Chapter Eight

A Trip to Berlin

As he ran, Ash looked back and saw searchlights from the camp scanning the countryside. Sirens blared as more gunshots rang out. Faster, Ash thought to himself, run faster! He heard the German dogs barking as they raced through the woods.

Ash came to a small river and jumped in. If I can get to the other side, the dogs will lose my scent in the water. His whole body shivered as he swam across the freezing-cold river. When he reached the other side, he could hear the dogs barking as they searched for his scent. But Ash quickly realized that the dogs and their Nazi handlers had turned away from the river. He was safe—for now.

Even though the Germans had turned back, Ash kept running. He passed through swampy lands surrounded by tall trees. Their leaves seemed to glow in the faint light of the approaching dawn. He’d been running for almost six hours now. He stopped to rest, but not for long. The Germans would not rest in their search for him and the others who had managed to escape.

Ash kept moving for several days, using a small compass to help guide him. He headed east toward the Soviet Union. The Nazis had invaded that country earlier in the war, but now Soviet forces were driving them back toward Germany. Most of the Soviet troops came from Russia. If I’m lucky, Ash thought, I’ll meet up with some Russians before the Germans find me.

With each passing day, Ash felt himself get weaker, having spent so much energy the weeks before, digging the tunnel. And even on the best days, the meals the Germans had served left him hungry. Now, he ate only tiny bits of the Mixture, trying to make it last.

On one moonlit night, he found a small building on the edge of a farm. Slipping inside, he curled up in a pile of straw and tried to sleep. During the time he had been on the run, he hadn’t slept well. The smallest noise from a nearby animal or a creaking tree was enough to make him jump awake. This time, as morning came, it was the touch of cold steel against his skin that prodded him from his sleep.

Ash woke to see a group of Lithuanian farmers standing over him. One held a pitchfork.

It’s like being found by those German farmers all over again, Ash thought. The man with the pitchfork asked if he were German or Russian. “I’m from Texas,” Ash said, and he could see that none of them had ever heard of the place. But at least the farmers seemed friendly after that. They gave him a pitchfork and motioned for him to work with them in the fields.

For several days, he worked with the Lithuanians. They fed him, and when German troops came by, the farmers acted as if Ash were one of them. But soon Ash decided it was time to move on. Using sign language and simple German, Ash tried to communicate with the farmers.

“Where can I get a boat so I can go to Sweden?” he asked. Sweden had remained neutral in the war. If he made it there, he could get back to England. The men pointed and tried to draw a map in the dirt. Ash understood—if he headed northwest, he would reach the Baltic Sea. From there, he could sail west for about two hundred miles and reach Sweden. He thanked the farmers and headed out again.

Traveling mostly at night, Ash reached the coast in just a few days. Peering through a window, he saw several boats locked inside a boathouse. He broke the lock to the building and picked out a small sailboat. The only problem was getting it from the boathouse to the sea. Ash tried to drag the boat out of the house. It wouldn’t budge. “It would take five guys to haul this thing out,” he said to himself. “Where am I going to find four more guys?”

Ash knew that all Lithuanians might not be as friendly as the farmers who had helped him. But he had to take his chances. He saw a group of men working in a field. Instead of making up some story, he told them the truth: He explained in English that he was an RAF pilot trying to get back to England. He saw the men look at each other and then at him.

“Do you understand me?” Ash asked. He repeated what he had said, using the few words of German he knew. One of the men smiled a little. Ash was shocked to hear him say in almost perfect English, “We would love to help you.”

Ash smiled. “That’s great! I need—”

The man cut him off. “We would love to help, except, we are German soldiers.”

Before Ash could even start to run, the Nazis tackled him, dragged him to his feet, and handcuffed him. They pushed him into a car and drove to a nearby town. The car stopped in front of a building. This must be the local Gestapo, Ash thought. He remembered the beatings in Paris that had left him bloodied and bruised. Inside the building, the Gestapo agents threw him into a cell. Well, that’s good. No beatings—so far.

Ash sat in the cell for several days, until finally an officer came to let him out. Standing behind the officer were six stern guards, holding rifles across their chests. The guards and the officer marched him to the nearby train station. Are they taking me back to Stalag Luft III? he wondered.

As the train rumbled along for hours, the guards sat silently all around Ash. He looked out the window and saw the devastating effects of the war. What had once been houses and barns were just charred wooden shells. Children in rags played near the huge craters left by bombs. Ash thought, No one here has escaped the horrors of the war.

He wondered what horrors might be waiting for him wherever he was going. Soon he had the answer. The train reached the edge of a large city. Berlin, Ash realized. But why Berlin? Inside the main train station of the German capital, a huge poster of Adolf Hitler hung on the wall. Ash felt like Hitler’s dark, beady eyes watched his every step.

Outside the station, a long black car waited for him and his guards. Ash sank into the back seat, afraid of what would happen next. More beatings? he wondered. Even worse than before? Or maybe they’ll skip the torture and just kill me. Ash’s mind raced as the car sped through the streets of Berlin. It finally stopped at a building Ash guessed was Gestapo headquarters. The guards roughly pushed him out of the car and into the building.

Inside a small office, a Gestapo officer peered at him through thick glasses.

“So, your name is Donald Fair and you are from New Zealand,” the man said.

“That’s right,” Ash said.

“You did not cause any trouble until you reached Lithuania.”

Ash shrugged. “I just thought it was time to try to escape.”

The man reached for a thick folder on his desk. Ash could see the name written on it—his name . . . his real name.

“We know who you really are,” the Gestapo man said. “What do you think will happen to you now?”

“Send me back to Stalag Luft III?” Ash asked.

The man shook his head. “That camp is for prisoners of war. But we don’t think you are a pilot shot down in battle.”

“No?” Ash tried to fight back a smile. Then what am I? he thought to himself. But before he could say another word, the man explained exactly what the Gestapo thought he was doing.

The Nazis believed that the British had sent him to France so that he would be caught. They thought that Ash was then supposed to teach the prisoners he met how to escape from German prison camps.

“It was a very clever plan,” the Gestapo officer said. “But now it is over. And since you are not a real prisoner, we can do what we want with you.”

“You mean kill me?”

The man smiled. “Oh, you will have a trial first, so you can claim your innocence. But we know what you are. And yes, you will be shot.”

Two guards grabbed Ash and dragged him to a cell. No one beat him. Why bother? Ash thought. They know I’ll be dead soon enough.

The next day, a German officer came to Ash’s cell. He explained that he would be his lawyer for the trial. Ash, though, could not actually attend his own trial. The officer would ask him questions and then bring the answers to the court.

Ash asked him, “Is there any chance I can prove I’m just a regular POW?”

The officer shook his head. “I’m afraid not. The Gestapo has already decided. In the end, you will be shot.”

Ash slumped in his chair. Well, I’ve been pretty lucky so far. But I guess my luck’s run out.

The trial dragged on for several weeks. During that time, US and British bombers attacked Berlin. Locked in his basement cell, Ash heard the explosions and felt the building shake when bombs landed nearby. And he soon learned that his luck had not yet run out. The officer who was defending him in court explained.

“All the records for your case were destroyed in a bombing raid. And the bombing is only getting worse. The Gestapo has decided to end your trial.”

As 1944 began, Ash found himself on a train. He was going back to Stalag Luft III after all.