heard a rumbling. They all rushed to the door. A vast armada of Allied planes vibrated in the skies, all in mass formation. The deep rumble of their engines indicated they were well loaded. The prisoners looked towards a red glow just the far side of the camp. The 'Pathfinders' had targeted the area with flares. Soon bombs were jettisoned with a timed precision that sounded like the end of the world.
"Find Derk," shouted Jon over the noise. "Three huts away. We must hold him or hell go beserk again. Come on, Chalky, run for it. Bombs arent coming in the camp. Its just the noise."
The two men found Derk crouched in the corner of his hut hiding his head, the others from the hut were outside watching the aeroplanes .
"Its O.K, Derk. Look, I'll hold your head and cover your ears." Chalky knew exactly what to do. With Derk, shivering and shaking, Chalky held him tight and kept up a continuous soothing flow of words.
"Pilots must know were here," shouted Jon over the noise. "Nothings come into the camp." After what seemed like an eternity the raid finished and silence lay over the camp. Derk pulled himself together and thanked his helpers. "Just can't cope," he said. "Seem to lose control. Praps when I get back to Blighty theyll sort me out."
"Praps," said Jon. "Anyway time will help."
Chalky and Jon left Derk to recover his equanimity, and rejoined the group of men in their own hut who were all huddled round the much cossetted wireless. Through the crackles and pops they could pick up the B.B.C news. Mention of mass bombing was the first item of the news. Then came news of the progress of the fighting.
"Turn it off." Surprised and dismayed the man nearest the wireless switched the knob off. All the men turned in unison to look at the source of the voice. A German guard, young and fresh faced, had entered the hut quietly. The prisoners, intent on listening to the forbidden news, were unaware that the guard too had heard the announcement.
"I can understand English," he said. "It seems the B.B.C think that the war will soon be over." The prisoners waited tensely for some sort of retribution. "When its finished, you can all go home, and I will be able to return to my monastery. Thats all, gentlemen. I will wish you goodnight."
"What a turnaround," Jon exclaimed. "If one of the evil guards had appeared, wed've lynched him, thats for sure. Dont think therell be repercussions with this one. If I had a whiskey Id drink to his health."
"Id second that," agreed Sefton.
The next day events moved fast. The whole camp was evacuated, hut by hut, cramped train by cramped train, guard upon guard, rifle upon rifle. Food and water were scarce, and space minimal. Jon had to leave all his escape gear behind under the boards, passport, clothes and clinical dressings. Panic crept into the supervisory staff. As the Allies regained large chunks of German territory and the Russians pressed westwards, the prisoners were collected in a huge tented camp in the middle of nowhere.
"Glad I didnt have time to make a getaway," Jon muttered to Sefton. "Cant believe a tented camp can be all that secure. And look, thats a new crowd. They look like Ruskies. Prisoners from the other front. My! Things are moving."
"Just calm down," soothed Sefton. "Everything will happen, and before you know where you are well all be on a train to Blighty."
"Thats what you think," scoffed Jon. "There's going to be more trouble, you mark my words. Perhaps internal looting will be another added problem."
"Prhaps," agreed Sefton. "But wholl loot from who? Those new blokes, the Russian army ones, seem in a worse state than we are. Lets hope they dont start fights with the guards and we all get the blame. I'm fed up with going short of food because of something someone else had done."
In the new camp life was now like living on a precipice. Everyone lived from day to day, the routine was scrappy, there was no work outside the camps. The Germans seemed distrait and nervous. They were even more trigger happy than before. They shot the Russian prisoners like dogs seemingly with no apparent reason. The mass bombing continued, crump crump, and suddenly an even bigger crump.
"Thats close," said Jon. "I'm going to do a recce. If the perimeters damaged I'm off. What about it Chalky? Heard that no one wanted another move to another tented camp. A few seemed to be prepared to make a break."
"You go and scout round," Chalky encouraged. "Ill chat to some who I know are ready for off. Dont think Sefton is keen. Be back soon, and dont you dare go alone. Were all in it this time."
