June 26, 1941
Wales
Helmut was leaning against one of the bunks that line both sides of the hut. His right leg was bent back so that the heel of his boot was against the lower bunk and his arms were crossed over his chest. As he glanced from the door of the hut to the entrance of the tunnel that he and his men had worked on since their arrival in the camp, the fingers of his right hand drummed an impatient beat against his left arm. Tonight was the night that he and his men would reclaim their freedom and set off into the English night in hopes of somehow returning to Germany. Tonight was the night that they had been working for nonstop since May. For them to have any chance of success everything had to go off without a hitch. Every man of them would have to work together to make sure the plan was executed perfectly with no screw-ups in order to ensure that they were not caught before they could even begin their flight. Naturally, Max was late.
Brauer was at the door holding it slightly open in order to peer out into the darkness for signs of either the guards, or of Max and the other officers who should have gone over the fence separating the two parts of the camp nearly a half hour ago. On either side of Brauer were two troopers whose job would be to subdue any British guards that entered the hut. One clutched a piece of metal that had been sharpened to a point and the other held a folded over can top the outer edge of which had been made razor sharp. Hopefully they would not be needed. The last thing that Helmut wanted was for the guards to get all stirred up over a missing patrol. Helmut caught Brauer's eye and raised a questioning eyebrow. Brauer shook his head in reply and Helmut cursed softly. If Max and the others didn't arrive soon he would be obliged to leave without them.
Helmut turned his attention back to the tunnel. Most of the men had already left. Around the entrance stood a dozen or so men waiting their turn. They were all dressed in civilian clothes and each carried documentation that looked completely proper. As they slipped into the tunnel one by one to make the long, slow crawl out of the camp Helmut wondered how far they would get. Unlike himself, many of the men didn't speak English very well or, in some cases, at all. Their disguises and papers would fool the eyes of any curious natives, but once they opened their mouths they would find themselves in serious trouble. The plan called for the escapees to break off into small groups and Helmut had tried to make sure that each group had at least one person who could speak English, but how effective that would be remained to be seen.
As Helmut watched the last man lowered himself into the tunnel. He could wait no longer for Max and the others. He called softly to Brauer and began approaching the tunnel. The other men in the hut crowded around to wish him luck and Helmut shook each of their hands. Helmut hated to have to leave any of the men behind, but there was nothing to be done for it. They, after all, only had the ability to come up with so many documents and sets of civilian clothes. Lots had been drawn and the men who would be staying behind had expressed no hard feelings about the situation and had in fact worked every bit as hard on the tunnel as the men who would be using it. As he shook the last man's hand Helmut realized that he had never been prouder of anyone than he was of these men who were being left behind.
Helmut was lowering himself into the hole in the floor when one of the men at the door called out that someone was coming. Brauer, who had made his way to the tunnel, ran back to the door. He stared out into the dark for long seconds before pulling the door wide open to admit Max and three others, including Gaertner. The four men and Helmut represented the only officers of their unit who had not been either killed or wounded during the invasion. Helmut pulled himself out of the tunnel and approached the new arrivals. As he did so he noticed that one of them, a fellow named Haugen, was holding his arm strangely and that Max was busy wrapping his hand with a strip that he had torn from a nearby bed sheet. "What happened?", he asked.
Max finished wrapping his hand and tossed more of the bed sheet to Gaertner who began tearing it into pieces. Once he was satisfied that his own makeshift bandage would hold he replied, "Had a little trouble getting over the fence. We draped our blankets over the wire on top, but I still managed to cut my hand and Haugen got his arm caught. He's got a nasty cut."
Helmut looked over and saw Gaertner wrapping the wound. He approached the man and asked, "Are you going to be able to travel?"
Haugen smiled up at him and answered, "This isn't anything to worry about, sir. My wife's given me worse for being late to dinner."
Helmut laughed along with the rest of the men and said, "Good to hear. Your clothes are over here. Get them on and let's get the hell out of here."
Once the men were dressed in civilian attire they slipped into the tunnel one after the other, with Helmut being the last to go. He emerged some twenty feet outside the outer fence and immediately began running away from it. Five dark shapes rose to meet him and Helmut saw that it was Max and the rest. The small group began moving across a field of high grass heading in the general direction of a small house that sat on the other side. Just past the house would be a road that they could follow to the nearest town. As they neared the house they began to move away in order to give it a wide berth and avoid being spotted by anyone inside. As they moved past the house and into the road, however, Helmut spotted a large dark shape outside the house. Instructing his companions to keep low and wait for him, he crept toward house. When he returned Max hissed at him, "What are you doing? We have to keep moving."
By way of response Helmut held up his hand. In the dim light being offered by the moon Max couldn't see what Helmut held in his hand, but the metallic jingle it gave off could only have meant one thing. Max couldn't see if Helmut was smiling but the mirth was unmistakable in his voice when he said, "I'll drive."
***
July 2, 1941
Jelgava, Latvian SSR
Private Alexei Drobyshev walked away from the chow line and stared suspiciously at the so-called "food" that had been dished into his tin. He stepped out from under the mess tent and into the weak light of dawn. He gazed toward the rising sun for a moment before turning to walk back to his post. He arrived to find a few of his friends sitting next to the series of shallow trenches that they spent their days and nights occupying. Using his his helmet as a seat, he sat among them and began eating his breakfast. He was happily munching on a piece of black bread when he suddenly became aware of a loud buzzing sound. All conversation among the little group broke off as the men looked skyward. As they watched a great black mass of aircraft appeared in the sky to the west. Alexei stared open-mouthed as they approached. He had never seen so many planes before. He heard someone say, "I didn't know we had that many aircraft in this area."
"We don't.", said another. "They're coming from the west. Got to be German."
"No way the Germans would get permission to fly over our space."
"Maybe they're off course."
The debate went on like that, but Alexei wasn't listening. Something wasn't right. He could feel it. The aircraft passed overhead and were soon disappearing from sight. Everyone was about to go back to their meals when the ground around them suddenly began to shake violently. Some part of Alexei's brain told him that they were being shelled by artillery as he scrambled down into the trench. Shell after shell slammed into the earth above him and he could feel the deep rumble of the explosions in his chest. Between explosions he could hear men screaming, though whether from pain or fear he could not say. When he looked back on it later, Alexei wouldn't be able to say for sure that he hadn't been screaming as well.
As suddenly as the violent attack had come it seemed to stop. The smell of smoke and blood was heavy in the air as Alexei stood up to look out of the trench. In front of him there was a solid wall of white smoke too thick to see through. He looked behind him and saw dead and wounded men littering the ground. The wounded were screaming and medics were running from man to man to see what they could do. Alexei heard someone shout that the Germans were coming and he turned back to the west. Through the white smoke he could see large black shapes emerging. They were tanks, dozens of them. And behind them came soldiers. The soldiers were firing and bullets were suddenly whizzing past Alexei's head. Then the tanks opened up their cannons blasting the trench line with shells.
Alexei knew he had to do something. He picked up his rifle from the floor of the trench where he had dropped it. He was about to fire at the enemy when he realized that his comrades were running away from the oncoming tanks. He watched them go and turned back to the advancing Germans. There seemed to be so many. Alexei climbed out of the trench and began running after his comrades.
