Chapter Twenty-Four: One Day Out

Louis was pulled from between the two logs where the dog had found him. It was with horror that Louis saw that the men who had found him were SS. He was certain he would be shot right then and there. But he became a curious person then. The SS were not looking for him. They were looking for some of their own prisoners. Louis saw that two had been recaptured. They were not in soldiers' uniforms, but were in filthy work clothes instead. They were thin, and looked scared. Both had been shot, but were alive. One had been shot in the arm, the other in the calf.

Louis was hauled in front of the ranking SS soldier. The man pulled off Louis's civilian hat and jacket, exposing his uniform. One of the soldiers tapped he French patch on his shoulder. Louis, though he could not really understand them, concluded that they must have concluded that he was an escaped POW. So, he was put in line with the other two prisoners, and they were marched away. They came upon the road, marched down that for about a quarter of a mile. They came across another prison camp. Louis assumed this was just another POW camp, and though nothing more of it. The guards opened the gate, and the prisoners were pushed through. Louis was separated from the other two prisoners. They were pushed off into the dark, and then Louis was brought over to some other buildings. He realized this must be the Kommandant's office, and sure enough, when they stepped inside, there was a SS officer waiting for them.

The two guards who were escorting Louis talked with their commanding officer for quite some time. Louis could not understand them, but found himself intrigued by a large map that was on the side wall. Louis suppressed a smile as he worked on memorizing everything he could. He found Bielski, and then went about noting where all the towns were along with railroads. There were other marks on the map as well, noting that something had to be there. Louis did not worry about trying to decipher the key. For now, knowing something was there was all he needed. It appeared that he had hit a jackpot.

When the conversation ended, Louis quickly looked back to the commanding officer. He did not like the looks of this man at all. The officer was looking at him with a somewhat pleased look. He sent one of the guards out, and turned his full attention onto Louis.

"I am Sturmbannführer Jöchmann," he said. His accent was very thick. He was struggling with his English. Louis kept a passive face. "I assume you are from Stalag XXXA."

Louis remained passive even at that. He would not let on that he could speak English. That way, maybe he would not have to talk with this officer at all.

It worked. The Jöchmann went back to German. "He must only speak French." He looked to his guard. "Find anyone who can speak French. If it is a prisoner, offer them more rations to help. Meanwhile, take the Frenchman to a cell. No water or food. Was he searched?"

"Yes," answered the guard. "We found some bread, a canteen, and wire-clippers on him. Also, he was wearing a jacket over his uniform, and was wearing a civilian cover."

"Very well, bring him to the cell then," answered Jöchmann

Louis was taken from the office, to another building, which turned out to be the cooler. He found that he could not relax. For one, the condition of the cell made him nauseated. It was tiny, reeked of blood, urine, and feces, it was freezing cold, and there was no light. Louis was sure that even in the daytime no light managed its way in there. It was pitch dark. Louis could not even see the hand in front of his face. He could imagine being somewhere else, but the smell prevented that.

Louis just wished that his stay here was very short.

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

Louis would have been very surprised to learn that someone was coming to the camp to and also wished his stay was very short. That someone was Major Duerr, looking very unhappy and very intimidating. Especially since the powerful looking Sergeant Berg was with him. Duerr had no trouble getting into the camp. The SS soldiers guarding it had no mind to mess with a Major from any branch of the military. However, what agitated Duerr the most was Sturmbannführer Jöchmann's attitude.

The Sturmbannführer was always very conceited and arrogant. He held no respect for anyone but perhaps himself and the Führer. Perhaps he really had no good meaning for respect anyway. But Major Duerr knew there was more to the military than bullying others around and making yourself feeling superior to already defeated men. So, when he stomped up to the Sturmbannführer'soffice, he made a point to be very disrespectful.

Jöchmann could not mask a look of surprise when Duerr burst into his office and slammed the door behind him. Still, Jöchmann quickly composed himself and began doing what he loved to do the most: frustrate other officers.

"You look a little upset, Major," he said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I would like my prisoner back," growled Duerr. "And he had better be in good condition or I will have the General involved in this. And we wouldn't want to have your pristine record tarnished, would we?"

Jöchmann just smiled. "Major, there is nothing you can do to get me in trouble. And, unless you have proper authorization, I cannot release the prisoner to you."

"Proper authorization," echoed Duerr impatiently. "I would think that I am proper authorization. He is my prisoner!"

"Really," asked Jöchmann. "Because my men captured him just a few hours ago. I believe that makes him a prisoner of the SS."

"You talk of authorization as if you have any," said Duerr. "You are only ordered to keep Polish prisoners at a work camp. This man is a French soldier of the French Army. He is under my jurisdiction."

Jöchmann was quiet for a moment. "Do you know what he was wearing when we found him?"

