A Yankee Flier over Berlin (a yankee flier)

by Rutherford G. Montgomery Al Avery

  The boys were taken to a room on the ground floor where they met several other fellows from the Eighth. They had been located at the camp for several months and were eager to hear news from England.

  Stan and O’Malley talked with them for a while, answering their questions. One of the boys, a bombardier from a Fort, explained the workings of the camp.

  “They change us around quite a bit. New men come and some of the old heads go. I figure they do that to nip any escape attempts in the bud.” He laughed sourly. “I never heard of anybody getting away from one of these camps.”

  Another chap drifted in and seated himself. He was a lank Britisher with a mop of black hair.

  “I hear you hail from the fighter strip near Diss.”

  “That was our outfit,” Stan said.

  “I just got a new roommate who says he’s a Yank who was stationed at Diss,” the Britisher grinned. “He got shot down a while back. He just came out of a hospital. Got a bad rap on the head.”

  “We’d like to meet him. He must be one of the boys we lost on our first bombing coverage.” Stan got to his feet.

  He and O’Malley went upstairs and into the little room. Two men were seated on a bed playing cards. Stan halted in the doorway. Over his shoulder, O’Malley said:

  “Sim!”

  At first Stan was not sure. The man looked like Sim Jones. He was thinner and he had a freshly healed scar on his cheek. His face was sallow and he looked much older.

  O’Malley barged past Stan and caught the man’s hand. “Glad ye’re alive,” he said eagerly.

  “O’Malley?” Sim stared at O’Malley as he said it. He looked up at Stan. “Wilson, you here, too.”

  Stan grinned. “Yes, I’m here. We cracked up on a fighter strip while bombing with Mustangs. I’m glad you made it safely. When I last saw you, your P-51 had buried its nose in the ground.”

  Sim’s eyes narrowed sharply. “That crack-up knocked me silly,” he said grimly. “I don’t remember much.” He put his hand to his head. “I was nuts for quite a while, I guess. Even now I forget things. Sometimes I forget what’s happened.”

  “You’ll come around,” O’Malley said cheerfully.

  “They might let us three have this room together,” Sim said. “I’d like to have you fellows around.”

  “It could be fixed,” the Britisher said. “They let us line up about as we wish. I’ll help you fix it. I’ve been here a couple of months.”

  Stan went with the R.A.F. man. They located a non-com who told them to shift around as they pleased. He seemed to know who Stan was and all about him and O’Malley.

  “Ve treat you goot,” he said.

  As they went back the Britisher said, “Some of these Nazis are beginning to try to make friends with us. I guess they figure they may need some friends among the Allies one of these days.”

  “They certainly will,” Stan agreed.

  The two boys with Sim gladly moved out and Stan and O’Malley moved in. They found Sim silent and moody, as though he was brooding over his capture and captivity. Stan spoke to O’Malley about it out in the hall.

  “Sim is in bad shape. He ought to be in the hospital. We’ll have to watch out for him.”

  “He’ll be after comin’ around,” O’Malley said confidently.

  They entered the room and found Sim staring out of a window. Again Stan was struck by the change in the boy. He seemed to have aged at least ten years. He turned toward them, then got up and closed the door. He walked over to a picture on the wall and moved it. Behind it he revealed a small hole in the paper. He placed his hands to his lips and shook his head.

  Stan moved over and looked closely, then he pressed on the paper. There was a small cylinder under the paper. He grinned at Sim and O’Malley. Deftly he slit the paper with his fingernail and removed a strip of it, revealing a listening device. Taking out his pocketknife he neatly snipped one of the small wires.

  “That will take care of that. Later we’ll hook it up again so they won’t be suspicious.”

  “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-li
ke,” 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.”

  “Sure,” O’Malley agreed.

  The boys settled down to wait. O’Malley kept looking at his wrist watch. Stan lay with his eyes closed. He was checking every angle of the strange business. As near as he could gather, things were going badly in Germany. The big crack-up might be near at hand.

  At five minutes to nine they heard steps in the hall. They passed down the stairs. Boys from the rooms along the hallway were going to the lecture. Stan got up and disconnected the microphone. O’Malley was pacing about like a caged lion. They heard single footsteps and there was a rap on the door. It opened and Hans stood there.

  “I am glad you have not yet gone to the lecture,” he said. “Herr General wishes to speak to you. You will come with me.”

  Stan looked at O’Malley and O’Malley looked at Stan. Stan spoke smoothly.

