FLIGHT
Stan began cleaning up their room so that the guards checking rooms that night would not notice Sim had gone. He wanted to give Sim as much of a start as possible. While he was brushing the straw under Sim’s bunk the door opened. Both boys turned quickly. In the doorway stood Sim. His lips were parted in a thin smile.
“Sim!” Stan took a step toward the door. “We thought you had gone.”
“Quiet,” Sim whispered. “Come with me.”
He turned and moved out into the hall with Stan and O’Malley at his heels. They walked down the hall and into a corner room. Sim crossed the room and opened a window. They saw a rope dangling over the sill.
Stan peered into the darkness below but could see nothing. “There should be a guard right under this window,” he whispered.
“He has been taken care of,” Sim hissed. “You go down. We will follow.”
“Didn’t you get any guns or grenades?” O’Malley asked.
“No,” Sim answered sharply. “Hurry.”
Stan climbed through the window and slid down the rope. When his feet hit the ground he wiggled the rope. A minute later O’Malley was at his side. Sim arrived within another minute. He caught the boys’ arms and began moving away from the house.
Sim led them to the wall and along it until they came to a gate. It was open; Sim paused and Stan and O’Malley peered out. A small light burned above the gate. The light revealed a truck filled with cans. Stan grinned in the darkness. The truck was a garbage lorry. The night breeze carried that information to him. The truck smelled very strong.
“We hide among the cans,” Sim whispered.
At that moment two men appeared carrying a can. They heaved it into the truck. One of them fastened a chain across the back opening, then they moved toward the cab of the truck.
“When the light is snapped off!” Sim whispered.
From the kitchen of the house a voice shouted something in German. The truck driver answered. The light snapped off and Sim started forward with the boys beside him. The truck was sputtering and backfiring, pouring out rank smoke as they reached it. They went into it as it lurched forward. All of the cans came clanging back against the chain, almost shoving the boys out.
Quickly the three moved cans until they were up in the front of the truck next to the cab. There they crouched down with their knees pulled up. The cans made so much noise there was no danger of the boys being heard.
“’Tis a sweet smellin’ cab ye called,” O’Malley observed.
“The smell will keep the Germans from examining it very closely,” Sim answered and Stan heard him chuckle. “When we come to a lighted town we’ll each have to get into a can.”
“They’re full o’ garbage,” O’Malley protested.
“We’ll empty three cans,” Sim said. “Might as well do it while we’re on this rough country road.”
The truck was bouncing and the cans were banging. The noise was terrific and the darkness total. Stan got hold of a can. It was heavy, but with O’Malley’s help he was able to lift it up and tip it over the edge. The contents poured out on the side of the road. Two more cans were dumped.
“There goes a lot of meals for the prisoners in the ghetto,” Sim said and laughed.
“You mean to say the skunks feed prisoners garbage?” Stan asked.
“I’ve been told they let the prisoners of the lowest class pick over the garbage,” Sim answered.
Stan felt his stomach begin to turn over. O’Malley said nothing. For once he was stumped for words. They moved the cans to the center and well forward and crouched beside them.
The truck rattled on through the night. Presently they saw lights ahead.
“According to my map,” Sim said, “that should be a well-lighted inspection post. We better get into the cans.”
The boys got into the cans. Stan kept his head well up out of the can. He meant to keep it up in the wind until it was absolutely necessary to duck down.
The truck swung in under a row of lights. Stan ducked down and held his nose. There was much guttural shouting. Several men moved around the truck. They poked bayonets among the cans and against them. Stan felt a blade strike the can he was in. The can gave out a dull clinking sound, indicating it was full. Stan grinned. Someone shouted an order and the truck rolled on.
As soon as darkness closed over them the boys popped out of the cans. O’Malley was talking to himself in very rich Irish.
“If I’d known this was goin’ to happen to me I’d have brought along a blanket to wrap meself in,” he growled. “We’ll smell so bad we won’t be able to hide any place.”
Stan laughed. “They won’t need blood-hounds to track us,” he admitted.
“We will get other clothing,” Sim said.
The truck rolled on, crossing a hill and dropping down toward a town. Lights winked ahead of them and the road became smoother.
