"I don't believe you," Pryce repeated.

The man identified as Herr Blucher took a single step forward.

He spoke in fractured, Germanicized English: "Is true, Mr. Pryce. I will be escorting you by train to Switzerland…"

Pryce turned sharply, staring at Herr Blucher.

"You're no bloody Swiss," he said, spitting. Then he swung about and fixed Visser with a harrowing glance.

"Lies!" he said instantly.

"Bloody lies, Visser! There's no trade! There's no exchange!"

"Ah," Visser replied, sickeningly sweetly, "but I assure you, wing commander, this is so. Even as we speak. A naval officer who will be allowed to return to the loving arms of his wife and children " "Lies!

Black lies!" Pryce interrupted, shouting.

"But Mr. Pryce, you are mistaken," Visser said unctuously.

"I thought you would be pleased at the thought of returning home."

"You lying dog!" Pryce cried. He turned to Tommy Hart and Hugh Renaday, his face a portrait of instant and complete despair.

"Phillip!" Tommy blurted out.

Pryce took an unsteady step toward Tommy, reaching out and seizing the younger man by the sleeve of his jacket, as if he was suddenly weakened.

"They mean to kill me," Pryce said softly.

Tommy shook his head, and Hugh pushed past the two of them, thrusting himself directly in Visser's face. He jabbed a blunt finger sharply into the Hauptmann's chest.

"I know you, Visser!" the Canadian hissed.

"I know your face! If you are lying to us, I will spend every second of every day of every month for the remainder of my years on this earth hunting you to the ground! You will not be able to hide, you Nazi scum, because I will be like a nightmare on your ass until I find you, and I will kill you with my own bare hands!"

The one-armed German did not shrink back. Instead, he merely stared directly into Hugh's eyes, and said slowly, "The wing commander is to gather his possessions immediately and accompany me. Herr Blucher will see to his care, while in transit."

Visser's mocking grin slid past the Canadian, back to Phillip Pryce.

"Alas, wing commander, we have no time for elaborate farewells. You are to embark immediately. Schnell! Pryce started to reply, then stopped, turning again to Tommy Hart.

"I'm sorry, Tommy. I had hoped we three would walk out the gate together as free men. That would have been ever so nice, would it not?"

"Phillip!" Tommy choked, unable to speak the words that flooded him.

"You will be fine, lads," Pryce continued.

"Stick together.

Promise me this: You will survive! No matter what happens, you boys are to live! I expect much from the both of you, and even if I'm not there to see it, as I'd hoped, that doesn't mean you shan't accomplish what you are capable of!"

Pryce's hands quivered, and there was a warble in his voice. The older man's fear filled the room.

Tommy shook his head.

"No, Phillip, no. We'll still be together and you can show me

Piccadilly, and what was that restaurant? Just like you've promised.

It will be okay, I know it."

"Ah, Simpson's on the Strand. I can taste it now. So, Tommy, you and Hugh will have to go there now without me, and raise a glass on my behalf. Nothing cheap, mind you!

Hugh, no bottle of beer! A nice red wine. Something prewar and expensive, the color of deep burgundy. Something that plays a waltz across your taste buds, and cascades down your throat. That sounds wonderful…"

"Phillip!" Tommy could barely control himself.

Pryce smiled at him, and then at Hugh, whose arm he also reached out and seized.

"Boys, promise me you'll not let them leave my carcass in the woods somewhere where the animals will gnaw on my old bones. Force them to return my ashes, and then spread them somewhere nice. Maybe over the Channel after all this is over. I think I would like that, so that the tides can wash them up on our beloved island's shore. But anywhere where it is free, boys. I don't mind dying alone, lads, but I'd like to think my remains went somewhere where they can enjoy a tiny breath of freedom-" Visser interrupted sharply.

"There is no time! Wing commander, please ready yourself!"

Pryce turned and scowled at the German.

"That's what I am doing!" he answered. He returned his eyes to his two younger companions.

"They'll shoot me in the forest," he said softly. His voice had regained some strength, and he spoke with an almost matter-of-fact sense of resignation. It was as if Pryce wasn't afraid so much as he was irritated by the thought of his imminent death.

"Tommy, lad, here's what they will tell you," he whispered.

"They'll say I attempted to flee. That I made some sort of break for freedom. There was a struggle, and they were forced to fire their weapons. It will all be a lie, of course, and you boys will know it-"

Visser interrupted again, smiling with the same upturned scowl that he wore earlier when Von Reiter was threatening to shoot the British airmen who'd tried to escape.

"A prisoner exchange," Visser said.

"Nothing more. So that the wing commander's health is not our responsibility."

"Stop lying," Pryce said arrogantly.

"No one believes you, and it makes you appear foolish."

Visser's smile faded.

"I am a German officer," he said bitterly.

"I do not lie!"

"The hell you don't," Pryce snorted.

"Your lies fill this room with a disgusting stench."

Visser took an angry step forward, then halted himself. He stared at

Phillip Pryce with unbridled hatred.

"We are leaving," he said with barely restrained ferocity.

"We are leaving now!

This minute, wing commander!"

Pryce grabbed at Tommy once again.

"Tommy," he whispered, "this is not a coincidence! Nothing is what it seems!

Dig deeper! Save him, lad, save him! For more than ever, now, I believe Scott is innocent!"

Two German soldiers stepped into the room, reaching out for Pryce, ready to drag him from the bunk room. The wiry, frail Englishman faced them down, and shrugged his shoulders at them. Then he turned to Hugh and Tommy, and said, "You're on your own now, boys. And remember, I'm counting on you to live through all this! Survive! Whatever happens!"

He turned back to the Germans.

"All right, Hauptmann," he said with a sudden, exceedingly calm determination.

"I'm ready now. Do with me what you will."

Visser nodded, signaled the squad to surround him, and without another word, Pryce was marched down the corridor and through the front door.

Tommy, Hugh, and the other British airmen of the hut raced after them, trailing after the old barrister, who marched with his shoulders stiffly back, his spine erect. He did not turn once as the odd procession crossed the assembly area. Nor did he hesitate as they passed through the gate, where steel-helmeted goons kept their weapons at the ready. Just beyond, adjacent to the commandant's barracks, there was a large, black Mercedes motorcar waiting, its engine running, a small plume of exhaust trailing from its rear pipes.

Visser grasped a door and held it open for the Englishman.

The Swiss Blucher quickly waddled around to the other side, and flung himself into the vehicle.

But Pryce paused for a single instant at the door to the motorcar, twisting around, and for a single, slow moment, stared back toward the camp, looking through the ubiquitous wire to where Tommy and Hugh stood helplessly watching his disappearance. Tommy saw him smile sadly, and raise his hand and make a small farewell wave, as if he were gesturing toward the waiting heavens, and then he gave a quick thumbs-up, and in the same motion, reached up and doffed his cap to all the British airmen gathered by the wire, with all the bravado of a man unafraid of any death, no matter how rough or lonely. Several of the airmen raised their voices to cheer, but this noise was cut short when one of the guards pushed Pryce roughly down into the backseat, and he disappeared from view.