When We Were Brave by Karla M. Jay

Author:Karla M. Jay [Jay, Karla M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-13T22:00:00+00:00

Wilhelm Falk

Sparks POW Camp, New Hampshire - March 1944

Another two weeks laced with guilt and anxiety, another hundred and fifty thousand souls lost, and Falk still had no opportunity to escape. Today, his group of thirty POWs finished clearing a path to the automatic weather station at the top of Mount Washington, a peak near Camp Sparks. They shoveled through banks of four meters of snow, trying not to get ripped from the side of the mountain by the gale force winds, to clear the way for the army vehicles to resupply fuel for the station.

He and the others rested against the railings on the front steps of the massive weather station, sucking in the thin cold air. Spots floated in and out of his vision from overexertion. As his sight cleared, he took in the beautiful view. Tree-covered mountains, all blanketed with snow, stretched below in every direction. The pristine mountain scene reminded him of many parts of Germany.

A guard next to him spoke. “Hold this.” He couldn’t have been more than twenty with a line of fuzz on his top lip. He handed his carbine rifle to Falk, and then pulled one hand from a glove to radio the army refueling trucks that the roads were now passable.

Was this a test? He was holding a loaded weapon. A buzzing in his head sent his senses to high alert. He’d dreamed of a moment like this when he would have the upper hand, a chance to get away.

The guard motioned for his gun, and Falk hesitated. Five guards were nearby and willing to kill him if need be. He handed the gun back. The young guard nodded to him then called out, “We’re done here, men. Load up, we’ve got a special treat for you.”

Falk headed for the truck, still reeling with disbelief he was trusted with a loaded gun. This could work in his favor if he were left alone with this young guard.

They returned to the vehicles and headed down the mountain, passing the refueling crew heading up. Forty minutes later, the trucks stopped at a log cabin-style building called the Casserole Café. Two guards went inside and returned with sack lunches. The POWs jumped down from the truck and accepted a sack. Falk found a place to lean on a split rail fence alongside the parking area. The storm was gone, and the sun was out. He dug through the bag and pulled out oven-warm bread with a thick piece of roast beef in between. A treat indeed.

As he chewed, Falk overheard a tall POW ask another, “The guards seem like regular fellows. Think if I ran into those woods, they’d shoot me?”

“You’d be dead before you reached the hedgerow,” Falk said. He’d contemplated the same thing just moments earlier but changed his mind. He did not need new distrust to sprout as he was on his way out.

The POW who posed the question turned to Falk, an unpleasant look on his face. He had eyebrows that could say more with positioning than most men could utter with words.

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