Chapter Four #2
Sam put on his coat and followed him outside into the prisoners’ yard. ‘Are you sure your leg is up to it?’ he asked as he surveyed the thick January snow on the ground.
‘It’s fine. Football was never my sport. I am more of a rugby man.’
Tubs’s knee had swollen up a few weeks ago. It was looking better, but Sam doubted it was fully healed. Playing an injury down was Tubs all over. He slowed his pace to match his friend’s and wondered how Tubs would manage when they next had to march to the station as part of another work party.
They exchanged brotherly smiles, Sam’s filled with concern, Tubs’s a little too wide.
‘When I get out of here I’m going to tell my family a German did it as I was trying to escape. Sounds more heroic than twisting the joint during a mistimed tackle.’
Sam chuckled. ‘I’ll tell them the truth.’
‘Do that and I’ll kill you.’
‘Not if I outrun you first.’
Tubs laughed. ‘Coward.’
‘Liar.’
‘I would prefer to call it embellishing the truth for king and country.’
They were very different people, brought together by their capture, yet they had formed a bond that had got them through some desperately grim times.
The camp they had arrived at all those years ago had expanded, reflecting the turmoil the Nazis had inflicted on the world.
Now there were Polish, French, Norwegian, Australian, Belgian and Yugoslavian soldiers in the camp, and although most had stayed inside today due to the biting temperatures, a few men were outside walking around the yard too and leaving a trail of deep footprints in their wake.
‘The Russians have taken Warsaw,’ said Tubs.
‘Who says? I’ve lost count how many times news turns out to be just a rumour.’
Tubs nodded decisively. ‘Dickie heard it on the transistor. There’s rumours the POW camp at Lamsdorf has been overrun.’
‘That’s about fifty miles from here.’
Tubs nodded again.
‘So the rumours about leaving might be right.’
Rumours had been circulating all day that the prisoners might be transported westward.
‘Why would they bother? If I was a guard, I would take off and leave us all behind.’
Sam disagreed. ‘The Nazis won’t want the Russians freeing us. They will be afraid we’ll fight with the Russians.’ Sam looked around at the huts and the forts beyond. ‘We might be prisoners here, but we could become a ready-made army.’
‘You can fight.’ Tubs tapped his leg. ‘I’ll drive a tank.’
Sam frowned as he heard explosions in the distance. ‘When we were captured, the Russians were on the other side. I’m not sure I want to be liberated by them.’
‘Nor me. They are a bit of an unknown quantity. And it’s not like we can speak Russian.’
‘They might have some Americans or British with them,’ said Sam, hopefully, although knowing it was unlikely.
He looked around the yard and his gaze fell on two prisoners who had been assigned to sweet-talk the softest guard into smuggling in any extra supplies.
‘I think it’s in the guards’ best interest to escort us further west. If they meet German soldiers, they are doing their duty.
If they meet the enemy, they are protecting their prisoners from front-line conflict as per the Geneva Convention.
If they get us further west, we could be used as currency. ’
‘Not sure I want to be a bartering chip.’ Tubs stopped and they faced each other. ‘You are too clever to be a footslogger.’
Sam reached deep in his pocket for his battered packet of cigarettes. He had made them last for months, but now offered one to Tubs. ‘Not clever enough not to be caught.’
They shared a light, huddling over the flame with protective cupped hands. Tubs inhaled deeply and savoured the taste of a cigarette from home. ‘Bless the Red Cross,’ he murmured as he admired the burning end.
Sam watched him enjoy the simple pleasure. The snow was falling heavier now, forming a thick layer on Tubs’s shoulders, hat and eyebrows. The red tip of his nose shone brightly in stark contrast to his pale, drawn face.
‘Good isn’t it?’ asked Tubs.
‘What? The cigarette?’
‘No. To be talking about the end of the war.’ He looked around the yard. ‘Talking about leaving here.’
Sam nodded. For the first time he felt a growing ember of excitement burning inside him too — an ember that was still fragile and easily blown out.
A fresh fall of snow and wind howled between them, angrily swirling in circles as it cut a path across the yard. The freezing temperature, nipping at his nose and cheeks, brought Sam to his senses. If the rumours were true, they should start preparing.
He inhaled deeply, shielding the end of his cigarette in the cage of his fingers.
‘We’d better go inside before we freeze to death.
We should start preparing. If they plan to move us out, they will have to open the stores.
We could use the Red Cross crates to build sleds to carry stuff like extra clothing and food. ’
‘We should tell the other prisoners to do the same.’
‘Yes. If it comes to nothing, at least it will give us something to do.’
They trudged back inside, where it was sheltered but only a little warmer, their heads full of plans and their hearts full of hope. They knew they were on the verge of something, and it could only be better than what they had been living through for the past few years.
* * *
Sam woke in the middle of the night to shouting and chaos.
From trying to fill their days and keep boredom at bay, suddenly they were plunged into a vortex of limited time with so much to do.
Guards were running about ordering the prisoners to get up and go to the parade yard.
Sam tumbled out of his bed and, along with the other prisoners in his group, hurriedly began loading their makeshift sleds with supplies that were being chaotically fetched from the unlocked stores.
They entered the yard carrying as many as they could carry on their bodies and on their sleds.
The yard was rapidly filling with prisoners.
The atmosphere was as taut as a drum. The only light came from bright cigarette glows, torches and intermittent wedges of light that streamed from doors of huts as they were opened.
A mix of strange accents and languages, filled with excitement and uncertainty, chattered around him, but most unnerving was the uncharacteristic panic and disorganization of the guards.
He had never seen the camp commandant stamping, shouting and pacing so much.
Was this a good or bad sign of what was to come?
The command was given to move out, along with the warning that they were on the front line now and would be shot if they tried to escape.
The instruction sobered many. The prisoners formed a long line and filtered out of the front gate under the threat of rifle barrels.
Sam and Tubs hesitated together at the gate; the countryside, barely visible in the dark, opened out before them.
It was both a moment of elation and trepidation.
Another step and they would be free from the prison, yet their destination was unclear and only blankets of white snow, howling blizzards and freezing temperatures waited ahead.
Distant artillery fire rattled from the front line.
With the pressure from behind building, they, along with hundreds of fellow prisoners, were forced to step forward into the unknown.
* * *
As the night faded away and dawn arrived they realized they were not the only ones on the move.
The main road was busy with German soldiers, dressed in white camouflage uniforms, heading east towards the front line.
Later, a long line of civilians, some in high-sided wagons and some walking, crossed their path.
A Russian plane flew overhead, firing a trail of bullets through their line, forcing them to scurry off the road and seek shelter.
The plane and its advancement in size, shape and power was a sobering reminder to Sam how long they had been separated from the war.
After that, the guards avoided the main road and directed the line of prisoners down back roads instead. They spent their first night in an open field covered with snow in temperatures well below freezing. Not everyone survived.
* * *
Sam woke from a restless sleep to find it was morning — but he was in the same nightmare.
The cold had reached into his bones during the night and every muscle and sinew felt taut and stiff in its fight to ward it off.
Would they march to a station? he wondered.
A crowded cattle wagon would be better than trudging through thick clawing snow.
Surely the German guards didn’t expect them to march all the way to Berlin.
But the march continued. Days turned to weeks.
The men sought shelter where they could find it — barns, derelict buildings, once even an abandoned fire station.
The rough terrain, hidden beneath the thick white snow, was too much for their rudimentary sleds and, within days, they began to break up, casting planks of wood in their wake like broken bones in the snow.
Difficult decisions had to be hurriedly made on what to leave behind.
Warm clothing or food? Both could make the difference between life or death and weary arguments broke out.