A Lively Bit of the Front Part 28

Early next morning the prisoners were served with a meagre and ill-nourishing meal, consisting of turnip soup and a dirty-coloured liquid that was supposed to be coffee. This was supplemented by food sent from home, the men putting the edible contents of all their parcels into a common stock. At six they were told off in gangs for work either on the roads or in the fields. The Huns had tried hard to compel them to labour in the mines, but such was the indomitable spirit of the luckless sons of the British Empire that the attempt ended in failure.

Malcolm was fairly fortunate in being in the same party as his brother, their work being to construct new roads in the vicinity of the large aircraft factory. The prisoners were too well guarded to have the faintest chance of escape. Even those in the open fields were careful to keep together; any man straying more than twenty yards from the rest of the party being liable to be shot by the numerous armed guards.

"All in good time, Malcolm," remarked his brother, when discussing the subject of escape. "It's not much use having a few minutes'

liberty and then being done in. Two of the boys tried the game a short time ago; both were back within half an hour. One had to be carried in with a gunshot wound in both legs and a bullet through his neck. The other lost a couple of fingers, and was badly bitten by the watch-dogs. That sort of thing cools a fellow down a bit; but when we get a fair chance----!"

Days ran into weeks, weeks into months, but the expected agent of deliverance was not forthcoming. The men had made their plans. Food of a nature that would not deteriorate by keeping had been laid by at the cost of great self-sacrifice. A map, cut from a pre-war Baedeker, had been pa.s.sed from hand to hand, in order to give the men a fair idea of their whereabouts.

One night the men were for the most part asleep on their straw mattresses, dog-tired with their labours, when the hitherto constant whirr of machinery stopped. Accustomed to the clang and clatter, the sleepers were aroused by the unusual silence. The hut was in darkness, for lights were luxuries denied the prisoners.

"What's up?" enquired one of the men, as a steam whistle began to send out a succession of high and low blasts.

"Time you were, chum!" replied Peter. "Out of it, boys, and get your gear! Now's our chance!"

CHAPTER XXIV

Escape

Deftly and quickly the men dressed in the darkness. Much practice enabled them to don their scanty clothing and badly-worn foot-gear.

"Fritz has got the wind up properly this time," declared the Sergeant, as the sound of scurrying feet and cries and shouts of alarm rose on the still air. "Work's knocked off for the rest of the night, I reckon, even if our airmen don't pay Duren a visit."

He went to the door and peered cautiously down the roadway. Between the wire fences the watchdogs were barking furiously, adding to the din as the workers poured from the factories and rushed to their homes.

"The Boches are still on guard," he reported, "an' the dogs; but ain't they in a funk. I can see their bayonets shaking."

"The dawgs', Sargint?" asked a man facetiously.

"But no sign of our airmen," continued the non-com., ignoring the chartered funny man's question. "Hope they won't give the show a miss after all. All ready, you chaps?"

In the town the uproar was subsiding. The siren had ceased its two-pitched wail. The last of the powerful engines had stopped its belated purr. Even the watch-dogs were quieting down.

The night was dark but clear; overhead the stars shone resplendent; a soft north-easterly breeze rustled the leaves. In the distance the rumble of heavily-laden trains could be heard, but still no sound of approaching British aircraft.

A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed in almost utter silence. The prisoners, a.s.sailed alternately by hopes and fears, strained their ears to catch the first faint purr of the aerial machines.

"By Jove, they're at it!" exclaimed one as a couple of vivid flashes, followed after a short interval by three in quick succession, lit up the south-western horizon.

"Shut up!" snapped the Sergeant, the while counting his pulse-beats between the first flash and the first report.

"Boom, boom--boom, boom, boom!"

The hollow, reverberating sound of five reports fell upon the listeners' ears.

"Ten miles off," declared the non-com., as calmly as if giving the range of a howitzer. "Good!"

Another flash, followed at a shorter interval by the crash of the exploding bomb told unmistakably that the raiders were approaching.

The men felt like cheering. Even the prospect of being strafed by a British bomb did not cause them the slightest concern. In their blind faith they regarded a bomb as the key to unlock their prison doors.

Very faintly at first, then steadily increasing in volume, came the hum of many British aircraft.

"No Gothas this time!" exclaimed Peter, who, like the rest of the men, could distinguish with unfailing certainty the different "pitch" of the British and Hun machines.

"Here they are!" almost shouted Malcolm, pointing into the night.

He was not mistaken. Flying in perfect V-shaped formation, and at a low alt.i.tude that made the airmen more certain of hitting their objectives, were eleven biplanes standing out sharply against the star-lit sky.

"Crash! crash!! crash!!!"

Away on the left a battery of antis., the guns mounted on motor-lorries, opened a furious fire upon the rapidly-moving airmen.

The air was thick with bursting sh.e.l.ls, the flashes of which threw a lurid light upon the ground. The gunners were only a hundred yards or so from the barbed-wire enclosures.

"We'll have the shrapnel on our heads when they shorten the range,"

observed one man.

"No fear," replied Peter. "They'll be afraid of the stuff falling on their own thick skulls. Now, Malcolm, stand by. Hurrah, there go the white-livered Landsturmers!"

Which was a fact. Panic-stricken, the grey-bearded and bald-headed guards deserted their posts and bolted precipitately, as if by running they could outstrip a squadron of biplanes moving at a hundred miles an hour. The dogs, too, had changed their tune--instead of barking they were whining dolefully.

Right overhead the leading aircraft of the V formation seemed to swoop. The Huns, as Peter Carr had predicted, had ceased fire, and were tearing away to take up a fresh position whence they could serve their guns without fear of the earth-returning shrapnel peppering their gunners.

An ear-splitting roar announced that the strafing of Duren had commenced. A powerful bomb had landed fairly in the centre of the princ.i.p.al factory, blowing out the walls and sending showers of bricks, stones, tiles, and timber far and wide.

It was the first of several. The very ground seemed to emit fire, the earth trembled under the terrific concussions, dense clouds of smoke were rising up from the disintegrated buildings, while the din was indescribably awful.

"Now's our time!" roared the Sergeant. "No. 2 hut's empty. Good luck, chaps!"

Into the open the men ran, not away from the adjoining and badly-shattered factory but towards it. As they expected, some of the bombs had fallen wide of the building and had blown gaps in the double fence.

"Keep together, Malcolm," shouted Peter.

"You bet," replied his brother.

Unmolested, the crowd of prisoners slid boldly into the deep crater formed by the explosion of one of the missiles and scrambled up the other side. Almost before they were aware of it they had pa.s.sed what had been lines of unclimbable fence. They were free men--but for how long?

Across the deserted main road and into the open country beyond, the fugitives ran, none to say them nay. Then, according to previous plans, they separated, each couple taking a different direction, until the two brothers found themselves alone.

Behind them the bombs were still falling. The raiders were circling over their objectives. Since they had flown such a long distance they were determined to do the job thoroughly. "Tip-and-run tactics"

had no supporters in the British Air Service. "Make sure of your target, even if you have to sit on it," was one of the maxims of the daring pilots belonging to a breed that produces the best airmen in the world, bar none.

Alternately running and walking briskly, the two Carrs covered a distance of about three miles without any attempt at caution. They were confident that no Hun was abroad that night within miles of the scene of the raid, with the exception of the anti-aircraft gunners.

These, intent upon their work, and perforce kept to the highways, were not likely to give trouble. Right and left, within hailing distance, were other fugitives, but for all the sound they made they might be a league or more away.

Once Peter stopped to wrench up a couple of young saplings.