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 passed 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.