The Danzig Corridor

by Paul R. E. Jarvis

  ‘No.’

  After a few moments, Tommy joined them from the supervisor’s cabin. He looked around nervously, but their absence did not appear to have been noticed.

  ‘That was easier than I thought,’ he said. ‘They didn’t seem to be interested.’

  ‘Don’t be lulled into a false sense of security. It won’t be long before they notice we’re missing. Let’s remove these,’ Henry said, gesturing to the manacles around his ankles.

  The metal shackles around Henry’s ankle yielded with a satisfying click as Viktor crushed them with the heavy tool. Within a couple of minutes, all three men were free of their bonds.

  ‘Which way are we heading?’ asked Tommy.

  ‘Once out, we need to head north,’ said Viktor

  ‘Good, so let’s get ready,’ Henry said eagerly.

  They crept through the trucks. Peering around the cab of one of the troop transporters, Henry halted the group with his hand. Up ahead, three chatting guards stood at the site entrance, unaware they were being watched. This was the only way in and out, and there was no obvious way past them. The forest on the far side of the road might as well be a hundred miles away.

  ‘How are we going to get out?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Henry said. ‘If we dash for it, we’re bound to be seen. Any ideas?’

  His companions shook their heads.

  He leant back against the truck and started to think, annoyed by falling at the first hurdle. Meanwhile, Viktor dropped to his hands and knees and disappeared under the vehicle.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Henry asked.

  ‘I am okay,’ he said in his heavy accent. ‘I think I have something. Come under.’

  The two British soldiers looked at each other quizzically, before joining the Pole beneath the truck.

  ‘We stay here. We can hang on until outside,’ Viktor said, gesticulating, unsure of the English words.

  Henry nodded with a smile.

  ‘Hold here and feet like this,’ Viktor demonstrated, grabbing the chassis.

  ‘I see. Once we’re beyond the compound gates, the trucks will turn one way or the other,’ said Henry, continuing with Viktor’s idea. ‘As they are turning, their speed will reduce, so we can drop off and roll into the undergrowth on the far side of the road.

  ‘Great,’ said Tommy. ‘What about the guards at the site entrance. Won’t they be able to see us?’

  ‘We’ll go the moment the truck starts its turn. That way we’ll be hidden from view,’ Henry said.

  ‘Can’t fit,’ said Viktor, pointing at them. ‘Not enough holding places.’

  ‘No,’ Henry said, following what the tall Pole was saying. ‘And there wouldn’t be enough time for all of us to roll away in the time it would take for one vehicle to turn. It’ll need to be one man per truck, I guess.’

  The other two nodded.

  ‘Our timing will need to be perfect,’ Henry said with a smile, ‘but I’m sure we can do it.’

  After lengthy discussions, the finer details were ironed out. The three men hid under their own vehicles and waited. Suddenly, a siren started to wail, sending guards running in all directions. From where he lay, Henry could hear raised voices shouting angrily in German.

  The communal chain was replaced between the prisoners’ ankles before they were forced back onto the vehicles. Controlling his breathing, Henry waited as one by one the trucks pulled away.

  The truck he was underneath rattled to life. He grabbed the chassis, preparing for it to set off. The vibrations from the idling engine and the dense smell of diesel were nauseating. Henry gripped the frame tightly as the vehicle lurched forward, his back barely clearing the ground.

  After a few yards, they stopped abruptly. Inches from his face were the boots of two sentries standing beside the cab. As the soldiers talked to the driver, he clung on in silent agony.

  They passed through the entrance gates before the truck began to turn right. Henry let go, falling backwards onto the hard tarmac. Rolling between the moving wheels on the far side, he tumbled into a ditch which ran parallel with the road. Viktor was already waiting for him.

  More trucks passed, but there was no sign of Tommy. Henry became anxious. Where was he? He moved along the ditch, not taking his eyes off the compound. Several German guards had stayed within the fence, those who remained searching for the missing prisoners. It would not be long before they began looking beyond the perimeter. Come on, Tommy! Where are you?

  ***

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in!’ said Roehm without looking up from his papers.

