The roads in Germany were horrible. Liam had thought that the Sunday drives he'd taken with his family into the Irish countryside to visit his grandparents were bad, but old farms trails were nothing compared to this washed-out, rock-strewn, pothole-studded tear in the beauty of the countryside that the transport truck had been bumping down for the last four hours.
They had been traveling for most of the day, ever since they had dragged him out of his cell at about ten that morning. Liam's body ached all over, not just from the pains of poorly healed injuries and the bumps in the road, but also from the guards' rifle butts in his ribs every time he looked up, or turned his head, or tried to sleep, or moved in any way. The ultimatum they had given him as they loaded him into the truck had been severe: You're a prisoner, so act like one. You will not look us in the eye, for we are of the Master Race and shouldn't even be bothering with the likes of you. Think of escaping and you'll regret it. And if we have to stay awake to guard you, don't even close your eyes. God, how he hated the Nazis! And on top of that, he was getting a crick in his neck from staring at his boots for the past eight hours.
He'd spent those eight hours thinking of nothing but the horrors that awaited him at Stalag 7, no matter how hard he tried to put his mind to something else. There was no doubt in his mind that the general had chosen it for a reason. The camp's reputation for brutality was legendary, so the camp Kommandant would have no problem 'keeping an eye' on a possible squealer. That was what Liam was afraid of, because after an extended time of 'special treatment' at any prison camp, the Gestapo wouldn't have quite as much trouble getting information out of him. And he could not allow that to happen under any circumstances.
However, on the brighter side, there was still the possibility of escape. And Liam was very good at escapes. He knew escape was possible from Stalag 7; he'd even talked to several men who'd gotten out of there alive. That was where the Germans had made their mistake: They'd sent him to a camp that it was possible to escape from. If they had ever wanted to see him again, they should have sent him to Stalag 13 instead. A camp didn't get the reputation of "The Toughest POW Camp in Germany" on rumors and hearsay; Liam had it on good authority that no one had ever escaped from there. Ever. Though he wouldn't have minded a challenge, he had to count his lucky stars that he hadn't been sent there. If Stalag 7 was Hell, he didn't even want to imagine what life must be like for the prisoners of Stalag 13.
Liam was so absorbed in his thoughts that he scarcely noticed darkness falling over the German countryside. He did notice, however, that the guards were starting to droop. He certainly couldn't blame them; he had been getting plenty of sleep these past few days and this bumpy drive had him completely exhausted. Considering the kinds of shifts they must be pulling, they had to be totally fagged. And tired soldiers made unwary soldiers. Unwary soldiers could give Liam a chance to escape.
Or if not escape, he reconsidered as he recalled the speed at which they were barreling down this road, at least he might be able to catch some shuteye in the dark.
He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, concentrating until he could once again see the toes of his boots past the chain dangling between his wrists. Moving his head almost imperceptibly, he could just see the shadowy form of the guard sitting across from him. The bulky sergeant shifted slightly and tightened his grip on the rifle in his hands, almost as if he could feel Liam's eyes on him. With a sigh, Liam directed his gaze back to his handcuffs. Sleep it was, then.
He was just letting his eyelids droop when a bright flash lit up the night sky, followed by a rolling *boom* that was definitely not thunder. Liam jumped in surprise and glanced up for just a second, but fortunately the guards didn't seem to notice. They were too busy panicking. One of them still hit him in the ribs, though, when they conferred among themselves and determined that the Allies were bombing some munitions factory just up the road a few miles. As if he had something to do with it!
The driver sped up, a fair trick in this rickety old truck, but as they were heading towards the munitions factory, the explosions just kept getting closer. Then, the whirring of fighter planes and bombers came within range. Liam's head jerked up instinctively and he turned his gaze to the open back of the truck, eyes searching the dark sky for any sign of the squadron. Two no-nos.
The next second, he found himself knocked to the floor of the truck, his shout of surprise drowned out by another explosion in the forest nearby. The guard that had thrown him down was standing up, yelling something in German. Then, he grabbed Liam by the collar of his jacket, and shook him until his brains rattled, still screaming. Liam was too confused by everything that was going on to pay attention to what he was yelling about, so he just stared blankly at the guard, which seemed to make him even madder.
He let go of Liam's jacket, and as Liam tried to regain his balance, the soldier punched him full-force in the solar plexus. The air whooshed out of his lungs as he was thrown towards the back of the truck, and he hadn't even fallen when he registered in some corner of his mind that a rifle butt was whistling towards his chest.
