Death In Captivity

by Michael Gilbert

  Those who possessed watches looked at them. It was exactly eight o’clock.

  Colonel Lavery said to the Adjutant, ‘I shall want the Hut Commanders over here. Tell them not to come over in a bunch. I think the Quartermaster is in his room. You might pass the word to him. Oh, and tell R.S.M. Burton I shall want him – but he’s not to come before nine o’clock.’

  As Colonel Lavery spoke, Goyles realised one thing very clearly. Any chance that they had lay in the fact that the S.B.O. was a man who had mastered the technique of command. This did not imply that he was a captain of men or the leader of forlorn hopes – but simply that he was a professional soldier who, by long practice and usage, had acquired the ability – that deceptively easy, much under-rated ability – to formulate a plan and put it into operation.

  ‘I don’t think we need you any more, Meynell – thank you very much. You won’t say a word about this to anyone, of course. That’s right. You can stay, Goyles. We shall want someone who knows the ins and outs of that tunnel. Now then, Baird. How long’s it going to take you to break out?’

  Colonel Baird pondered. ‘It’s easy to be too optimistic about a thing like that,’ he said. ‘I should say, at least four hours – not more than eight.’

  ‘Shoring it as you go and making a decent exit hole at the end?’

  ‘Certainly. I’ll guarantee we’ll have the whole of Hut C out of it before roll-call tomorrow morning.’

  ‘That you won’t,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘I’m not going to throw away eighty per cent of this camp unless I have to.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘I don’t quite see, sir—’ said Colonel Shore.

  ‘You might get half a dozen people from the other huts across in the dark tonight,’ said Colonel Baird. ‘Particularly if the sentries aren’t particularly alert.’

  ‘No one’s going to stir out of their hut tonight if I can prevent it,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘I shall evacuate the camp – tomorrow.’

  ‘But—?’ said Colonel Baird.

  ‘How—?’ began Commander Oxey.

  ‘By Christopher Columbus,’ said Colonel Shore. ‘That’ll be something, won’t it?’

  ‘See here,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘You told me that, with any luck, you could get that tunnel out over the brow of the hill – out of sight of the sentries – right?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘Then Hut C shall do that, tonight. They’ve got the whole night to do it in. It doesn’t matter where they put the sand – that’s not important now. They can store it in sandbags under their beds. They can use any woodwork they like. We must have a perfect job. If you can bring it out somewhere that’ll give a hidden crawl right down to the river, so much the better. As soon as you cross the river you’re in the wood, so you’ll be all right.’

  ‘By Abraham Lincoln,’ said Colonel Shore again. ‘Four hundred men – in broad daylight.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Colonel Lavery.

  ‘Why not, indeed?’ said Colonel Baird. He brought his big hand down with a gentle smack on to his knee.

  ‘There’s a lot to be thought about,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘Oh, come in, Hugo. This is an orders party. Find somewhere to sit down. As soon as the others are here, I’ll start.’

  With a queer pang, Goyles was suddenly reminded of hundreds of orders parties he had attended during the war. The Colonel standing, talking. The quiet men sitting round him busily writing it all down in little notebooks. How much tragedy and comedy, how much destiny, how much death and destruction, how many famous last words had been scribbled down by quiet men into little notebooks?

  ‘Now we’re all here,’ said Colonel Lavery, ‘I ought to say one thing. And that is that I lately received – in the usual way – an order from the War Office that in the event of an armistice everyone in prison camps was to stay put. I think – I hope and believe – that that order is now out of date. I think it was given under a misconception about the tactical situation. I intend to disregard it anyway – but I think perhaps you ought to know of its existence. Now then, there’s a lot to do before lock-up tonight. And a lot to do after lock-up for that matter. This isn’t a formal party, so I’m going to welcome suggestions – though I’ll make the final decision. The first thing is that if the plan’s going to work everyone will have to go out through Hut C. That means that everyone in the camp has got to go into Hut C in broad daylight tomorrow. There’s no reason they shouldn’t, but it’s going to take some organising. First of all, quite clearly, they won’t be able to take much kit with them. Even the dumbest sentry’s going to begin to get ideas if he sees squads of men filing into Hut C in full marching order—’

  ‘If I might say so,’ said Colonel Baird. ‘I don’t think anyone needs to take anything except a small reserve of food, a good pair of boots, and compass and map if he’s got them. After tomorrow night it’s going to be a reasonably friendly countryside. You can pick everything else up as you go.’

