The next day, John was tasked with the job of watching Hogan and his 'stooges', as Leslie so elegantly put it, while the aforementioned sergeant and Sherlock planned the escape. He'd thought about protesting but Leslie had given him no time to. So he settled into his job, grousing as he side-eyed the colonel.
Hogan was watching a game of basketball between Newkirk, LeBeau, and the man Leslie called Carter. None of them were any good at it and Hogan knew it, judging by the smile on his face. It was entertained yet fond, almost parental, nothing like what John woulld expect from the pro-Nazi.
LeBeau had just traveled halfway down the court and Hogan looked torn between humor and horror, when a man from Barracks 2 came over. John squinted. Sgt. Kinchloe, the XO.
Kinchloe leaned towards Hogan and whispered in his ear. Gone was the amused parent. Nothing but the officer was visible now. He barked a single word-it looked like 'barracks'-and the basketball game came to an abrupt end. Hogan and his men rushed into the barracks. Carter closed the door almost all the way but left a slight gap. He stood just inside, watching through the gap.
They'd done everything with the ease of frequent practice. As the colonel and his top men left, other prisoners shifted to fill the gaps, a few even picking up the basketball game. It barely looked like anything had changed.
John nodded appreciatively, even as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. This camp made no sense. The prisoners had a tunnel - according to Sherlock - and yet no one had ever escaped. Leslie said Hogan sold out those who attempted escapes and he certainly was up to something, but their whole process seemed very elaborate for just ratting out escape attempts.
As he kept watching, Sherlock came over and joined him.
"We're leaving tonight," he muttered quietly. "Leslie says there's a loose point in the fence. I looked and he's right. The spotlight and guard rotations are simple, with large gaps. Once we get out, Leslie will head for Switzerland and we'll head for where Doctor Smith left his ship."
"If the Nazis haven't noticed the random blue box in the woods."
After lights out and the other occupants of Barracks 4 started breathing heavily, the three of them snuck out. Avoiding the few guards, they quietly sprinted to the fence, then army-crawled under and to the woods.
As silently as they could, they ran through the trees, wincing at every crunch and snap. But everything went smoothly for several minutes. No alarms could be heard.
Panting, Leslie whispered for a halt. "We've put some distance between us and Stalag 13. I think we can walk now."
"Oh, thank you," John wheezed, trying desperately to calm his breathing.
Sherlock frowned. "We should keep walk-"
"HALT!"
Men in black uniforms, wielding flashlights and guns, emerged in front of them. Around their arms, red bands with swastikas mocked the three escaped prisoners. A short man with a mustache swaggered to them.
"What have we here? Three Allied fliers. Were you shot down or-?"
In the distance, a siren blared. The man smiled. "Or have you escaped from Stalag 13?"
At a head jerk, two of the men advanced on the three, waving guns at them. As they neared, almost close enough to touch, sounds of machine guns and explosions smashed through the air. The Nazis turned to the sounds and the three sprinted of, unknowingly in the direction of Stalag 13.
Sherlock ran and ran, this time not heeding how much noise he made. He crashed through, tripping but still running. Gunfire sounded behind him but he wasn't bothered. All he could think about - all his brain cared about - was running.
The guns seemed to be getting closer, when someone tackled him and he fell to the ground hard, with whoever had tackled him in the first place pressing him into the ground. Infuriated shouts in German came and went past, and still, Sherlock was pressed to the ground. A minute went by, then with a hiss of something, the person rolled off of him, panting quietly.
Sherlock started to stand but the stranger jumped up, then dragged him to his feet and off into the woods.
He let himself be led, while trying to find out as much as he could about his rescuer. It was too dark to see his face, but he was clearly a man from the build.
As he was dragged along, Sherlock noticed something off about the other's gait. He seemed to be dragging his right leg slightly.
Breathing raggedly, the strange stopped. After a moment, he whistled. Dogs started barking and Sherlock whirled on the other, who breathed, "Stay put and when the guards come, put your hands up."
With that, he melted into the woods, without a sound, just as the dogs ran up. ONe spared a glance at the direction the man had gone, but then ducked his head, almost penitently, before turning on Sherlock and barking at him like the rest.
Men in blue Luftwaffe uniforms and hats ran up and pointed their guns at him. Schultz panted in behind them, clearly out of breath.
"That was very foolish of you, Holmes. Watson and Leslie have already been recaptured."
Sherlock sighed as the guards hustled him along, back to Stalag 13.
