“Luck on what?” I asked one fellow.
“Why,” he said inquiringly at my question, “you’re going to try to escape, aren’t you?”
So, my well-wishing friends all began to talk about how they wished they had an opportunity to get away too, and all that bunk. I have concluded that a bunch of prisoners are the worst gossipers in the world anyway. Tell one and you tell all. This first experience taught me at a dear cost, one of the most valuable lessons of my life. When you are going to escape, or, in fact, try anything else which from its nature requires secrecy, never, under any circumstances, take any one into your confidence, and at most, if ever, only one trusted pal. I had heard the same bluff before, so, I told them if they wanted to get out after we had gotten away, to go ahead, they knew where the hole was, but not to go around and cackle about it like a bunch of old hens; either to get their clothes ready and try to escape or else to go to bed and let some one else try it.
In escaping, the first man to try has not only the greatest opportunity to escape, but also takes the greatest hazards in that if the plot is discovered beforehand, the guards will be on the job waiting for him, while if it is not discovered he has the best chance to get farthest away before the hounds are given the trail.
It was the same old test of passing from words to action, and, so with that bunch of twelve or fifteen who said they wanted to escape. When it came down to the courage of action their wishes were merely words. Of that number, including the four original conspirators, only two went ahead with it. The other fellow who kept faith with me was Oscar Mandel.
Most of the rest of the men all beat it to their different bunks; some hung around to see the fun, while Mandel and I stayed on the job. I took all of my insignia off of my coat in order that there might be nothing to reflect any rays of light that might strike us. Then, we mixed some mud and blacked our faces and hands in order that they would not stand out against the blackness of the night.
Mandel and I matched and it was decreed that I should go first and that I would wait across the road for him. If I got caught I was to make a lot of noise and, if he was also unfortunate, he would do the same.
An electric tram line ran right along by the camp and we felt that by following this road we would, at least, get out of the town. So, with a fond farewell to the camp, as the Guard went around his beat, I slunk along in the shadows of the building. In the death-like stillness could be heard beyond the other fence, the steady beat of the outer watchman. Over to my right the guard of the inner camp was just stepping out of sight. Could ever opportunity be better than this? The time had arrived. I stepped up to the first wire fence, and threw my little sack over, then getting near a post I began to climb over. I cut my hands a lot on the barbed wire, but that was only incidental, and did not bother me. I weighed too much to get over like Blackie. It seemed to me that every wire I stepped on squeaked like the high “E” string of a toy violin.
I dropped myself within the enclosure and ran along, slinking in the shadows of the fence, until I came to the tunnel. Here was a disappointment. I could no more get through it than an elephant would have a chance of entering a doll house. It might have been O.K. for Blackie, but he miscalculated for me. It was not large enough for my shoulders, so, peeping out I saw the other German sentry, not over twenty feet away, and in his apparent unsuspecting demeanor I also saw my first step toward liberty.
I realized it would be necessary to make the tunnel considerably larger if I ever expected to get through it. Blackie had made a bum job of it and worse, he had taken the shovel with him, and I had no implements whatsoever, except an unusually large jack-knife. Whipping loose the big blade I began to cut the frozen ground, taking a look around and then chipping away like a beaver at a dam. I felt like a real criminal and every motion picture play I had ever seen, of escaping prisoners, played vividly on my mind. I was working frantically and getting along pretty well, too, in spite of my rude implement, when all of a sudden I heard a tremendous noise that made me think that I was knocking on the door of Hades—it was a big siren blowing a warning for an air raid. Our Allied bombers were coming over to pay a visit to Karlsruhe. Believe me, I was for them. The reverberation of that siren was deafening, but I was certainly taking advantage of its tremendous noise by chugging away with all my might, when suddenly, not over a hundred and twenty-five feet from me a huge 107 calibre anti-aircraft gun exploded. I leaped like a squirrel against that fence for I felt sure that the gun had been aimed at me, and furthermore, that I had been hit. Pulling myself together I realized that it was heavy artillery instead of a short-barreled shotgun. Immediately other huge guns began to fire and for a few minutes there was a real bombardment going on around there—the whole earth was shaking. I kept right on digging away for it was the chance of my life. Of course, all the guards were frightened and confused and were chasing back and forth, crying out strange ejaculations and perfectly good German words of profanity, mixed with earnest prayers from “Gott Mitt Uns” to “Teufel Strafe ’em,” for, believe me, they were acquainted with the variety of bombs dropped by the Allies.