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.Nulli Secundus -
'Second to None'
by Terence Cardwell
Chapter
Forty - Twenty Percent
Tom Oldfield and Henry Lightfoot walked slowly from
their hut across the parade ground to a grey stone
building near the front gate of the camp: a building
that put fear into the hearts of prisoners and guards
alike. Both of them had visited it regularly over the
past few weeks. It had small windows around the four
walls, and the lack of daylight made it dark and dank
inside. The bare concrete floor absorbed any warmth and
was cold to the touch of bare feet that sometimes walked
over it.
A doorway at the front was the usual means of entry and
many prisoners had passed through it, some alive and
some dead. Another door on the left was used only for
one purpose: the removal of the dead.
Tom and Henry stopped at the doorway and was joined by
another soldier. The three of them paused in front of
the doorway, reluctant to enter, but their mateship and
loyalty to a good friend made them continue.
On the left of the room were two rows of eight beds that
were fully occupied. Behind them was another small room
were the final preparations of the dead were completed.
On the right was a large, old wooden table, on which a
man lay coughing, a small spot of blood running from the
corner of his mouth. On either side of the table were
two medical attendants, working in the light of the weak
single electric bulb hanging over the bed. The patient
looked grey and very thin. His eyes stood out further
than normal from his face, with a pleading look in them.
‘I don’t want to die— please, you have to help me,’ he
gasped between coughs.
‘We’re doing all we can, Jack,’ Bill, one of the
attendants replied. Gordon, the other orderly, held the
man up whilst they took off his dirty clothes prior to
cleaning his soiled body.
Only a few months before he had been one of the elite
Guardsmen and a popular sportsman in the camp. Fit and
healthy, running at great speed around the football
field. Now he could hardly breathe. Every breath was
agony as he clung desperately to life. He was suffering
from tuberculosis, or consumption as it was known to the
soldiers. It was destroying his lungs, which were
bleeding and filling slowly with fluids.
Lying in the other beds were soldiers from various
allied armies who were also sick. Each one was in some
stage of the disease; some coughed almost continually.
while the others watched, knowing it would not be too
long before they were in the same condition. They were
distraught about the probability of death but none could
do anything about it. They prayed repeatedly, but it
made no difference to their condition.
Three men in thick dark blue jackets and dark pants with
a white stripe down each leg walked in.
‘How is he?’ one of them asked.
Gordon shook his head and frowned. ‘He’s not good, but
we’re doing our best to make him comfortable. We’ll have
him in a warm bed as soon as we clean him up. Can you
give us a hand.’
‘Of course— what do you want us to do?’ Henry asked.
‘Hold this lamp up and keep him still whilst we finish
wiping him down. Then we’ll dress him again.’
‘What a bugger— to be one of the best soldiers in the
world, fight the Hun and beat them, only to end up like
this. It’s not right, not for a man as fine as this!’
Tom said with great emotion.
‘Jack, as soon we’ve cleaned you up we’ll have you
wrapped up in a warm bed. Do you understand?’ Gordon
asked.
The patient shook his head from side to side. ‘N… n…
not….’ he tried to speak.
‘What! Doesn’t he understand me?’ Gordon asked confused.
‘What he’s trying to tell you,’ the third soldier who
had entered with Tom and Henry said, ‘Is that his name
is Clive, not Jack.’
‘Oh I’m sorry. Who’s Jack?’
‘I’m Jack, Jack Cardwell; these are Henry Lightfoot and
Tom Oldfield. We’ve been here a few times before.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen you before, but we were busy elsewhere,’
Bill replied.
‘Clive Rogers here is a good friend of ours. We’ve
shared a lot together,’ Henry added.
‘In all the times we come here, how come we’ve never
caught consumption as well?’ Jack asked: the question
they had all asked themselves many times. ‘Why only
Clive?’
‘That is one of the true mysteries of life. If you can
answer that, you’re on your way to finding a cure.
Nobody knows why. But I wish like hell that I could find
out. It’s such a horrible curse,’ Gordon replied.
‘Has it affected many of the prisoners?’ Tom asked.
