Chapter Nine: The First Attempt

June 25, 1940

Louis woke up, feeling rather refreshed. As usual, he woke up before they were supposed to. He woke up looking at the morning sky, seeing a few stars that had yet to be swept away by the rays of the sun. Sitting up, he looked directly east. The sun was just peeking over the sky. He brushed some grass off his uniform and picked up his beret. Dusting it off as well, he placed it on his head. He got up, careful not to wake up any of his companions. He stepped over Stephen, and headed towards the ditch, to relieve himself. The guards did not bother with him.

As he returned back to where he had been sleeping, a few other early birds were rising. One Frenchman saw him, and waved him over. He looked over at the guards, but they did not say anything. So, he walked over to his fellow countryman. He knelt down beside him.

The other man shook Louis's hand and introduced himself. "I am Sergeant Adrien LaGrande.

"Corporal Louis LeBeau," introduced Louis.

"Oui, I know," said LaGrande. "You are the Englishman's friend."

Louis smiled. "Oui."

"But that is not what I called you over here for," explained LaGrande. "I suppose that since you are here, you chose not to escape last night."

Louis looked back at him with incomprehension. "What? What are you talking about? There was an escape last night?"

"Oui," said LaGrande happily. "I almost went, but there were guards too close to me. It was a lot of men from over there." He pointed to the other side of where the prisoners lay. "Mostly French."

Louis smiled. "That is good. How many?"

"I think fifteen," replied LaGrande.

"Fifteen," whispered Louis, amazed. "How did the guards not notice?"

"They went out in pairs and ones, I heard," said LaGrande. "Other prisoners distracted the guards."

Louis frowned. "They did not want to go, though?"

"Non," he said. "A few of them did go when the guards were looking the other way. One of them was Captain Lawrence."

Louis scowled at the name. "Well good riddance."

"Oui," said LaGrande. "But he distracted the guards well. Maybe he deserved to go."

"Maybe," said Louis. "But as long as he is gone. But now, I will worry about Haussler. He won't be happy."

"Oui," agreed LaGrande. "But we have dealt a blow to the Nazis. Besides, he cannot kill us. We are protected by the Geneva Convention."

"He has killed many already," said Louis. "All of those who fell behind. If we were really protected by the Geneva Convention, many of them would still be here."

LaGrande nodded. "True, but I will take whatever punishment to have those men free."

"Oui," said Louis. "As long as we do not get killed." He shook LaGrande's hand. "Au revoir."

"Au revoir," said LaGrande.

Louis turned and casually walked back to where the others were. Most of the men were waking up by now. When he got back to where he had been sleepin he was not surprised to find Peter still very asleep with the others wide awake. They were talking in whispers to one another. Louis nodded to them when he sat down. He turned to Peter and shook him awake.

"What are you doing," asked Luke.

"I need to tell you all something," explained Louis.

Peter was lying on his side, and rolled over to look at Louis with bleary eyes.

"Time to go," he asked, stifling a yawn.

"Non," said Louis. "But I have to tell you something. Get up."

Peter looked annoyed, but rubbed his eyes and sat up. He scooted over to sit by Luke. Louis sat on the other side of him. Everyone looked at him expectantly.

"There was an escape last night," he said simply.

They all exploded, but quietly. He shushed them up and then quickly explained what he knew to them. They listened intently. And with how others were talking around them, the word of the escape had spread. Now they all had to wait until Haussler found out, which everyone was dreading.

"Blimey," said Peter after Louis finished. "'E'll blow 'is spigot. An' we'll get 'it wif it."

"Yea," said Stephen. "I mean, he cannae go recapture them. We're supposed tae keep movin'."

"You think he'll do something bad to us," asked Luke worriedly.

"Oui," said Marcel. "But I do not think 'e will kill us."

"I sure 'ope not, mate," said Peter. "Wif the way things 'ave been goin' lately, I was finkin' that we might all make it to the camp."

"Oui," said Louis. "But this will set us back." He looked around, noticing that the prisoners were either sitting silently with worried looks on their faces, or talking continuously and nervously. Everyone knew something was going to happen to them.

Then, the guards were walking among them, giving them their water. They knew it was almost time to go. They all drank their share quickly and got up. After their water, it was understood that they were to go to the road and line up. Guards were already there, waiting for them. They all lined up obediently. When everyone was lined up, the guards began to count. Haussler walked up to the front, waiting with his horse to get started.

