“The Field Marshall apologises for the conditions here, however soon you are to be moved….”
Every P.O.W. felt his ears prick up at this ’Moved. Moved?’ they asked themselves. Now he had their full attention.
“You are to be moved to a British Military Hospital in Tunis.”
Von Brockhorst folded the letter and handed it to Schwann. Schwann stared at it open mouthed. The British P.O.W.s erupted into a roar.
“Which is currently held by the axis powers,” Von Brockhorst shouted over the crowd. Their cries turned to despondency.
Schwann re-read the directive. There was no mistaking it. The entire field hospital was being moved North. He was pleased, a smile spread across his face. He looked at his surroundings. Desert. He thought about Tunis. Formerly French owned. The officers no doubt would stay in the luxury hotels, clean beds, clean towels, hot running water. Right now it sounded like a dream, paradise.
Von Brockhorst stayed with the prisoners for another minute and then accompanied by Schwann he moved on inspecting the sentry tower first, even sighting down the barrel of the MG42 and talking to the guard who was keen to show him his range of view. Once finished they moved inside to inspect the hospital facilities. Kahler was left in charge of clearing up the football pitch. He pointed a huge finger at Johnny Larder.
“You go and get the ball.”
Johnny shrugged and went for it.
“And if you try anything funny I’ll have you shot.”
Johnny waited until Kahler was no longer looking at him before he gave the V sign. Alf was looking up at the wooden tower. When Von Brockhorst had descended the ladder with Schwann the sentry had waited until they had disappeared and he had quietly crept down and was now having a sneaky cigarette. He came over to Alf and spoke to him about the game.
“I must admit I thought your team played very well.”
“Thank you,” Alf replied.
The German offered Alf the cigarette to puff on.
“No thank you,” Alf said craving the Nicotine but knowing it would be unwise with his injured lung. The German shrugged, drew on the cigarette until it was almost finished, then threw it to the ground and crushed it with his boot. He nodded at Alf and having a quick look around to make sure he was safe headed back towards the ladder. Alf watched him go. Then he turned to look at Johnny approaching the football, outside the compound now. No one was watching Larder. Alf glanced at the sentry, he would reach the ladder soon.
With his heart thumping in his chest Alf crossed to the tent where he knew the tower couldn’t see him. He felt almost giddy but he checked once more. The guard was just pulling himself onto the wooden platform atop the ladder. Johnny was almost at the football. Alf shoved his hands deep into his pockets, put his head down and set off walking as quickly as he could towards Larder, expecting at any second a whistle, a shout or worse a bullet. Then when he was halfway to Larder he took his hands out of his pockets and ran. He ran as if the devil himself was after him. Larder was aware of someone running up behind him and as he started to turn Alf grabbed him by the arm and shoved him forward.
“Run Johnny Run!”
Johnny tried to resist.
“Alf what are you doing?”
“Run! Do exactly as I say.” Alf ran past him looking back over his shoulder to make sure Johnny was there. He was. Another quick glance revealed that so far they were undetected. When they got to the aeroplane Alf shoved Johnny to the front.
“You go round that way.”
Johnny put his hands out.
“Alf what are we doing?”
“We’re taking the plane.”
“What!”
“No time to discuss it. Go!”
Johnny did as he was told. Alf went around to the tail and crept along the body. Kleber was at the front checking the oil level.
“Here what do you want?” he asked Larder, slightly startled. Alf tapped Kleber on the shoulder and as he turned Alf landed the punch. It had the desired effect. Alf caught the German pilot and lowered him gently to the ground. Kleber was out cold. Johnny was watching Alf. He could hardly believe this was happening.
“Johnny check on the camp. Is anyone coming after us?”
Alf quickly positioned Kleber’s inert form near the wheels where he hopefully wouldn’t be so conspicuous.
“No. No one has noticed us yet.”
“Would you say we’re out of range of that MG42? The one in the tower.”
“Maybe but only just.”
“Johnny I need you to grab the propeller and pull it down as hard as you can.”
Johnny was about to rush off.
“But only when I say so.”
“Right.”
“Keep your eye on what’s going on over there.”
“O.K.”
Alf climbed into the cockpit and began flicking switches remembering everything the Indian had told him. The instruments were slightly different but the basics were similar. He put his feet on the pedals to get their feel. Johnny was waiting patiently for Alf to give the signal. Alf suddenly put his thumb up and Johnny pulled down with all his might. The propeller rotated once and the engine turned over, then silence. To Johnny’s nerves the noise was deafening but the sound barely made it across the desert.
Kahler had just put the last of the oil drums back when he glanced at the plane. He saw the pilot trying to start it. Then he snapped back. The football was still in the same place where he sent Larder to get it. He stopped and searched the faces inside the compound looking for the young Englishman. He couldn’t see him. Kahler was staring at the pilot trying to start the plane.
Suddenly the door to Schwann’s office opened and Schwann shouted “Attention!” as Von Brockhorst stepped out onto the wooden balcony behind him. They both stopped at the top of the stairs.
“Well everything seems satisfactory Captain. I know….”
Von Brockhorst stopped talking when he heard the Fiesler’s engine splutter into life. Schwann was watching Kahler who was sprinting for the watch tower.
“What is that man doing?” Von Brockhorst asked as Kahler reached the ladder and rapidly began climbing it shouting at the top of his voice. Kahler reached the platform, elbowed the guard out of the way and swung the barrel of the MG42 in the direction of the plane and opened fire. The first burst of bullets raced across the desert floor. The second kicked up around Johnny’s legs. He ran around and climbed inside the plane.
“Bloody hell Alf that was close.”
Von Brockhorst couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Why the hell is that idiot shooting at my pilot?”
At the first sound of the gunfire the British P.O.W.’s had dived for the dirt.
“Stay down all of you!” Schwann ordered between Kahler’s firing. Suddenly the MG42 jammed. Schwann was about to shout at Kahler when the plane began to move forward. Von Brockhorst was still staring at Kahler.
“I demand to know why that man is shooting at my pilot.”
Schwann saw the body of Kleber laying on the ground.
“I think sir that may be your pilot.”
Von Brockhorst’s eyes widened. Suddenly he jumped into action.
“Stop them!” he shouted “They’re stealing my plane.”
“After them,” Schwann ordered every German in earshot. Some armed, some not. They ran as ordered but the attempt would be futile. The aeroplane was already bouncing along the desert floor gaining speed.
Kleber was coming round. He sat up holding his chin and turned his head towards the sound of his aeroplane. It was moving away from him. Then he realised what had happened.
“The bastard!” he said out loud.
Then the Storch turned and was lumbering back towards him. He got to his feet and waited. Alf had straightened the plane up and now pushed forward on the throttle. Johnny beside him was punching the air in delight. Alf looked out of the window and saw what looked like the whole of the German army descending upon them trying to cut them off. On foot!