Fuller lowered the trapdoor, and stood up. "Well, that's that," he said, somewhat needlessly. "Now, let's get you sorted."
He snatched up Andrew's discarded coverall, and bundled it out of sight below the sink. "One of my lads will drop it in to Barracks 10 before roll call," he explained.
"No hurry, I got a spare one," Andrew replied.
He put his hand in his pocket, and drew out the ring Sims had slipped him earlier in the day. It resisted a little going over the middle knuckle of his finger; it seemed Gerhardt's grandfather had small hands. But it felt comfortable once it was on, just a little unfamiliar.
At the door, Martin gave a low whistle, and moved to the sink. Fuller, who had been wiping the soup from Andrew's clothes, pushed the cloth into his hand, and nodded to the door. "Get going, old man, and good luck to you."
Andrew straightened his shoulders. The customary look of vague, puzzled anxiety drained from his face, and his awkward posture realigned itself into a balanced, confident stance. He nodded his thanks to the cook, and stepped out of the kitchen and into his performance.
Schneider gave him a long, curious look as soon as he appeared, and Andrew felt a tightening in his stomach. But he ignored the guard, and gazed round the mess hall, trying to see the other men from Tony's barracks. From one of the tables, a hand waved to him, and he strolled over there, without so much as a glance at Schneider.
"Got your soup for you," remarked Lieutenant Graham, with a grin.
"Yeah, thanks, pal." Andrew inspected the thin, greasy liquid in the bowl without enthusiasm. Now he knew what went in it, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to eat it again. "Sometime maybe I'll do something just as nice for you."
He wasn't certain he'd got the right manner; for a moment he was worried, as he sensed the slight tension in the men around him. Then Graham leaned forward a little, and spoke very quietly. "Tony, what's going on? Didn't you make the switch?"
"Yep. We sure did," murmured Andrew.
"Holy cow!" The exclamation came out so softly as to be almost inaudible. Then Graham laughed under his breath, turned to the guy on his other side and started a conversation about baseball which quickly spread along the whole table, and continued to the end of the meal and beyond. They were still discussing batting averages as they walked back to the barracks.
"...because if Taffy Wright had gotten a fair deal in '38 - yeah, I know, he didn't have enough times at bat, but still..." Graham broke off as the door of the barracks closed behind him, and turned to Andrew. "Man, you're good. You just about had me fooled."
Andrew blushed. "It's not that hard," he mumbled, falling back into his own personality. "Say, you guys were great."
"Tony made it into the tunnel okay? No problems?"
"None at all, as far as I know. But he won't head out for a couple of hours yet."
Graham nodded. "Here's hoping the weather holds. If it rains, he's not going to enjoy the trip." He glanced at his watch. "Okay, nothing more to do till Dietz comes round for the head count. You better find something to keep you busy till then."
Andrew went to the bunk which had until tonight been Tony's. All the lieutenant's personal items were still in place on the small improvised set of shelves beside it; he'd even left behind a photograph of a pretty, dark-haired girl who must be his wife. Andrew picked it up, carefully so as not to mark the surface.
"If anyone should ask, her name's Kitty," said Graham, looking over his shoulder. "She's English, and you've been married for nearly a year."
"I'll remember," replied Andrew, putting the photo back in its place. It must have cost Tony something to leave it behind; but if everything went well, within a few days he'd be with her for real.
I wonder how long it'll be before I see Mary Jane again. The thought suddenly appeared in Andrew's mind, but he dismissed it. He couldn't afford to let any possible regrets distract him now. He looked around for something to occupy the time till roll call, and caught the eye of one of the other men, who gave him a friendly grin.
"You play cards, Carter?" he asked.
It wasn't a long wait. The guards generally started their rounds almost as soon as the last of the prisoners had left the mess hall. It was scarcely half an hour later when the man watching the door gave the word: "Here they come."
A few seconds later, Sergeant Dietz's faithful herald, the unremarkable Hans, burst into the barracks. "Achtung!"
"Gin," said Andrew, discarding and laying down his hand.
His opponent grumbled under his breath, and scowled at him. "Boy, are you ever on a winning streak, Tony."
Andrew snickered, and got to his feet as Dietz strolled in. He seemed perfectly relaxed, standing easily with his head slightly tilted and a smile still lingering on his lips, but behind the facade, he was more nervous than he'd been at any time since Seymour had authorised the change of plan. The deception had been easy enough in the mess hall, when he was just one man amongst a crowd. It was a whole different ball game here, with only a dozen men and a Kraut sergeant who probably knew Tony pretty well by now.
"Adams...Billingsley...Cahill...Carter..." Dietz paused, his eyes on the last name. Then he looked up, and found its owner.
"What's up, pal?" said Andrew. "Did I break out in spots or something?"
Dietz smiled slightly. "You know there is a new man in one of the other barracks, whose name is also Carter?"
Determined not to give anything away yet, Andrew shrugged. "I've seen him. What about him?"
The smile broadened into a smirk. "Some of the guards have been trying to tell me he looks just like you."