In broad daylight Jon took his daily exercise round the wired fence. To his delight he saw the damage caused by the biggest explosion they had heard. There was a crater with one flattened tent near by. Apathetically the Germans were working to patch up the fence. There were no search lights rigged up yet in the camp. It looked a great possibility.
Jon eagerly moved back to his tent and explained the situation. Chalky and four other assorted prisoners were assembled to hear the plan.
"Its O.K," Jon enthused, "but we must go tonight, before they tidy the hole up properly. Collect what you can and meet here at 10. Well just head westwards and hope. Moons out. Somehow dont think the Huns will mind if we go or dont. There's an element of chaos in the air."
At 10 oclock the six met silently to begin their bid to join with the closing front of the Allied Forces. Each carried their few possessions in different forms of outer covering. Getting through the wire fence was elementary, there was no patrol and no search lights. They walked and ran into nearby woods. Gun fire in the distance proved that fighting was not far away.
"Whose fighting who? Id like to know. Have the Russians got this far? Wouldnt like to be captured by them at this stage. Think we were spies, they would," Chalky seemed quite elated.
"Wouldnt like to be captured by a Hun on the retreat either. Dont think theyd be very sympathetic to escapees," a spindly legged man in his thirties interjected. "I've not done this before. Hope I can keep up. Not all that strong. You can see from my legs."
"Youll be O.K, Jock," Jon re-assured, inwardly he was anxious about Jocks physical stamina. "We just need a bit of luck. Need to hide from everyone till we know which side they're on. Need to escape all this damn cross fire."
The next few days threatened their chances of freedom. Wolves roamed the woods and howled ominously, dangerously close to the six men huddled in the undergrowth.
"Its O.K," Jon reassured them in a whisper. "We're down wind of them. Praps well have got off their beat by tomorrow night." They moved through the woods in broad daylight, cautiously avoiding anyone in uniform. Tanks and troops ranged to and fro towards the sound of the battle in the distance. Every day there were narrow escapes from artillery fire, mortar bombing and even straffing from the air by Allied forces, the wooded country offered little protection. It was hard to tell who was the enemy. The small group ate what they could from the woods, and drank water from streams, once again hunger and the lack of food caused physical weakness. They kept their small hoard of food for crisis.
On the fourth day the firing became louder and closer.
"Think were in the cross fire of both armies," Jon muttered.
"Thats for sure," agreed Jock. "Both sides are firing across us. Ludicrous situation if were killed by our own kith and kin at this stage."
"Think we should lie low, hunger be damned," Chalky planned. "Its no good being dead. Better be hungry, gotta bit of chance . .."
"Here's a good place. Tuck in here. Under this whopping fallen tree," Jon eased himself under a fallen oak. "Well stay here till the fighting eases up. What ho, Tummy, shut up rumbling will you."
Even under the protection of the oak the bullets seemed ominously close. Tension rose in the group. Jock became morose.
"Never see Blighty. Won't get out of this lot alive. Why bother to try?" he moaned.
""O.K, chaps," Jon saw spirits fall to an all time low with hunger nibbling and scratching at their insides. "What about a dash for it at the next lull? Everyone agreed?"
"Cant make a dash in my state," groaned Jock.
"Shut up," said Jon harshly, not wanting negative thinking to take over. "See that bank over there. Next lull in the noise well make for that bank and then see whats on the other side. Bet its a road."
When there was a moments let up all six made their way to the bank, at different speeds and by different routes. They peered over the bank and saw a farm track. - ' n.(: - "Better to walk down this than keep dodging about in the woods," Chalky suggested. "We can always hide if we hear aircraft, and the paths too small for tanks."
The six men walked slowly and hesitantly down the track. As they turned a bend they saw a man sitting alone on the bank, a picture of dejection.
"From his uniform he looks like a Russian," Chalky volunteered as the young man lifted his hands in the universally accepted form of surrender.