“We unload pretty soon,” Sim said. “There will be a small farmhouse on the right with tall trees. We get off there. The farmer is a member of the underground.”
“Underground in Germany?” Stan asked in surprise.
“They told me it was well established and doing a big business. People are paying well to get out of Germany before it collapses.” Sim was swinging a leg over the side as he spoke.
The boys got out of the truck and clung to the outside. They saw dark forms of trees and a light in a window.
“Now,” Sim whispered as he swung away from the truck.
Stan heard him land with a thud. Stan jumped and landed in a hedge beside the road and rolled on into tall grass. O’Malley hit close beside him, and they crouched behind the hedge watching the truck. It went rattling on into the night. Sim called to them.
“Come on. We have to hurry.”
They moved over beside him and he headed across an open field toward the lighted window. As they neared the house, a dog began barking. Sim halted and they stood waiting. A door opened and a man shouted at the dog. Sim moved forward.
“Hello,” he called.
The door closed suddenly and Stan heard the man walking over gravel toward them. They advanced to meet him. Sim spoke as soon as he was close.
“We were sent by Hans.”
“Goot. Come, I show you,” the man answered.
They walked with him to the house and he opened the door. “Quick,” he mumbled. He began pushing them through the door.
There was no need to shove. The boys dived inside and the German closed the door. He moved to a window and pulled down the blind, then he faced them. He was a short man with a beefy face. His stomach rolled out over a wide leather belt.
“I get you clothes,” he said gruffly.
Disappearing into another room he returned after a time with an armload of clothing which he tossed on a table. The boys changed into rough shirts and dungarees. The clothing was coarse, but it was clean. The German gathered up their uniforms.
“These I burn,” he said and left with them.
“We have to move on at once,” Sim said. “This place will be searched before morning. The Germans are very thorough.”
The boys seated themselves and waited. Their host was gone for a long time. Finally Sim got up.
“I’ll go hurry him along,” he said. “You stay right here.” He left the room hurriedly.
“Sim is no nut. He has this all worked out,” O’Malley said.
“He certainly has,” Stan agreed. He got up and moved to the door Sim had just closed. Opening it gently he went into a dark room. Feeling his way he moved to another door. He could see a shaft of light under the door. Halting with his hand on the knob, he listened. Sim was talking with their underground agent in German. Stan opened the door quickly. The two men whirled about and faced him.
“I didn’t know you spoke German,” Stan said.
“You should not be sneaking around,” the German said sharply.
“I have always spoken German,” Sim answered. “I learned it in school back home. How did you think I managed to line things up so well if I didn’t know German?”
“We got worried,” Stan said. “Thought something might have happened to you.”
“I just wanted to make sure these uniforms were burned,” Sim said and laughed. “German farmers are thrifty people. They hate to burn good wool cloth, which can’t be bought for any price here. These people have only ersatz cloth.”
“We go now,” the German said and scowled at Stan.
“Did he burn them?” Stan asked.
“He buried them in his orchard. We don’t have time to waste having him dig them up,” Sim answered.
O’Malley had heard the talking and joined them in the kitchen.
“Everybody’s here, so let’s go,” Stan said. He was trying to remember if Sim Jones had ever talked to him about his past. He could not remember the flier ever having said much about himself.
The German took the lead and they followed him out through a back door. They walked down a path and came to a small barn. Stan heard a horse snort. The German spoke softly to Sim in German.
O’Malley answered the man in German. The fellow jumped and O’Malley laughed. Too late Stan kicked O’Malley warningly upon the shin. Stan frowned. He should have warned O’Malley. Now the man knew he could speak and understand German. Sim looked at O’Malley and laughed.
“It seems we will be able to get on very well with two of us speaking the native tongue,” he said.
“You talk Kraut?” O’Malley asked.
“Come, we waste time,” the German said. He moved into the barn with the boys at his heels.
The guide untied a horse and led it out through a back door. There, by the light of the stars, the boys saw a two-wheeled cart loaded with hay. The German hitched the horse to the cart.
“Hide in the hay,” he said.