The prisoners watched as the lead guard finished his counting. As he got closer to the last man, he began to pale, realizing that there were not enough men to reach the right number.

"Sergeant," called Haussler. "Was is los? Count the men and report."

"Excuse me, Herr Hauptmann," said the Sergeant. "But some of the prisoners were not in line when I began. Let me recount."

Haussler nodded, not suspicious of anything at the moment. But he carefully watched as his Sergeant counted the prisoners. He also noticed how the prisoners did not try to mess the Sergeant up; the prisoners actually seemed tense and nervous about something. Haussler suddenly realized what this must mean: an escape. But he kept his cool. He did not want to over react, because he needed to keep his own men in check, and he wanted to remain thoroughly stoic around the prisoners. Of course, he did not realize just how many prisoners had actually gone missing.

The Sergeant got to the end of the line and went even paler. No, he had not made a mistake. There were indeed several prisoners missing. He looked at the last man who gave him an apologetic look. The Sergeant turned halfway towards his commanding officer, coming eye to eye with some of his fellow guards. They were all throwing him sympathetic looks because he had to tell Haussler how many prisoners were missing. The Sergeant sighed and straightened up. He had to do it. He stoically walked to Haussler, came to attention, and saluted.

"Out with it," said Haussler.

The Sergeant felt somewhat relieved. The officer knew something was up.

"Herr Hauptmann," said the sergeant. "There are seventeen prisoners missing!"

Haussler's eyes went wide. "Seventeen?"

The men whispered to one another, trying to figure out what number had been said. When Marcel, who knew German, finally spoke up, revealing the number to be seventeen, the prisoners passed the word around to each other.

"Oh Laird," said Stephen. "Look at him. He wasnae expectin' that many tae be gone."

"We're in for it, mates," said Peter. No one disputed that.

The whispers died down, and all eyes were on Haussler. He quickly regained his composure.

"Danke Sergeant," he said.

The Sergeant saluted and quickly stepped aside. Haussler looked at the two lines. Most of the prisoners had their heads down or were looking away. They did not want to meet his gaze. He started walking between them, looking at them all carefully. He stopped about halfway.

"They were Frenchmen," he stated in English. Looking at the prisoners, he raised his voice. "Am I right?!"

A terrible silence followed. He looked around at all of them again. Suddenly, a brave you Englishman stepped forward and with a cheeky salute said: "Actually, sah, there were two British officers who went as well."

Everyone looked from Haussler to the Englishman with uncertainty. But Haussler just glared at him. "Get back in line," he growled.

The Englishman saluted again, and stepped back quickly.

"Well, I wonder if they would return," said Haussler, loud enough for all to hear. "You see, being in Germany presents a problem to them. Maybe they will realize that and return. (1) Then again, maybe not. Well, if they do not return, then some of you will not go on after today. If the seventeen do not return by the time we stop this evening, then seventeen of you will be shot in their place."

There were a few audible gasps at this, but most were too shocked to make a sound. Most kept their mouths shut simply because they had no desire to draw attention to themselves. It would be mostly a random pick anyway. Haussler began pointing to prisoners, eyes just scanning the crowd and falling on an unfortunate one for no particular reason except that he decided to stop there. The Sergeant wrote down the name and rank of each man that was picked, so that he could not escape the execution later. Everyone prayed that it would not be them. The odds were for them, because seventeen out two hundred and seventy-two made it a slim chance that they should be it. But every time a prisoner was picked, the color left his face. They were certain it was a death sentence.

Peter, Louis, and their small posse were sure they were out of harm's way, because they were close to the end. They did not think Haussler would make it that far. But it wasn't so. Haussler was looking for a few familiar faces. He spotted Peter and went right to him.

"Ah, our good Samaritan," he said.

Peter snorted at the irony, and glared at Haussler.

"I would be quiet if I were you," warned Haussler. "But I should not worry, by tomorrow, you will be as dead as a doornail, and I will not have to hear your voice ever again."

"If I find a way to come an' 'aunt you, I will," said Peter. "An' don't tell me you don't believe in that stuff, because ole Herr Hitler is a superstitious bloke."

Haussler glared. "Then I will cut out your tongue before I kill you."