  ‘That’s what I feel,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘I’d like Hut Commanders to inspect every man in their hut tonight in the kit he actually proposes to go out in. There are bound to be some fools who’ll give the game away by trying to take too much. The next point, I think, is this. We’re not going to send out a complete hut at a time. We’ll have ten serials – call them A to J – each composed of a mixed bag of people from all huts, and a few orderlies.’

  Out of the corner of his eye Colonel Lavery saw Goyles move and said, ‘Yes. I know what you’re going to say. I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind about orderlies in a moment.’

  ‘Timing for serials,’ suggested the Adjutant.

  ‘I don’t think we can be too rigid, Pat. We’ve none of us any idea how long it’s going to take forty men to crawl through a tunnel and disperse—’

  ‘Longer than you think – always,’ said Colonel Baird, out of his experience of tunnels.

  ‘I agree. I think that the answer is that we stick up a letter on the main notice board immediately we’re ready for the next serial. The Italians are used to seeing a crowd round that notice board – and with things as they are a bit of an extra crowd won’t look out of place. I’ll leave it to each hut to decide what men go in what serial because quite obviously the men in A and B are going to be a lot happier than the ones in I and J.’

  ‘Draw for it.’

  ‘Something like that. The only party whose composition I’m going to lay down is the rear party. I’m afraid it won’t be a very popular party. I shall be on it. I’d like you to stop, Pat. Also the Escape Committee – and a tunnel party; I think that must be you, Goyles, and Byfold and Long.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Goyles. He tried to sound cheerful about it.

  ‘Also the provost section. I don’t anticipate trouble at the tunnel mouth, but it’s as well to be sure. We shall want about six tough and willing types. They’ll be armed with sticks. They can operate from the room next to the tunnel mouth in Hut C. They’ll have two jobs. One will be to turn back anyone who tries to beat the pistol—’

  ‘And I suggest, sir, anyone who’s late. Let people know that they’ll go to the back of the queue if they’re not punctual—’

  ‘All right. Their other job, of course, will be to deal with any Italian who wanders into Hut C. I don’t want that to happen – but if any Italian does stick his nose in he’ll have to be dealt with. Any weapons he has on him can go to the provost.’

  ‘If we get at all far with this,’ said Colonel Baird, ‘one of the things is going to be to prevent the camp looking empty.’

  ‘The last serials out will have to keep busy,’ said Commander Oxey. ‘They’ll have to show themselves all over the shop.’

  ‘Like a stage army,’ suggested Colonel Shore.

  ‘I’ll put something in orders about it,’ said Colonel Lavery, making a note. ‘The last serial out must organise two open-air classes and half a dozen pairs to walk round the circuit. If we get that far it’ll be late afternoon and the
camp’s pretty dead by then. The serials before will put on two games of basketball and a cricket practice. The serial before that can play rugger – they’ll need time to change back and cool off before they go out. Now – the orderlies. There’s a snag here.’

  Colonel Lavery turned to the Hut Commanders. ‘We were discussing it just before you came in. We’ve got reason to suppose that one of the orderlies is in touch with the Italians. At least’ – he looked at Goyles – ‘that’s part of the danger we anticipate.’

  ‘I think that’s about the strength of it, sir,’ said Goyles. ‘X couldn’t do anything direct. He’d have to do it through the orderly—’

  All the Hut Commanders looked up, but since nobody seemed to want to explain about X they simply refrained from writing anything in their notebooks.

  ‘Keep all the orderlies until last,’ suggested Baird.