The next thing Liam knew, he was flying through the air, his ears ringing. An explosion had happened just in front of the truck at the same moment that the rifle had connected with his chest, throwing him bodily out the open back of the transport truck. He hit the gravel road on his right shoulder, which broke on impact, and slid at least ten metres. As he slowed to a stop, another flash lit the sky and he could see the guards in the truck struggling to their feet. They were trying to get the speeding driver to stop; as it was, the truck was already about 50 metres from him. Liam let the rest of his natural momentum roll him over onto his left side, which was relatively uninjured, his head curled in on his chest and his back to the receding truck.
As he lay there in the road, feeling mauled and struggling to breathe, he heard an immense explosion from behind him, followed by several choked-off screams. Sharp pains, like hundreds of tiny beebees, spread across his back and legs, followed by a concussive, fiery shockwave and another explosion, louder than the first. Then, everything went silent. Liam lay there in shock, at a loss as to what had just happened.
He may have blacked out, he wasn't sure. When he opened his eyes again, his curiosity finally got the better of him and he decided to see what had happened to make everything go strangely quiet. Though it was easier said than done, he pushed himself to a sitting position with his left arm, every injury screaming in pain, and turned ever so slowly to look back down the road to where the truck was.
Or had been. The remains of the transport vehicle were blazing merrily in the middle of the road. Liam put two and two together through the ache in his head and realized that a bomb must have hit the truck dead on just as he'd turned away, explaining the first explosion. And the screams, he realized with a shudder. The second explosion, judging by the state of the remains, had probably happened when the fire from the first explosion found the truck's gas tank.
Liam simply stared at what remained of the truck, unsure of what to think or do. As he was coming to terms with his miraculous escape, a sudden realization hit him. Everything was silent. He had dimly noticed this before, but now it was obvious. Everything was TOO silent. There was no crackling from the fire in the road, no explosions to accompany the flashing lights of bombs being dropped in the forest, and no normal night-time sounds either.
His first thought was that he should panic, but he was too exhausted and in too much pain to exert any energy to panic, so the rational part of his brain took over instead. He was deaf, that much was obvious, and it was probably caused by his close proximity to the multiple explosions. That meant there was a possibility that it was only temporary. Since it wasn't too terribly debilitating at the present time, and since there wasn't much he could do about it, he decided not to let it worry him overmuch for now. There were more pressing matters to attend to, ones that he could do something about.
As his mind finally cleared itself of the residual cobwebs caused by getting thrown full-force from a moving vehicle, he started to shiver uncontrollably, sending waves of pain through his chest and shoulder. Must be that wonderful shock reflex kicking in, he pondered as his teeth started chattering. Not to mention it was damn cold out here. He had to start moving, and soon, but he wasn't sure how possible that would be in his current condition. So much for his old injuries healing - and he had gained several new and interesting ones as well. He knew that he had to find someplace to stay, preferably with a roaring fire and medical attention. For a moment, he almost forgot that he was in the middle of Nazi Germany; then he decided that it didn't really matter. He had been a prisoner, so it wasn't as if anything would change if he were captured again. It was certainly better than freezing to death out here in the middle of the road.
Inch by excruciating inch, Liam dragged his bruised, broken, shrapnel-ridden body off the roadway and made it to his knees. His right shoulder was grinding bone against bone, so he ripped one of the lapels off his jacket just enough to wrap his arm against his body, then he wound the handcuff chain around it to keep it in place. He hoped that this improvised sling would keep his arm from moving as he walked. Or limped was more like it as he looked down at his right leg. How he was supposed to get anywhere with a broken ankle in his condition was beyond him, but he really had no choice but to try.
He crawled off the roadway into a shallow ditch bordering the forest and slumped down into the bushes to consider his alternatives. Where was he supposed to go? He was in the middle of nowhere in some German forest, a familiar scene, and he had no idea where to find civilization from here. Then, all of a sudden it came to him. He had seen lights, about ten minutes or so up the road as they were driving! He didn't know what the lights were for, and they had looked a bit like searchlights, but it was a destination, which he needed.
He searched around in the bushes and found a tree branch to serve as a crutch, which he stuck under his left arm. It wasn't terribly effective, seeing as his right leg was the one that was broken, but it would have to do. As he pulled himself to his feet, the culmination of shock and adrenaline began to dull the pain in his numerous injuries, making the going slightly easier. Survival instinct, his brain told him, and for that he was profoundly grateful. He stumbled back to the edge of the road and started limping back down the way he had come, leaving the burning wreck of the transport truck behind him.