The lone man, scarcely out of his teens, hands still raised jabbered excitedly. Jon flicked the raised hands down and smiled. The man went on talking. The only word that could be understood was Americano Panzers.
"Poor chap," said Jock. "Hes a long way from base. Unless the Russians and the Allies are not all that far apart. S'ppose all tanks look like the Panzers."
"Lets give him some fags, and beat it," suggested Chalky. "If the Germans should catch us with a Russian theyll sure kill us all. We know they hate the Ruskies even more than us."
"Good reasoning," agreed Jon. "But he doesnt stand much chance. If he finds his own lot hell be accused of deserting, and as you said the Huns would kill him. Best for him if the Yanks caught up with him."
"But where are the Brits? Maybe they're further north? I dunno," Jon muttered, puzzled and rather sad. They gave the Russian a bar of precious chocolate and a few cigarettes, and he ambled off eastwards highly pleased.
Talking together now in a more rather relaxed than before their encounter with the Russian, they turned a bend and the track widened into a much used small road, with deep ruts running down the middle. It had obviously been used by heavy vehicles. While studying the wheel marks the six didnt perceive two German soldiers who were walking towards them.
"Christ," muttered Jon, "now were for it."
But to the amazement of them all the two Germans were the first to surrender. Hands above their heads and white handkerchief in one hand they slowly approached the escapees.
"American tanks. Got our platoon. Tanks not far away," they gabbled in German.
"What do they say? Jon, tell us. Whats happening?" Jon was bombarded with a chorus of questions. "They say the same thing. American tanks are nearby. Got the rest of their platoon. they're on the run."
"Let them run from us, for Gods sake," insisted Jock. "We dont want to make arrests at this stage. Maybe stab us in the back when were not looking."
"O.K. O.K," agreed Jon. "But you must admit this has its funny side. Neither of us wanting to take each other prisoner. My! Change around, after change around. I'll tell them to buzz off but keep their mouths shut." With smiles and waves the two men left in the same direction as the Russian.
The six ex-prisoners continued their journey till they arrived at a road junction. They walked in the eerie twilight, thoroughly exhausted but alive. Six abreast they moved towards a clump of houses, but first they came across a motorbike on the verge of the road with the engine still running. Crouched in the ditch were two men of a crack German regiment, one was using a field telephone but was having difficulties. The other man spied the approaching six, and with a shout of warning to his colleague they dropped their telephone, leapt on the motorbike and sped away. Their panic was evident, and for the first time for ages all six escapees roared with laughter, the boot seemed on the other foot at last.
Relaxed and talking together they approached the village pump which was situated in the middle of a bald patch of grass land. They took it in turns to drink and douche their heads under the clear refreshing water. The screech of the water pump was the only noise that broke the ominous silence. It looked as if the place was deserted, but it was difficult to ascertain how far away were the Germans.
"Lets go and rest up in the barn. Can hatch a plan then." Chalky seemed happy to take the initiative. Jon stayed at the pump for an extra swill of water, and he realised that he was not alone. An elderly woman had come quietly from one of the houses to draw water. Jon was the more surprised of the two.
"Where you from?" asked the old lady in a cracked voice, her German having a coarse dialect.
"We're escaping British prisoners-of-war," Jon told her honestly. He liked and trusted the look of her lined and worn face, a face that had seen sorrow and pain.
"Your troops occupied our village this morning, but they were driven out in the afternoon. I thought you might be retaking it again."
"Ma'am," replied Jon respectful of her age. "It was the American forces. We're British prisoners."
"Ah ssooo," she hissed through her teeth and nodded.
"But where is everyone? Is there anyone left in the village?" Again the knowledge of the German language came to Jons aid.
"Theyre hiding in the woods. Its just me and my daughter and a very old man left. Hes too sick. Needs water." The woman started towards the pump.
"Can I do it?" Jon asked. Then he saw her bandaged thumb. "Are you hurt?"
"Ya," she replied directly. "Thumb goes bad. No medicine, no dressing."