  ‘I think that’d be a bit unfair,’ said Colonel Lavery, ‘and it might start trouble – which it would be very difficult to put down without drawing attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Send them out first, in one party,’ said Colonel Shore, ‘and get them as far away from the camp as possible.’

  ‘They’d be very difficult to control once they were out,’ said Colonel Baird. ‘I think we’ll have to compromise. Here’s R.S.M. Burton. He’s just the man we want. Look here, Burton, I’d better put you in the picture—’

  ‘Do I understand, sir,’ said the R.S.M. finally, ‘that from now on I’m to take my orders from you and not from the Italians?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  The R.S.M.’s chest expanded about four inches and his shoulders became miraculously even squarer. ‘Sir,’ was all he said.

  ‘Now, then. I think the orderlies had better be told after lunch tomorrow. There’s no need for them to know before that. If they spot anything out of the ordinary they’ll just think it’s a normal escape. Parade them after lunch in their own hut, R.S.M. I’ll give them their orders myself. They’ll go out together as one complete serial – we’ll call it serial “O” so as not to confuse it with the others, and we’ll give them a timing – let’s think – if we allow one minute per man – that’s forty minutes a serial – say fifty to allow for accidents. If we start at nine o’clock we should do five complete serials before lunch. We’ll have one more after lunch, then the orderlies.’

  ‘Serial “O” after Serial “F” and before Serial “G”,’ wrote R.S.M Burton in his little notebook.

  ‘My orders will be that when they are out, they must travel in parties of not less than six for the rest of the day. If anyone tries to leave his party of six before nightfall the other five will have to stop him – by force if necessary. After tomorrow night they can please themselves.’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said the R.S.M. He had no idea of the reasoning which lay behind this order, but it seemed quite straightforward – indeed, a good deal more reasonable than many orders to which his service in the Brigade of Guards had accustomed him.

  ‘Do you think they’ll do what they’re told?’

  ‘They’ll do what they’re told, sir,’ said R.S.M. Burton.

  ‘Now the other parties – once they’re out. They must keep their heads well down until they’re across the river and in the wood – they won’t need telling that.’

  ‘After that it’s going to be a bit more tricky, isn’t it?’ said Colonel Shore. ‘We don’t want an aged Italian peasant tottering up to the front gate of the camp at about midday saying he met a file of escaping Inglesi in the wood and what is the Commandant going to do about it?’

  ‘I think that’s one of the real snags,’ said Commander Oxey. ‘And I don’t honestly see how you’re going to get over it.’

  ‘I do,’ said Colonel Baird. ‘Make everyone travel in parties of five or six for the first day. Any Italian they meet, they kidnap him.’

  ‘We don’t want to start by—’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any choice,’ said Baird. ‘The Italians won’t know about this Armistice until tomorrow evening. Technically, until then, we’re enemies. We ought to keep out of sight as much as possible, but if any party does run into an Italian – they should, I suggest, persuade him to accompany them for the rest of the day.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘But I agree it’s the best we can do. What next?’

  ‘Food.’

  ‘That’s the Quartermaster’s department. I don’t think anyone should bother to take perishable food. Things like tea and coffee and turned porridge might be useful – I suggest that Serials “A” to “E” draw what they can at breakfast. The rest at lunch.’

  ‘I’ll have it taken over to huts first thing tomorrow,’ said Captain Porter. ‘Luckily it’s a distribution day anyway, so the orderlies won’t get wondering—’

  ‘All right,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘Has anyone else got any points. I don’t want to hurry you, but I’ve got to get out written orders, and that’s going to take time. I don’t think it’s avoidable though. Once things start tomorrow we shan’t be able to hold conferences to sort it all out if it goes wrong. It’s got to work automatically or not at all. If I haven’t got the orders ready by lock-up I’ll need a volunteer from each hut to carry them across after dark. It’s a risk but it’s one I’m prepared to take.’

  ‘Invalids,’ said someone.

  ‘Hell, yes,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘I’d forgotten them.’

  ‘There’s only one,’ said Goyles. ‘That’s Baierlein.’

  ‘Can he be moved?’