Peter just blinked. He could feel his unemotional mask slipping, but he wouldn't dare before Haussler.

"Well," said Haussler casually. "You are number sixteen. That means I need one more lucky fellow." He scanned the men around Peter. "How about one of your little friends here?"

Peter stepped in front of Luke, who was right beside him. "You leave them alone."

Haussler pushed Peter aside, and looked at Luke. "I do remember you. You were the terrified little swine who would not utter a word when that officer did." He looked around again. "Wait a minute, that officer is gone. Ahhh, so he escaped as well. Well, no matter. But anyway, I think you will do well for number seventeen." He pointed to Luke.

"Me," asked Luke weakly.

"Ja, you," said Haussler. "Are you blind and deaf? I pointed to you and said you."

Luke stared at him in disbelief, but Haussler did not say another word. Instead, he quickly went to the front of the line, giving the order to move out. He climbed up onto his horse and rode swiftly up the road.

The prisoners did not move at first. It took some prodding of the guards to get them moving. They were all in some sort of silent daze, whether it be a daze of sorrow or a daze of gratefulness. There were seventeen that were in a great deal of sorrow. Peter remained still until Stephen pushed him from behind. The Scotsman threw an arm around his shoulders and guided his footsteps. Luke kept pace directly behind them, with his head down. Marcel put a comforting hand on his shoulder, letting the younger man know that he was there.

Behind them, Louis's brow was furrowed in worry. He was about to lose two of his friends. He couldn't let it happen. There had to be something he could do. Maybe he could help them escape. But then only more would die. How could they all live? Then, it struck him: if all the seventeen escapees came back, then the seventeen walking-dead could live. This would mean a great deal of sacrifice for the seventeen escapees. But maybe if he could get to them somehow, and persuade them, he could get them back. He looked around; now was not the time. The guards were extremely alert. He would have to wait for the right moment before he could dart away. He would patiently wait for it. While his friends consoled one another, he drifted back to the end of the line. They never noticed that he was not behind them anymore.

***** ***** *****

About half an hour later, they came to a large town that could not be avoided. Haussler had no desire whatsoever to bring his charges through, but he had no choice. They came to a halt about half a mile outside of the town. Haussler sent four of his men into the town to contact the local police so that they could keep the prisoners away from the townspeople more easily.

The prisoners were nervous. They had no idea of what to expect from the German civilians. The only German civilians they had ever seen had been from a distance because Haussler had been determined to keep them away. The prisoners had heard their own bit of propaganda about the civilians but no one knew how much of it was really true. But they could tell the guards were rather testy. This gave the prisoners the message that this could be a hostile town for them.

Right before they moved on, word came from the back that a few of the escapees had returned. No one told the guards, who were preoccupied with keeping the prisoners in line before moving into the town. When Louis heard of this, he dropped behind to talk to the returned escapees.

Finally, Haussler's four guards returned and they continued their march towards the town.

Peter found himself feeling horribly depressed as they entered the town. The atmosphere did not help any either. Despite the help of the local police, the streets were crowded with the townspeople who wanted to see the prisoners and give them hell. The citizens jeered at them, but the young people were the worst. Through the guards and police they pushed at the prisoners and called them horrible names, taunting them all the time for being weak and inferior. The prisoners knew that the civilians were trying to antagonize them into retaliating, but the prisoners were already in enough trouble and had no desire to get into anymore. They still wished they could get back at the civilians, though.

When they came into a particularly skinny street, they found themselves squeezing through the crowds, with guards nearly on top of them. It was chaos. Above, Nazi flags were being waved from the windows. Some Hitler Youth boys were burning a French flag. When Peter saw it, he tried to look for Louis, but he could barely turn his head to look behind him. But the prisoners were holding on to one another anyways, so as not get pulled away. Peter had a fistful of Luke's battledress jacket, and Luke was holding onto Stephen. Peter had pushed Luke in front of him so as to be able to see him. He did not want to lose the young man in here. Peter could feel Marcel's hand on his shoulder, tightly holding on. But Peter could not see behind Marcel to see where Louis was. He only assumed he was holding onto Marcel. Marcel felt someone holding onto him, and never thought to look back to see who it was. He assumed it was Louis as well. But it was not; it was some other young soldier trying not to get separated from the line.

