25
Over time, the periods of isolation became more frequent, the beatings fewer. After a couple of weeks, the violence had stopped altogether. Occasional episodes of roughness continued, but nothing matching Henry’s first few days in captivity. His daily routine had become almost predictable; breakfast, solitary confinement, lunch, more solitary, dinner, then bed. He had resigned himself to the fact this was how he was going to spend the rest of the war.
Henry lay absentmindedly, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the rain outside. His shoulder felt back to normal, but his wrists remained heavily bruised from being restrained repeatedly. The hood had been discarded a week after his capture.
Two guards burst into his cell, dragging him down the corridor without a word. Iron shackles were forcibly placed around his ankles, then tightly fastened. The soldiers ushered him through a wooden door into a vast entrance hall, the cold metal digging into his legs as he walked.
Ten other prisoners stood in the hall, closely scrutinised by the four SS guards standing against the walls. Henry kept his head down and followed the instructions. A fifth guard worked his way along the line, passing a thick chain through the bonds around the men’s ankles. Last in the queue, Henry was unable to go anywhere unless the others went with him. Unlike him, they wore dirty and torn civilian clothing.
Two of the guards swung open the double doors which occupied the far wall. Outside, a troop carrier waited with its engine running.
A German unteroffizier bullied the prisoners into climbing into the back of the truck, and reluctantly, the queue started moving towards the truck, the chains around their ankles clanking as they walked. The onlooking guards sniggered as the line of men struggled onto the vehicle. Henry stumbled as he tried to keep in step with the man in front of him.
Henry was determined not to make a fool of himself. The chain restricted his movements, and the only way he could get aboard was to hold his right leg at an awkward angle and then hop. He managed to clamber aboard in an undignified manner, then took his place at the end of one of the benches.
The soldiers climbed up, sitting opposite the prisoners. A guard banged on the back wall of the cab, and shortly afterwards the truck’s engine started. The guards chatted but had their rifles lying ominously across their knees. They talked loudly, sharing cigarettes amongst themselves, occasionally blowing smoke over their captives. The grey canvas roof had a small pinhole in it directly above Henry’s head. Drops of rain landed on his head, trickling down his neck, causing him to shiver.
After twenty minutes, the bumpy journey ended. The soldiers leapt out, followed by Henry, who gingerly lowered himself onto the grass. He took the opportunity to enjoy the feeling of being outdoors for the first time in several months. To his surprise, they were not in the town, but somewhere in the countryside.
Fields spread as far as he could see. Out of keeping with the relatively peaceful surroundings, a massive bomb crater, containing the twisted remains of a railway track, occupied the valley floor. Once the prisoners had been unloaded, a guard removed the chain connecting them. The prisoners were split into two groups. One was sent to repair the track, while the other had to erect telegraph poles to run alongside it, presumably to reconnect Poland with Berlin.
Many men worked on this section of railway line—like him, their legs in shackles. He assumed they had come from other prisons in the area, their German overseers prowling among them.
Henry was given a pickaxe and paired with one of the Polish prisoners to dig holes. With his ankles secured, he limped off to the site of the first pole. The ground appeared grey, still frozen from the overnight frost, and the first swing of his pick made little impression. It took them forty minutes to finish their first hole.
Stopping to mop his brow, he watched other troop carriers arrive. Yet more prisoners were unloaded. A passing German guard walking a large dog noticed Henry’s inactivity. The soldier strode over and started bawling at him to return to work. He was defiant at first but quickly obeyed when the animal fought against its leash and bared its teeth in a ferocious grimace.
As he worked, Henry glanced around periodically. The prisoners looked similar—torn clothes, grey-skinned, and dirty. Each had the same expression of resignation. As an enemy combatant, there was a reason for him to be detained, but why were they here? Perhaps they were common criminals, or maybe their only crime had been to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Kidnapping seemed to provide a cheap, virtually limitless workforce.