‘You don’t know how bad it is, do you?’ Bill said.
‘Know what?’ they all said, bemused by the Bill’s
response.
‘twenty percent of the prisoners in this camp will die
from consumption by the end of our internment, and it
could be higher, depending on when we get out of here,’
Bill explained.
After a shocked silence Tom asked, ‘You mean to say that
twenty percent of the soldiers who came here will die of
consumption?’
‘Not only here, but at the other camps as well. No one
is safe,’ Gordon replied.
‘How do we protect ourselves against it?’ a concerned
Henry asked.
Gordon shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, and
neither does anybody else. The only thing I can suggest
is to stay away from anyone that has it.’
‘You mean stay away from Clive? We couldn’t do that,
he’s our mate. We don’t desert our friends when they
need us. Anyway, what about you and Bill, you’re here
all the time.’
‘You’re soldiers, right? When you go to fight for your
country you risk getting killed and a lot of you have,
isn’t that so?’ Gordon asked.
‘Well, yes. As a matter of fact, Jack nearly got it. We
were the lucky ones,’ Tom replied.
‘And you’re willing to risk your life for your regiment
and country?’
‘Well, we don’t want to die but it comes with the job—
we have to take that risk.’
‘Exactly, and we’re soldiers too. We’re medics fighting
to keep you alive when you’re wounded and to cure you of
these diseases when you catch them. If we lose our lives
doing it, then like you, it comes with the job,’ Bill
replied.
‘Can’t argue with that,’ Henry replied. ‘You’re a brave
lot of soldiers, that’s for sure.’
‘Thanks for that, but we do what we do. We’ll be
finished dressing him shortly, then you can take him out
in the sunshine. It seems to make them feel a bit
better,’ Gordon said, putting a jacket on Clive.
‘Is there anything we can do to help him?’ Jack asked.
‘Not a lot really, but if he had some decent food it
might help, instead of starving slowly like the rest of
us.’
‘What do you mean by decent food?’ Jack asked.
‘Well, vegetables— s potatoes or turnips, carrots and
perhaps some onions. Anything you can make a good soup
or broth out of,’ Gordon replied. ‘But you’ll get bugger
all of that round here. We’re flat out getting a bit of
turnip or anything else we can get our hands on.’
‘Will it help cure them?’ Henry asked hopefully.
‘I doubt it. But it will build up their strength and put
some meat on their bones. They will certainly live
longer, but for how much longer I don’t know. Still,
it’s no good pipe dreaming. You won’t get any of that
round here.’
When Clive was ready Tom carried him out into the
sunshine. He lowered him onto a rough wooden seat
covered in old rags for a cushion.
They sat with Clive, telling him what was happening in
the camp and how the war was progressing, pretending
nothing was wrong, in spite of the fact that Clive spent
most of the time coughing into an old cloth, whilst
trying to join in their discussion.
The sun warmed him and put colour in his cheeks. Bill
came an hour later and told them he had to lie down
again because his breathing was getting laboured.
Clive patted their hands in thanks, and Tom carried him
inside and laid him on his bed. He waved to them as they
left.
‘It’s a bugger of a way to die,’ Jack said quietly,
walking out the door. ‘I hope like hell we don’t catch
it.’
‘Sometimes we’re luckier than we think,’ Tom said
shaking his head.
The three walked back across the courtyard, depressed by
Clive’s condition, and wondered how much longer they had
left before they also caught the disease.
‘How can we get him some of those veggies Gordon was
talking about?’ Henry said, as they sat on the hut
steps.
‘I think we’re all thinking the same thing. But there’s
nothing here. It’s gone before they get their heads out
of the ground,’ Tom agreed.
Jack thought for a few minutes, puffing steadily on his
pipe. ‘There is one way, but I’m not too keen about it.’
‘Oh, and what’s that? Raid the commandant’s garden?— Not
likely,’ Tom said.
‘Nothing’s that easy. The only way to get them is to go
out and get them.’
‘You mean, go outside the camp? We’ll be shot if we’re
caught. I’m not keen about bullets of any form,’ Henry
said shaking his head.
