For the next twenty-four hours, Andrew was kept busy.
It surprised him how much there was for him to learn. He had to memorise the route from the tunnel exit to the first safe house, along with the recognition code which would identify him to his prospective hosts, and the secret signal they would leave outside if it was unsafe for him to approach. In that eventuality, another refuge was available, and he had to know how to get there, too. Then there were code names; his first contact was Grey Squirrel, who would pass him on to the Boatman, who in turn would direct him to Goldilocks. It was a lot to take in.
Unfortunately, the only thing worse than Andrew's memory for details was his sense of direction.
"You daren't risk having anything on paper," Seymour explained stiffly, when the prospective escapee ventured to ask if he could take the map with him when he went. "If you were to be caught, you'd be searched, and once the Jerries found it...well, it would be all up for our friends on the outside."
He looked down his nose as he spoke, as if wondering whether anyone could be so stupid as to overlook such an obvious fact. Andrew flushed, stammered an apology and withdrew, feeling like a complete idiot, to put in a couple of hours of study.
"The bluebells are early, but the hyacinths are late," he muttered to himself, over and over. It seemed a pretty dumb thing to say to complete strangers, especially as spring was months away; but that seemingly pointless remark would identify him to his Underground contacts, when he made it to the farmhouse a few miles from camp. Assuming he got there all right, in the dark, without a map. And provided that when he got there he could remember what he was meant to say.
"Well, nobody ever said escaping from a prison camp in Nazi Germany was easy," remarked Hanrahan, as the men of Barracks 10 headed out for the compulsory exercise period, the day after Andrew had been given the news. "At least you're getting the chance. There's guys who'd sell their own mothers to get out of here. So whatever you do, don't blow it."
"Yeah, thanks, pal," muttered Andrew, as Hanrahan strolled off to the other side of the volleyball net. "That makes me feel a lot better."
He hunched in his jacket, and went to sit on the low bench which stood outside the barracks. For a couple of minutes he stared at nothing.
"The bluebells are over the white cliffs of...wait, that ain't right," he mumbled.
He had a day and a half to get it straight. And to learn the escape route. How hard could it be?
With a third of the guards still on the sick list, the prisoners remained under stricter conditions than usual; only three barracks were allowed to take their exercise at any one time. On the other side of the parade ground, Andrew spotted his double, just released from Barracks 4. Tony had caught sight of him, too; automatically, they both headed towards the middle of the yard.
"How's it coming?" asked Tony.
"Great. Just great. Yep, going real good." There was no way Andrew was going to admit he was struggling with it. "How about you?"
"Well, I don't have so much to do," replied Tony. "Not till you're gone, anyway. After that, I'll be real busy."
"Say, how's that gonna work?" Andrew asked, after a couple of moments. "I mean, even though we're not having assembly, they're still taking roll call twice a day. So, how are you supposed to get from one barracks to the other without some of the goons seeing you?"
"The committee's got it all worked out," said Tony, his forehead wrinkling slightly as if he wasn't sure himself. "We're gonna give it a try today, see if it works. See, what the Krauts don't know is..."
"Now, then, let's have a little less chatting, and a little more exercise, gentlemen." Sims had come up behind them, while they were talking. "Andrew, they're looking for an extra man at the volleyball net. And you might like to join in with the callisthenics, Lieutenant." He glanced from one Carter to the other, head tilted on one side. Tony flushed, murmured something incoherent, and moved away
"Just a word of advice," Sims went on, regarding Andrew with a gleam in his eye. "It's better if you two aren't seen talking to each other. We don't want any of the guards putting two and two together, do we?"
He strolled off, leaving Andrew feeling resentful, like a schoolboy reprimanded for some unintended breach of the rules, and wondering how come the British all seemed to be so darn superior, and whether he'd ever meet one of them he could get along with.
Back in the barracks, after the exercise period, he picked up the book he'd left lying on his bunk. The map of the escape route had been fastened inside, between the pages, stitched to the binding and trimmed neatly so it didn't show. He flopped onto the mattress and propped himself up on one elbow, studying the route.
Without being asked, the other men left him alone. A few of them started a poker game, gradually drawing in more men until nearly all of them were either playing or watching. They got pretty noisy, but one of the first things any new prisoner learned was to ignore the hubbub; Andrew was scarcely aware of it, but the tapping noise from the far end of the barracks was something new, and didn't take long to break into his concentration.
"Hey, fellers, can you cut that out?" he called, without looking up. Nobody replied, but the sound was repeated, a little louder this time. Andrew raised his head, peering towards the source. Then he put the book down, got up and went for a closer look.