‘Do you speak English?’ Henry whispered to his companion.
‘A little,’ said the Pole. ‘I understand, but my speaking no good.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Viktor,’ said the tall man with a swarthy complexion. ‘And you?’
‘Henry. Henry Taylor.’
‘You’re British, no?’
He nodded.
‘How you end here?’
‘That is a long story, old chap. I’m beginning to wonder why myself. What about you? How have you ended up here?’
He did not reply immediately as a guard walked past, eyeing them suspiciously.
‘For being friends with a Jew,’ he said once the coast was clear.
‘You’re kidding? That’s madness! I mean...’
He froze suddenly, his gaze fixed over Viktor’s shoulder. On the other side of the plot, he could see a blond man wearing a British Army uniform. Henry peered carefully through the crowd of workers; his heart raced. He thought he recognised him, but he could not be sure.
Having seen Henry’s work rate drop, the guard levelled his rifle and started shouting. The prisoners nearby turned to look at the commotion, before working harder to avoid the same fate. Henry and Viktor returned to their digging, hoping the soldier would lose interest in them.
Henry continued to watch while he worked. The man across the track smiled at one of his workmates. Even at this distance, he would recognise that smile anywhere. It was Tommy Rogers, the corporal, who had disappeared when they first landed in this God-forsaken country. Part of him wanted to shout out and wave, but he knew his punishment would probably be a beating or worse.
Spurred on, Henry set about digging the next hole with a newly found vigour. His mood lifted dramatically over the hours that followed, and his mind raced with ideas and plans. Thoughts of escape raced around his head. The more he thought about it, the more the idea propagated itself. First, though, he had to speak to Tommy.
Henry and Viktor completed their row of holes. Exhausted, they called over their guard, who examined their handiwork. Their reward was a cup of coffee from the supervisor’s cabin. The two men joined the queue of prisoners waiting outside the timber hut with its corrugated steel roof.
The line of men moved slowly. The soldier supervising them had lost interest and wandered off for a smoke. From where he stood, Henry had an excellent view of the uniformed man on the other side of the damaged track. He was sure it was his corporal.
After a few moments, the blond British soldier spoke to one of the guards, who waved him towards the cabin. This was Henry’s chance.
‘Tommy!’ he said, sneaking along the line.
‘Sarge! Is that you?’
‘How’ve you been? What happened to you?’
‘I’m all right, Sarge. I came down in the middle of an enemy unit. I’d lost my rifle when we jumped, so I gave myself up. It was a little hairy, though. I thought they were going kill me for sure. Where are the others?’
‘Scotty’s dead. His parachute became tangled in a tree on the way down. They shot him as he hung there. Mayberry took a nasty wound to the chest. O’Shea said he wouldn’t survive, so we left him to be picked up by a patrol. The others got away after we blew the dam.’
‘Sad news about Scotty and Mayberry,’ said Tommy sincerely. ‘But to be honest, I thought I was the only survivor. It’s great you got the dam, though—good on you,’ he said, punching Henry quite hard. ‘How come they escaped, an
d you didn’t?’
‘The pilot got a little jumpy at the pickup. He set off before we were all aboard. Unfortunately, I took a round in the shoulder and was left behind.’
‘Sounds awful.’
‘Yeah, it was for a while, but things have eased off now. How long have they been bringing you here?’
‘The last couple of days. Before that, it was a different location. This is my sixth site.’
‘What do they have you doing?’
‘It has been the same thing every day for the last three months, railways and telegraph poles.’
‘Who are the other prisoners?’
‘Locals, from across this part of Poland. Every time they move, it’s a new group of men.’
‘I guess it stops you from getting too friendly with each other.’
‘The Germans are paranoid there is going to be a prisoner uprising. That’s why they’re so harsh if anyone steps out of line.’
‘What are they like—you know, the prisoners?’
‘Some are nice, but be careful. Some of ’em would sell their own mother if they thought they would receive payment.’
