Kinch, carrying a bundle of clothes, came into the storage room where Weber was being held. He met Mills' eye, and jerked his head, and Mills got to his feet, wincing a little, and followed him out to the tunnel.
"How's he doing?" asked Kinch, in a low voice.
"Seems pretty woozy," said Mills. "I guess it's been a long couple of days for him. But I don't know, Kinch, he could be faking it. You sure you don't want me to come along? I mean, Davis is a pretty good kid, but..."
Kinch regarded him with a slight frown. "Something bugging you, Mills?"
"I'm not sure," replied Mills slowly. "I've got a bad feeling, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe I'm just getting paranoid." He finished with a soft laugh.
"Yeah, well, Weber's not the only one who's had a few bad days. You want to know something? I'm waiting for the sucker punch, too." Kinch shrugged, and smiled a little. "And I'll admit, it would have been handy to have you along, but you're not up to it. Wilson's coming along to take care of Staller, plus Dieter as well. I'm pretty sure we'll be able to handle Weber between us. You want to give me a hand getting him ready?"
He moved past Mills into the store room. "You awake, captain?"
The prisoner gave a start, and opened his eyes. "What d'you want?" he growled.
"Time for you to stretch your legs," said Kinch. "I'm just going to let you loose for a couple of minutes, but don't get any ideas." He glanced at Mills, who was standing in the doorway, pistol in hand.
"Whatever you say." Weber's eyes, burning with resentment, rested on Mills for a moment. But he remained passive as Kinch untied the rope holding him, though he was unable to suppress a hissing gasp of discomfort.
"Easy, there," murmured Kinch. "Can you stand up?"
"Is it worth my while?" Weber snapped back.
"Yeah, I think so. You want to get your circulation going, you've got a long walk ahead of you." Kinch hauled Weber to his feet, and started walking him back and forth, not too gently.
Weber submitted, too stiff from his long period of restraint to put up a fight. "You guys are something," he mumbled. "You really think you can get away with this." He glanced up at Kinch. "You won't get me within fifty miles of the coast before you get caught."
"Maybe not. But the guys who are taking you there are the same Underground people you sold out," replied Kinch. "And if they think there's any chance of you escaping, you can bet they'll make sure it doesn't happen. Feeling better?" He let go of Weber's arm, and tossed him the rolled-up clothes. "Get changed, and be quick about it."
Weber caught the bundle, but made no attempt to investigate it. "And what happens if I refuse?"
"Well, I don't recommend it," said Kinch. "I don't want to have to undress you by force, and I'm pretty sure Mills doesn't, either. But one way or another, you're wearing those clothes when you leave here. So I'll give you thirty seconds to start doing it for yourself."
It was clear he meant it, and Weber went red, and slowly started undoing his buttons. "Do you have to watch?" he asked. "Isn't a guy entitled to keep a little self-respect around here?"
"You got some nerve, Weber," said Mills, in a very low voice.
"Easy, Mills." Kinch sent him a warning look. "And as for you, Weber, forget it. You gave up that right a long time ago."
Weber kept his head down, but his eyes went from Kinch to Mills. He turned away slightly as he finished unbuttoning and took off his shirt. "Look, there's...there's something you ought to know about...well, the thing with Carter, see..."
"Don't you dare," Mills interrupted, raising the gun slightly. "Kinch, so help me..."
"Okay. Better give me the gun," said Kinch. "Weber, get on with it, and no more talking."
Whatever it was Weber had been thinking of saying, the warning was enough to make him change his mind. He finished dressing in silence, and he didn't utter a word as he was taken through the tunnel leading to the recreation hall. The rest of the party - Wilson, Dieter, the inexperienced but willing Davis, and Major Staller - were waiting for them below the trapdoor. Staller, like Weber, had been provided with civilian clothes, a little too big for him, to allow for his wounded arm. Even by lamplight, he looked pretty sick.
"Okay, Mills, you know what to do," said Kinch. "Give us five minutes to get into position, then start the diversion."
"Will do. Take care out there." Mills headed off to carry out his assigned task.
Kinch turned to the rest of his team. "Davis, you go up first, then Dieter. Weber, you'll follow. Any trouble, and Dieter will be the one dealing with it."
Weber kept his eyes averted. He knew he was outnumbered, and even if he really thought Hogan's men would hesitate to prevent his escape by whatever means were necessary, he had no such assurance in regard to Dieter. He went up the ladder without a word. Wilson followed, leaving Kinch to help Staller. And Staller, still weak and unable to use his wounded arm, needed the help, although he seemed to be making an effort to get there by his own exertion. Wilson and Davis were waiting to pull him up to floor level, where he dropped, breathless.
Dieter had just finished tying Weber's hands again. It was necessary, as he was too dangerous to be allowed any leeway. He seemed sullen but resigned, and he offered no resistance, but Kinch wasn't fooled. If the son of a bitch got a chance, he'd make a break, for sure.
"Okay, now we wait," murmured Kinch. "When we hear the dogs, that's when we move."
He paused, his eyes on Staller. There was no doubt the man was going to need a lot of help if he was going to make it to the rendezvous. He was no lightweight, either, and as Davis wasn't particularly strong, and Dieter, though wiry enough, was scarcely taller than LeBeau, he would probably be too much for either of them to manage. Kinch didn't like it, but he was going to have to look after the major. "Davis, you and Dieter take care of Weber," he said. "One sound out of him, you do whatever it takes to keep him quiet."