‘When we were working on that farm a month ago I noticed
he had turnips and potatoes growing. They’d be just
about ready now,’ Jack replied, ignoring Henry’s
concerns.
‘Even if we went there, the farmer would know when we
pulled his plants up and would tell the commandant.’
‘Well we’ll just have to be smarter than the farmer,’
Jack replied, tapping the side of his nose with his pipe
stem.
‘Hang on. Who said we’re going? Not me, we were just
theorising,’ Tom cautioned.
‘Of course we’re only theorising, so it doesn’t matter,
does it?’ Jack smiled.
‘You’re up to something, Jack. Come on, out with it.’
‘Well we’d have to take them without the farmer
knowing.’
‘And, pray tell, how we do that? Put the plants back in?
They would still die. And if we took them away he would
see the gap.’
Jack smiled and tapped the dottle out of his pipe,
watching the smoke die away. ‘You fellas are clever— you
tell me.’
After a few moments they shook their heads. ‘Ok, clever
dick, how’d you do it?’
‘Well, seeing as how it’s only a theory, we’ll have to
wait till it’s real. Then I’ll tell you,’ Jack replied
with a grin.
‘You honestly reckon you can take them without the
farmer knowing?’ Henry asked.
‘Already have. Where do you think those veggies came
from a month ago?’
‘I thought they came off the camp veggie patch. You dark
horse, Jack, you never told us,’ Tom said, punching him
on the arm.
‘Well, the fewer that knew, the less chance of being
caught.’
‘So that’s how you know to take them without the farmer
knowing, you’ve had the practice,’ Henry said.
‘Still, it’s one thing to march through the gate and
another to go through the wire. It’s too risky,’ Tom
said, shaking his head again. ‘Sorry Jack.’
‘No problem; it was just an idea,’ Jack agreed.
The following day they visited Clive again and left
feeling even more frustrated than before. They tried
watching a football match but it made things worse as
they remembered how much Clive used to love playing the
game.
‘Ok Jack, I give up. If Henry will go, I’ll go. But God
help you if we get caught. I don’t want to die in this
God-forsaken place,’ Tom conceded.
‘I’ve got no particular desire to die here either. What
do you think, Henry?’
Henry sighed. ‘Well, we have to help Clive, I think
we’re all agreed; but there is every chance the war will
be over soon, going by the gossip.’
‘I thought about that too. But if we don’t get these
veggies, Clive might not see the end of the war,’ Jack
replied.
‘Ok, you win. But let’s be careful. I don’t intend to
get caught. How do you plan to do it? There are guard
huts and fences everywhere,’ Henry asked.
Let’s go for a walk. I want to show you something,’ Jack
said, leading the way.
As they strolled along the perimeter Jack casually
pointed to a section of the fence two hundred yards from
their hut.
‘You remember when they caught that section of the fence
with that old truck and pulled it out of the ground
about two months ago?’
Henry and Tom nodded in agreement.
‘If you look you’ll see they never fastened it down
again. It’s just sitting there. They never fixed it.’
‘What about the outside one that’s still good and
solid?’
‘I know, but they don’t look at that so much; and
hopefully they won’t see where we cut it.’
‘You make it sound all too easy Jack. What are we going
to cut it with? We’ve got no tools,’ Henry replied.
‘Umm, you’re right, it looks like we’ll have to find
something,’ Jack said, realising he was perhaps too
ambitious.
‘You’re not the only one with secrets Jack,’ Tom smiled.
‘I’ve got a few of my own and I think I can solve that
problem.’
‘How?’ Henry said intrigued by his mate having a secret
he didn’t know about.
‘If Jack tells me how he’s going get those veggies, I’ll
tell him how we get out of here,’ Tom said.
‘It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you that. You’ll
have to come along to find out,’ Jack replied.
‘Come on Tom, what have you got?’ Henry urged.
‘Well, when that same truck got caught in the fence, the
guards were busy trying to get it off the wire. So I
wandered down to the back of the truck which had a large
tool box in the back, and borrowed a large set of pliers
and a small crow bar. They’re under our hut.’