None of the men were at this end of the barracks, but the rapping continued, apparently coming from underneath the floor near the washstand. "Uh, guys?" Andrew called over his shoulder. "Something funny's going on."
He crouched next to the washstand, listening. Whatever it was seemed to have stopped. Then it sounded again, so suddenly and so loud that Andrew jumped, lost his balance and grabbed the leg of the stand to keep from falling over.
It wasn't as secure as he thought; the entire fixture tilted from the base, and fell sideways, and Andrew landed on the floor with a thud.
"What the..." Hanrahan, his cards still in his hand, came at a run, and stopped dead, staring at the hole in the floor which had been exposed.
Then a voice rose from below: "And it's about bloody time. What's the matter with you lot, are you all bleedin' deaf?" Sims's head and shoulders appeared from the depths. "Don't bother giving me a hand," he added in acid tones. "I can manage."
As Hanrahan was already helping Andrew to his feet, he didn't take the hint, but a couple of the others hauled the Englishman out of the hole, allowing a second visitor to emerge.
"I'm just showing Lieutenant Carter how to get from Point A to Point B without being seen," Sims went on, brushing the soil from his hands and clothes. "And I hope you lot are a bit quicker off the mark the next time, otherwise he'll only be halfway out of the ground when the Krauts come barging in to do the head count."
"Well, if you'd told us to expect visitors, Sims, we'd have made sure the doorbell was in order," Hanrahan remarked sourly. "And if you leave all that dirt lying on the floor, the Krauts are going to start looking for where it came from."
"Sorry, chum," replied Sims, although he didn't sound sorry at all. "Thing is, it's a bit cramped down there, so you can only get through crawling on your stomach. Someone'll have to sweep up whenever Lieutenant Carter comes in. But it's a nice little tunnel apart from that."
"Yeah, since when has there been a tunnel under the barracks?" Hanrahan grumbled, stooping to help Tony out of the tunnel.
Sims laughed. "Before your time, mate. When this place first opened, this end of the camp was mostly French and Polish. Well, they started digging, didn't they? Nearly made it, too, only they didn't go down deep enough. It was the delousing station falling in like that gave it away." He sniggered at the memory. "Well, that brought the whole project to a halt. Vogel had the ringleaders transferred, and made the rest of 'em fill it in. But they managed to keep this bit from being discovered, which is handy for us. You all right, Lieutenant?"
"Fine," muttered Tony indistinctly. He was flushed, and breathing fast. "Just I didn't expect it to be that narrow."
"Well, I'll grant you, it's not as roomy as the one you've been working in," replied Sims. "The fellows who built this one cut some corners. They were in a bit of a hurry to get home. It's not a nice feeling knowing your country's been overrun, you know." The mask of smug self-possession didn't falter, but his voice dropped a little. Apparently the desperation of those men had struck a chord.
"Have a seat, Lieutenant," said Hanrahan. "Okay, Sims, what's the deal? I guess the lieutenant comes in through there after the goons have finished the head count in Barracks 4, right?"
"Right. They always check the barracks in the same order, and we've worked out that from when they finish Barracks 4 till they get here is roughly nine or ten minutes. Allowing about six, maybe seven minutes to get along the tunnel, which is slow going, it's going to be close. The lads in the barracks in between are going to try to delay them a little each time, to stretch it out, but you'll have to be on the ball in here, because by the time Tony - beg pardon, Lieutenant - by the time he gets here, he won't have much time to change into Andrew's uniform. Think you can manage?"
Hanrahan glanced at Tony, who was starting to get his breath back. "I guess so. It's in a good cause, anyway, right, Andrew?"
"Right," said Andrew quickly.
"All right, then, we'll have a couple of trial runs tomorrow," replied Sims. He turned to Andrew. "If it goes off all right, then you'll be heading out tomorrow evening. I'll show you the tunnel entrance this evening at mess call. Now, you know the route to the safe house, don't you?"
"Yeah, I think so," stammered Andrew, going scarlet as everyone looked at him.
"Thinking so isn't good enough," said Sims. "You have to be sure." He paused, then snapped out, "What's the recognition code? Quickly, now."
The suddenness of the demand sent Andrew's wits into freefall. For a couple of seconds he couldn't remember a thing. Then a couple of words floated to the surface. "Uh...the hyacinths are blue...and the bells...the bells are ringing..." He trailed off, mortified at how completely wrong he'd got it.
Sims gazed at him sorrowfully. "Andrew, my boy," he said, "you've got some work to do."