  ‘Sir, I’m afraid I have more bad news,’ said Lieutenant Kruse after he saluted.

  ‘What?’ asked the hauptmann, his eyes now fixed on his subordinate.

  ‘Three prisoners have escaped from one of our railway repair working parties,’ said the nervous lieutenant. ‘We’ve returned all the others to their cells. The Wehrmacht are doubling the number of men searching the area. I’m assured it will only be a matter of time before they are back in custody.’

  ‘Which prisoners?’ he asked, suspecting he knew the answer.

  There was a pause before Kruse spoke again, ‘The two British soldiers and a civilian captured in the East Prussia.’

  Roehm banged his fist hard on the desk, glaring at the lieutenant. Before speaking, he calmed himself. ‘What kind of idiot puts soldiers from the same unit in the same workcamp?’

  ‘It was an administrative error, Sir,’ Kruse said. ‘The Wehrmacht coordinate the deployment of slave labour. Apparently, they didn’t think it would be an issue.’

  ‘Didn’t think it was an issue?’ Roehm ranted. ‘They’re the only two in all of Poland. Of course it’s an issue.’

  Kruse stood awkwardly in silence.

  ‘We are where we are,’ the hauptmann said, trying to regain his focus. ‘We have to play the hand we’re dealt. What do we know about the Polish escapee?’

  ‘He was a political prisoner from Olsztyn. According to the report filed by the arresting Wehrmacht officer, he was responsible for a demonstration against the Führer.’

  ‘Do you think he was the British soldiers’ contact in Poland?’

  ‘Up until now, we had no reason to suspect he was. I mean, he was arrested in a different part of the country. There’s no record of him being a member of any of the resistance movements.’

  ‘Okay, so he may be an opportunistic connection. Now, we have a game of cat and mouse, but we are the cat.’

  Kruse looked confused, ‘How, Sir?’

  ‘This time we know they are trying to leave Poland,’ Roehm said. ‘First, I want you to do some digging into the background of the Polish prisoner. Find out if he has any influential friends. I suspect the British soldiers are going to use his knowledge to escape. I want you to increase the military presence on all borders. I will need to ask Berlin for more troops. This Godforsaken country needs to be watertight.’

  ‘Excellent, Sir!’ Kruse said, clicking his heels as he saluted before leaving the room.

  27

  Leaves rustled behind them. Henry turned, relieved to see Tommy’s mop of hair through the bushes.

  ‘Sarge?’ Tommy whispered.

  Cautiously, they slithered on their bellies to the soldier’s position.

  ‘We can’t hang about,’ Henry said. ‘Let’s get going. You can tell us about your vacation on the way.’

  Using mud as a primitive camouflage, they crept nervously through the undergrowth. Once out of sight of the road, they scurried across the fields towards Danzig, taking cover in the hedgerows. They crossed streams wherever possible, hoping to confuse any dogs tracking their scent.

  Being in the open air was exhilarating. Even though Henry had to keep looking over his shoulder, it really felt fantastic to be free again. An angry dog barked, bringing him back to reality. Worryingly, it sounded near.

  ‘We have to speed up,’ he said, looking around.

 
Viktor, already exhausted, nodded and pushed on silently.

  Within the hour, they were in almost darkness, the last vestiges of daylight dwindling. Nighttime brought relief, allowing them to move more freely with less risk of being seen.

  A main road lay beyond a hawthorn bush. Henry was about to dash across when he heard the unmistakable noise of trucks approaching.

  ‘Keep down,’ he said, motioning with his hand.

  Tommy looked back, but thankfully the field behind them remained empty.

  Taking cover against the hedge, they peeped through the sparse, springtime leaves. The sound continued to increase until four sets of headlamps hurtled around the bend. The three men watched from their concealed position as open-topped troop carriers drove past at speed. In the back were dozens of Wehrmacht soldiers wearing full-length, grey overcoats, preparing for a cold night out of doors. Much to Henry’s relief, the trucks passed without slowing.

  ‘They look like they mean business,’ Henry said.

  ‘Look!’ said Viktor, grabbing Henry’s arm. In the distance, arcs of torchlight swept the ground only a couple of fields behind them.