Suddenly, some boys began to push real hard against the police. The local police were not doing much to stop the civilians; the guards were making best efforts they could, but were awfully outnumbered. The boys continued to push until they came into direct contact with the prisoners. One of them tripped Stephen, and pushed him on the way down. Luke had nowhere to step and stumbled over Stephen and hit the pavement as well. The boys who had done the damage began to pile on top of them.

This attack was the incentive for the prisoners to forget all reserve of emotions. The guards and police could do nothing to stop what happened. Peter and Marcel jumped in on the boys who had attacked Stephen and Luke. They helped their friends up and the four got back to back, ready to protect and defend one another, but also not afraid of pulling an attack of their own. The civilians got testier and then started to attack all the prisoners head on. But the civilians were in for quite a surprise. They thought they were dealing with some weakened and scared prisoners. However, they were dealing with two hundred and seventy-two hardened and trained soldiers who had not forgotten their hand-to-hand combat training. Not to mention all the training they had gained just because they were men who had probably been in a few fist fights before the war during their own civilian days. So, a lot of the Hitler Youth kids who had thought they were rough and tough and superior to the Allied soldiers found themselves being straightened out by hard Allied fists. The prisoners were teaching those civilians that they were still soldiers of their countries; that they would not be diminished to animals just because they were being treated that way.

The Nazi soldiers regained control only about five minutes after the brawl began. Blowing whistles didn't do the trick, but when they started firing their automatics into the air, that caught everyone's attention. They still had to separate some groups of soldiers and boys, but it was quickly done. The guards were annoyed, and didn't mind who they were striking with their rifles. If they hit some civilian instead of the prisoners, they hardly batted an eye. They wanted to get on with their job; there was still a lot of ground to cover. Finally, when all of the prisoners were separated from the civilians, the guards told the police to get everyone inside. Eventually, it was only the prisoners and their guards left on the streets.

Haussler gave everyone some time to regain their composure. The prisoners and guards brushed themselves off and straightened themselves up. They were now all sporting some kind of bruise or cut indicating that they had taken part in the brawl. Haussler decided that he would not come down hard on them for fighting. Secretly, he had hoped that the prisoners would pounce back. Haussler was a military man, and one thing he hated terribly was when civilians got in the way, or thought they were better than soldiers; any soldiers. It did the civilians some good to get a good pounding. Of course, to make their pride hurt more; they were being pounded by captured Allied soldiers.

Peter bent down to pick up his wedge cap which had been torn from his head in the fray. He noticed with some annoyance that the pin of the English crown was hanging on by a thread. He carefully removed it and put the pin in his breast pocket. Feeling that he should not wear the wedge cap without the pin, he folded it and put it underneath his shoulder strap. As he resumed a spot in line with the other prisoners he scanned the street for Louis, but couldn't find him. He looked to Luke.

"'Ave you seen Louis," he asked.

"No," answered Luke. "I don't remember seeing him in the fight either."

Peter searched for him worriedly. Marcel and Stephen came up to them, also looking for Louis.

"Bloody 'ell, where could that Frog 'ave gotten to," asked Peter. Quickly, before they marched, he walked a ways up the line and then back, looking for Louis. But Louis was nowhere to be seen. As he walked back to where he formally was, another Frenchman grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Yea," asked Peter.

"I know where your French friend is," said the Frenchman.

"Where," asked Peter anxiously.

"'E left," answered the Frenchman.

"Wot," exclaimed Peter. "Wot do you mean 'e left?"

"Just that," replied the Frenchman. "'E escaped."

"I don't believe you," spat Peter angrily.

"I saw it," stated the Frenchman, just as angrily. "I saw him scoot out of the back of the line right before we entered the town."

Peter was struck silent with disbelief for a moment. "Well, why didn't you stop 'im? Doncha know this means someone else is goin' to get killed for this?"

The Frenchman shrugged. "I was not one of the seventeen. And 'e was a fellow countryman. I would not spoil 'is escape by pointing 'im out to le Boche."

Peter was refrained from saying anything else since the march was restarted. He went back to his pace in line, dumbfounded. The others noticed his look of betrayed astonishment.

"Did you find out where he is," asked Luke.

Peter nodded, but didn't speak.

"Well," asked Stephen. "Where is the little guy?"

""E escaped," said Peter softly. He glared at nothing in particular. "'E left us."

The others were just as shocked.

