As he passed through the barracks door, he turned his face upward to a deadening gray sky, feeling a misty rain on his face and a deep fog like chill penetrate past the barrier of underwear and sweater and jacket. He instantly raised his collar, hunched his shoulders forward, and started for the assembly ground.

But what he saw almost made him stop.

Two dozen German soldiers, in long, winter-issue greatcoats, their steel helmets glistening with moisture, ringed the Abort located between Hut 101 and Hut 102. Hard-eyed and wary, the soldiers faced the Allied airmen, rifles at the ready.

They seemed poised, as if awaiting a command.

There was only one entrance to the Abort, at the near end of the small wooden frame building. Von Reiter, the camp commander, a gray overcoat tinged with a red satin lining more suitable for a night at the opera draped haphazardly across his shoulders, stood outside the single Abort doorway.

As usual, he had his riding crop in his hand, but now he repeatedly smacked it against the polished black leather of his boots. Fritz Number One, at rigid attention, stood a few paces away. Von Reiter ignored the ferret as he watched the kriegies hurry past him. Other than the nervousness with the riding crop, Von Reiter stood like one of the sentinel fir trees that lined the distant forest, oblivious to the hour and the cold.

The commandant's eyes darted over the rows of men forming on the assembly ground, almost as if he were intent on counting them all himself, or as if he recognized each face as it passed by.

The men gathered into blocks and came to attention with their backs to the Abort and the squad of soldiers surrounding it. A few kriegies tried to twist about and see what was happening behind them, but the "eyes front!" command came barked from the center of the formation.

This made them all nervous; no one likes having armed men standing behind them. Tommy listened carefully, but could not make out what was happening in the Abort. He shook his head slightly, and whispered to no one and everyone at the same time: "That's a helluva place to dig a tunnel. Who thought that baby up?"

A man behind him answered, "The usual geniuses, I guess.

Situation normal…"

"All fucked up…" a couple of voices spoke in unison.

Then yet another man in the formation added, "Yeah, but how the hell did the Krauts ever find it? Man, it's the best, worst place to be digging. If you could stand the smell… " "Yeah, if…"

"Some guys would be willing to crawl through the shits to get out of here," Tommy said.

"Not me," he heard in reply. But another voice just as quickly disagreed.

"Man, if I could get outta here, I'd crawl through a lot worse stuff.

Hell, I'd do it just for a twenty-four-hour pass.

Just for a day, Christ, even a half day on the other side of that damn wire."

"You're crazy," the first man said.

"Yeah, maybe. But stayin' in this dump ain't doing much for my overall state of sanity, neither."

A number of voices murmured in agreement.

"There goes the old man," one of the airmen whispered.

"And Clarkie, too. Looks like they got fire in their eyes."

Tommy Hart saw the Senior American Officer and his second in command pace across the front of the formations, then swing past the men, heading toward the Abort. MacNamara marched with the intensity of a West Point parade ground drill instructor. Major Clark, whose legs seemed half the size of the senior officer's, struggled to keep pace.

It might have been slightly comic were it not for the hard look on each man's face.

"Maybe they can figure out what this is all about," the same voice muttered.

"I hope so. Man, my feet are already soaked.

I can hardly feel my toes."

But an immediate answer was not forthcoming. The men remained at attention for another thirty minutes, occasionally shuffling their feet against the cold, shivering. Thankfully, the drizzle stopped, but the skies above them lightened only dully as the sun rose, revealing a wide gray world.

After nearly an hour, the kriegies saw Colonel MacNamara and Major Clark accompany Oberst Von Reiter through the front gate, and disappear into the camp office building. They had still not been counted, which Tommy found surprising.

He did not know what was going on, and his curiosity was energized.

Anything out of the routine of camp life, he thought, was to be welcomed in its own way. Anything that was different, anything that reminded them that they were not isolated. In a way, he hoped the Germans had discovered another tunnel. He liked acts of defiance, even if he wasn't altogether comfortable issuing them himself. He liked it when Bedford threw the bread to the Russians. He was pleased, although surprised, at Lincoln Scott's rashness at the wire. He liked anything that reminded him that he wasn't merely a kriegie, but an actual person. But these things were few and far between.

After another lengthy wait, Fritz Number One came to the head of the formations. In a loud voice, he announced, "At ease. The morning count will be delayed for a few moments more. You may smoke. Do not leave your position."

The captain from New York called out, "Hey, Fritz! Whadda 'bout letting us go take a leak. Some of the guys gotta go real bad."

Fritz Number One shook his head sharply.

"Not allowed. Not yet. Verboten," he said.

The kriegies grumbled, but relaxed. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted about him. Tommy, however, noticed that Fritz Number One, who by all rights should have immediately cadged a smoke off some prisoner, remained standing, his eyes searching over the columns of men. After a few seconds, Tommy saw that Fritz Number One had spotted the man he was looking for, and the ferret strode forward toward the men from Hut 101.

Fritz Number One approached Lincoln Scott.

"Lieutenant Scott," the ferret said in a normal, but low voice, "you will please to accompany me to the commandant's office."

Tommy saw the black airman hesitate for an instant, then step forward.

"If you wish," Scott said.

The pilot and the ferret then quick-marched across the assembly ground and through the front gate. Two guards swung it open for them, closing it just as swiftly behind them.

For a second or two, the formations of men were quiet.

Then abruptly voices picked up, like the wind right before a storm.

"What the hell?"

"What do the Krauts want with him?"

"Hey, anybody know what fer Christ's sake is going on?"

Tommy kept quiet. Now his curiosity was racing, fueled by the voices around him. It's all very strange, he thought.

Strange because it is out of the ordinary. Strange because nothing like this has ever happened before.

The men continued grumbling and muttering for nearly another hour. By now, whatever morning was going to penetrate the gloomy skies had managed its weak efforts and whatever warmth the day could promise had arrived. Not much. Tommy thought. The men were hungry. Many had to go to the toilets. All were wet and cold.

And all were curious.

A few moments later, Fritz Number One again appeared at the gate. The guards opened it and he half-ran through, heading straight for the men from Hut 101. Fritz Number One was slightly red-faced, but there was nothing in his approach that indicated anything about what was going on.

"Lieutenant Hart," he said, coughing back short gasps of breath, "would you please come with me now to the commandant's office?"

From directly behind him, Tommy heard a man whisper, "Tommy, get the lowdown on what's going on, will ya?"

"Please, Lieutenant Hart, right away, please," Fritz Number One pleaded.

"I do not like to keep Herr Oberst Von Reiter waiting."

Tommy stepped forward to the ferret's side.

"What's going on, Fritz?" he asked quietly.