"Are you having me on?" Andrew gazed at the sergeant skeptically. "You mean the little skinny guy with three left feet?"
"That is the one. They must think I am blind, or stupid, if I would fall for such a ridiculous trick," Dietz went on. "He is shorter than you, and thinner, and..." He peered at Andrew. "...and his eyes are a different colour."
"I hadn't really noticed," said Andrew, his brow furrowing. "Boy, I guess they gotta get up pretty early to fool you, right?"
Dietz gave a scornful laugh. "Any idiot can tell the two of you apart." He turned away, and continued the roll call.
As soon as he had left the barracks, the prisoners got to work. Andrew began hastily removing the lieutenant's uniform; to save getting his clothes dirty, with all the potential embarrassment it would entail, he'd been instructed to leave each uniform in the barracks it belonged to, and to strip down to his long underwear for crawling through the tunnel. Which was, to his way of thinking, almost as embarrassing as getting caught out. "I can't believe the things we have to do," he muttered under his breath, as he undressed.
The tunnel entrance in this barracks was scarcely concealed at all; a trapdoor in the corner, beneath a footlocker, gave access. While one of the men kept watch at the door, the others moved the locker, and helped Andrew to make his head-first descent, with a few muttered good luck wishes. Then the trapdoor closed behind him, and he was in the dark.
There wasn't time to stop and think. Closing his eyes - he couldn't see a thing, anyway - Andrew set off, with a strange kind of inchworm motion which he'd found by experiment to be the fastest and most comfortable form of progress down here. The earthy smell, and the tunnel walls close at either hand, were actually a comfort. There was no possibility of getting lost, as long as he had earth on either side of him.
It seemed to take a long time, though. His anxiety level rose, as he tried to calculate how much time had passed, and he wondered whether he'd somehow missed the exit. He got so keyed up that when the ping-pong ball on its string touched him lightly on the forehead, the shock almost caused him to panic. For a couple of seconds he lay still, his heart racing and his breath coming in gasps. Then he twisted over onto his back, felt for the shaft leading up to Barracks 10, and hauled himself up. A glow of light from above told him his barracks mates had already opened the hatch for him; friendly hands gripped his arms, and he was pulled up so fast it almost made him dizzy.
"Great timing, Andrew," said Hanrahan's voice in his ear. "The goons are still in Barracks 8, we got plenty of time."
Andrew rubbed his eyes, and looked round. Lopez had his coverall ready, and quickly helped him to pull it on. Clarke was standing by with his boots, and Thorpe had started sweeping away all traces of his arrival.
"They just left Barracks 8," called Allen.
"Someone get a damp cloth," said Hanrahan. "You got some dirt on your face, Andrew. Apart from that, you look okay." He grabbed the cloth from Clarke's hand and hastily scrubbed it across Andrew's forehead. "Now comb your hair, and take off that ring."
Andrew was already trying to get the wedding ring off his finger. He gave it a twist, attempting to jiggle it over the knuckle. "It won't come off," he muttered.
Hanrahan came to his assistance, yanking at the gold band with enough force to prompt an "Ow!" from his victim. But Gerhardt's keepsake seemed to have become permanently fixed in place on Andrew's hand.
"They're just coming out of Barracks 9." Allen closed the door, and retreated.
"Damn it, just put your gloves on," Hanrahan ordered. "We'll fix it after they've gone."
Andrew scrabbled for his gloves and drew them on, hiding the tell-tale wedding ring from sight; then grabbed a book and flung himself on his bunk. By the time Dietz arrived, he was to all appearances completely lost in The House Without A Key, and he showed every sign of irritable reluctance at having to leave it.
Dietz regarded him with a smirk. "You see, Hans?" he said, when he'd finished the roll-call. "Take a closer look, and then tell me whether they are identical."
Hans came up close, squinting at Andrew, who backed away like a nervous hen. "Nein," he mumbled. "You are right, Sergeant. They do look different."
"Of course I am right. You should learn to be observant, Hans," Dietz proclaimed, as he left the barracks. "You must have eyes like a hawk when you are watching the prisoners. You know, if you want to get ahead in this army..."
The door closed on the rest of the lecture. There was a moment of silence, as the prisoners tried to control their feelings; then Camilleri and Allen caught each others' eye; a muffled snort escaped from Thorpe, and Andrew choked on a half-suppressed giggle. It was enough to break the surface tension; for the next two minutes, every man in the barracks was helpless with laughter.
Finally Hanrahan pulled himself together. "Okay, settle down," he got out between gasps. "The Krauts'll be in here any second, if you keep that up." He took a couple of deep breaths, and wiped his eyes. "Get the place straightened up, and find something quiet to do."
He turned to Andrew, who lay exhausted on his bunk, clutching his ribs. "You okay?"
"I got a stitch," Andrew groaned. Then he snickered again. "We got away with it."
"Yeah." Hanrahan's eyes were still gleaming. "And you know something? I don't think you have anything to worry about. As long as old hawk-eyes Dietz is on duty, there's not a chance in the world you'll get caught."