"But…but why," asked Luke. "I don't understand. I thought he was our friend."

"Non," said Marcel with conviction. "I will not believe it. Who told you this?"

"Another bloody Frog," answered Peter bitterly shooting Marcel a sharp look.

Stephen laid a hand on his shoulder, both of warning and comfort. "Now wait. Ye cannae be gettin' mad at every Frenchman now. Ye know wot they say: there's one in every crowd."

Peter sighed. He looked at Marcel more kindly, but there was no doubt that he was furious.

"Sorry, mate," said Peter. "I'm just 'avin' a 'ard time keepin' me emotions in check right now."

Marcel gave a weak smiled. "I understand. But if one of my countrymen tell you that, then it must be true."

"I don't understand," repeated Luke. He did not appear to be listening to the older men's conversation.

Peter looked at Luke, and his anger almost deflated completely. The youngest man of their group seemed lost and had a look on his face as if he had been punched. Well, that was one way to put it. They felt like they had all been stabbed in the back, but especially Peter and Luke. Peter felt like he had been dealt the lowest blow of betrayal. When he needed Louis the most, he was gone. What made it worse was that Louis had escaped when the very reason Peter and Luke were going to be executed was because prisoners were escaping. That crushed Peter more than he dared to let on. Looking at Luke, he decided he needed to be strong for the younger man.

"I don't really understand it either, mate," said Peter softly, throwing an arm over Luke's shoulders. He pulled him close. "I guess 'e just did one big snowjob over us." As he said it, he felt a deep sadness in his heart. What was coming over him? It was just one more person who had left him stranded…one more person who had lied about ever caring for him.

Stephen and Marcel looked at one another. They too felt terrible, because it had never crossed their minds that Louis would escape, especially at a time like this. They saw that their younger friends were finding it hard to cope with. The march resumed, and Peter and Luke looked even more lost…in their hearts and mind. Stephen pulled Peter aside, and they dropped back a bit from Marcel and Luke. Peter looked at Stephen.

"Do you understand," he asked Stephen.

Stephen shook his head. "No. I cannae understand people like that. I just know tae look oot for 'em. But then, like ye said, we get the wool pulled over our eyes, an' we miss 'em. I was just as fooled as ye."

"But," Peter struggled to find the right words; he was not one to open up. "But 'e seemed to care so much about us. 'E was always takin' care o' us an' watchin' over us. I mean, 'e saved me life when I first met 'im. I always thought 'e was a good guy."

"Me tae," said Stephen. "But we were fooled. A good friend wouldnae desert 'is mateys right before they were tae be shot."

Peter froze and his eyes went wide. "Cor Blimey!"

Stephen pushed him on, so that they wouldn't attract a guard's attention. "Sorry," he whispered, feeling stupid. "I shouldnae have said that. That was very premature o' me."

Peter shook his head. "No. It's just, well, things 'aven't been too bad lately. I thought I might make it frough all o' this. Make it to the camp, an' be able to settle in for the duration." He sighed. "It's rather unexpected, it is."

"Ye know," said Stephen. "Now, this probably won't comfort ye a bit, but me da use tae say that when God pulls yer number up tae join him, it's goin' tae happen. Of course, me da was talkin' aboot accidents and such…not bein' shot. However, maybe not everythin' is unexpected. God knows wot he's doin'."

"Well," said Peter. "I was never one to follow God around like the lost sheep I'm supposed to be. But if it means not bein' executed at dusk, then I'll start prayin'."

Stephen chuckled softly, but it trailed off. He looked up at Peter. There were tears brimming on his eyes.

"I feel all alone," Peter whispered, as he swallowed a sob.

Stephen looked heavenward. "I will never leave you or forsaken you." (2)

"I 'ope not," replied Peter, having no idea what Stephen was referring to. But they sounded like good words. He sort of leaned on Stephen. The older man put an arm around Peter's shoulder and let him lean for as long as he needed to.

***** ***** *****

They came to another town in the late afternoon. Haussler had the townspeople kept inside. The prisoners and guards were anxious to get through quickly. They were all becoming testier with each hour that passed, knowing they were only getting closer to the execution. Louis's absence had never been detected by the guards, and only a few prisoners actually knew he had escaped. No one, however, wanted to duplicate his actions.

