CHAPTER XXII

THE ESCAPE

Silently, the desperate prisoners crouched in the dark corner of the miserable German camp. Their hearts that had been so deep in despair now beat with new hope.

"Now this is the plan in detail," announced Franz. "We must get it all straight, as the least slip means failure. It's lucky I can speak German like a native. I always despised the language, and when this war broke out and I heard the terrible things the Boches were doing I was ashamed to twist my tongue to the language. But now it comes in mighty handy. I think I can fool the guard at the barracks where they repair the uniforms. Once I get him out of the way it'll be fairly clear sailing. We can pass out in the dark, and, once we get beyond these hateful wires, it'll be the best chance we could hope for. Then it'll be every man for himself, for it won't be safe for so many of us to stick together, even if we are in German uniforms. Now does everyone understand it?"

They all said they did, and then, as it was risky to remain any longer away from their sleeping quarters, they silently stole back to their miserable pallets. But there was hope now, where they had had only despair before.

In brief, the plan made by Franz and some of his companions was this. Not all in the prison pen could be included, as there were too many of them. Some refused to take the chance, and others had plans of their own for getting away.

Franz could, as he said, speak German like a native. He had formed a plot to overpower the officer on guard at the shop where German uniforms were repaired. Then Franz hoped to be able to get inside the shop, pass out a number of German suits to his companions, don one himself, and, under some pretense, lead the daring band out of the pen under cover of darkness.

Such was the bare outline of the plot, but there were many side issues which rendered it much more hazardous than it sounds.

Among the many tasks the Allied prisoners were set at in the German detention camps was the repairing of German uniforms. The Huns were hard put, after the first two years of war, to provide clothing for their troops. And, as the Allies did later, the Boches formulated a salvage plan. That is, the uniforms, when not too badly damaged, were taken from the dead bodies of their soldiers and sent to the rear to be cleaned, mended, and put in shape, to be issued to men whose clothing had worn out in service.

Franz, Bob, and some of the others worked day after day remaking these uniforms, and they knew the inside and outside of the barracks shop where the uniforms were revamped and stored against the time of need.

After dark the uniform shop was deserted, but it was guarded generally by but one officer, as it was somewhat removed from the prisoners' sleeping places.

Franz planned to steal up on this officer as he was on duty in front of the uniform building, overpower him in the most silent way possible, and then don his uniform. He would hide his own miserable suit some place, and also drag the body of the officer out of sight.

Once attired as a German officer and with his knowledge of the language, Franz could move about the prison yard freely. He hoped he would not have to do much talking, however, as he did not know what orders the uniform guard might be under.

However, Franz intended to work quickly. Once he was attired as a Hun, though he hated the uniform, it was his idea to slip into the shop and bring out two other uniforms. Bob would put on one, and one of the other conspirators the remaining suit. Then the trio could move about with but little danger of detection.

Franz then proposed that he, Bob, and their companion should bring from the shop enough German uniforms to fit all who were going to try to escape in this way. They would don them in their sleeping quarters, and then, under cover of darkness, would be led boldly to the main entrance of the prison pen by Franz.

Here was the weakest and most dangerous part of the plot. If for any reason the guard at the gate suspected anything they would all be shot down without mercy.

But here again Franz counted on his knowledge of German. It was often the practice for squads of German soldiers to march into and out of the yard under the guidance of an officer, and Franz hoped he and his friends would be taken for one of these parties. He could give the guard at the gate any reason that seemed feasible for taking the men out at night. All the prisoners were soldiers. They could march in a squad like the Germans, and, though they might not be able to do the "goose step," there would be no need for that.

"Well, we've got to take the chance," said Franz, as he and Bob turned in on their pallets.

"Yes, it's worth taking a lot of chances to get out of this hole," was the answer.

How they lived through the next day Bob, Franz, and the others in the plot hardly recalled afterward. They were wistfully anxious for night to come, and terribly worried lest by some chance the plan might be spoiled.

But fate seemed to favor them. None of them was sent, as sometimes was the case, to labor in distant mines. They were all kept at tasks within or near the prison enclosure, and, to their delight, Bob and Franz were put at work sewing buttons on revamped uniforms.

This gave them a chance to note that an unusual number of repaired suits were ready to be issued. This was another matter that had worried Franz. Sometimes the stock of available uniforms in the shop was exhausted. If that had occurred at this time there would have been none for the escaping prisoners.

"There's enough here for all of us," Franz remarked to Bob, as they stopped work that night.

They filed in to their meagre supper, as did all the prisoners, and, hungry as they all were, each one managed to smuggle away a small piece of bread, or what passed for it, and some other food. For some days past they had been hoarding such victuals as they could, for, once escaped, they must hide in holes, live the best way they could, and subsist on what they found until they could reach Holland or get back to the American lines. And they all hoped to be able to do this, rather than reach the neutral Netherlands, where they would be interned.