An officer appeared from inside the supervisor’s cabin. Tommy stayed in the queue, looking straight ahead, as Henry remained crouched next to him, hidden by the other prisoner’s legs. As the line moved, so did he. Thankfully the soldier passed without suspicion.
‘We shouldn’t be seen together too often. In these uniforms, we’re so conspicuous. If they see us talking they’ll become suspicious,’ said Tommy.
‘What’s security like? Could we escape?’
‘The main problem is these chains. We’re not going very far wearing these.’ Tommy gestured to the shackles around his ankles.
‘Okay, let me think about it. I’ll catch you later.’
After checking that the coast was clear, Henry stood and walked away.
He found Viktor sitting on the floor against a low dry-stone wall, cradling an empty, enamel mug in his hands. Henry joined him after a cursory look to ensure no one was listening.
‘How you doing?’ Henry asked, but the Pole seemed confused, unable to understand Henry’s colloquialism.
‘Are you okay?’ he tried again.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask, where in Poland are you from?’
‘Danzig.’
Henry nodded, looking around once more. ‘That’s excellent. You’re just the man we’re after. The other British soldier and I are thinking of escaping. We need someone to come with us; somebody who knows the area. Are you up for it?’
At first, Viktor looked shocked, ‘Where would we go?’
‘To Danzig,’ Henry said with a wry smile.
He shook his head. That was the Wehrmacht’s operational headquarters. Certainly not the kind of place one would expect escapees to return to.
‘Would you be able to help us find a ship out across the Baltic?’ Henry asked.
Viktor listened thoughtfully. This man had to be genuine. No one trying to trick him would ever suggest returning to Danzig. It was occupied by the most significant military presence outside of Germany.
‘How far do you reckon we are from Danzig?’ Henry persisted.
‘Fifty to sixty kilometers.’
‘That’s about forty miles,’ he said, quickly doing a calculation in his head. ‘Do you think we could make it?’
‘You really want to go there?’
‘Yes, I know the place is crawling with Germans, but Danzig’s the only place where we’re likely to sail from.’
‘Yes, Viktor will find you a ship. First, get us out of here,’ the Pole said.
‘Leave that to me. Are you interested in helping us?’
Viktor thought for a few moments. ‘Yes!’ he answered finally. ‘But only to Danzig. My family now in Olsztyn.’
‘Hang on! You said you were from Danzig.’
‘I am. We stay with my parents to miss the war. Don’t worry, I take you to Danzig.’
‘Fair enough! You’re a good man, Viktor.’ Henry smiled.
‘So, when leaving?’
‘Today.’
26
A meagre lunch was held in a draughty, canvas marquee. Trestle tables had been placed on the cold earth, flanked by benches running the whole length of the makeshift room. Henry had orchestrated for Viktor to sit next to Tommy. While the other prisoners tucked into their food with relish, Henry smiled as the Polish man made his introductions.
A particularly gruff-looking corporal patrolled among the chairs, passing close to Henry’s colleagues. He could tell from Tommy’s puzzled expression that Viktor had switched to speaking his native language to avoid drawing attention to them when the guard came into earshot. It was clear, the Pole could be trusted.
In heavily accented English, Viktor set about explaining Henry’s plan. The blond soldier kept looking across, searching for confirmation. A confirmatory wink from the other side of the marquee provided all the reassurance he needed. Happy the conversation was achieving its desired result, he took some of the remaining cold sausage from a serving plate in the middle of the table. Rolling it in a slice of dark, brown bread, he popped it into his mouth. Tough to chew, the mouthful sat heavily in his stomach.
While the prisoners around him babbled in their foreign tongue, Henry’s eyes flitted between Tommy’s face and the prowling guards. Things appeared to be progressing well. Pleased with himself, he ate one last piece of bread, putting several slices discreetly into his jacket pocket for later.