The atmosphere of the town was dynamically different. The civilians watched from their windows, but there was almost no taunting. There were a lot of curious eyes that just peered at the prisoners. The prisoners could not help but look back. One little boy, about six, waved at them as they passed the shop door he stood in. His mother came and pulled him back, looking almost scared at the prisoners. When they passed the church, the priest was standing out on the steps. As they passed he continuously made the sign of the cross over them. The prisoners were rather shocked. The behavior of the civilians was nothing like they had expected. It was as if the civilians pitied them outright.

As they left the town, Marcel spotted smoke rising from the woods to the east of the town. He pointed it out.

"Look, there must be a fire," he said.

The smoke was dark.

"Someone should let the townspeople know," said Luke. "It might spread."

A few of the prisoners murmured in agreement. Marcel picked up the courage to tell one of the guards. But the guard only looked at the smoke with knowledgeable eyes, and pushed Marcel back into line.

"Do not talk of it," said the guard sternly. "It does not concern you."

They walked in silence for a moment before Luke spoke up. "It smells odd."

"Yea," said Peter. "Maybe they're burnin' some garbage or somethin'."

The prisoners wondered about it for only a short while, and never mentioned it again. If the guard said that it did not concern them, then there was no need to bother.

The day went continued on. Sometime after seven, as they turned a bend in the road, they could see a barn about a mile up ahead. Haussler paused for a moment. He called his Sergeant over, and spoke with him. Marcel tried to listen in, but what he heard made his stomach twist into knots.

"Wot," asked Stephen.

"That is where we are stopping," said Marcel, pointing to the barn.

Word got out, and the prisoners began to move along at a snail's pace. The seventeen began to drop to the back, fear evident in their steps, if not in their faces. Luke wiped his eyes a few times, determined to remain with a brave face. Others did not accomplish that. A few men were sobbing outright.

Peter wanted to join them, but was trying to be strong for Luke. Peter could not get Louis out of his mind, even though he had tried to forget about it all day. He was trying to forget about it because that was not what he wanted to be thinking about when he was lined up in front of a firing squad. He tried to thinking of his sister, and his buddies back home. He tried to think of the lighter days when the war was not even present. He tried to think of his mother, and how she had always been so dignified until the end. But no matter what he thought about, he could not stop thinking that he had been betrayed. He could have cried. He could have fallen to his knees and sobbed until he fell asleep, but he would not allow himself to do it. He was Corporal Peter Newkirk, an English soldier. He had been taught better; by the RAF and his mother.

After what seemed an eternity, they came to a halt before the barn. No prisoner moved. Haussler demounted from his steed, and called the Sergeant to him. Then, the pack mule with the rations was brought up and the prisoners were given their bread and water, standing there in the road. Peter looked at his watch. They should have kept going for another hour. But he wasn't surprised. Haussler wanted them gone. A lot of the prisoners gave up half of their bread and sent it to the back where the seventeen had gathered.

Then, the names of the seventeen men were being called out. The first man did not move until the guards came and got him. But he was not shot then. They were being lined up on the wall. Last were Peter and Luke.

"Take care o' yourself, mates," said Peter, shaking their hands. "Go back to your little girl, Mac."

"I will," said Stephen.

Luke hugged them both, and thanked them. For what, no one asked.

They left the two men reluctantly. Haussler watched them walk up with an evil smirk. Peter protectively stood in front of Luke and shot Haussler a glare; if looks could have killed, Haussler would have died instantly. Luke finally could not hold it in any longer. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. Peter now found himself without tears to shed even if he had wanted to. Suddenly, he was overcome with a mental peace. But that did not keep his heart from beating quickly as he put his back to the wall. Looking beside him, he gave Luke a hearty wink.

"We did well, mate," he said. "We'll see each other on the other side."

Luke just nodded, and Peter wished he could have been able to say more, to comfort the younger man. But he could not find anything else to say. He looked in front of him when he saw Haussler arranging the firing squad. They weren't that far away, only about twenty yards. But his head was filled with images of his sister and mother, and friends from home. He could see London, and the pubs he was always in and out of. But then, he saw Louis, smiling at him that day they had made their truce.

Why? Why did you leave me?

Haussler was giving the order to aim…Peter swallowed and closed his eyes. Beside him, Luke straightened up.