‘Tom, you’re a bloody genius. Don’t suppose you’ve got
any sacks, have you?’ Henry said, slapping Tom on the
shoulder.
‘There’s plenty of them. We can use the ones they make
our mattresses with,’ Jack said.
‘So when do we go? We need a bit of light to see where
we’re going, a half-moon or better. Otherwise we’ll get
lost.’
‘It’s a half-moon now, so that would be good; and the
ground is fairly dry, so how about tomorrow night?’
Henry suggested, his eagerness increasing.
‘Good as any,’ Jack nodded. ‘Let’s go and get it all
together.’
The three cursed silently as they hid behind the hut,
looking for the section of fence they were going to
escape through. The moon had gone behind a large cloud
and it was pitch black, and they were unable to see the
guards or the fence.
It was two o’clock in the morning and they knew they had
to be back before the dawn light gave them away.
‘We’re running out of time. We can’t stay much longer,’
Jack whispered.
‘We’ll have to go another night then,’ Henry whispered
back.
‘Clive’s running out of time too,’ Tom answered, not
wanting to give up so easily.
‘I think Henry’s right all the same,’ Jack said. ‘We’ll
try tomorrow night.’
‘Damn, it took me ages to build myself up. Now I’ll have
to do it again tomorrow night. Oh well, come on, let’s
get out here,’ Henry whispered.
The three soldiers crawled to the rear of the hut,
disappointed at their failed effort.
‘Wait,’ Tom said urgently. ‘Look. Look at that cloud,
it’s got moonlight showing.’
As they watched, the cloud drifted away, leaving a
half-moon shining in a clear patch of sky.
‘This is it,’ Tom whispered. ‘Let’s go— and watch for
those bloody guards.’
They hurried towards the fence, bent as low as they
could, watching for the guards and expecting one to call
out at any moment.
‘Just as we thought. The buggers are asleep,’ Tom
whispered, pulling up the bottom of the fence for Jack
and Henry to crawl under, quickly following them to the
outer fence. Jack could feel his heart racing and
excitement stirred in him for the first time in almost
four years. He cut the wire and Tom helped him pull it
up as Henry crawled through.
Suddenly a large shaft of light appeared at the
beginning of the fence and moved towards them.
‘Quick,’ Henry whispered. ‘Looks like not all of them
are asleep.’
Tom crawled under the fence as fast as he could go, with
Jack hurrying behind him. As they cleared the fence they
dived into the bushes twenty metres from the fence.
The light moved past them without hesitating. They
quickly hurried across the field towards the shadow of a
building half a kilometre away.
As they got closer they came to a dirt road. Crouching
low, they hurried across it one at a time.
‘I recognise the road. The spuds are over here
somewhere,’ Jack whispered, leading the way. ‘There they
are,’ he whispered over his shoulder, keeping low and
hurrying into a field that had mounded rows of plants
lit by the moonlight.
‘We’re a bit close to that farm, Jack. What if they see
us?’ Henry whispered urgently.
‘Let’s just hope they don’t wake up. Lie down in the
rows so no one can see us,’ Jack replied softly.
‘How you gonna get the spuds, Jack?’ Tom asked.
‘Just dig the soil away from one side of the plant and
pull them out. Then push the soil back and smooth it
over, and only do it to every fifth plant,’ Jack
replied.
‘Clever sod,’ Henry replied, laying on his stomach and
digging quickly with his hands.
‘I think we’ve got enough for now,’ Tom said after they
had been digging for twenty minutes. ‘What about the
turnips and onions?’
‘They’re a bit closer to the house, I’m afraid. We’ll
have to go on our stomachs,’ Jack whispered, crawling
off in the direction of the house.
After edging along the side of the field for twenty
metres they arrived at the rows of turnips. ‘Pull out
every tenth one and move the ones on either side to fill
the gap. And replant them so they will still grow,’ Jack
murmured as he began pulling the turnips.
The deep sound of a dog barking suddenly filled the
night and they fell flat on the ground.
‘Damn. What now?’ Henry whispered urgently.
‘Don’t move,’ Jack murmured.