Duerr felt uneasy, but did not let it show. "I assume his uniform."

"Actually, no," said Jöchmann. "He was wearing a civilian jacket and hat. You know what I think? I think that maybe he was a spy."

"That's ridiculous," cried Duerr. "You are fabricating a story just so that you can keep this man. Well, let me tell you something. I let them wear civilian jackets when they work in the cold. They make them from Red Cross blankets. So, you have nothing there. And a spy? Really? They are POWs! They want out!"

"That is not the way I see it," replied Jöchmann coolly. "Major, I suggest you go find some authorization because you will not get this prisoner."

Duerr held Jöchmann's gaze for a long moment. The room was tense. Then, Duerr turned away, slamming the office door behind him. Out on the porch, Berg had stood waiting. He quickly followed his commanding officer back into the care. Once again, the Major rushed out of camp, just as the sun began to rise.

"Sir," he asked. "What are you going to do now?"

"Get authorization," said Duerr. "And also more men to look for that Englishman. Because if that man finds the Englishman, we will most definitely be one prisoner short."

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

The Englishman was now, as he watched the sun rise, realizing that he needed a place to hide and sleep. Originally, he had thought that he would sleep when night came. But he realized then that it would make more sense to travel at night. It would be easier at night to dodge any Germans he might come across.

Through the remainder of the afternoon, he had gone around several large farms that were like the Jakowitz farm. On all of them he had seen prisoners working. By the time he had reached the fifth farm, the prisoners were being lined up. It was 0300, when they normally began lining up to return to the camp. Peter had hoped that back at the Jakowitz farm, he was only just being missed.

After skirting around another two farms, the wilderness took over. The valley ended after only a few hundred yards, and suddenly it was all up hill. There was a large creek that he had to make his way across. That was a small adventure in itself. He was a city boy after all. This traversing through the countryside and forest was something he had never done before, and had no idea how to get around such things as a fast-paced creek with a lot of rocks. Finally, he was able to scout out where he could go from one large rock to the next. It was slippery, so he had to be careful. But he managed, and when he was firmly on the ground on the other side, he was so relieved he smiled. He did not even know how to swim.

What Peter had original thought was just hills that surrounded the valley of Bielski, turned out to be steep, small mountains. There was a lot of dead fall, and he had to be careful not to make a wrong step. There was more snow on the ground here, and sometimes he would put his foot down, and it went down into a little hole that had been created by erosion. The ground was harder, and there was more rock too. Once, his shin caught a sharp piece, and he swore loudly. But only snickering squirrels heard him.

He took it slow here, because he knew that if he got injured, he might never make it back. When night finally came, he was even more careful. He nearly lost it once when he stepped into a narrow and shallow crevice, where water had trickled down the mountain. But it was ice now. His boot had no traction, so he slipped, slamming his face against the hard ground. He continued to slide down, until he grabbed a little sapling. He jolted to a stop, and pulled himself out of the crevice and continued on.

This was the kind of going he took all night. He was sure that if it had been during the day, he would have reached the top much quicker. However, it was not until right before daybreak did he finally reach the crest. He sat down to rest, and pulled out a piece of bread. He, too, had saved up some bread for the excursion, and some water. He had refilled his canteen at the creek, so it was now filled with fresh, cool water. It was better than the stuff they got from camp which came from a poorly dug well.

The sun began to rise, and what a sight it was. On top of that little mountain, Peter could have been on the top of the world. There were two valleys on either side of him, both giving way to beautiful farmland. The sky, however, was more beautiful. There were some clouds on the horizon, and the sun turned them into a painted canvas of all colors. There was purples, red, oranges, yellows, blues, even some green mixed in as the crystals in the clouds were touched by the sunlight. For a moment, Peter could not see where the land began and the sky ended. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

But, as all things do, it came to an end when the sun fully rose over the horizon. Then, Peter was forced down the mountain some, where he found some rock to slide under. After clearing it of any foliage that may be hiding critters, he slipped under, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

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

Duerr returned to camp, just as roll call was being completed. The prisoners watched apprehensively as Duerr drove into camp. So far, they knew nothing of what was going on. Most of them had had a sleepless night, wondering what was going on. There had been a lot of activity through the night, with guards moving around constantly, and Duerr leaving the camp about an hour ago.

By now, the prisoners knew that Peter and Louis had not just taken off. They were on a mission. So, both men were now being seen as heroes by the others. Their safe return was being looked forward to. Luke still remained in the cooler, and his name was now revered too. Even though he had done nothing more than deny he knew anything, some men were already swirling tales around about how Luke had masterfully withstood Duerr's interrogation. Though, Duerr had not even seen Luke since he was put in the cooler.

Duerr let Berg take the car back to the motor pool. He then walked out in front of the prisoners to address them.