It may well be imagined that none of those in the plot to escape slept that night. The hour for the trial was set at two o'clock in the morning, that being the time when the guards would be least on the alert.

And, much as rain was hated, everyone was glad when it began to drizzle shortly after midnight. This meant that the guards would seek such shelter as was available on their posts, and not be quite so alert as they would be were the night fine.

"So far so good!" whispered Franz to Bob, as the time drew near. "I'm going to start now."

He slipped from his hard bed and silently made his way to the door. Franz knew the habits of the guard there. He generally was dozing off at this hour, though it was against the rules. But as no escape had been attempted in a long time, a little carelessness had crept into the iron discipline.

As silently as a cat Franz crept up on this guard. In his hand the Khaki Boy carried a file that had been worn down to what constituted a dagger with a needle point. There was so slight a struggle and commotion at the entrance of the barracks that Bob and the others, breathlessly waiting, hardly heard it. Franz shuddered at the deed he had been obliged to commit, but it was either his life or the guard's.

The lifeless body was dragged out of the way, and then Franz crawled from the building. It was raining harder than ever now, and he was glad of it. Quickly he made his way through the darkness to the clothing shop. He was not stopped, and for this he was also glad. For though he might have got past a sentry in the blackness by giving some excuse, in German, for walking around, there would have been grave danger of discovery. But, as it was, Franz found himself at the clothing depot, and then he began to look for the guard.

"The most likely place he'll be will be in the shelter of the doorway, out of the wet as much as possible," mused Franz. "I'll tackle him there."

As he approached the door to the shop a figure stepped from the doorway, just as he expected.

"Halt! Who comes?" demanded the under-officer in German, as he brought his rifle around ready for instant use.

"I have some important information for you," said Franz, speaking in the tongue he hated. "Hush! do not make an alarm."

As he spoke he drew near to the officer with the sharp-pointed file in readiness.

"What is the information, and who are you?" asked the officer, who was a corporal.

"This!" exclaimed Franz, and he struck true and hard.

There was a gasping, choking cry, hardly audible above the sighing of the wind and the patter of the rain.

"I--I hope I don't have to do this again," thought Franz with a shudder. "It isn't like killing men in battle. But it has to be!"

The way was now clear for him. As quickly as he could he stripped off the corporal's uniform and donned it in place of his own rags. These latter he tossed under the building, where he also hid the body.

Possessing himself of the officer's keys Franz hurried into the shop. Fortunately he knew his way about even in the dark, and he caught up two complete uniforms and two long coats from a pile he had noticed that afternoon near the door, where they were stacked ready to be shipped out in the morning.

Hurrying back to the sleeping shack, clad in the dead officer's uniform, Franz carried with him the two other outfits he had picked up. Quickly Bob and a man named Rayburn donned these suits, and then, in the darkness and rain, they carried away enough uniforms to fit out the entire escaping party.

Feverishly the men worked to get into them, and at last they were outfitted. They were ready to be led to freedom by Franz now, if only fate were kind to them.

"All here?" asked Franz in a whisper.

"All here," answered Bob, who had kept count. Some of the other prisoners awoke, but none would join the escaping party. They regarded the chances as too slim, and they knew what the result would be if they were caught.

Out into the rain and darkness Franz led his squad of "German" soldiers. Boldly they approached the gate. It was the crucial moment. Would they be stopped?

The sentry came out of his little box as Franz led his men up in double file.

"Halt!" came the command, and Franz repeated it.

"Who goes?" demanded the sentry.

"A party from the prison commandant's quarters to bring in a squad of American prisoners," answered Franz. "Our brave fellows have captured some more of the swine."

"Good!" grunted the sentry. "They ought all be shot. You have an order, of course?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Franz, and for a moment his heart went cold. He had not thought of this. In desperation he put his hand in the pocket of the overcoat he had taken from the dead officer.

Franz was about to take out the deadly file, and use it for the third time, but as he felt for it his fingers encountered a paper. He did not know what it was, but he would take a chance. At any rate it would be something in German.

Boldly he took it out and offered it to the guard at the gate. Had there been any slip here Franz was ready to kill the sentry at once. But the latter was intent on getting what he supposed was an order permitting a squad of German soldiers to pass out. He took the document from Franz's shaking hand.

"It is too dark to read," spluttered the guard. "And my flashlamp is broken. Pass on!"

"Forward, march!" ordered Franz, in German. And how those words thrilled the prisoners! They filed past the sentry who had turned to go back into his little box. Then, as Bob, who brought up the rear, was about to go through the gate which the sentry had unlocked, something seemed to strike the guard as wrong.

"Your men have no guns, corporal," he said. "And to bring in prisoners----"

"Bah! An unarmed German is a match for any number of the swine-dogs!" returned Franz.

"Right! Pass on!" chuckled the guard.

And the prisoners were outside the gate!