They watched as a light came on in the farmhouse. Then
to their relief, the dog stopped barking and the light
went out.
‘Just grab a few more and let’s get out of here,’ Jack
muttered.
They pulled a dozen more turnips and hurried towards the
side of the field and the dirt road. As they neared the
road they passed a large tree in total darkness. A
guttural voice suddenly shouted out,
‘Halten Sie auf, wer Sie sind.’
‘Oh shit, we’re done for.’ Henry stopped in his tracks.
Jack and Tom also stopped, waiting for the impact of the
bullet that would come. Jack wanted to run but knew he
would not get far before they shot him. ‘Oh well, Clive.
At least we tried old mate. Looks like we’re not very
good at it,’ Jack thought as he waited.
‘Von wo sind Sie?’ the voice shouted.
‘Damned if I know what he’s saying,’ Tom said, bemused
as to what to do next.
‘We’re English,’ Jack said, his heart racing, hoping
whoever it was spoke English.
The dog started barking again from under the tree and
they realised it was the farmer. He had not gone back to
sleep but turned the light off to fool them, and crept
up on them. He stepped out into the moonlight and they
could see a rifle pointed at them.
‘Vere you from?’ the farmer asked in clear English.
‘Not much point lying, it’s bloody obvious where we’re
from,” Jack thought. ‘We are English soldiers from the
camp over there,’ Henry replied, waving one arm in the
direction of the camp.
‘Ahh. War prisoners. Why you come here? I haf no money.’
‘No. No. We came to get some potatoes and turnips,
that’s all,’ Jack said, holding his sack up with his
left hand and keeping his right one in the air.
‘Why you not eat food in camp? Why you come steal my
food? I will take you to camp commandant and he vill
punish you.’
‘If you hand us over to the commandant he will shoot
us,’ Tom said as calmly as he could, his legs still
shaking.
‘They vould shoot you jus for picking my potatoes. That
is no good, var is no good.’ The farmer came closer so
they could see him.
‘You not attack me. I let you put arms down.’
‘No, we will not hurt you. We only want to get food for
our friend who is dying. We have very little food in the
camp,’ Jack replied, putting his arm down, realising
there was a glimmer of hope.
‘Put your arms down. I not shoot you. I hate der var. I
lose my only son at the beginning of der var. He go
fight for der Kaiser. Dey should shoot ser Kaiser.
Schweinhund.’
‘What happened to your son?’ Henry asked, still shaking
from fright.
The farmer shook his head. ‘My son.’ He hesitated to
build up his strength to tell the story.
‘He vas at university ven der var started. He vas
already professor but ven der Kaiser tell of var he sign
up straight away.’ The farmer sighed. ‘He come home
proud he vas a soldier and says he vill march to Paris
and com back a hero. Four veeks later he is dead.’ He
stopped.
‘What happened to him? Where did he die?’ Henry asked.
The farmer lowered his gun, and in the moonlight they
could see he was tired and old.
‘His name vas Klaus Muller. He joined the First Army and
vent to Belgium vere he died fighting in a little town
called Mons. They say he vas very brave, charging at der
enemy, but he still die. His mother die of broken heart
six month later. Now I only haf my dog here, Bruno. He
good guard dog. Yah.’ The farmer looked at them and
smiled.
‘You go back to camp and take food, but you not tell dem
I give to you or I tell dem you steal it .’
The relief was almost dizzying as they realised they
would not be shot or handed over to the commandant for
punishment.
‘Thank you for your generosity,’ Henry said. ‘We will
always remember your kindness.’
‘You com back at dis time, four days, and I vill give
you more vegetables, nice onions and carrots.’ Farmer
Muller set his gun on the ground and shook each of the
soldiers’ hands in turn.
‘You go now schnell, it vill be light soon.’ He turned
and disappeared into the darkness of the tree.
‘Let’s get a move on, fellas,’ Jack said. ‘We’ll only
just make it.’
‘Jack,’ Tom hesitated.
‘Yes Tom?’ Jack replied, knowing what the question would
be.
‘You were at Mons, weren’t you?’
