Chapter Thirty-Nine: A New Destination

January 7, 1942

Few actually saw Colonel and Major Duerr leave that morning. A few prisoners who had woken up early peered out their windows and watched the staff car roll out, but other than that, it was just the guards on duty and the replacement officers who had already arrived that witnessed it. At roll call, the prisoners who weren't in the cooler filed out in formation. Outside, they found their two new officers and Jöchmann off to the side, watching the proceedings. When Berg announced that those supposed to be present were all present, the new Kommandant took over.

"My name is Colonel Lahm…" he started. And he went on and on about how things were going to be different around the camp, but that it was all in the prisoners' advantage to keep them safe. There were no more permanent work shifts on farms or in town because it gave prisoners access to things that they could use to escape. There was no more lunch since the prisoners weren't working and food would not be wasted on them. And also since they weren't working, there was an extra hour of recreation. The rest of the day, it's inside the barracks. During the two hours of recreation, the prisoners could do everything except gather in groups more than six, play football, rugby, volleyball, or some other game they might come up with. There was no talking through the fence anymore. Lastly, even if it was winter, the new Kommandant would not spare firewood on the prisoners either.

The prisoners scowled when they heard all of this because it had Jöchmann's signature all over it. Afterwards, the officers asked to make a formal complaint. But Berg returned from the office saying that the Kommandant was not seeing anyone. Jöchmann was still inside the camp, and he didn't leave until the afternoon.

The month of January was slow and tiresome. At first, the men were still getting over everything that had taken place. No one had even remotely thought that one of their officers would murder another officer and another man. It was something that was difficult to come to terms with, especially since they had trusted said officer so much. They had trusted him, and then he had betrayed them in the most brutal way. Never again would they give their trust away easily. What bothered others was that they hadn't given their trust away that easily. They had actually waited until Lawrence had proved himself to them. And he had. He had taken care of them like a decent, honest officer was supposed to. No one would have ever imagined that he would end up murdering prisoners. It was a scary, uneasy thought that made many harden their shells further.

After most of the camp got through that predicament, the prisoners turned towards trying to find means of escape again. Everyone knew the infirmary tunnel still existed. But so far, no one was in the infirmary, and no one had been able to get in even when they played sick. Colonel Lahm was stricter than they had thought. Berg argued their case sometimes, when he truly believed that someone was sick. But the Kommandant would not budge.

Then, the worst happened. A British infantryman really did get sick with a bad cold. And without much warmth in the barracks, he died a few nights later. Colonel Lahm let a few men bury him, but he hardly seemed bothered by it. Berg was disturbed. He did not want this. He wanted a more humane Kommandant that would at least try and keep the prisoners alive. That got Berg to start thinking of how he could help them in other ways.

So, January passed slowly. The sixty-five prisoners that were crammed in the cooler still had no idea when they were being transferred. Actually, no one did. About mid-January, a train had been sent for them, but got stuck in a snowstorm. It never came back. Word finally came that the prisoners would be transferred at the end of February, after the worst of winter passed. Since a date was set, the sixty-five prisoners were released from the cooler to spend their last days in the camp with a tad more freedom.

They were all in bad condition. They had only been getting food once a day, and hadn't seen the sunlight in a little over a month. They were dirty and unshaven, and even after showers and haircuts, were still bad off. It took several days of sleeping in bunks by themselves and sitting out in the sun for them to look somewhat normal. They were still thin, but then again, all the prisoners were losing weight those days.

The only thing interesting that really took place was the distribution of Lawrence's belongings that he had left behind. Peter snatched the officer's battledress jacket and made it his own. His own jacket was worn down from numerous work days. Lawrence's was in a good deal better shape than his. Peter ripped off all the insignias that implied the jacket belonged to an officer and stitched in his own corporal's stripes. The only thing he left that stood out were the lapels, which Peter kind of enjoyed having.

()()()()()()

February 20, 1942

"Let's just cut the wire again," whispered Everley in the barracks that night. "We can take another crack at it. You never know, maybe we'll make it this time. We've got to make it sooner or later." He looked keenly at his friends.

"I'm not goin' without Louie," stated Peter firmly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "He would want you to go, Peter. C'mon, just take this chance."

"No," answered Peter quickly. "I made 'im a promise and now isn't when I'm goin' to break it." He lit a cigarette.

"Listen," said Dean. "Wouldn't you want to see Louis find freedom? Wouldn't you be happy if he escaped?"