"Let me look. I'll wash it for you." Jon unpeeled the dirty bandage and the stink of the rotting thumb flew up his nose. "Bad, very bad," he said. He washed the thumb clean and then poked around in his small sack bag which he had chosen to carry. Glad I've got a few of those dressings I wheedled out of the M.O. Just the job for this thumb. Its a right nasty poisoned mess.
The old lady, quite unconcerned about the state of her thumb and taking no notice of the pain, gratefully accepted Jons administrations.
"Why dont you go to the woods too?" asked Jon.
"Old man too ill. Won't last long. Wish my daughterd go. She pretty girl. Germans like pretty girls if they come back. Think theyll come back to-morrow with better soldiers. One of the German soldiers told me so before they left."
"Youre very brave," said Jon, smiling into the crinkly face. "There always noble people in unexpected places. Dangerous for your daughter, yes?" The old lady nodded. With the thumb bound in the clean dressing, but still smelling, she picked up the filled bucket and hobbled off to the house. Jon stayed by the well summing up the last few moments. He turned his head when he heard footsteps, and saw a younger woman appear.
"You must be the daughter?" Jon smiled at the newcomer.
"Yes," she smiled shyly. Pretty in a homely tired way, Jons heart beat faster at the proximity of womanly curves. The woman continued, "Can you tell us news of the war? My husband is a Staff Officer. The last we heard of him was when they were completely surrounded, some where on the Eastern front." She looked anxiously at Jons face, trusting and childlike.
"I can't help you, maam," Jon replied. Thank God I can say that. That poor bugger won't have stood a chance of survival. Hell either be dead or taken prisoner, which is as good as dead. Poor woman, shit and damn this war. This is the first time I've seen the effects on those left behind. Quite a lesson. These thoughts flashed through his mind. Then he added aloud, "We've all been prisoners for five years."
"Perhaps my husband is a prisoner," she said wistfully.
"Perhaps," Jon responded tenderly, glad of her ignorance of the conditions of a prisoners lot.
"I'll bring you some tea," she said as she looked deeply into Jons eyes, and Jon saw the pain and loneliness of her soul. With a half smile she turned towards her house. She carried herself with a noble sense of pride in spite of her heavy heart, and Jon noticed the sensuous beauty of her movement. It was not wantonly exaggerated yet Jon felt sure she knew he was watching her. On arrival at the barn he found the other five fast asleep in relaxed positions of total exhaustion. Jon sat on a sack, and smoked a cigarette all the while taking care that he didnt cause a fire. Soon the young woman entered carrying a jug of hot liquid, supposedly tea. Jon felt he should waken the slumbering men but the women put her finger to her lips. She put the jug into a nest of straw to keep warm, than stood up, arms to her side. She looked a picture of dejection yet her eyes glowed with an inner longing. Throwing caution to the wind, and tired and smelly as he was, Jon opened his arms and walked slowly towards her. Instantly she buried her head in Jons shoulder and the tears flowed. Her small frame shook with sobs, no words were spoken to explain the inexplicable. Jons dried eyed grief joined with her sorrow. The closeness of her body and the tenderness of her femininity made Jon aware of his longtime dormant sexuality. When the tears ceased the woman too sensed the powerful emotions that were sweeping her being. She clung even closer, touching all the way down. Then suddenly, with a shake of her head and a small sigh she broke away, and left the barn quickly with a half wave of her hand. Jon sat on through the night, emotions in a turmoil, and felt tired and fragile. Here am I, twenty three years old, and naive enough to be rocked stupid by holding a woman in my arms for a few seconds. Why can't we find the Allies? Why can't I get really into the war and help it to end? What use am I? Will I ever be able to paint a picture in words of all I've been through? I dunno. Havent even made a poem up these last years. Pity if all thats gone. Hell, must try for a cat-nap. Could be a long day tomorrow. With these thoughts Jon huddled down on the straw and slept.
They were all woken up suddenly by the sound of gunfire.