"There will be no work today," he announced. He had to pause while a little cheer rose from the prisoners. "However, you will be going to work tomorrow. Today, you will be confined to barracks the entire day. Meals will go as normal, but there will be no rec hall. And I warn you now: if you are caught outside the barracks at anytime, you will be put in the cooler for two weeks on half-rations. Also, all privileges for the next week are revoked. That is all. Captain Lawrence, report to my office immediately. Everyone else, in your barracks."

The prisoners silently and solemnly went back inside. Captain Lawrence went to Duerr's office. They waited there until the major returned with Commandant Géraud. He went behind his desk and then turned to address all of them. There were circles underneath his eyes, but he still stood resolute and with authority.

"The French Corporal was found early this morning," he told them emotionlessly. "No doubt, the Englishman will be found sometime today."

"Where is Corporal LeBeau," asked Géraud.

"Currently being held in a SS camp several miles from here," said Duerr. "He will remain there until I am able to get him out."

"SS," repeated Géraud, shocked. "Why is 'e being 'eld there?"

"They recaptured him," answered Duerr calmly. "He was not found far from their camp. He apparently had no idea where he was going."

Lawrence and Géraud looked at one another uneasily. Duerr watched them. "I tried to warn you," he muttered impatiently. "One: an escape here is foolish. There is no possible way for you to get home this deep in our territory. You would starve. Two: the Wehrmacht are not the ruling power around here. It is the SS. Therefore, there is a good chance that if they saw you, they would shoot you on the spot and ask questions later. Corporal LeBeau was very fortunate. Corporal Newkirk will not be so if the SS captures them. The SS officer in command already knows who he is. He will not hesitate to shoot him."

Lawrence swallowed nervously. "Sir, was his trail found?"

"No," answered Duerr. "It snowed too heavily. But do not worry, he will be found. Just pray it is my men, and not the SS."

"And what about Private Fairnth," asked Lawrence. "The man in the cooler?"

"He will remain in there for a week, for aiding a prisoner to escape," answered Duerr. "No other questions? Good, you are dismissed." He sat down and went into paperwork.

Lawrence and Géraud left. Right before the guards separated them, Géraud looked to Lawrence.

"Tell your men about this SS," he said. "They must all be warned now."

"Yes, sir," said Lawrence.

Back inside the office, Duerr slammed his pen down. Right then, the back door of his office opened. The Kommandant stepped in. Duerr stood up out of respect, but the Kommandant motioned for him to sit back down. The Kommandant looked even worse than Duerr. Staying up all night, coordinating the search for a missing prisoner was not good for his health. But he had lasted with determination to help his men; which was the reason.

"I have called the General," said the Kommandant. "He understands and will contact that rat Jöchmann. We should have our prisoner back by this evening."

Duerr breathed a sigh of relief. "These foolish prisoners. Why can they not just stay here for the duration? I understand their wish to be free, but there is a much greater chance that they will die while on the run than to ever see their home again."

But the Kommandant just smiled. "Karl, I have known you for a long time, and I have never heard you say something like that. You ought to know that a man will die for freedom."

"I do," replied Duerr. "I do. And I would look at is as a game if those SS pigs were not involved." He shook his head with disgust. "How did this military, and its honor, ever fall into such corruption?"

"You know the answer," said the Kommandant. "We just cannot speak of it. I suppose the answer to all of this is: will the glorious Third Reich last longer the more it takes over or will it diminish faster the more anger it induces?"

"That is not an answer," said Duerr, confused. "It is a question."

The Kommandant smiled. "I know. Just listen in for a phone call. The General will let you know when you can go retrieve the Frenchman. Meanwhile, concentrate most of our men in the north. I have a feeling the Englishman will be up there somewhere. It is the shortest route to the sea. I, for now, will be getting some rest."

"Yes, sir," said Duerr. He turned back to his work with a smile. He had much love for his commanding officer, but sometimes that old man just did not make sense.

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

Peter woke up with a start, and slammed his head against the low ceiling of the rock he was under. He swore loudly and rubbed his tender head with a groan. He blinked a few times, to get the sleep out of his eyes. Looking out, he could see that the sun was way up in the sky now. He looked at his watch; it was a little after noon.

He slid out from under the rock, and stood up. He stretched and cracked about every joint in his body. Lying under a rock on top of more rock was probably not the best thing for your back, he decided. He quickly relieved himself, and then decided to venture back to the top of the little mountain again, to have a look around. It only took him a few minutes, and when he got there, he knelt down. He had no idea what one could see from the bottom, but it was pretty wide open. He did not want to risk it.

