Night had fallen; the last night of Andrew's imprisonment, if everything went to plan. The lights had gone off at the usual time, and an uneasy quiet lay over Stalag 5.
Andrew couldn't sleep. He'd never been more aware of the presence of others, and yet he'd never felt more alone than he did now, surrounded by his fellow prisoners. This time tomorrow night, he'd be completely on his own. He felt as if his escape had already begun.
He had to get it right. If he couldn't manage to straighten out his bluebells and hyacinths, or if he couldn't find his way to the first safe house, then the whole scheme would collapse. It would mean capture and punishment, and end his hopes of getting out of Germany. And now he'd had time for it to sink in, he knew how much he wanted to get out; more than he'd ever wanted anything.
The worst of it was, if he got caught, others would suffer the consequences. The men scheduled to leave at the end of the week would lose their chance, and there was no telling what disciplinary action might be taken against the other prisoners who had laboured for months to get to this point. All their effort and risk would go for nothing, and apart from Andrew himself, the man facing the toughest penalties would probably be his stand-in.
I can't foul this up, thought Andrew, lying wide awake in the darkness. And it occurred to him that, had the coin toss gone the other way, it would have been Tony who had to learn directions and codes, and Tony would probably have been better at it. But he pushed the thought away.
He turned over, carefully so as not to wake the others, and groped in the darkness for the book which contained the map, and for more than an hour, tented under his blanket to shield his flashlight from any guards who might be passing, he studied the escape route. It seemed direct enough, but the moment he closed his eyes, it vanished from his memory. He couldn't even remember whether, when he exited the tunnel, he was supposed to turn right or left. Finally he fell into a troubled slumber, and a vision of emerging from the tunnel to find himself in the middle of Berlin, with the Brandenburg Gate looming over his head, and a seriously ticked-off Hitler standing by with folded arms, tapping his foot and glaring at him.
It didn't exactly make for a good night's rest.
Hanrahan had the men up early, ready for roll-call. This would be the first dummy run for Tony, to see whether he was able to get here and change into Andrew's clothes before the guards arrived for the head count. The barracks chief allocated duties with perfect calm.
"Clarke and Lopez will help the lieutenant get changed. Camilleri, you'll take his uniform and stash it in the laundry hamper. Thorpe, you sweep up, make sure there's no dirt on the floor around the tunnel entrance. Carter, stand by in case there's any problems. If everything's on track, you get into the back room, and stay out of sight." He nodded towards the small separate room which, by right of seniority, was allocated as his sleeping quarters, and which he shared with Camilleri, the resident insomniac.
"They'll have started their rounds," Hanrahan went on, checking his watch. "Allen, keep watch. The other barracks will signal where the Krauts are up to. And everyone, stay cool. We gotta make this work. All clear? Right, take your positions."
Andrew moved back towards the door of the back room. He wanted to help, but his job now was to keep out of the way. Clarke and Lopez were already standing by the washstand over the tunnel entrance, while Allen had taken up position at the door, watching for the signal from the back window of the barracks across the way.
A couple of minutes passed in silence.
"They've left Barracks 4," Allen reported. Andrew felt his palms start to sweat. Tony would be entering the tunnel now. Sims had estimated six or seven minutes for him to get from there to here, and only a couple of minutes longer for the guards. It was going to be close.
Barracks 5 was checked; Barracks 6, then 7. In each hut, the prisoners had done their part; the round was nearly two minutes behind schedule. Still no sound from below the washstand. Then just as the guards reached Barracks 9, a faint scratching was heard. Lopez and Clarke, on the alert, responded at once, tipped the fixture on its side and pulled Tony up from under the floor. He was breathless, his face scarlet and glistening with perspiration.
"Sorry," he panted. "Took longer than..."
"Easy, Lieutenant," said Hanrahan. "Allen, where are the goons?"
"Barracks 9," replied Allen. "We got maybe two minutes."
"He'll never do it," muttered Hanrahan, waving Lopez away as he came forward with Andrew's spare coverall.
"I'll be fine," Tony said quickly. "Just give me a couple of seconds." He straightened up, swaying slightly, still hyperventilating.
Hanrahan grabbed his arm to steady him. "No good. Even if you had time to change, one look at you and they'll know something's up. We better scrub it for now."
He steered the lieutenant to the door of the back room and pushed him inside. "Get that washstand back upright," he snapped. "Thorpe, start sweeping. The rest of you..."
"Goons coming," hissed Allen.
There wasn't time for further orders. Lopez flung the unwanted coverall into the laundry basket; the washstand was fixed in place, and the men, without being told, found something to be busy with. By the time one of the guards flung the door open, with a resounding "Achtung!", everything appeared in order. Thorpe was still sweeping, in the desultory manner of a man with nothing better to do; Clarke was making up his bunk, whistling through his teeth; Andrew had started combing his hair, and Hanrahan had just poured himself a cup of coffee.
"That reminds me, we better get those rat traps finished," he remarked. "You never know what kind of nasty critters might come wandering in."
The Kraut sergeant who had followed his subordinate into the barracks didn't rise to the bait. "You are a funny man, Hanrahan," he replied, quite mildly, as he consulted the clipboard in his hand. "Answer your names when called. Allen - Camilleri - Carter..." The prisoners, standing at their ease, responded in varying tones ranging from surly to impudent; Thorpe didn't even leave off sweeping.