‘Yes Tom. It occurred to me too. And we found out later
we were facing the First Army.’
‘So you could have…’
‘Yes Tom. But don’t ever tell that farmer.’
‘Hell no, but it’s damned ironic, isn’t it?’
They hurried across the field, heading for the camp
fence, and lay in the long grass watching, only seeing
the distant movement of two guards on the far side.
‘Who’s first?’ Henry asked matter-of-factly.
‘I’ll go; it was my idea,’ Jack replied, accepting the
risk. ‘Whoever comes last, make sure you cover your
tracks. Good luck fellas.
Jack grabbed his sack and crawled to the fence, closely
followed by Henry and Tom.He was shivering as he held
the inside wire up for Tom to crawl through. He could
see the fear on his friends’ faces as they expected to
be caught at any moment. As soon as they were on their
feet they ran for the back of the nearest hut, carrying
the sacks over their shoulders, and then hurried to
their own hut after hiding the potatoes.
They were late rising the next morning in spite of the
usual noise outside, and wandered over to the ablutions
block together to prepare for the visit.
They waddled awkwardly to the concrete building where
Clive was, for the first time eager to go there. Walking
in the front door, they saw Clive sitting in a homemade
chair with old blankets wrapped over it.
‘Hey, Clive mate. We brought you a present,’ Henry said
excitedly, and waved Gordon and Bill over to join them.
The three soldiers stood in a row in front of Clive and
then bent over, pulled their socks down and allowed the
contents of their trousers to tumble onto the floor.
Clive, Gordon, Bill and other patients stood amazed as
they watched clean new potatoes spill onto the floor
from their trousers.
‘And for the finale,’ announced Jack, pulling turnips
out of his jacket, joined by Henry and Tom.
It was all worthwhile just to see the look on their
faces, and for the first time in weeks a big smile from
Clive.
‘We’ll make some bloody great soup with this lot,’
Gordon said getting over his surprise. ‘This will keep
us going for a few days.’
Bill looked about to cry. ‘I don’t know how you guys did
it but you made a lot of my patients very happy. Thank
you and God bless you.’
Jack felt a lump in his throat. ‘Come on Clive; let’s
take you out into the sun while Gordon and Bill cook you
up a nice soup. Give a hand fellas.’ The three helped
carry Clive outside and proceeded to entertain him with
their farming adventure basking in Clive’s happiness.
‘These last four days have gone so quickly. I’m not
keen to go out again,’ Tom said, almost pleading.
‘That’s for sure,’ Henry agreed. ‘But if we don’t go,
that farmer will be waiting for us for nothing.’
‘Well, Clive has certainly improved with the good
tucker. It made it worthwhile risking it,’ Jack said. ‘I
get a pain in my gut when I think of going out again.
But what do we do? If we stay we let Clive, all the lads
in there, and the farmer, down. If we go, the chances of
getting caught are worse than before. I’ve got to be
honest— I don’t know what to do.’
‘What I’d like to know is how long to the end of this
war. What a bastard if we get caught and shot two weeks
before war ends,’ Henry replied.
‘Well going by the guards’ response the other week it’s
not long. They’ve got no food, either. They’re starving
as well,’ Tom pointed out.
‘I don’t think we have much choice, but maybe we can
talk the farmer into leaving the vegetables near the
fence so we don’t have to go so far,’ Jack said.
‘So I assume we’re going then,’ Henry replied.
Jack and Tom nodded.
‘I suppose so, but I’ve got that feeling again and I
don’t like it,’ Jack replied.
The night was brighter than before with a three quarter
moon making it difficult to hide in shadows. The only
thing that helped was an occasional cloud drifting
across to hide the moon.
‘We’ll have to be quick about it,’ Jack whispered as
they hid behind the hut nearest to the fence. ‘As soon
as that big cloud comes across we’ll make a dash for
it.’
It seemed like an eternity as the cloud drifted slowly,
and when the moon finally disappeared it took Jack all
his courage to force himself to run towards the darkened
fence. Tom and Henry were surprised how calm Jack
seemed, little realising he was like the proverbial
swan, calm and controlled on top but paddling like mad
underneath. Fear sparked in every message his brain sent
out.