  ‘That’s only about a mile away,’ Tommy observed.

  ‘They’ve pulled out all the stops to find us,’ said Henry. ‘We’d better get a move on before we’re spotted.’

  They ran across the tarmac, then vaulted a wooden fence on the other side before racing across a recently planted wheat field.

  ‘I’ve been wondering,’ Henry said, as they jogged side by side. ‘What did happen to you?’

  ‘When?’ Tommy asked, without breaking stride.

  ‘When we escaped. You disappeared for ages.’

  ‘The driver sped out of the gates so quickly I would have been killed if I had let go.’

  ‘So, what did you do?’

  ‘As the truck accelerated, I hung on for dear life,’ Tommy continued. ‘Eventually, we caught up with a couple of vehicles which had stopped to give way at a narrow bridge. As soon as it was safe, I snuck out and hid behind a hedge. Once the road was clear, I made my way back to you two.’

  ‘You have a bad habit of disappearing, haven’t you?’ Henry joked.

  The three of them ran through the night, putting distance between them and the torches. As day broke, they returned to creeping through hedges and behind walls.

  ‘How far do you think we are from Danzig?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘About four miles,’ the Pole said.

  ‘Viktor, how are you feeling?’ Henry asked, handing out the pieces of bread he had pilfered from the marquee the previous day.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he replied, looking weary.

  ‘If we stop, they’ll catch us for sure,’ Tommy said. ‘We should keep moving.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Henry. ‘Tommy, you take the lead.’

  As the day progressed, the light inevitably began to fade. Like the evening before, the temperature dropped rapidly, the cold biting hard. Nonetheless, Henry was reassured, their pursuers would not be so enthusiastic in their chase.

  A coastal breeze greeted them as they came over the hills; the lights of Danzig twinkled below them. In the distance, Henry could see the black, amorphous mass of the Baltic Sea. The last time he had seen it was when they had flown into Poland several months earlier. Standing in silence, the three men took in the view.

  ‘Is that a fire?’ Henry said, looking at a large, orange glow in the centre of the city.’

  The others followed his gaze.

  ‘Looks like it,’ Tommy said. ‘I wonder whether it’s left over from the bombing.’

  ‘I’m not sure. That was some time ago,’ Henry said. ‘I would have thought any fires should be out by now. What do you think?’

  ‘It is Długi Targ,’ the Pole said after studying the scene below. ‘The main street.’

  ‘Why would it be on fire?’ Tommy asked.

  Viktor shrugged before setting off down the hill.

  ‘Germans looking for three men. Your clothes bad,’ Viktor said, pointing at their uniforms. ‘I find better. Back in one hour.’

  ‘But we can’t wait here,’ said Tommy. ‘There’s nowhere to hide.’

  ‘Come,’ Viktor said reassuringly.

  He led them down the valley towards a stream, flanked by trees.

  ‘I meet you here,’ he said.

  They shook his hand before Viktor disappeared down the hillside into the darkness.

  28

  Surprisingly, the streets were empty. Nobody walked on the pavements, and the trams were not running. It all seemed a little odd. Nonetheless, the familiar surroundings of Danzig were a welcome relief from the chaos of the last few months.

  As he rounded the corner, he heard excited shouting. Curious, he crept to the edge of a building and peered around. In the main street, long shadows danced on the walls of the buildings, cast by the flickering glow of a massive bonfire. A crowd of people listened intently to a dignitary high on a podium, standing against a backdrop of a swastika fluttering in the night breeze. Even this far away, the heat from the fire caused him to perspire.

  Facing the audience, a row of closely cropped teenagers stood to attention, while a party official gave his animated oratory. The youths in their khaki shirts and armbands watched eagerly as an SS officers threw books onto the giant fire. As they applauded the poisonous anti-Semitic rhetoric being spewed from the rostrum, Viktor recognised many of the faces around the flames. The crowd, including the soldiers around the periphery, were transfixed by the speaker, allowing him to creep past.

  Parts of the town were in ruins, while other areas appeared unharmed. Near the port, the destruction was worst. Large craters dotted the roads, and some of the houses bore the signs of battle. Worrying about the state of his own home, Viktor quickened his pace.