When the two men finished their conversation, Henry left his table, weaving in and out of the crowd until he was directly behind them.
‘Tommy!’ he whispered. ‘What do you think?’
‘Do you honestly think we can do it?’ the blond soldier asked quietly without turning around.
‘I’ve been watching the guards for most of the morning. I’m sure we can.’
‘Shouldn’t we hang on for a few days and work the plan through? To make sure it won’t fail.’
‘You said it yourself, we don’t have that luxury. They might move us to a different site tomorrow. We can’t be certain we’ll both be in the same place again, so it has to be today.’
‘Okay, but one other thing. That Polish chap, can we trust him?’
‘He seems on the level. From chatting to him, he appears to hate the Krauts as much as we do.’
‘He could be leading us into a trap,’ Tommy said anxiously. ‘If we’re caught escaping they’ll shoot first and ask questions later.’
‘I guess if the German’s wanted an excuse to get rid of us, they would’ve done it by now. They wouldn’t need to orchestrate such an elaborate plan to bump us off.’
‘Fair point,’ said Tommy. ‘Oh, what the hell, count me in. I can’t eat much more of this horrid food anyway.’
‘I know what you mean. It is somewhat indigestible.’
‘Okay, we go at the next break. Get to the vehicle compound, but make sure no one sees you.’
With that, the blond soldier disappeared into the crowd.
The watery, winter sun had taken most of the chill out of the air. All around them the rhythmical thud of metal against rock rang out, as they returned to digging post holes. Henry found it difficult to make himself heard above the din, so they only spoke when needed. Possibilities and pitfalls of their escape plan tumbled through his head, providing him with a new motivation to work.
The afternoon flew by. The warmer earth meant they completed their task quickly. After inspection, the guard sent them back to the queue for another drink. Henry nodded at Tommy, who was watching them like a hawk. This was it.
As the majority of men continued to work busily working around them, Henry hoped it would be easy to slip away without being seen. He walked calmly past the line of prisoners outside the cabin. Surprisingly, the chatting guards were oblivious to the fact he had strayed out of bounds. Even though his heart was pounding, he did not adjust his pace until he had disa
ppeared through the trees.
Henry crouched behind a grassy bank, peering back from where he had come. Things seemed to be continuing as they had, and no one was pursuing him. Slumping as low as possible, he caught his breath.
Carrying his pickaxe, Viktor strode purposely across the open ground. The chains around his ankles clanked as he moved, but the soldiers paid little attention. He dropped into the trench which Tommy and his colleague were digging. He swapped his axe for Tommy’s spade. Out of sight, he jumped on the spade’s handle until it snapped. The British soldier’s work partner appeared somewhat bemused as the stranger took the pieces to the nearest guard.
‘I’m afraid it’s broken, Sir,’ Viktor said in German.
‘You’d better go and find the quartermaster,’ said the soldier uninterestedly.
He thanked him and then headed towards the temporary building, near the site’s entrance.
The quartermaster’s office was much bigger than the supervisor’s cabin. Viktor walked up to the desk. The clerk was busy checking balance sheets laid out on the counter in front of him.
‘I have been sent for a replacement,’ Viktor said, holding up the broken implement for the man to see.
‘Put it in that box with the others,’ the bespectacled clerk said without looking up from his paperwork. ‘Take another from one of the stacks.’
Without hesitation, he threw the remains of the spade into the crate of muddy, damaged tools. Surveying his options, Viktor selected some bulk croppers from one of the piles of equipment before leaving. Outside, he turned the opposite direction from which he had come and headed for the vehicle park.
On hearing footsteps approaching, Henry dropped to the floor, rolling under the nearest truck. A pair of feet appeared in his restricted field of view. Thankfully, they were not the feet of a German soldier.
‘Henry?’ a familiar voice whispered.
‘Viktor, under here,’ he replied, crawling out. Were you followed?’
The Danzig Corridor Page 19