Jack grabbed the wire and pulled upwards, making a gap
for Henry and Tom to dive through, then scurried through
as Tom held the fence for him.
They looked up at the cloud as they ran and saw it had
travelled halfway across the moon.
‘I don’t think we’ll make it,’ Tom whispered.
‘We’ve got to,’ Henry hissed. ‘Under, quick,’ he urged,
holding the outer wire up.
Tom slid underneath, followed by Jack who then held the
fence for Henry. He slid out the other side and sprang
to his feet, racing for the long grass, followed by
Jack. The cloud drifted away and the moon lit up the two
runners racing desperately for the long grass.
‘Shit. We’re done for,’ Henry said as he landed in the
grass. ‘They must have seen us.’
‘Let’s go,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘No. We’ve got to wait and see if they saw us. If they
have there’ll be a hot reception when we come back,’
Jack urged in a whisper.
‘Yea, you’re right. It’s better to know, I suppose,’
Henry muttered, every muscle in his body wanting to run.
They lay in the grass for nearly five minutes waiting
for chaos to break out in the camp, but all was silent.
‘I can’t believe they didn’t see us. It looks like luck
is on our side. Let’s get out of here,’ Henry whispered.
They crawled backwards till they were further down the
slope then rose and ran towards the distant farmhouse
and the large tree they had come to know so well.
Friedrich Neumann looked around to make sure no one was
watching, then slipped quietly behind the watchtower
base and made himself as comfortable as he could,
folding the collar of his coat up and sitting on the
ground where he had laid an old jacket. His friend in
the watchtower, Carl Zimmermann was doing the same
thing.
It
was two o’clock in the morning, and once again the
little voices in his ears were telling him to close his
eyes and sleep for a short while. A year ago they would
have been shot if they were caught, but twelve months
later things had changed dramatically.
When the war first started, Friedrich was content to
work with his brother farming, believing they would not
be involved in the madness of war, until one day a year
later, a letter arrived telling them both to report for
army service. He was no fighter, and was terrified that
he would be killed on the battlefield in a war he wanted
no part of.
At
the age of fifty-eight, he was told, he was too old to
go to the front, and so he was sent as a prison guard to
the Soltau Prisoner of War Camp. Here he served for
three years as the mighty German empire crumbled around
him.
Now
they were at a stage where they were starving, and spent
much of their time talking or thinking of the days
before the war when food was plentiful.
Friedrich felt his stomach rumble from lack of food and
cursed the fact they only had old vegetables, dried from
storing, to eat. He cursed the Kaiser and cursed the
prisoners as he folded his arms to keep warm.
He
looked around again at the fence perimeter but it was
dark and difficult to see with the clouds covering the
moon. Then the clouds slid away and the moon lit up the
land below.
Friedrich could not believe his eyes. Two men outside
the fences were running away with sacks in their hands.
They disappeared into the long grass and Friedrich shook
his head, thinking he must be imagining it.
‘It
was only for a second, maybe I’m seeing things because
I’m tired and hungry,’ he thought, standing up. ‘If I
call out the sergeant and it was my imagination, I’ll be
in real trouble, with even shorter rations. But if they
are real and escaping I could be in even bigger
trouble.’
Friedrich played again in his mind what he thought he
saw for a brief moment. ‘They had sacks, but they were
empty,’ he mused. ‘If they were empty, does that mean
they were going to get something and come back? They
wouldn’t be that crazy, surely. Damn— I’ll tell the
sergeant,’ he muttered, and walked towards the barracks.
As he passed the first of the huts the voices came back
saying, ‘What if you’re wrong? Nobody knows how they
escaped, if they exist at all.’
‘But then I’ll be very popular with the sergeant if I
capture them. That’s what I’ll do,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll
wait till they come back and catch them red-handed. And
If they don’t come back?’ Friedrich shrugged his
shoulders. ‘Oh well, the war will be over soon.’
They arrived at the base of the tree and looked around
for the farmer but there was no sign of life.