"WAIT! DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT! STOP! HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

Peter's eyes popped open and he looked down the road and into the field they had passed. His jaw dropped. There was Captain Lawrence, sprinting down the road, hollering for all he was worth, with his hands up and waving in the air. Behind him, more men were running their way. But Peter only saw one: Louis LeBeau, desperately trying to keep up with Lawrence with his little legs. Peter could have laughed if he wasn't so shocked. But he wasn't the only one. Haussler did not even look mad; just surprised. The prisoners and guards were frozen in place; they could only watch as the escapees came running up to Haussler.

Lawrence came to a skidding halt before Haussler and then gave him a perfect and flamboyant British salute.

"Sir," he said, breathing heavily. "We're all back. You don't have to shoot these men. Punish us how you will, but we're all back. I promise."

Haussler still appeared shocked. But he waved over the Sergeant.

"Line them up and count them," ordered Haussler.

The Sergeant did as he was told. The seventeen that were to be executed remained on the wall on Haussler's orders. They watched with bated breath to see what the result of the Sergeant's counting. He actually had the nerve to count again, and Peter thought he would run over and strangle the man if he went any slower. The other prisoners were waiting just as anxiously. Peter saw Louis watching the Sergeant. Peter still didn't know what to think about the little Frenchman; he was still too surprised about still being alive to think clearly. Finally, the Sergeant was finished. He walked up to Haussler and saluted.

"Herr Hauptmann," he said. "All prisoners are present."

They all let out relieved breaths, but no one said a word. They watched Haussler.

Haussler looked at the seventeen lined up on the wall. He swallowed. "You are no longer sentenced to death by firing squad. Sergeant, have the prisoners put out on the field. The guards will be doubled. And have the seventeen escapees brought to me inside the barn immediately." He turned and strode into the barn with his horse behind him.

There was a roar of a cheer from the prisoners. Those on the wall ran back to the line and were met with congratulations. Peter could not think of anything to be more congratulated for. He and Luke quickly found Marcel and Stephen. They just missed Louis, who was being pulled out of line with the returned escapees. In truth, in his moment of elation, Peter had forgotten about Louis. But when they saw the escapees being brought into the barn, Peter watched with mixed emotions.

He was trying to figure out what had happened; what it had all meant. He was glad Louis was back, but had no idea why he was back. He was also confused as to why Lawrence was back as well. Not to mention that the Squadron Leader had been the one running down the road, screaming for Haussler to not execute them. When the returned escapees were in the barn, the remaining guards had the prisoners go out onto the field. They were packed in closer together and the guards were closer together as well, trying to leave no accessible gaps in their perimeter. The prisoners lounged around, no one wanting to go to sleep until the escapees came back out. They wanted to hear everything that had happened.

"I still can hardly believe it," said Luke. "This is a miracle if I've ever seen one."

Peter just nodded, for once unable to say something. Marcel clapped him on the back with a smile.

"What is wrong with you," he asked. "Come on, smile! You are alive!"

Peter smiled weakly. "Yea, but I just wish I knew why." He fell back against the hay.

"Why yer alive," asked Stephen.

"I guess," said Peter. "I mean, why did they come back?"

"Maybe they didn't want us to die," said Luke.

"But 'ow did they even know about that," asked Peter quickly. But then he sat up, realization dawning on his face. "Unless…Louis…'e—"

"Look," cried someone.

They all looked over to barn and saw the returned escapees being released into the field. Each of them was beat up a bit, with bruised faces. Peter stood up, looking straight at Louis. The little Frenchman had two puffy eyes and a busted lip. He looked timidly at Peter.

"Before you say anything, Pierre," he began.

But Peter cut him off when he quickly walked over and hugged him tightly. At first, Louis tensed, but then he let himself sink into Peter's embrace. He returned the hug, and buried his face in Peter's filthy battledress jacket. He sniffed and looked up.

"I am sorry," he began, but Peter cut him off with a wave of his hand. He clasped Louis's shoulder affectionately.

"I'll admit, I couldn't believe that you'd escaped," said Peter. "I thought you'd left us because you could. I thought…I felt like I'd been betrayed…again." Louis looked and felt horrible. "But, Louie, now that I know what you did an' why, I've got to say, I'd never imagined that I'd ever 'ave a friend like you." He smiled. Louis smiled too, and Peter put an arm around his shoulders and guided him over to where they were sitting. "Now, come get some rest. You don't 'ave to tell us anythin' until mornin' if you want. I know you must be tired."

