Chapter 47

As I expected my papers were checked at the station before I was allowed to proceed to the platforms, but Walter had done a good job, and I wasn’t stopped. I was a bit worried that the black eye and split lip that I had as a result of the activities of Heinrich would give me away, but there being a war on meant that there were others in uniform looking worse than me.

The train was due to leave at 5:30 am; no train arrived. This was all I needed. If they went in to my cell to bring me out to be shot, they would find that I was no longer there. The first place that they would look for me would be the train station.

I watched the hands of the station clock crawl around. Six, Six thirty, Seven...... Just as I was deciding that it was too dangerous to wait any longer the train pulled in. I climbed on board the train and found a seat in a carriage filled with other officers. Walter had fixed me up with a pass for first class as he had quite rightly assumed that an SS Officer would not travel with the ‘plebs’. I reckoned that if they were looking for Markus Bekker they would not look in a carriage full of officers. In fact, when they came around checking tickets and papers they didn’t even enter the carriage that I was in. I started to relax.

I closed my eyes and reflected on the events of the night.

While we had been walking together through the woods, Walter had explained to me how he had found out that I was imprisoned at the castle. He had overheard the SS Officer, who had been in charge of my interrogation, telling a colleague that he was interrogating an exceedingly stubborn Luftwaffe pilot named Oberleutnant Bekker. Later Walter had asked him what Oberleutnant Bekker was supposed to have done, and he had been told that he was a spy leaking secrets about the new jet engined aircraft to Britain.

He told me that he had only joined the SS to avoid being sent to the Russian front. He didn’t approve of their methods but had to appear to go along with them in order to avoid suspicions. Walter had been praised for having cracked a terrorist cell, so he was considered a trusted Nazi. When he had heard that I was been held captive, he had decided that he had to help me escape and so he had come up with the plan that had resulted in me now being on board this train headed for Frankfurt.

If I was to survive, now was the time that I needed to put all the skills that Sergeant Paul Young had taught me, into action. My route to freedom would not be easy. This was exactly the type of situation he had trained me for.

I chanced talking to one of the other officers in my carriage and found out from him that the best airport for me to go to in Frankfurt was at Egelsbach, about twelve kilometres from the centre of the town. He said that a car was meeting him and as he was going close to the airport, so he would give me a lift.

I left the train in Frankfurt, together with my new friend, and he dropped me at the gates of Egelsbach airfield. I now had to make a plan as to how I was going steal an airplane, preferably one that I had flown before. One thing worrying me was that I always had to adjust the seat to fit my large frame, and I obviously wouldn’t be able to do that in this case. I just hoped that I would fit in. My preference would be to try and steal a Messerschmitt Bf 110 which had more room in the cockpit than the 109 and also had a longer range. I had a minimum of one thousand kilometres to fly.

I had one significant advantage; I was wearing an SS Officer’s uniform. All service personnel, not in the SS, were terrified of people wearing that dreaded uniform. I decided to try and get the maximum benefit from that fear.

I spotted a group of eight 110’s on the far side of the airfield, well away from the terminal buildings. They had dispersed the aircraft around the airfield as we had done at Caen in case of attack. I decided to try my luck there first. I walked across to where four mechanics were working on the planes. A fuel bowser was in attendance, so obviously they were getting the planes ready for a sortie. A full fuel tank would take me over two thousand kilometres, so there was plenty of fuel to get me to Toulouse even if I got lost.

‘Good morning, do you look after this aircraft all the time?’ I asked the technician working on the first aircraft I came to.

He looked down at me, a suspicious look on his face.

‘Yes Sir. Why do you want to know?’

‘If something goes wrong we need to know who was working on the plane.’ I replied, trying to make him feel uncomfortable.

‘I can assure you that this plane is as good as I can make it with the parts that I am able to get.’

‘Why, are there shortages?’

‘Yes, we can’t get a lot of the spare parts and we have to repair the old ones even when they are not serviceable. We also take bits from planes that are beyond repair.’ He was now looking decidedly uncomfortable and wondering if he had said too much.

‘I am sure that your officers wouldn’t want you talking like that, but don’t worry I won’t say anything.’ I now had him on my side.

‘Thank you sir.’

They finished filling the last aircraft with fuel and the bowser headed across the airfield towards the buildings on the other side.

‘I flew these before I joined the SS, do you mind if I sit in the cockpit just to get the thrill of it again,’ I asked the mechanic.

‘No Sir, go ahead.’

I climbed up into the cockpit and moved the seat back as far as it would go. I squeezed myself in and managed to sit down. Once in the seat I pushed again and obtained a little more space. I now would have enough leg room to be able to fly.

A few minutes later I was in luck. A truck came to pick up the four mechanics and they all headed back towards the other side of the airfield to the hangers leaving me on my own.

Things had gone better than I could have expected. I now had plenty of time to start the engines and take off. What’s more, it was a fabulous sunny day for November, perfect for flying.

I engaged the engines one at a time, and they both started without any problems. I didn’t notice any unusual activity around the terminal buildings, so there was no need for panic. I taxied out at a leisurely pace fighting the instinct to speed up. I didn’t want it to look different to any other take-off that the people on the ground were used to. Having flown the 110 for my tests at Leipheim, prior to my becoming a test pilot, I was well used to its eccentricities and I had no trouble getting it into the air. Once up I headed west for France.