  ‘He can move himself, slowly,’ said Goyles. ‘If you put him in an early serial he should be all right. Anderson and Duncan will look after him.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Synchronise watches, sir,’ suggested the Hut C Commander happily.

  2

  ‘Just stay behind a moment, would you, Goyles,’ said Colonel Lavery, as the crowd dispersed.

  ‘I think,’ he went on, ‘in view of what’s happened – and still more, in view of what may happen – I ought to know—’

  ‘Can I just say this, sir,’ said Goyles. ‘If the arrangements you have just made come off, in the sort of way you’ve arranged them, X can do us no harm. He’s snookered.’

  ‘I see,’ said Colonel Lavery.

  ‘If they don’t come off, then we shall all have plenty of time to talk about it.’

  ‘All right,’ said Colonel Lavery. ‘We’ll leave it like that.’

  3

  It was two o’clock on the following afternoon, and Goyles, with Long and Byfold, was sitting on his bunk. He had never before realised that time could stand still. He had appreciated that there might be some difference in its apparent duration – a minute in the hands of the Spanish Inquisition might be longer than an hour in the arms of a lover – but he had never before realised that time could actually stop – that the sun and moon could stand still and the chronology of the human race be suspended.

  There had been minutes in the previous twelve hours which no one was ever going to forget.

  Night in Hut C. Hot, sticky darkness. The lights were turned out at eleven and the Hut Commander had banned all torches. Into one room, carefully screened on the blind side of the hut, they had come, in batches of twenty, to hear their orders. Later they had come back to the same room, one at a time, to have their escaping kit inspected. Some of them had been sent back more than once before the Hut Commander would be satisfied. ‘Since you have the good luck to live in Hut C,’ he had told them, ‘you will be able to take more with you than the other chaps – they have to walk here across the compound under the eyes of the sentries. But that doesn’t mean you can dress yourselves like Christmas trees. You’ve got to crawl, remember, at fair speed, through a tunnel nearly two hundred feet long. If you stick, or bring part of the tunnel down, you will wreck the chances of every single man behind you in the queue. Go back and think again.’

  Goyles had seen very little of this. He had been down in the tunnel
itself with a select band of experts. They knew roughly where they were in relation to the slope of the hill, for metal rods, thrust upwards, had shown daylight at decreasing distances for the last few days, but precise calculation was still impossible.

  ‘It isn’t an even slope,’ he said. ‘We may be running under a level patch or even into a small piece of uphill. We must reckon on eight feet of digging, and allow for more.’ After that they had worked in nightmare, non-stop shifts. As the sand came out it was packed in bags and laid first in a wall up the side of the entrance shaft; after that it was carried out and stacked under beds.

  It had been just after three o’clock in the morning that they made a perfect out-fall. Goyles was at the face when it happened. His trowel ran first into a layer of packed flints, then into pebbles and thin dirt; then a spout of gloriously fresh air, and a star appeared. He had given the order to dowse lights and as they had worked on in the grey dimness of the tunnel mouth the extent of their luck had become apparent. If the choice had been in their hands, they could not have chosen better. They had come out underneath a considerable boulder, actually in a dry stream bed, at a point where a small vertical drop must have made a little waterfall during the winter rains.

  In the end Goyles had decided to stop all shoring about three feet short of the boulder. He realised that it was a choice of evils. If no props were put in, the boulder might collapse under use. If the entrance was shored, there was a chance it would be spotted from the opposite hillside when day came.

  ‘Better leave it as it is,’ he thought.

  When everything was ready, and in the last moments of dimness before the true dawn, he had crawled out, down the stream bed, to the river at the bottom. The lips of the tunnel, he was pleased to see were masked almost all the way down with tufts of low scrub and grass. He sat for a moment, trailing his hand in the water, and wondering what would happen if he disappeared into the silent woods opposite – woods behind which lay freedom.

  He had no illusions about his own chances. If he was to be one of the last out of the tunnel he had, he considered, no chance at all. The question in his mind was not whether the scheme would work – it was how many would get away before it was stopped. Places in the early serials, he knew, were already being bought for large sums.