They sat down, and Louis looked at all of them. They had heard what Peter said, and realized as well what Louis had done.

"Yer a good man, matay," said Stephen.

"Oui," agreed Marcel. "Few would dare what you did. You 'ave seventeen men who are now in your debt."

"Yea," said Luke. "Anything you need, Louis, you just let me know. It's the least I could do for a chap who saves my life."

Louis looked at Peter, who just nodded with a reassuring smile.

"Merci beaucoup," he said. "But right now, I think I will just go to sleep."

Peter patted the small haystack they were sitting by. "Well, there's nothin' like nice, warm, scratchy 'ay when you need it."

They chuckled and Louis fell back against it. In a matter of minutes he was sound asleep. Peter looked around and saw Lawrence sitting aside by himself, wiping some blood from his nose with his hat. Peter waved him over. Lawrence reluctantly came.

"Mind tellin' us wot 'appened," asked Peter in a whisper.

Lawrence sat down. "Well, we escaped in the night. There were only three English in the group. We went on because we had been distracting the guards while the French escaped. We went on together, trying to cover as much ground during the night as possible. When morning came, we slowed the pace down a bit, so as to be more careful about where we were going. Then, a few chaps decided that they wanted to go back, because they knew our chances were so slim. We let them go, and then we moved on. We were going at a snail's pace, though. Everyone was being extra careful. We split into smaller groups too. Then, around 1130 or something, your French friend comes out of nowhere, blabbering on and on about how people were going to get shot because of us. Well, we all got together and listened to him tell about how Haussler had randomly chosen seventeen of you chaps to be shot because of us seventeen escaping. A lot of us, myself included I must admit, were more to just letting it all happen. We wanted to escape real badly. But that little chap would not stop going on about it! He was determined to at least make us feel guilty. Eventually, a bunch of us caved in, because we knew that our chances of making it just a few more miles were slim. A few others, though, were still determined to go on, but that was when he threatened to find a patrol and give us all away. Now, nobody wanted to be captured by someone other than Haussler, because we at least knew that all we would get from him was a beating. So, it became anonymous for us to all return. We went as fast as we could, dodged a few patrols, skirted around a bunch of towns, and managed to figure out which way you'd all gone. I guess we got here just in time."

"You could say that again," said Luke.

"Well, you've got a good friend there, Corporal," said Lawrence, looking at Louis. "I would hang onto him."

"Don't worry," said Peter. "We intend to." He held out his hand to Lawrence. "No 'ard feelin's then, sir?"

Lawrence shook Peter's hand. "Right, Corporal. No hard feelings." He got up. "I think I'll go off to bed then. It's been a long day."

They nodded and watched him go.

"I think I'll get some sleep, too," said Luke. "It has been a rather stressful day."

The others laughed at him, and he curled up in the hay as well.

"No point in stayin' up anyway," said Stephen. "Good night."

"Good night," said Peter and Marcel.

Marcel looked at Peter. "Are you okay?"

Peter nodded. "Yea. Go to sleep. I'm just thinkin'."

Marcel smiled. "Do not 'urt yourself."

Peter pushed him playfully. "Go to sleep you old Frog."

"Bon nuit," said Marcel. He lay down on the hay.

Within a few minutes, they were all asleep with Peter left sitting alone. But he was completely at peace. He had the best friends anyone could ask for around him in probably the toughest time of his life. He knew now, that if anymore turmoil should arise, he would not have to face it alone.

Before lying down to finally go to sleep, Peter pulled off his jacket and laid it over Louis. The little Frenchman curled into it some before resuming his restful sleep.

"Thanks, little mate," whispered Peter.

Then, he went to sleep as well.

(1) I know it would seem hard to believe that prisoners would return when making an escape, but I've read accounts where on these marches to and from camps, or train stations, prisoners would often dodge in and out of line, especially in a wooded area where it was harder for the guards to keep track of them. This was done to fool the guards mostly, because once they were deep enough in enemy territory, it became difficult for an unprepared prisoner to get anywhere without food, water, and clothing that would help them blend in. So, most often, a prisoner would leave to try and steal food or scavenge and then return before they stopped for the night. Most of the time, the guards never noticed they were gone.

(2) Hebrews 13:5