How easy was that? Yesterday I was a prisoner in a castle awaiting execution and today I was flying free, heading for France. Perhaps everything was going to work out after all.

I would have to fly over occupied France; however, a Messerschmitt in Luftwaffe livery wasn’t a strange sight in the skies over France. The problem would be when I started to fly over Vichy France as it was a no-fly zone. It was obviously my lucky day, and I had a trouble free flight and touched down in Toulouse just over five hours later as the light was starting to fail. By the time that I was down it was quite dark. I parked my aircraft on the opposite side of the airport to the terminal and vanished into the countryside. If I had planned it, I couldn’t have timed it better. If there is a God, he must be looking after me.

My biggest problem now was that I was dressed in a German uniform, in unoccupied France. If I was spotted, I would be arrested and returned to the occupied sector. What would Paul Young do now? He definitely would get hold of a change of clothes. My biggest problem in getting clothes was that Frenchmen, in general, were not as tall as I was. I decided to find somewhere to sleep and try and find some clothes in the morning.

I awoke in a barn the following morning to another sunny day and was relieved to see that French women do their washing early and hang their clothes out to dry. I had a large selection to choose from although the finished product looked a bit strange.

I made my way to the train station, successfully purchasing a ticket and I boarded the train for Lourdes dressed as a local. It was amazing to think that there was a war going on in the rest of Europe as people here were going about their daily business and there was no visible presence of police or military at the station. I had the feeling that I was getting closer to freedom.

Two and a half hours later I arrived in Lourdes and went looking for the house of my contact. His name was Bernard Guillot, and he lived at 6, rue Ramond. I had been instructed to locate the Hospital, which was right beside the station, and then follow Avenue Alexandre Marqui until I came to rue Ramond. It was not far from the station.

It was with some trepidation that I knocked on the door of number 6. The curtain moved on the window of the room that was to the right of the door. A minute later the door opened, and an old man appeared.

‘Oui?’ he grunted.

‘The birds are flying over the Pyrenees today,’ I said in English. This was the phrase that I had been told to use when I met him.

He smiled a toothless smile back at me.

‘Enter mon ami,’ he said as he held the door open for me.

‘Thank you. I am extremely relieved to have found you.’

He brought me down a narrow passageway to a room at the back of the house.

‘Meet Tom who has also arrived today. You will be leaving this evening, so you can support one another.’

Tom looked up at me suspiciously having heard English spoken with a decidedly German accent.

‘Hi Tom. I speak with a German accent, but I am on your side and am escaping from Germany. My name is Markus.’ We shook hands.

‘Glad to meet you Markus. I was shot down over France and the Resistance brought me here to Bernard.’

‘What were you flying Tom?’

‘I was number two in a Lancaster, and we got hit by flak. As far as I know I am the only one of the crew who escaped,’

‘I used to fly Me109’s and, in fact, flew in a Messerschmitt Bf 110 from Frankfurt to Toulouse yesterday when I escaped.’

‘I will bring you some food,’ Bernard said, heading for the kitchen.

Just after six that evening Bernard came in with a young lad of about sixteen to tell us that we were leaving.

‘This is my nephew Thibaut, and he will show you the way to the border. He will make sure that you get across before returning here. He will take you as far as he can with cart, but then you will have to walk.

We shook hands with Bernard and then went outside. There was an old horse and cart, with straw spread out on the floor, drawn up outside. We climbed on board, Thibaut took the reins, and we set off up the mountain. I was glad that we had the ride in the cart as it was forty kilometres, and it was all uphill.

After two hours, Thibaut pulled the cart into a laneway, and he tied the horse to the trunk of a small tree. He got a nosebag for the horse out of the cart put it on and then we left on foot up a narrow winding path.

‘We walk now. Ten kilometres to border,’ Thibaut said in faltering English. It was exceptionally steep, and it was hard to get our footing on a terribly slippery track.

The ankle I had broken quickly let me know that it didn’t like this climb. It was very painful, but I was determined to keep going. Tom helped me up the steeper bits where there were just rocks.

Three hours later we came out on the top of a hill and saw the road disappear below us into the dark. Thibaut stopped.

‘Is Spain Sirs,’ Thibaut said, pointing downwards. ‘I leave here.’

‘Is border,’ I said so as he could understand.

‘Yes, back there.’ He pointed behind us. ‘In Spain now.’

I shook his hand and thanked him as did Tom. We were now on our own and had to make it to Gibraltar which was one thousand kilometres away at the foot of Spain.

Without Tom, I don’t think that I would have made it. When I was at the end of my tether he would keep me going and when he was down I lifted him. He also spoke some schoolboy Spanish which helped us a number of times.

By various means, we made it. Using the train whenever we could and lifts from farmers at other times, we inched our way towards Gibraltar. The last leg as far as the border we did in a fishing boat which we picked up in Malaga. The whole journey took us two weeks.

Gibraltar was a hive of activity and the most active military base that I had ever seen. Fortunately there were plenty of flights returning to England and Tom, and I managed to get seats for the two of us on one leaving in two days’ time. In the meantime, we slept and ate alternately recovering from our trip down the length of Spain. The impossible had happened; I had escaped from my death cell in Munich and was now a free man again.

I managed to send a coded message to Major Richards in Witley Park telling him that I was alive and was on my way back to England. I wasn’t allowed to tell him where I was or when I would be flying back to England as that was all classified.