"Why wait for trouble?" growled Dieter, pulling off his scarf, and tying it round Weber's mouth. Once again, Weber had no choice but to submit, but the fury in his eyes as he looked at his former colleague made it clear that this indignity had been added to the account, and that sooner or later he was going to make someone pay.
At the end of one of the other tunnels, Mills paused to catch his breath. His injured shoulder meant he'd be slow getting up the ladder, so he'd sprinted most of the way here. Even so, he didn't have a lot of time, and he waited only a few seconds before he started climbing.
The good thing was, this was one of the shortest ladders in the entire network. The bad news was, the trapdoor at the top had a dog kennel built over it. He gripped the ladder with one hand, and raised the kennel just enough to look around. Only a couple of guards were in sight, and they weren't looking this way. Mills took a deep breath, and let go of the ladder so he could reach for the end of the piece of string which ran, covered by a thin layer of dirt, from the tunnel entrance to the gate of the dog enclosure, and up the gatepost to the latch. This was the quick-release, put in place for just such an emergency. A quick tug, and the cross-piece which held the gate closed fell off, allowing the gate to swing gently open.
In an ideal world, the dogs would have raced out instantly. Instead, they crowded round their visitor, curious at seeing a stranger, but disposed to be friendly towards anyone who smelled American.
"Aw, cut it out," muttered Mills. "Can't you guys be proper guard dogs for once? We need a diversion, get out there and divert. Hey, see the cat? Over there, by the main gate. Go get him."
They just stared at him in canine bewilderment, tongues out, tails wagging, anxious to understand. They were used to LeBeau, of course. Mills racked his brains for the equivalent French. "Un chat - un grand chat noir avec...avec...oh, never mind. Under the guard tower - there he is."
The dogs had recognized one word, at least, and as Mills pointed towards the gate, they took off, barking furiously. The guards raced after them, and Mills dropped back into the tunnel, clutching at the ladder to keep his balance. He'd done his part, and the goons would have their hands full for the next few minutes.
At the first sound of the commotion, Kinch went to the window at the back of the recreation hall, and looked out. The coast was clear, and he vaulted over the window ledge, and gestured to the others to follow.
From here, it was only a few yards to the barbed wire. One section of fence was engineered to slide up, as a quick way out of camp. It took barely a minute, before the entire party reached the cover of the woods beyond. Nobody spoke, however, until they'd gone some way in.
"What now, sarge?" asked Davis. This was his first assignment, and he was nervous, though eager enough.
Kinch, half-carrying Staller, shifted his hold slightly to provide more support. "You guys go in front. Do you know the way to the rendezvous point?"
"Sure thing," replied Davis. "It's straight on ahead, there's nowhere to turn off, anyway."
"Okay. Don't get too far ahead."
Davis and Dieter set off, with Weber held firmly between them. Kinch nodded to Wilson. "Stay close," he said quietly.
They traveled for some way, each group keeping within earshot of the other. But the further they went, the more Staller's footsteps began to lag, and the harsher his breathing, until he finally stumbled and half-fell. Kinch lowered him to the ground, and Wilson came quickly to check on him, drawing back the coat that hung loose over his arm. "Damn it, he's started bleeding again," he muttered. "Give me a hand, Kinch."
Davis, some distance further on, didn't realize there was a problem, until he became aware that he couldn't hear Staller's shuffling footsteps any more. He stopped in his tracks, bringing Weber to a halt. "I think we've gotten too far ahead," he whispered. "We better stop here till they catch up."
Dieter looked over his shoulder. "Would it not be better to keep moving? They will join us at the rendezvous place."
"Kinch said to stay close," Davis replied. "Maybe we ought to backtrack a way."
There was no immediate reply from Dieter. "Perhaps one of us could go back, and the other stay with this Schwein," he said at last.
"I don't think that's a good idea. We better stay together." Davis bit his lip, torn with uncertainty. He let go of Weber's arm, and took a few steps back along the path, searching for any sign of the other party.
He heard Dieter come up behind him, but he never expected the blow to the back of the neck that sent him down for the count, and beyond. Dieter stood over him for a moment, breathing hard. "Es tut mir leid," he murmured. Then he turned back to Weber, who was staring at him in astonishment. "You don't go back to England," he growled softly. "You die right here."
Weber's eyes widened, and he turned to run, but Dieter caught him before he got more than a few steps. "You deserve to be shot right now, like the dog you are," he went on, pressing the muzzle of his pistol against Weber's temple. "But Mills had it right. I can't kill you like this. That's what your people do."
He jerked Weber around, and untied the rope around his wrists. "On your knees," he ordered curtly. Then, as Weber didn't move, he spat out a curse, and shoved him to the ground. Weber fell full length, with a muffled cry, and lay sprawled in the path, but as Dieter stooped to drag him up, he twisted round with the agility of desperation, and jabbed his fingers into his captor's throat. Dieter choked, gagged and fell back, dropping the gun. The next moment Weber was on him, pinning him to the ground, with both hands around his throat.
He struggled, trying to break free, but Weber tightened his hold, until his victim lost consciousness. Even then, he kept squeezing for a few moments, before he finally relaxed. With a shaking hand he tore the scarf from his mouth, and drew in a couple of deep, painful breaths. Then he staggered to his feet, and picked up the gun Dieter had dropped, and without so much as a parting glance at the two prone bodies in the path, he headed off in the only possible direction: away from Stalag 13.