December 24, 1944
At 1:36 a.m. on Christmas Eve, Gunter Hoenig, crewman on German U-boat 237, ate Arizona dirt.
The gunnery mechanic didn’t mind. Dirt was better than mud, and at least the narrow, one hundred and seventy-eight foot tunnel he and his comrades had dug underneath the prison camp fence remained as arid as the desert above before last night’s rain began to fall. Taking heart from the encouraging shouts behind him, Gunter spit the dirt out of his mouth and crawled on. Less than thirty feet left to go and they would all be free. Once out of the tunnel, he and the other twenty-seven German prisoners of war would make their way to Mexico, where supporters of the Reich would smuggle them back to Germany.
Gunter smiled. The Americans had outsmarted themselves, believing they could outwit members of the Reich’s great navy merely by caging its sailors on this inland sea of sand. As Kapitan zur See Erik Ernst pointed out, where humans live there will always be water, and Arizona had proved no exception. The maps smuggled into camp showed that this seemingly arid country was criss-crossed by manmade canals which fed into great rivers. Oh, German sailors understood rivers! And rafts! The raft Das Kapitan had designed and he and his friend Josef had built would navigate those rivers all the way to the sea. What difficulty would riding a mere river prove to men who had conquered the mighty Atlantic? As for their less adventurous comrades behind them in the tunnel, Mexico was less than two hundred miles away, and their feet would be sufficient.
“Schnell, schnell!” Kapitan Ernst, right behind him, barked. “Quickly, quickly!” He followed up his words with a blow across Gunter’s buttocks.
Did Das Kapitan think he wasn’t already hurrying? Not for the first time Gunter ground his teeth in fury at his commander. Perhaps once he and Josef reached the canal, they would make their own plans.
That final freedom must wait. First, escape through this narrow tunnel (not much narrower than U-237!), then a sprint to the high brush by the canal. Then he would tell Josef his thoughts and they would slip away from Kapitan to navigate Arizona’s waters on their own. Perhaps their commander had managed to save them when the U-boat caught fire, but he had abandoned so many others. Fifteen men dead, and all because of his cowardice.
Gunter could still hear his shipmates’ screams.
Ach, no time to think of that now. Just hands and knees churning up dirt, but good, all good, because the end of the tunnel was less than twelve feet ahead. He could already see the velvet night.
Above him, in the camp itself, the remaining German prisoners drank home-made schnapps and sang Stille Nacht to cover any noise their escaping comrades might make. They had grown fat and happy and preferred the comforts of camp to the unknown dangers of the desert. Well, good luck to them. But for him, the taste of freedom was sweeter than any Christmas pudding.
Only ten feet more. Five. Three…
Hands reached down to pull him out into the mesquite-scented air.
Freedom. Danke Gott!