Having checked off every name, Sergeant Dietz turned to leave. As he did, his eye fell on Andrew. He studied him curiously for a few seconds.
"You are Carter?" he asked.
"Uh, yeah," replied Andrew stolidly.
Dietz continued to stare at him. Finally he shook his head, and turned to his underling. "Hans, du spinnst. He looks nothing like the other one." He turned on his heels, and stalked out, Hans trotting dutifully two steps behind him.
"That's what I keep saying," Andrew called after them, "but nobody listens."
Allen went to the door, and opened it a crack. "They're on their way to the Kommandant's office," he said.
"Okay, keep watch," replied Hanrahan. He went into the back room, and after a moment's uncertainty Andrew followed. Tony, sitting on the lower bunk, glanced up, then looked away.
"You okay, Lieutenant?"
"Sure," said Tony quickly, standing up. "Hey, I'm real sorry. I was way too slow getting here."
"You better sit a while. You don't look too good."
Tony sighed, and sat down again. "I ought to get back. Seymour's expecting a report, he wants to know if this is gonna work."
"Okay, I'll check if the coast is clear."
"No, I better take the tunnel again, see if I can improve my time," replied Tony. He seemed resolute, but his voice wavered, and he had to clear his throat. "Can I get some water?"
Hanrahan went to fetch it, while Andrew remained loitering nervously just inside the door, his head slightly tilted as he studied his double.
"Pretty rough down there, huh?" he asked.
Tony shrugged, embarrassed. "I guess so."
Andrew hesitated again, then scrabbled in his pocket for his cigarettes, and tentatively offered one, and with equal diffidence Tony accepted it. Then Hanrahan returned, and both of them instinctively moved back, as if they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't.
Hanrahan chuckled, and handed Tony a mug. "Take your time, lieutenant," he said, producing a lighter. "Here, let me."
Tony leaned against the upright post of the bunk. "You know, it's not so bad down there," he remarked, in a would-be casual tone. "I just got a little...well, I guess I thought it'd be like our tunnel, but it's kind of like a worm hole. You're on your elbows all the time, and there's nowhere you can turn round at all. But it's really not that bad."
"Uh-huh," grunted Hanrahan. His gaze moved from one Carter to the other. "Andrew, why don't you go make up your bed?" he said.
"I already did it," Andrew protested. But Hanrahan wasn't moved.
"Then do it again. It looks like a contour map of the Swiss Alps. I hope you keep things neater when you get back to your squadron." He grinned, to take the edge off the words; after all, he was senior to Andrew only by date of rank.
"For Pete's sakes, Hanrahan, you're worse than my mom," grumbled Andrew, but he did as he was told.
His bunk stood closest to Hanrahan's quarters, and without quite meaning to, he kept listening, but for a couple of minutes nothing was said. Finally Hanrahan spoke. "It doesn't surprise me you got a bit spooked down there. You had a couple of cave-ins when you were digging, didn't you? They told me you were buried once."
"Yeah. But they got me out real fast."
"With respect, lieutenant, you must have been crazy, going back down there."
"It was okay," Tony replied. "Honest, it didn't worry me, not in our tunnel, anyway." He paused for a moment, thinking about it. "I guess maybe because ours is wider, and we got a bit of head room most of the way. This one isn't like that at all. Plus I got a bit confused, wasn't sure if I missed the exit. It doesn't just run from Barracks 4 to here, you know, it starts way back under Barracks 1 and finishes up halfway across the parade ground. If I had've gone too far, I could have gotten stuck. So I had to stop for a minute, try to get my bearings."
"Sounds like fun."
"Yeah, well, it's okay now, I know what to expect. Anyway, it's gotta be done, right?"
Andrew, listening unseen, sighed. It had to be done, for sure.
A minute or so later, the two men came out of the back room. "All clear, Allen?" said Hanrahan. "Okay, guys, give us a hand here."
The washstand was tilted over again. Tony stood over the entrance for a moment, taking a few deep breaths, then got down on his hands and knees; the restricted space in the tunnel meant he had to go in head first. Hanrahan and Lopez gripped his legs and eased him down into the darkness.
"Boy, he's got guts," remarked Thorpe. "You're sure gonna owe him, Carter."
"Yeah," murmured Andrew, straightening the blanket on his bunk again, although there wasn't so much as a ripple there now. The book containing the map of the escape route was lying on the shelf just below the window, along with his unfinished letter to Mary Jane. He couldn't bring himself to do anything about the letter, but he picked up the book, opened it and sat down, gazing at the map. The route was simple, but he knew, as soon as he closed the book, he wouldn't remember any of it.
It just made so much clearer to him what he had to do, and there was no point in putting it off. He closed the book, and stood up.
The bluebells are early, but the hyacinths are late, he thought. Figures. Now I get it right.
"Hey, Hanrahan." His voice jerked a little with the effort.
"What's up?" asked Hanrahan, turning a keen gaze on him.
Andrew wavered, knowing there would be no going back once he spoke. "I need to go have a talk with Wing Commander Seymour," he said at last. "And I want to take the tunnel, because if he agrees with what I say to him, then for the next couple of days I'm gonna be spending some time down there. So I better find out what I'm letting myself in for."