“They listen to all new men everywhere,” Sim said. Suddenly he began to laugh. “But I have fooled them. I have worked out a way for us to escape.”
Stan stared at him. He was not sure Sim was not still insane.
O’Malley said eagerly, “Spill it. Escape is what I’m lookin’ for.”
Sim went to the door and opened it. He looked up and down the hall, then closed the door.
“I was going to try it alone, but I may be able to take you fellows along.” He spoke slowly.
“Sure, three can make a getaway easier than one,” O’Malley said. Stan said nothing.
“Germany is cracking up fast,” Sim went on. “Rotten inside with half of the guards scared they’ll be stood up against a wall and shot when the invasion comes.”
“They didn’t seem to be slipping much where we landed,” Stan said.
“But they are,” Sim insisted. “I have a man fixed to take me out of here and across Germany. I’m to get him out of the country and guarantee he’ll be safely kept over in England.”
“Swell,” O’Malley put in. “When do we get going?”
“It will take a day or so. He’s no small fry either, he’s a non-commissioned officer with some authority. He thinks the Gestapo is about to pick him off for not being tough enough.”
“It sounds a bit too easy to me,” Stan said. “But I’d take any sort of chance to get back into action.”
“Tomorrow I’ll let you know if you can go along,” Sim promised. “Now you better hook that listening gadget up again.”
CHAPTER VII
ESCAPE
When Stan awoke the next morning Sim was gone from his bunk. He sat up quickly, then lay back and let his stiff, sore muscles relax. There was no hurry. He was not going any place that day, perhaps not for a long time. Lying there he listened to O’Malley’s deep snores and thought back over the events of the past few hours.
Those events had happened so swiftly and so explosively that they seemed like the shadowy memory of a nightmare. He recalled that he had not asked O’Malley how he had been captured. He had just taken it for granted his pal had been through an experience the same as his own. It was odd, too, the way things fitted together. The oddest of all was finding Sim Jones billeted in the same prison.
A knock sounded upon the door. “Come in,” Stan called.
O’Malley sat up in bed suddenly, pawing the blankets away from his shoulders. He stared around the room, then scowled. The door opened and a Nazi corporal entered.
“Heil Hitler!” he said very loudly and clicked his heels together.
“Good morning,” Stan greeted.
O’Malley just glared at the corporal.
“I am Hans.” The Nazi looked behind him, sticking his head out so that he could see up and down the hall. He closed the door. “It is orders of Herr General that prisoners be up and taking exercises by seven each morning. I have let you sleep because you were very tired.”
“That was nice of you,” Stan said.
“I am goot to prisoners,” Hans said.
Stan swung his feet to the floor. He got out of bed and walked across the room. Flipping a picture of Hitler aside, he exposed the microphone in the wall. Hans rolled his eyes and clicked his heels.
“Heil Hitler!” he almost shouted. “Tomorrow you will get out of bed and be down in the yard by seven.”
Stan grinned. He reached up and disconnected the wire leading to the instrument.
“They listen all the time,” Hans said. “They watch everyone. There is more Gestapo than guards.”
“Nice country to live in,” Stan remarked.
O’Malley laughed and pulled the blankets up around his chin.
“Sure, an’ it needs a bit o’ cleaning up,” he said.
Hans looked at him nervously. “You think the British and Americans come soon?” he asked.
“If they’re later than next week, I’ll be after speakin’ to a few generals harsh-like,” O’Malley answered.
“Perhaps not next week but soon,” Stan said.
“I am not a party member. I will go back to my little farm near Pilsen,” Hans said, “if it is permitted.”
“It could be fixed that way,” Stan said and smiled. “Silence is golden, but too much of it might make the Gestapo boys suspicious.” He walked to the picture of Hitler and connected the microphone again.
“You will report at once for mess. Heil Hitler!” Hans clicked his heels and did an about-face. He moved out of the room almost goose-stepping. Stan grinned after him.
“Get up, you bum,” he called to O’Malley.
O’Malley got out of bed and began dressing. Within ten minutes they were in the hall. As they walked down it they passed no less than three pictures of Hitler hanging on the walls. O’Malley moved every one of them and peered behind it.
“I don’t like the scenery here,” he grumbled.
The mess was a large room which once had been a living room and dining room combined. There were twenty prisoners, mostly R.A.F. men, all of officer’s rank. They looked bored and listless, but they greeted the new arrivals with friendly interest. Sim was seated at the table. He looked up and nodded.
Breakfast was not bad and the boys ate everything set before them. After breakfast the men went out into the yard. The sun was shining and the air was warm, but there was a feel of winter in the wind which blew over the high wall.
Stan and O’Malley sat down on a bench with Sim. The other men busied themselves with handball and quoits. Sim bent down and traced a line with a stick in the dirt.
“I have everything lined up. We get away tonight. A British colonel is giving a lecture in the big room at nine tonight. I have fixed the checker. We’ll get away while that is on.” Sim did not look up.
“Hans is the checker?” O’Malley asked.
“Yes.”
“Sure this isn’t a trap? Things have been working too good around here,” Stan said.
“This will not be easy,” Sim answered in a low voice. “The chances are about even we’ll be shot before we get clear of the wire and the guard lines. These guards do not shout at you, they shoot and then yell.” Sim laughed shortly. “But I’d rather be shot than rot here.”
“Sure, an’ that’s me, too,” O’Malley agreed.
“We’ll be ready,” Stan answered.
“You cannot take anything with you,” Sim warned. “Now we have to break up. The guards are watching us.” He got to his feet and walked away.
“I think he’s acting nuts for the benefit of the guards,” O’Malley said.
“If it turns out he really is nuts, we may find ourselves messed up with lead,” Stan answered. He got up and walked over to where the R.A.F. boys were pitching quoits.
“Care to get in?” a captain asked him.
“Thanks, I’ll have a try,” Stan answered.
O’Malley stretched out on the bench and went to sleep. He slept through until lunch call was sounded. Stan mixed with the British officers and learned what he could about conditions. He got their names so he could report regarding them if he did get away.
The afternoon dragged away and mess call sounded after one of the R.A.F. officers had put the men through a stiff drill and a series of sitting-up exercises. After mess Stan and O’Malley went to their room. Sim was not there.
“I didn’t see Sim around the mess when we left, wonder where he went?” Stan whispered.
“You worry too much about him,” O’Malley answered. “I bet he’s snoopin’ around gettin’ set to get us away.”
Stan stretched out on his bunk. They waited for Sim to show up, but he did not come to the room. At eight o’clock Stan began to squirm.
“They’ve probably nabbed him,” he said sourly.
“Sure, an’ I’ll start working on Hans if they have.”
They had been speaking in very low tones. Now Stan spoke louder. “Better be getting ready to go to that lecture.”