It was all farm land in the other valley. There were more hills a good many miles away. He also saw the train tracks running perpendicular to him. He spotted another town about five miles away from the base of the mountain. It looked to be a bit larger than Bielski, but definitely nothing serious. And there was a lot of vat, untouched land around it and the farmlands. Someone could easily skirt around it at night.

While looking over the land, he decided he would remain here for the remainder of the day unless he was forced to move. Then, at night, he would go around the town, and make for the next ridge on the other side. It would be another long trek, but he was willing to give it a go to gather another day's worth of information. After that, he would probably be out of food. But only then would he turn himself back in.

He lay on the ridge for sometime more, enjoying being able to bask in the sun. The snow was melted here, since there were fewer trees to shade it and keep it cool. So, he lay out and just rested. The only time he was able to do this was back in the barracks. But here, the air was not stuffy and he was not crammed in with twenty other men. There was even a nice breeze. He itched for a smoke, but did not dare put the scent in the air. While lying there, he thought about home. Once, when he was thirteen, he, Mavis, and their mother had taken an outing to the country. He could remember lying in the grass watching the clouds go by with Mavis while his mother made her daughter a little crown from the wildflowers. Mavis then made Peter one, which Peter had promptly squashed with boyish disgust. He could remember his mother's admonishing glare when Mavis burst into tears at her brother's rejection of her crown.

That had been when Mavis was five. Now, she was sixteen, and living on her own for the first time during a war. Peter, though not a sentimentalist, could not help himself as some tears threatened to spill. How long would it be before he saw her again? She had always been his little sister, and he was afraid that when he returned she would be all grown up. But, he told himself, at sixteen he had had the responsibilities of an adult. Surely, Mavis was already grown up. Still, he could not help but be angry that he was not there to look after her, like he had promised himself.

His thoughts eventually drifted to Louis. He wondered how far the Frenchman had gotten. He hoped everything went smooth, and that they both got back to camp alright. For all its ironies, Peter was proud to be friends with Louis. The man was loyal, patriotic, caring, a fighter, and nobler than Peter ever thought he could be. Louis was like the perfect little man he thought. Respectable. Peter smiled, thinking how he used to think that anyone who was that good was just stuck up. He knew now, after meeting so many different people, he could never look at others the same.

It's funny, he thought. How war is so terrible, and yet some good manages to come out of it.

After what seemed about an hour, some clouds began to move in. Peter regarded them with disdain, because they stole some of the sun's warmth. He rolled over and looked to the north where they were coming from. It was looking very bleak in that direction. Dark clouds were coming in over the ridge. Peter could tell that they were holding snow. He swore under his breath. He had been hoping for at least another night with good weather. It would make travel easier and faster. After another half hour, the clouds were over him. He watched them, until finally some flakes began to fall.

With that, he got up to go back underneath his rock. But he froze. Because directly in front of him, down the northern side of the mountain, stood a little girl. She was staring right at him. Peter locked eyes with hers. Both of their eyes went wide with fear. Then, the little girl screamed.

It was the most high-pitched scream Peter had heard in his life. His heart dropped to his stomach. Quickly, he skidded down to the girl and clamped his filthy hands over her mouth. She had not even moved when he came after her. She stood there, frozen with fear. She continued to scream under his hand.

"No. Shhh. Shhh. Please be quiet, miss. Just you shush now, please. I ain't gonna 'urt you," said Peter. He kept shaking his head, and trying to talk in soothing tones to her. He knew she probably didn't understand him, but he kept trying to calm her down anyway. "Please," he whispered. "Shhh. Please stop screaming." Suddenly, she stopped. Peter smiled kindly. "That's right. I ain't gonna 'urt you." The girl looked at him curiously and then her eyes went elsewhere, behind Peter.

The hair on the back of Peter's neck stood up. He knew there was someone behind him. He let go of the girl, and she took a few little steps back. Peter raised his hands and turned around, still kneeling.

An older man was behind him, further up the hill. He had a shovel raised and ready to come down. Peter grimaced, waiting for the blow. But the man seemed to hesitate some. He looked at Peter's jacket. Peter followed the man's eyes to his shoulder patch. Peter smiled.

"Za, za. Angielski," said Peter eagerly. (1) Working on a Polish farm had its uses, he thought.

The old man did not look completely satisfied but lowered his shovel. He motioned for Peter to stand up. Peter quickly did, and kept smiling. The girl ran around Peter and to the old man's side.

The old man looked down at here and the exchanged a few words. Then, the old man looked at Peter and motioned for him to follow. Peter just nodded his understanding. He kept the smiled plastered on his face. Anything to not bring on this man's distrust. Peter was sure he could dodge the shovel now, but if the old man went to authorities, that would surely mean trouble. So, he began to follow the old man down the hill, all the while praying that he was not walking back into captivity.

(1) Translation: Yeah, yeah. English.