The boys climbed into the cart and burrowed under the hay. Stan worked his way well forward with O’Malley and Sim close beside him. They were forced to lie very close together because the cart was narrow. They worked an opening for air and lay on the hard boards. The German spoke to the horse and the cart moved off.
The cart joggled over rutty roads for hours. Daylight began to show through the straw opening. Stan wiggled over against the slats on the side of the cart and poked a hole to look through. They were moving along a country lane. The cart turned out and a wagon passed. It was loaded with farm workers. Behind the wagon came a motorcycle and sidecar. A German soldier sat in the sidecar, while another, with a rifle slung across his back, drove the motorcycle. The driver shouted at the German on the seat of the cart, but he did not stop him.
O’Malley began squirming. He was in the middle and could see nothing at all.
“Be still!” Sim snapped. “You’ll shake hay loose and someone may become suspicious.”
O’Malley lay still but he made Stan tell him what he saw. They passed other wagons loaded with slave labor going to the fields, as well as many farmers, both men and women, on the way to work.
The German kept on driving and no one stopped him. Noon came and he still kept on. The boys were getting hungry and thirsty, but the driver did not halt. He pulled out a bag from under the seat and munched a sausage sandwich, washing the food down with draughts from a brown jug. O’Malley was able to see this.
“Sure, an’ I’ve a mind to reach up there an’ grab that sandwich,” he said hungrily.
“Better not,” Stan warned.
O’Malley held his appetite in check, but he kept on grumbling.
“Stop watching him eat,” Stan advised in a whisper.
“Sure, an’ I can’t take me eyes off that sausage sandwich. ’Tis the most appetizin’ thing I iver seen,” O’Malley said mournfully.
The cart rattled through a village and moved on down another narrow lane. Presently they came to a gate and the driver pulled up. Stan ducked back.
“German soldiers,” he whispered warningly.
The soldiers were shouting at the driver. He got down and began talking to them excitedly.
“They’re looking for escaped prisoners,” O’Malley whispered in Stan’s ear.
Three burly soldiers walked over to the cart and began thrusting their bayonets into the hay. Stan stiffened. If he was stabbed he meant to make no outcry. He felt the cold steel move across his body a few inches from his chest. It slipped back, then stabbed again. Stan was glad the bed of the cart had a ten-inch high board around it.
After more shouting and poking the driver got back on his seat and the cart moved forward.
“Boy,” Stan muttered. “That was a close shave.”
“I got a small cut,” Sim said.
“And you didn’t yell?” O’Malley spoke admiringly.
“It would have been the end for us if I had yelled,” Sim answered.
The cart continued to jog along slowly. Long shadows fell across the road and the cart passed many farmers returning from the fields.
“I could eat a boiled dog,” O’Malley grumbled.
“We’ll eat later,” Sim assured him.
Darkness settled slowly. The driver turned off the road into a narrower lane as soon as it was dark.
“No traveling is allowed after dark,” Sim explained. “We must be near our second station.”
The cart halted and the driver called to them.
“Come out now.”
They climbed out and flexed stiff muscles. O’Malley faced the driver.
“I’m hungry. Got any food?”
“Come with me,” the man said.
They entered a grove of trees and walked up to a tiny house. The house was dark but, with the aid of a flashlight, the guide located a trap door under some loose straw. He pulled it upward, revealing a stairs. The boys went down into a cellar where their guide lighted an oil lamp.
The cellar smelled stale but it had boxes to sit on and a table. There was a box on the table.
“Your food,” the German said, nodding toward the box.
He turned away and went upstairs again. They heard him close the door and rake straw over it. O’Malley opened the box at once. It contained a loaf of heavy bread, a few pieces of cold sausage and three boiled potatoes. Also there was a jug which contained milk.
Sim produced a heavy clasp knife and cut the bread. The boys made sandwiches and munched them. The jug was passed around and they drank out of it.
“Sure, an’ this is not a bad dinner,” O’Malley said. “It compares favorably with the last roast duck dinner I had in London.” He grinned at Stan.
After finishing their meal the boys sat waiting for their guide.
“He has to care for his horse and dispose of the hay,” Sim explained.