  He rounded the corner of Drzewny Road onto Hucisko Street, stopping in front of his small shop. Home! It was wonderful to be back. Despite the crack in the shopfront window, everything else appeared to be intact. He walked down the alley at the side of the building, navigating the fence which now littered the floor. All the contents of his pockets had been taken from him when he was captured in Olsztyn. He rattled the backdoor hard, but it would not give. Sitting on the step, he wearily put his head into his hands. To come this far and to be defeated by a locked door on his own house infuriated him.

  The yard reminded him of their awful journey to Olsztyn. He missed Zofia and the boys desperately. Frustratingly, his horse was probably warmer and better fed than he was right now. The horse, of course! He headed across the courtyard, avoiding the rubble which littered the ground. Entering the empty stable with its familiar damp smell, he groped his way into the dark, far corner. High on a shelf, which no one else would ever know was there, he located a rusty, green and white tobacco tin. Flicking it open with his thumb, he retrieved the spare key wrapped in a small, brown paper bag which he kept for emergencies. Viktor hurried back towards the house, unlocked the house door, and slipped inside.

  Greeted by the familiar yeasty aroma of the bakery, he instantly felt at home, but there was a striking hollowness too. Overcome with emotion, he slumped to his knees and sobbed uncontrollably. As the adrenaline wore off, Viktor began to shiver. Having been unoccupied for several months, the house was bitterly cold.

  He scrabbled around, relying on his memory to locate things. On the windowsill, he found an oil lamp, then stumbled his way across the room. Next, Viktor fumbled in the cash register until he found the matches he kept in the money tray. It was a strange place to keep them, but they were out of the reach of their two small boys, who seemed to have a natural curiosity for all things dangerous.

  Striking a match on the side of the box, Viktor lit the wick and lowered the lamp’s glass wind sleeve. He was thankful the shop had been untouched by the chaos. With the light, he moved easily from room to room. He grabbed his delivery bag, hanging on the back of the door, before proceeding upstairs.

  In his and Zofia’s bedroom, he o
pened a chest of drawers and started stuffing clothes into the holdall like a man possessed. With the bag near to bursting, he returned to the kitchen. Catching sight of himself in the mirror by the back door, he realised he had forgotten about the mud on his face. Swilling himself with the cold water which remained in the bowl, he removed all traces of his makeshift camouflage.

  With his bag thrown over his shoulder, he kept his head down and hurried back through the streets. Walking through these familiar surroundings reminded him of his family. They must be worried sick. If only he could send a message to them. There would be little point in trying to post a letter, as the county’s infrastructure was likely to be in a dreadful state, not to mention the fact he was an escaped convict. Every fibre of him wanted to set off for Olsztyn, but he knew he owed the British soldiers for helping him escape.

  ‘You, stop!’ a stern voice shouted in German,’ A Danzig police officer in his dark green overcoat strode towards him.

  His heart sank.

  ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’

  ‘I’m on my way home from work,’ he said, noticing another policeman on the other side of the street watching on.

  ‘It’s a bit late to be finishing, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, I drive the cranes at the docks,’ Viktor lied, trying hard to force a smile. ‘There have been several large ships in today. They had to be unloaded before this morning’s high tide.’

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ the policeman asked, removing it from Viktor’s shoulder and opening its drawstring.

  ‘They’re only work clothes. I’m taking them home for my wife to wash.’

  ‘I see,’ said the officer, pulling out a shirt collar. ‘Well, you can’t keep the little woman waiting, can you?’

  ‘Heil Hitler,’ Viktor said awkwardly.

  The soldier reciprocated.

  ***

  The two British soldiers had found the trees by the stream as the Pole had described. Tommy had fallen asleep on a mound of grass while Henry kept watch. It was just before dawn, and soon the sun would begin to peep over the horizon. Tiredness and anxiety toyed with Henry’s mind. We need to be in the city before daylight. Otherwise, we’ll be spotted. What if Viktor was going to shop them to the Germans or leave them out in the open to fend for themselves? Where was he?