a silken handkerchief in the dead German's tunic pocket. Tommy wrapped this as tightly as he could around his hand to try to stem the bleeding.
Tommy tried to sort through the situation. He knew only that much was at risk, but his exhaustion and pain prevented him from thinking altogether clearly. He could remember only that there were men still waiting in the tunnel, and that now the escape was even more behind schedule, so he determined that the only thing he could do was get it back up and moving, and although fatigue and hurt filled every fiber of his body, that was what he decided to do.
But although he made this decision deep within himself, he was at first unable to get his ravaged muscles to respond.
He stole one more breath of air, trying to push himself to his feet, only to slump back against a nearby tree. He told himself that it would be all right to rest for just a second and he started to close his eyes, only to feel a sudden shaft of fear crash through him. His eyes went almost blind with cold terror.
The flashlight's beam, which had been swallowed up by the forest, suddenly rose, ghostlike, a few feet away, swung around once, as it renewed its awful search, and then, before he could gather any of whatever remaining strength he possessed to scramble for cover, landed directly on his face.
Death is a trickster. Tommy thought. Just when you think you have it fooled, it turns the tables on you. He leaned back and lifted his good hand in front of his eyes to deflect the light and the shot he expected to hear within seconds.
But what he heard, instead, was a familiar voice.
'Mr. Hart! My God! What are you doing here?'
Tommy smiled and shook his head, unable to answer Fritz
Number One's most sensible question. He made a small gesture with his good hand, and in the same second the ferret's light captured the twisted form of the German officer, lying prone a few feet away.
'My God!' the ferret whispered.
Tommy leaned back, closing his eyes. He did not think he had the strength to fight again. He could hear Fritz Number One gasping, repeating, now in German, 'Them Gott! Them Gott!' and then adding,
'Escape!' as the ferret sorted through what was happening. Tommy was only slightly aware that Fritz Number One was tearing at his own bolstered sidearm, and reaching for the ubiquitous whistle that all the ferrets carried in their tunic pockets. He wanted to shout a warning to Number Nineteen, waiting at the top rung of the ladder inside the tunnel, but he didn't even have the strength for that.
He waited for the sound of the alarm.
It did not come.
Tommy slowly opened his eyes, and saw Fritz Number One standing beside
Visser's body. The ferret had the whistle at his lips, and his own weapon in his hand. Then Fritz slowly turned and stared at Tommy, the whistle still pointed at his mouth.
'They will shoot you, Mr. Hart,' he whispered.
'To kill a German officer while attempting to escape…'
'I know, 'Tommy said.
'Didn't have a choice.'
Fritz raised the whistle to his lips, then stopped, slowly lowering it.
He swung the flashlight beam toward the hole in the earth that Tommy had protected, and let it linger on the rope tied to the tree.
'My God,' he said again, softly.
Tommy remained silent. He did not understand why the ferret had not summoned assistance and sounded the alarm.
Fritz Number One seemed to be trapped in thought, assessing, measuring, weighing details and debts. Then, suddenly, he bent down toward Tommy and whispered sharply:
'Tell the men in the tunnel the escape is finished! Kaput! Over! Go back to their barracks immediately! The alarm is about to sound. Tell them this now, Mr. Hart. It is your only chance!'
Tommy caught his breath. He wasn't certain what the German was doing, but he recognized he was being given some sort of an opportunity, and he seized at it. Not certain from where he managed to summon the energy, he scrambled across the mossy forest grass to the edge of the tunnel. He leaned over and saw the upturned face of Number Nineteen, waiting.
'Krauts!' Tommy whispered urgently.
'Everywhere! Everybody back up fast! The jig is up for tonight!'
'Shit!' Number Nineteen swore under his breath.
'Goddamn it to hell!' he added, but he didn't hesitate. Number Nineteen dropped swiftly through the narrow tunnel shaft and started to crawl back down the tunnel. Tommy could hear the muffled sound of conversation when Nineteen met Twenty, but could not make out the words, though he knew what they had to be.
He rolled over, and saw that Fritz Number One stood a few feet away. He had extinguished the flashlight, but there was just enough of the first light of morning beginning to creep through the tops of the trees to give his form a dark and ghostly outline. The ferret was waving toward Tommy urgently.
Tommy half-crawled, half-ran, back to where the ferret stood.
'There is only one chance for you, Mr. Hart. Bring the body and follow me, now. Do not ask any questions, but hurry!'
Tommy shook his head.
'My hand,' he said.
'I don't think I have the strength…'
'Then you will die here,' Fritz Number One replied flatly.
'The choice is yours, Mr. Hart. But you must make it now. I cannot touch the Hauptmann's body. Either lift it now, or die beside him.
But, I think, it would be wrong to let a man such as he kill you, Mr. Hart.'
Tommy inhaled deeply. His imagination flooded with images of home, of school, of Lydia. He remembered his captain from Texas with his flat, dry laughter: Find its the way home. Tommy, willya? And Phillip Pryce, with his own sniffling sort of joy in the smallest and smartest of things. He thought right then that only a true coward turns his back on a chance at life, no matter how hard and slender that chance might be. And so, knowing that his reserves were well past exhaustion, with only the strength of desire remaining to him, Tommy bent down and with a great grunt, managed to sling the German officer's body over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The body crunched sickeningly, and for a moment Tommy thought he might throw up. Then, staggering, he lifted himself to his feet, struggling to maintain his balance.
'Now, quickly,' Fritz Number One urged.
'You must beat the morning light or all will be lost!'
Tommy smiled at the German's archaic turn of phrase, but saw as well that the gray streaks of dawn flitting on the horizon were taking root, growing stronger with each second.
He took a single step forward, half-stumbled, righted himself, and with what little voice he had, said, 'Go ahead. I'm ready now.'
Fritz Number One nodded, then pushed forward, deeper into the forest.
Tommy struggled after the German. Visser's weight was crushing, almost as if, even in death, the German was fighting to kill him.
Branches tore at his face. Tree roots threatened to trip him.
The forest ripped and grabbed at his every step, slowing him, trying to knock him to the ground. Tommy pushed through, slogging beneath the dead weight, fighting with every stride to maintain his balance, searching with every foot forward for the strength to go another.
His breathing was coming in exhausted short bursts. Sweat clogged his eyes. The pain in his left hand was nearly unbearable.
It throbbed and surged and sent fierce reminders searing through the rest of his body. It seemed to Tommy that he had no more strength, and then he would refuse to admit this and he would find just a
