PRISONER {Eric Ashley-Pitt | The Great Escape}

One

'Stalag Luft III'

Eric apologised as the jostling truck sent him slamming once more into Haynes's shoulder, though the Canadian waved his words away dismissively, insisting that the whole ordeal was, in fact, his own fault. Those rare occasions when the entire vehicle's occupants collided with one another were the few times anybody spoke, offering a quick word of apology before they all lapsed into silence once more.

They had come for them what felt like an eternity ago, rounding up all the 'escape artists' as they called them to transfer them to a new camp. More and more trucks, just like their own but from other camps, had joined the convoy steadily as they twisted deeper into enemy territory, every passing hour bolstering the moving column.

Cavendish had led them in a rousing rendition of 'We'll Meet Again' twenty minutes ago, which had certainly helped to lift their spirits and left him feeling rather pleased with himself. For some of them, it had been four years since they last saw their families and children, four years since they last kissed their wives or girlfriends before they set off on a mission from which they were never to return.

Eric wasn't so lucky. Despite sailing through the officer ranks to Lieutenant Commander, he had been only 18 when the war broke out and he had enlisted in the Fleet Air Arm. He had still been living with his parents in their house in rural England, and had no wife or girlfriend that he had left behind. The only women that missed him were his mother and his younger sister Molly - a fact that the other men liked to laugh at him tirelessly about.

So while the rest of the truck joyfully broke out into song about reuniting with their lovers, Eric could only think about returning to that small cottage in the countryside village, little Molly racing through the garden and down the road towards him to tackle him into a tight hug.

Now, the only noise was the engines of the convoy. Though, after several aimless hours, they too went quiet. Brakes squeaking beneath them, the truck rolled slowly to a halt.

"Aussteigen!" a voice ordered.

Light flooded the truck as the covering was lifted away. Wincing in pain, they shielded their eyes from the sudden onslaught of light with their hands. A moment of blindness ensued before colours and shapes started to prickle in their vision, forming the sitting silhouettes of the rest of the group.

"Well, gents," Griffith said, jumping down from the truck, "we're here."

Sandy soil stretched almost as far as the eye could see, its sprawling fingers creeping under the barbed wire fence all the way to the beginnings of a forest several hundred feet away. Long wooden huts jutted out of the earth, the guard towers soaring above them. The concrete cooler was isolated from the rest of the camp, much like the administrative wing, by the wall of wire, and was considerably larger than the one from their previous camp.

Eric stretched his stiff limbs as he landed beside Danny and Willie, before hitching his numerous bags back over each shoulder and picking up his small briefcase. Already the men were swarming towards the large wooden gates, which, at the call of "Tor aufmachen!" swung inwards to greet them.

As ever, the huts were segregated more or less by rank, with the more senior officers afforded their own rooms while their subordinates had to live in communal quarters with double or triple bunks. Guards were slowly filtering the ranks apart, ordering the Pilot Officers into the closest huts and ordering everyone else farther up the camp. Sedgwick and Haynes bade them goodbye as they joined the rest of the Flying Officers in their billets.

Just before the senior officers split away from the last of the junior ones - the Flight Lieutenants - Willie turned to Eric, grinning as he said, "We'll see you later, sir."