| It is the Duty of Any Officer in the Time of War to Do All in his
Power to Escape" |
| - 'General George Harsh' |
To Vin Tanner, escaping the cage was just not part of the prisoner's decree
- it was the only option.
Born and bred in the vastness of Texas, he was a man attuned to an
unbroken horizon and the wide open spaces in between. Those who knew him
often wondered how he managed to endure the confines of an airplane cockpit,
but Tanner was not worried by the cramped conditions as long as he got to
feast his eyes upon the open sky. It was the enforced inactivity that fed
his restlessness and impending sense of claustrophobia.
Since he'd been shot down and captured he'd tried five times to escape - each
attempt gaining him a few more miles of freedom than the last before
recapture. The way he figured it, his chances of reaching a safe haven
increased if he just kept trying. Unfortunately, each attempt also saw him
transferred to another prison. After his last audacious attempt he expected
to be incarcerated in Koldtiz - the infamous castle "from which none
escaped".
What he got was Stalag Luft III.
+ + + + + + +
In a German prison of war camp mornings arrive early and with a harsh
"Wachen Sie auf! Anordnung!"
(Wake up, that's an order)
Squadron Leader Chris Larabee cast a bleary eye over the prison compound.
German guards stood stationed at alert whilst the prisoners stumbled into
assembly.
I don't get fed enough to deal with this, he thought.
As the second highest ranked officer in the compound, it was his job to
provide an example of stolid British stiff upper lip in the face of
adversity, hardship and god-awful wakeup calls. Some mornings, however, he
just couldn't forget that he was American born and desperately wanted to
respond to that morning rousing with an internationally recognised hand
signal
Tucking his weariness behind him like a protected child, Larabee
straightened his stance and cast his eyes across the compound confirming the
presence of all prisoners and in particular, those men under his watch. Down
to the left stood Buck Wilmington - the brash, bluff American kept glancing
over his shoulder. Larabee didn't have to look to know he was watching young
JD Dunne - the young Irish lad had given them quite a scare the night before
when the tunnel had collapsed on him. It was only the grace of God and Buck's
quick reflexes that had dragged the kid to safety.
Behind him Sanchez and Jackson continued a conversation that seemed to
involve pulverising silverfish and lamp black. He decided he didn't really
need to know every detail of the escape plan.
To his right F/Lt Ezra Standish made his lazy way to line. Larabee
grinned. Of all his 'staff', Standish was the best at dragging himself out
of his comfort. The goons never realised that the 'laziest' man on the
compound was their most brilliant intelligence officer. Nothing in the
compound escaped Ezra's attention - whether it was the precise time of guard
shifts or what the Kommandant gave his 10 year-old daughter for her birthday.
If it was information, Standish knew it.
Larabee couldn't see Group Captain Travis, but knew his foot had been
causing him pain the past few days. Looking further down the line to his
right he saw the old man's son-in-law Stephen Travis. The slight nod towards
the Infirmary was all he needed to know.
