'Those damn dogs' Hugh muttered.
'You think he can smell how scared I am?' The Canadian cracked a small, joyless laugh.
'Shouldn't be too bloody hard to pick up my scent right about now. And if those damnable lights come any closer, you'll be able to smell my drawers from a mile away' This made both Tommy and Lincoln smile, despite themselves.
The Canadian grasped Tommy on the forearm.
'You lead on. Tommy,' he said.
'Scott'll be right behind you, and I'll be along in a minute or two.'
'Wait until you're sure,' Tommy repeated. Then, hunched over, he crab-walked up to the front of the hut, right to the last shadow on the lip of the exposed area. He paused there, reaching down and double-checking his shoes to make sure they were fastened tightly and that his jacket was zipped tight, and pulling his cap down hard on his head. He wore nothing that would jangle, nothing that might catch on the steps as he slipped past. He performed a small inventory of his person, checking for anything that might betray him, and could find nothing. He thought, in that second of hesitation, that he had traveled far without reaching his destination, but that some things that had been hidden from him were much closer to coming into focus.
Every rational bone in his body argued against exposing himself to the chances of the searchlight, the dogs, and the goons, but Tommy knew these voices of caution were cowards, and realized, too, that there was the chance that dodging the Germans right at that moment might be the least dangerous thing he had to do that night.
Tommy took a deep breath, and balanced forward on the balls of his feet. He looked up, gritted his teeth, and then, without any warning to the others, launched himself around the front of Hut 105.
His feet kicked up small puffs of slippery dust, and he almost stumbled when his boot caught the lip of a small ridge in the dirt. He had the momentary realization that it must have been that same lip that tripped the man before him, but like a skater momentarily thrown off stride, he regained his balance and sprang forward.
Breathing hard, he ducked around the corner, tossing himself against the wall and the welcome darkness. It took him a second or two to calm himself. The beating in his ears was drum like perhaps even like the sound of an airplane's engine, and it faded slowly.
Tommy waited for Scott to traverse the same distance, letting the silence flow around him. He sharpened his eyes and ears, and then turned his eyes to the front door of Hut 107. As he watched and listened, he heard the unmistakable sound of an American voice. He bent toward the sound and what he heard didn't surprise him.
Penetrating the darkness, even though it was whispered, a man said,
'Number thirty-eight…' And then there was a small, distant noise as someone rapped twice on the wooden barracks door. Tommy strained to see through the night, and caught a glimpse of the door swinging open, and a bent-over form taking the front steps two at a time and leaping inside.
He immediately could see why Hut 107 was selected. The front door was in a lee, seemingly shielded from the direct glare of the searchlights, almost a blind spot, because of the odd angles of the assembly yard and the way the other huts were placed. It was not as close to the back wire as Hut 109, but the additional distance was surmountable. Escape planners never chose the huts closest to freedom, anyway, because they were the barracks most frequently searched by the ferrets.
Tommy could see that the forest was a mere seventy-five yards on the far side of the wire. Other tunnels had almost made it that distance, he knew. And, Tommy realized. Hut 107 had the further advantage of being on the town side of the camp. If an escaping kriegie actually made it into the trees, he could keep going straight, instead of trying to navigate with a homemade compass in the deep black of the Bavarian forest.
Tommy pressed himself against the wall, waiting for Scott.
He could tell what the delay was: a searchlight was probing the area they had just traveled, moving behind them, trying to scour the alleyways between the huts.
As Tommy waited, he heard another whisper and double-knock. The door to 107 briefly swung open again. He guessed two men, arriving from the other side of the compound.
The searchlight swept back, toward Hut 101, and Tommy heard the heavy tread of Scott's boots, swinging around the front of the building, as he seized the opportunity. The black flier nearly stumbled as well, and when he threw himself next to Tommy, he was muttering, 'Jesus Christ!'
'You okay?'
Scott breathed in deeply.
'Still alive and kicking,' he said.
'But that's too damn close. The searchlight is all over the front of 101 and 103. Bastards. I don't think they saw anything, though. Just typical Kraut behavior. Hugh will be along in a minute, or whenever those goons with that light swing it around somewhere else. You see anything?'
'Yes,' Tommy said quietly.
'Men going into 107. Whisper a number and knock twice and the door opens.'
'A number?'
'Yeah. You be forty-two. I'm forty-one. A little lie, but it'll get us through the door. And Hugh, if he ever manages to get here, he can be forty-three.'
'May take him a minute. The lights were close. And there's something in the way… ' 'I almost tripped, too.'
'Hope he saw that.'
The two men waited. They could just make out the shaft of light moving relentlessly over the territory they'd passed through, hunting the darkness. They knew that Hugh was hunched over, hugging the wall, waiting for his chance. It seemed far longer than it probably was, but finally the light snapped off.
'Now, Hugh!' Tommy whispered.
He could hear the pounding of Hugh's boots, as the hulking Canadian leapt forward into the darkness. And then, almost instantly, a deep thud, a muffled curse, and silence, as the same indentation that had tripped each of them did the same to Renaday.
But the Canadian did not immediately leap up.
Instead, Tommy heard a low, harsh moan.
'Hugh?' he whispered as sharply as possible.
There was a moment of quiet, and then both men heard the Canadian's distinctive accent.
'It's my bleeding knee,' he groaned.
Tommy crept to the edge of the hut. He could see Hugh still sprawled in the dirt perhaps fifteen feet away, clutching his left knee in agony.
'Wait there,' Tommy hissed.
'We'll come get you!'
Scott was at Tommy's side, ready to leap into the darkness, when a sudden shaft of light smashed the air above their heads, forcing them to throw themselves down to the ground.
The searchlight slammed into the roof of Hut 105, and then crawled lizardlike down the wall toward them.
'Don't move,' Hugh whispered.
The light seemed to step away from Tommy and Scott and then hover just beyond where Hugh lay, still grabbing his knee, but motionless, his face buried down in the cold dirt. It seemed as if the edge of the light were only inches away from his boot and discovery. The Canadian seemed to reach out for the darkness, as if it were some sort of protective blanket he could pull over him.
For an instant, the light poised, blurrily licking at the prone form of Tommy's friend. Then, languidly, almost as if it were teasing them, it swung a few feet away, back toward Hut 103.
Hugh remained frozen. Slowly, he twisted his face out of the dirt and toward the darkness a few feet away, where Tommy and Lincoln Scott remained frozen in position.
'Leave me!' he said quietly, firmly.