That struck a nerve in Peter and everyone knew it. "Yes," he muttered. "But we're not talkin' about 'im. This is me. An' I'm tellin' you right now that I'm not goin' anywhere unless I can get Louie out with me." Peter looked at Luke. "You can go, mate. I'd gladly assist you."

Luke smiled. "If you don't go, then I'm not going either."

"You chaps are ridiculous," said Everley grouchily.

"Well," said Dean. "We don't even have anything to cut through the wire with, anyway."

"Actually," said Peter. "This might do the trick." He pulled out his pencil sharpener.

"You still have it," exclaimed Luke.

"I 'id it in 'ere," replied Peter. "When we escaped so that someone else could use later on."

"But not even Jerry found it," said Dean. "How would someone else have found it if they couldn't?"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I 'ad a little faith in people there for awhile."

They sat in comfortable silence for awhile.

"I wonder wot our new camp is goin' to be like," said Everley.

"Same as all the rest, probably," murmured Peter after taking a drag of the cigarette.

"Maybe we'll escape from there," said Dean. "Maybe we'll get another Kommandant who is humane enough to give us our way every now and then."

"Maybe we'll have a disciplinarian that will turn his eye away every now and then," said Luke.

"Maybe the guards won't be so testy," wished Everley.

"Maybe we won't get another officer," said Peter. "We can do things ourselves for a change.

"Maybe one of you will never see the place."

The four prisoners looked up quickly. There was someone in the door.

"Schnell. Come outside," the someone whispered.

"Bergie," asked Everley.

"Schnell!" Berg's voice was in a low, frantic whispered.

The four got up and silently crept outside. Berg looked at them seriously. "All I have to say is that there is room for one of you on a truck waiting on the west side of the town. If you can get to it by three o'clock this morning, it can take you to the coast."

The men stared at him.

"How do we know we can trust you," asked Dean.

"You do not know, but I would take the chance," answered Berg. Then he left.

Dean and Everley went back inside slowly. Peter stood on the barracks steps, watching Berg walk past other barracks, making sure everyone no one was making unnecessary noise. Suddenly, Peter knew what he had to do. He grabbed Luke's arm, and pulled the younger man with him.

"Berg," Peter hissed.

The guard turned around. He spotted Peter and Luke in the shadows and quickly made his way to them. When he was there, Peter turned around and punched Luke has hard as he could right in the nose. Luke stumbled back, but Peter steadied him. Luke had his hands over his nose and some blood was visible. Peter looked at Berg who was looking at him in shock.

"He needs to go to the infirmary," stated Peter simply.

Luke gave Peter a bewildered look, while Berg nodded in understanding. He gently took Luke's arm. But Luke tore away and grabbed Peter's shoulders.

"What are you doing," he whispered viciously.

"Gettin' you out o' 'ere while you still can," answered Peter. "Now go before it's too late. It's already eleven o'clock."

"But what about you and Louis and the others," asked Luke. "I can't leave you."

"Yes you can," answered Peter. "Now go."

"You wouldn't leave us," argued Luke. "So why do I have to go?"

"Just go," said Peter. "Good-bye." He turned around and ran back to the barracks.

Luke looked up at Berg, and Berg led him off. When they arrived at the infirmary Berg shoved him inside, and let the medic took over.

"What happened," asked Wilkerson.

"Peter punched me," growled Luke.

"What?"

"He wants me to escape," answered Luke. "There's a way if I get to the other side of town. He wants me to take it. He wants me to leave him and the others behind."

"That's noble of you to not want to go," said Wilkerson. "But why don't you take the chance? In eight days you'll be on a train bound for another camp that God-knows-what will be like."

"I know that," snapped Luke. "And Peter knows that too. But he won't go!"

"Listen," said Wilkerson. "He got you here. And I don't know the plan, but whatever is, I don't think someone else is going to get a crack at it. So, instead of wasting the chance, you need to get out of here. I'll clean your nose up, and then you need to be gone."

Luke glared at him.

Wilkerson went on. "If you escaped it would show Jerry that we aren't done in like they think. If you got out and made it, everyone would have lighter hearts because we would know that it's always possible to get out. We will always have a chance at freedom."

"Why don't you ever escape," asked Luke. "The tunnel is right there."

"I couldn't leave these men without a medic," replied Wilkerson simply. "Now, don't change the subject. I can order you to go if you would rather that."

Luke sighed at last. "I can't believe Peter bloody did that."