‘Looks like he was too bloody frightened to come, we’ve
risk our lives for bugger all,’ Tom said, upset and
disappointed.
‘I don’t think he would do that,’ Jack said, looking
around. ‘Maybe he’s late.’
They looked towards the farmhouse but there were no
lights on and no sounds of movement.
‘Well, I’m not wasting time anymore. We’ll have to go
and get them out of the fields,’ Henry said, walking
away.
‘Hang on, hang on. What’s that dark lump over near the
tree trunk?’ Jack said suddenly.
‘There’s three sacks full of spuds and other stuff
here,’ Tom said, feeling in the dark shadows.
‘So he didn’t let us down. He left them here for us.
He’s a top fella,’ Henry said excitedly.
They grabbed a sack each and hurried back in single file
towards the camp, pleased with their night’s work.
By the time they arrived back at the camp they were
exhausted. The sacks the farmer had left were heavier
than they expected and it took all their strength and
stamina to carry them to their hiding place.
‘The sooner I get in my bunk the happier I’ll be,’ Henry
whispered, lying on his back watching the clouds
drifting towards the moon.
‘I don’t know about you fellas, but I don’t think I can
do this again,’ Tom said.
‘I was thinking the same thing,’ Jack agreed. ‘We’ll
make this the last time before our luck runs out.’
‘Here’s a big one,’ Henry said urgently as a large cloud
drifted across the moon.
‘Let’s go,’ Jack ordered, jumping up and running
forward, trying to carry the sack and staying bent over
at the same time.
They cleared the inside fence and hurried towards the
shadow of the nearest hut. They stood gasping for air as
the cloud drifted away and the moon lit the area they
had just left.
‘That was a close one,’ Tom gasped.
‘Too many close ones. Let’s get out of here,’ Jack
panted, picking up his sack and moving off.
‘Halt,’ a voice shouted from the darkness.
‘Oh, no!’ Jack moaned, a fist gripping his stomach as he
realised they had been caught.
The three soldiers were fixed with fear as they waited
for a bunch of Germans to surround them. Instead, a
single soldier stepped out of the darkness with a gun
pointed at them.
‘‘Hands on heads. No move,’ Friedrich said in a
threatening voice. ‘You are under arrest for leaving
camp. I take you to commandant.’
‘If you take us to the commandant he will have us shot,’
Henry pleaded.
‘Ya. That is right. No talk, you come,’ he said, waving
his rifle sideways to emphasise his meaning.
‘Looks like we lost out,’ Henry said.
‘Oh well, we’re lucky to get this far I suppose,’ Jack
said, resigned to his fate.
‘Wait a minute,’ Tom said, holding his left hand up and
pointed to the sacks. ‘You look in sacks.’
Friedrich waved them back with his gun and opened the
nearest sack. ‘Ahh. Potatoes. Turnips. You steal from
Germans. This why we have no food.’
‘No, we got them to help sick soldiers. Perhaps save
their lives,’ Jack replied, sensing a slim chance. ‘If
you take us to the commandant he will keep these sacks
and you will have nothing,’ Tom said holding up a
potato. ‘But if we give you a sackful for you and your
mates , we will all have fresh food to eat.’
Friedrich’s mouth watered at the thought of fresh potato
soup and bread.
‘But if I am caught they shoot me instead,’ he replied
hesitating.
‘We will hide the sack for you and you can get it when
it’s safe,’ Henry urged. ‘That way you won’t get into
trouble.’
The thought of fresh food was overwhelming for
Friedrich, but tempered by his fear of being caught.
‘I not want to be shot when war nearly over,’ he said
emphatically.
‘Neither do we,’ Jack said. ‘But you won’t get caught.’
‘How I know you not give me food later? You just keep
for yourselves?’ Friedrich asked.
‘You have our word as English soldiers. We will give you
food,’ Jack promised.
A vision of surprising his mates with a large pot of
potato and onion soup flashed in Friedrich’s mind.
‘You take away quickly and no more leave camp. Next time
they shoot you.’ Friedrich pointed his rifle in the
direction of the distant huts. They grabbed the sacks
and hurried off as an immense surge of relief swept over
them.
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