  “Couldn’t we see the general after the lecture? We’d like very much to hear the colonel.”

  “It will not wait. Herr General is a very impatient man.”

  There was nothing to do but go with Hans. Stan and O’Malley walked along the hallway with the corporal, keeping a sharp watch for Sim. They did not see him in the hallway or downstairs. Hans took them past the guards at the outer garden gate and across the street to another house. In a small hall room he nodded toward chairs.

  “You will be called,” he said, then turned and hurried away.

  The outer door was open and the boys could see two sentries standing on the front porch.

  “We have to get out o’ here,” O’Malley said.

  “Not a chance. There’s no window and those two guards would see us before we got within ten feet of them,” Stan answered. “It’s just a case of sitting tight and hoping Sim waits for us.”

  Near where they were sitting a door opened into another room. Stan leaned over and looked at the door. It was not latched firmly and was open about a half inch. He could hear men talking in the other room. They were speaking in German.

  “You understand German. Listen to what they are saying,” Stan whispered.

  O’Malley moved closer and listened. The men seemed to be arguing hotly. Every once in a while one voice would be raised in anger. There were three men in the room. O’Malley edged the door open a bit more and peeped into the room.

  After a bit he straightened and grinned at Stan. “Sure, an’ the general is eatin’ the tails off his staff. Some of ’em seem to think the war is lost. They been tellin’ him the German people are demandin’ peace at any price. I figure he’s goin’ to have one o’ them shot.”

  At that moment an orderly came rushing out of the office. He charged past the boys without seeming to see them, and rushed out of the building.

  “The general says if this leaks out, the Allies will invade at once. He’s sure mad.” O’Malley laughed softly.

  A few minutes passed and the orderly returned with a squad of armed soldiers led by a lieutenant. They stomped past the boys and into the office. When they came out they were marching a captain and a major before them.

  Five more minutes passed and the orderly came out. He seemed much agitated.

  “You will come now,” he said in husky English.

  The boys followed him into the office. Herr General was a burly fellow with a bald head and a narrow chest. He had a monocle screwed into one eye which made him look fierce and tough. He glared at the boys, then snapped an order to the orderly. The man scurried away.

  “Come up to my desk, you,” the general snarled.

  The boys moved up and stood waiting.

  “I have checked the answers you gave to questions asked you when you were captured. You said an invasion will come at once. Why did you say that?”

  Stan stared at the officer. “We didn’t say any such thing,” he answered evenly. He decided that the general had heard some of their conversation over the listening device.

  “Sure, an’ you got big ears, General,” O’Malley said.

  Stan kicked him on the shin. The general jumped and puffed ou
t his chest. He fixed O’Malley with a cold glare.

  “Pig! Fool! Keep a civil tongue in your head or you will regret it much.”

  “If you brought us here to get information, you will be disappointed, General,” Stan said. “We will not talk.”

  “I brought you here to tell you that we intend to make you talk,” the general barked. “I merely wished to warn you and then to let you have a little time to think it over.”

  “We are prisoners of war,” Stan reminded him.

  “The code provides for disciplining prisoners of war. We have some very effective methods. You will talk and be glad to. Now get out.”

  Stan and O’Malley turned toward the door. Two armed men stood waiting for them. They marched out with the guards close behind them.

  “Sure, an’ this is a nice mess,” O’Malley grumbled.

  “Could be worse,” Stan said.

  The guards left them after passing them into the yard of their house. They headed for their room. Passing through the outer hall, they saw that the lecture was still going on in the living room. They went up the stairs.

  Stan opened the door and O’Malley shoved into the room close behind him. They stood looking at Sim’s bunk. The straw ticking of the mattress had been slit open and some of the straw was scattered on the floor. Sim was not in the room. Stan walked over to a little table. One small light bulb was flooding the room with light.

  “He was here and left in a hurry. He didn’t turn off the light.”

  “I’m gettin’ out o’ here,” O’Malley growled.

  “Sit down. We’re staying,” Stan said sharply. He pulled off his coat and tossed it across his bunk, then he seated himself on the foot of his bed.

  “We’re going to get it in the neck, anyway,” O’Malley scowled.

  “Do you know where we are, in what part of Germany?”

  “Somewhere near Berlin,” O’Malley said.

  “Sure, but where? We need more dope on the grounds and on the country around us. We wouldn’t get a mile from this prison farm if we did break out.”

  O’Malley sat down on his bed. “Sure, you’re right. We should have had Sim tell us something about this deal.”