astonishment and surprise, and then slowly dissolved into recognition, followed by rage.
But what he said was, 'No, I didn't. I didn't kill him.'
Then he hesitated for a half-second, just long enough for the denial to toss Tommy wildly into confusion, and then he threw himself down on Tommy, grunting savagely, his dirty, strong hands reaching inexorably for Tommy's throat.
At the tail of the tunnel in Hut 107, Major Clark glanced down at his wristwatch, shook his head, then turned his stare toward Lincoln Scott.
'Now we're behind,' he said bitterly.
'Every minute is critical, lieutenant. In another couple of minutes, the entire escape will be in jeopardy.'
Scott stood by the entrance to the tunnel, almost straddling it, like a policeman guarding a door. He returned the major's glare with a singularly cold gaze of his own.
'I do not understand you, major,' he said.
'You would allow Vic's killers to go free and the Germans to shoot me.
What sort of man are you?'
Clark stared, coldly, harshly, at the black airman.
'You're the killer, Scott,' he said.
'The evidence has always been clear-cut and unequivocal. It has nothing to do with this escape tonight.'
'You lie,' Scott replied.
Clark shook his head, answering in a low, awful voice, with a small and terrible smile.
'Do I, now? No, that's where you're wrong. I know nothing of any conspiracy to set you up as the killer. I know nothing of any other man's participation in the crime. I know nothing that would support your ridiculous story. I know only that an officer was killed, an officer you made no secret of hating. I know that this officer had previously provided valuable assistance to prior tunnel escape efforts, to wit, acquiring documents for forgers to work on, German cash, and other items of importance. And I know that the German authorities were very interested in this murder.
More interested than they had a right to be. And because of this interest, I know that this particular tunnel, our best chance to get some men out, was severely threatened because had they decided to hunt for the killer and the evidence to support charges, they would have torn the camp completely apart, probably exposing this escape attempt in the process.
So the only thing you are possibly correct about, lieutenant, is that as chief of escape security, I was genuinely pleased that you presented yourself covered with blood and guilt at a critical moment. And I have been pleased that your little trial and your little conviction and your little execution, which I'm certain is to follow quite quickly, has proven to be such a wonderful distraction for the Krauts.'
'You don't know about those men at the front of the tunnel?' Scott asked, almost incredulous at the venom served in his direction.
Major Clark shook his head.
'Not only do I not know, I don't want to know. The obviousness of your guilt has been very helpful.'
'You would shoot an innocent man to protect your tunnel?'
The major grinned again.
'Of course. And so would you, if you were in my position. So would any officer in charge.
Men are sacrificed in war all the time, Scott. So you die and we protect a larger good. Why is that so strange for you to understand?'
Scott did not reply. He wondered, in that second, why he was not filled with outrage, filled with fury. Instead, he looked over at the major and felt nothing but contempt, but it was the most curious sort of contempt, for a part of him understood the precise truth in what the man had said. It was an evil truth and a terrible one, but a truth of war nonetheless.
He hated that, but oddly, accepted it.
Scott looked back into the tunnel shaft.
Fenelli spoke then.
'Man, I wonder what's taking him so long?' The would-be doctor was perched by the tunnel entrance, balancing, craning forward to hear something other than the steady whoosh-whoosh of the homemade bellows.
The black flier swallowed hard. His own throat was dry. In that moment he realized that he'd allowed a terrified man, the only man who'd really befriended him, to struggle into the darkness alone only because he was so eager to live. He thought that all his own proud words about willingness to die and sacrifice and taking a stand and dignity had abruptly been proven hollow by the simple act of letting Tommy crawl into that tunnel searching for the truth necessary to set him free. Tommy had not made any of the same fine and brave speeches that he had made, but had quietly faced down his own terrors and was sacrificing himself. Too dangerous. Too uncertain, Scott thought suddenly. It was a trip that Scott suddenly realized he should never have allowed Tommy to take on his behalf.
But he had no idea what to do, other than stand guard and wait. And hope.
He looked back at Major Clark. Then he spoke to the smug and pretentious officer with an unbridled cold hatred: 'Tommy Hart doesn't deserve to die, major. And if he doesn't come back out of that tunnel, well, I'm going to hold you personally responsible, and then trust me: There won't be any goddamn uncertainty at all about the next murder charge I face.'
Clark took a short step back, as if he'd been slapped across the cheek.
His own face was set in an unruly combination of fear and fury. Neither emotion was particularly well hidden.
He glanced over at Fenelli and choked out a few words.
'You heard that threat, didn't you, lieutenant?'
Fenelli grinned.
'I didn't hear a threat, major. What I heard was a promise. Or maybe just a statement of fact. Kinda like saying the sun's gonna come up tomorrow. Count on it. And I don't think you've got even the slightest understanding why they're different. And you know what else occurs to me, right now? I'm thinking it might be a real good thing for you and your immediate future if Tommy gets back here safe and sound pretty damn fast.'
Major Clark did not reply to this. Nervously, he, too, stared toward the tunnel entrance, which yawned silently in front of them. After a moment, he said to everyone and no one, 'We're running out of time.'
To his astonishment, the Hundfuhrer did not immediately shoot him. Nor did the tower guards who put his chest in the crosshairs of the thirty-caliber machine gun they manned.
Hugh Renaday stood motionless, arms lifted high, almost suspended in a single shaft of light. He was blinded by the searchlight's glare, and he blinked hard, trying to peer past the cone of brightness into the night beyond and the German soldiers he could hear calling to one another. He allowed himself a small measure of relief: No general alarm had been sounded. And, so far, he had not been shot, which also would have triggered a camp wide alert.
Behind him, he heard the creaking sound of the compound's main gate swinging open, followed by two pairs of footsteps pounding across the assembly yard toward where he remained standing. Within a few seconds, two helmeted goons, their rifles at the ready, lurched into the spotlight, like actors joining a play in progress on the stage.
'Raus! Raus!' one of the goons blurted out.
'Follow! SchnellF The second goon quickly patted Hugh down, then stepped back, prodding him in the center of the back with the barrel of his rifle.
'Just out taking in a little of the fine spring German air,' Hugh said.
'Can't exactly see what you chaps believe is the problem…'