()()()()()()

February 24, 1942

Peter sat on the steps of the barracks smoking his last cigarette while reading the latest letter from home. Mavis was worried about him, and she had a good reason. He had not written in her in two months, though he kept receiving letters from her. There was no mail exchange for those being transferred. Colonel Lahm told them they would just have to wait until they arrived at their new destination. Peter knew that could be forever, but he really didn't have any choice. Mavis would just have to worry until he could write home again.

Peter was at some peace. Luke's escaped was labeled successful which had boosted the prisoners' morale as Wilkerson had predicted. Colonel Lahm was at a loss to figure out how the man had escaped. No one knew anything about Luke going to the cooler except Peter, Dean, Everley and Berg. Berg was being uncharacteristically harsh lately, but they all knew it was a mask. Peter, Everley, and Dean had kept what Berg did to themselves so that they would not compromise his life. They never said a thing to him about it, and the only thanks they gave was that one day they each pitched in their last chocolate bars and Everley slipped them into the guard's pocket one evening.

On February 27th, Colonel Lahm allowed the prisoners to converse through the fence. Peter told Louis about what had happened. The Frenchman was ecstatic with glee that Luke had successfully escaped. The French had not been told who had escaped; just that it had been a British prisoner had escaped. Louis could tell that Peter missed his young friend, but knew that Peter had done only because he feared the future. All those being transferred were worried about their fate.

So, on the morning of February 28th, when those being transferred were separated from those remaining, there was thick tension n the air. They had gathered the few belongings they had; some had nothing with them. Peter had gathered his letters and one picture of Mavis and put them in his breast pockets. Besides that, he had his watch, wallet, a chocolate bar, and his pencil sharpener. Louis had a mite more because Arcenau had managed to hang onto some cash and divided it with Louis. It wasn't much, but it was something more. Perhaps they could use it to buy things from guards in the future.

Jöchmann and his SS were the ones marching the men to the train station. That made it even worse. He had—as usual—the French on one side of the road and the British on the other—and the guards were all around them. There was no way anyone could slip off without a guard noticing. They arrived at the train station, and it was like déjà vu all over again. Cattle cars awaited them, and the only comfort the men took was that they weren't being packed in like sardines, and that the SS didn't care if they integrated themselves. So, Peter and Louis climbed into a car together. They took the liberty of stretching out their legs this time. But when the cattle door was slammed shut and the click of the lock was still resounding in their ears as the train pulled away from Bielski, it was hard to think of anything optimistic.

Once more, they were moving off into the unknown. No one had told them about where they were going or even how long it would take to get there. They could only pray that it was in some way kinder that before.

"But," said Louis, as they talked. "You cannot deny that we were lucky at Stalag XXXA."

Peter looked at him sourly. "Really?"

"Oui," replied Louis. "We could 'ave 'ad a terrible Kommandant the entire two years we were there. The camp could 'ave been turned over to Jöchmann and we would 'ave been murdered. Luke might not 'ave gotten away, and 'e would still be 'ere with us."

"Well," muttered Peter. "We could've been luckier. We could still 'ave some friends with us...like Stephen an' Marcel."

Louis nodded. "Je sais. I want that as well. But you cannot deny that we probably 'ad it a little better than other camps. I am sure that Major Duerr and the Kommandant were not typical German officers in charge of POW camps."

Peter just shrugged. "We still could've been luckier."

Louis shook his head. "You can never even try to look at the bright side of things?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm tired o' gettin' me 'opes up." He sighed. 'I got me 'opes up for Lawrence an' look wot 'e did."

"We were all fooled by Lawrence," said Louis.

"I just…" said Peter. "I just don't understand why the fates let 'im…him o' all people to successfully escape! 'E's the murderer an' the man that least deserves it. Wot kind o' rotten irony allowed 'im to escape an' not you an' me?" He took a breath. "Bloody 'ell! I wish I could get me 'ands on 'is scrawny neck."

"I do too," said Louis. "But you cannot let it get to you. We 'ave to concentrate on surviving whatever lies in the future."

Peter smiled after a moment. "It always comes down to this, don't it? You tryin' to get me to stay the course, think for the broader picture, don't turn me back on the fight now…is it always goin' to be this way?"

Louis smirked. "Someone 'as to."

Peter looked outside through the slits of the boards. The sun was setting in the distance as February came to a close.

"That's a nice sight," he said.

Louis looked through the slits and nodded. "Another day closer to the end of the war."

Peter leaned against the wall more comfortably and closed his eyes.

"Night Louie."

"Bon nuit, Pierre."

And the prisoners went to sleep, wondering where they were off to now.

The End…for now.