'Men have worked hard and then died hard to give others a chance at freedom. There were two men trapped, digging in a collapsed tunnel, right before I arrived here…'
'That's right,' Hugh chimed in quietly.
'We even heard about it over in the other camp.'
Scott hesitated, catching more wind before he said as softly yet forcefully as he could: 'We have to remember those men! We cannot screw this up for everyone heading out tonight! We have to be careful… Very careful!'
'We have to find the truth,' Tommy bluntly replied.
He could just see Scott's head nodding in agreement.
'That's right,' he said.
'We have to find the truth. But we have to remember the cost. Others have died. There are some debts being paid tonight, and we have to keep that in mind. Tommy.
Remember, when all is said and done, we are still officers in the air corps. We took oaths to defend our country. Not to defend me. That's all I'm saying.'
Tommy swallowed hard.
'I'll remember,' he said. He felt as if everything he had to do that night had just been made far more difficult. The stakes are high, he told himself.
Hugh was silent for a second, before he whispered, 'You know, Scott, you're a bloody good soldier and a patriot, and you're absolutely right, and all these bastards who've been lying and cheating probably don't deserve what you're saying even though you're right. Now Tommy, you're the navigator…'
Tommy could see Scott's abrupt wide grin.
'That's right. Tommy. You chart the course. We'll follow.'
There was nothing he could say. Unsure about anything except that all the answers lay somewhere in the darkness ahead of him. Tommy gently slid the bunk room door open, and stealthily began to move down the corridor, aware that his two companions were trailing a few steps behind. There was nothing in the air around them except black night and the crippling harsh fear of uncertainty.
They had maneuvered halfway down the barracks when a small shaft of light filtered through the cracks in the front door as the searchlight swept past, and for the smallest of seconds, Tommy caught sight of three figures huddled together.
Then, just as quickly as the light was there, it exited, plunging the barracks into darkness again. But Tommy saw through the blackness what he expected; three men silently diving out into the ocean of night. He could not tell who they were, nor could he see how they were dressed, or what they carried. All he saw was the shape of movement, and he pushed ahead rapidly.
There was no need to say anything when they reached the end of the corridor and hunched down, waiting for the same moment when the light would slide past. Save for the sharpened breaths from the two men beside him. Tommy could hear nothing.
They did not have to wait long. The searchlight glow smacked the door, seemed to hesitate, then pushed on, carving away slices of darkness from the other huts. In that moment, Tommy reached up, grabbed the door handle, and pushed it open, diving out into the night as he had before, making fast for the lee of the hut and the shadows that lurked there. The two others were directly behind him, and when they all thrust themselves up against the wall of Hut 103, they were breathing much harder than they would have expected, given the modest distance they'd covered.
Tommy peered around, trying to find the three men who had exited before them, but he could not pick them out of the night.
'Damn,' he whispered.
Hugh wiped his forehead.
'I'm not sure I like being ass-end Charlie here tonight,' he spat, but his words were punctuated by a smile.
Tommy nodded, feeling a little lighter at hearing the Canadian's brusque voice.
'Ass-end Charlie' was the British fighter pilots' inelegant description for the last man in a six-plane wing attack formation-the most dangerous and deadly position. The war had been almost a year old before fighter command ordered an alteration in the basic flying formation, switching to a V similar to the way the Germans flew into combat, instead of the elongated wing, which left the last man uncovered. No one ever watched the tail of ass-end Charlie, and dozens of Spitfire pilots had died in 1939, because the Germans flying Messerschmidts would simply sidle up behind, unseen, fire a burst, and then flee, before the wing could get turned to meet the threat.
'Ah, never mind,' Hugh added.
'Where to now?'
Tommy strained his eyes to penetrate the night. It was clear, cold.
The sky was lit with stars and a partial moon glowed above the distant line of trees, outlining the forms of the goons manning the machine-gun towers. The three men traveling ahead of them had disappeared.
'Maybe under the hut, like before. Tommy?' Scott whispered.
'Maybe they went that way.'
Tommy shook his head and shivered at the thought.
'No,' he said, welcoming the pitch black around them.
'Around the front, then over to the side of 105. Follow me.'
Without waiting for a response, the three men bent over and raced forward, dodging the stairs into 103, passing along the edge of the open space and danger, then letting the narrow alley between the huts close in on them.
Just as they passed from the danger of the exposed front into the safety of the alley. Tommy heard a small thudding sound, followed by a whispered, but frantic curse. Without breaking his stride, as he dodged into the darkness, he saw the shape of a man a few dozen yards away, directly in front of Hut 105.
The man was scrambling, picking up a valise dropped in the dirt. He was bent over, moving frantically, grabbing at the small suitcase and a few indistinct items that had fallen out, then immediately sprinting ahead, disappearing from Tommy's sight. Tommy realized instantly that this was the third man in the trio moving ahead of them. The third man, who faced most of the danger.
As if to punctuate this threat, a searchlight swung over the spot where the man had dropped his suitcase only seconds before. The light seemed to dance about, swaying back and forth, almost as if it were only mildly curious. Then, after a few seconds, it shrugged and skipped on, moving ahead.
'You see that?' Lincoln Scott hissed.
Tommy nodded.
'You got an idea where they're going?' Renaday asked.
'My guess is Hut 10?' Tommy said.
'But we won't know for sure until we get there.'
Dodging across the alley, covered by the blackness, the three men maneuvered to the front of the next hut. The air was still, soundless.
It was so quiet that Tommy thought that every infinitesimal noise they made was magnified, trumpetlike, a klaxon noise of alarm. To move silently in a world absent all external noises is very difficult. There were no nearby city sounds of cars and buses or even the deep whomp-whomp-whomp of a distant bombing raid. Not even the joking voices of the goons in the towers or a bark from a Hundfuhrer's dog creased the night to distract or help conceal every footstep they made. For a moment, he wished the British would break into some rowdy song over in the northern compound. Anything to cover over the top of the modest noises they made.
'Okay,' Tommy whispered, 'same drill as before, except this time, we're going one at a time. Around the front and then into the shadow on the far side. I'm first, then Lincoln, and then you, Hugh. Nobody rush anything. Be careful. We're a lot closer to the tower across the yard. It was their light that almost caught the other guy. They might have heard something and they may be looking this way. And there's usually one of those damn dogs over by the front gate. Take your time and wait until you're sure it's safe.'
'Right,' Scott said.
