the front page dedicated to his escape. The headline: Hunt for boy prisoner. Heir to Von Osterhagen fortune among dead .
Osterhagen was a decent guard and his death saddened Marc, but he was pleased to find no picture of himself, just a vague description: young, 170 cm, fair hair, speaks good German.
The counter was shuttered from the inside, but the door alongside it had the same simple lock as the ones he’d already picked to get into the offices. He listened at the door for a few seconds to make sure no one was behind it, then used the pistol spring and a good bang with his palm to open up.
The lights were off inside. There were big ovens and gas hobs, and it was sweltering where they’d been running for most of the day.
Marc was drawn to the larder at the back of the room. It would have been safest to grab as much as he could and leave quickly, but he was so hungry that he couldn’t resist grabbing a cook’s knife and slicing a chunk from a hanging bierschinken sausage.
Marc’s taste buds erupted as his mouth filled with the mixture of pistachio nuts, ham and garlic. Next he went for a chunk of rich white sausage, made from veal, cream and eggs. The food he’d picked up here for Commandant Vogel had always been plentiful but basic, so Marc guessed this luxury fare was reserved for senior Nazi officials.
After a few indulgent mouthfuls, Marc realised he needed to be sensible. He’d only eaten one small meal since his bout of illness and it was better to eat plain food than to gorge on rich stuff and end up spewing.
He’d only have been able to get a couple of meals if the canteen had been open, so the closure was a bonus. Marc found a small cloth sack with a few grains of barley in the bottom and began stuffing it.
He wanted high-energy foods that would stay edible for a few days, so he went for cheese, sausage, canned pork, a large tin of condensed milk, sugar, biscuits, tinned fruit and a jar of chopped nuts. Finally he went back into the kitchen and grabbed a spoon, a tin opener and a couple of cook’s knives which he thought would be good for throwing.
‘Anybody home?’ a German shouted.
Marc jolted, spun around and ducked behind a metal preparation surface. He could have sworn he’d shut the kitchen door on the way in, but apparently he’d not fully pushed it up. It had drifted open and the bald head of a German supervisor now poked through it.
Marc was furious with himself and scared by how easy it is to make mistakes when you’re weak with hunger. As the German stepped in, he crept backwards into a tight space between a bunch of flour sacks.
‘Hello, hello?’ the supervisor said, sounding more guilty than suspicious. ‘Somebody left the door unlocked.’
Marc pulled his legs tight to his chest and moved one of the sacks so that you’d have to walk right up to the back of the kitchen to spot him. But the supervisor just assumed the door had been left unlocked by mistake, and only seemed interested in the contents of the larder.
Marc heard but didn’t see as the supervisor picked up the knife he’d himself used to cut sausage. This was followed by chewing sounds and a big, mmm .
With the cloth sack in one hand and the knife in the other, Marc crawled out of his hiding spot as he heard the supervisor moving deeper into the larder. As the delighted supervisor pocketed a can of pear halves, Marc peeked around the kitchen door to make sure it was all clear before dashing out and heading along the hallway towards the stairs.
Note
5 Ersatz coffee – the Germans had no access to coffee-growing areas and made this bitter-tasting fake coffee from acorns.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Food and drink brought Marc’s strength up and enabled his brain to focus on something other than a growling stomach. Better still, after months of powerlessness, being master of his own destiny felt good.
He didn’t want to risk spending any longer in the offices than he had to, so he went straight back out
Osterhagen was a decent guard and his death saddened Marc, but he was pleased to find no picture of himself, just a vague description: young, 170 cm, fair hair, speaks good German.
The counter was shuttered from the inside, but the door alongside it had the same simple lock as the ones he’d already picked to get into the offices. He listened at the door for a few seconds to make sure no one was behind it, then used the pistol spring and a good bang with his palm to open up.
The lights were off inside. There were big ovens and gas hobs, and it was sweltering where they’d been running for most of the day.
Marc was drawn to the larder at the back of the room. It would have been safest to grab as much as he could and leave quickly, but he was so hungry that he couldn’t resist grabbing a cook’s knife and slicing a chunk from a hanging bierschinken sausage.
Marc’s taste buds erupted as his mouth filled with the mixture of pistachio nuts, ham and garlic. Next he went for a chunk of rich white sausage, made from veal, cream and eggs. The food he’d picked up here for Commandant Vogel had always been plentiful but basic, so Marc guessed this luxury fare was reserved for senior Nazi officials.
After a few indulgent mouthfuls, Marc realised he needed to be sensible. He’d only eaten one small meal since his bout of illness and it was better to eat plain food than to gorge on rich stuff and end up spewing.
He’d only have been able to get a couple of meals if the canteen had been open, so the closure was a bonus. Marc found a small cloth sack with a few grains of barley in the bottom and began stuffing it.
He wanted high-energy foods that would stay edible for a few days, so he went for cheese, sausage, canned pork, a large tin of condensed milk, sugar, biscuits, tinned fruit and a jar of chopped nuts. Finally he went back into the kitchen and grabbed a spoon, a tin opener and a couple of cook’s knives which he thought would be good for throwing.
‘Anybody home?’ a German shouted.
Marc jolted, spun around and ducked behind a metal preparation surface. He could have sworn he’d shut the kitchen door on the way in, but apparently he’d not fully pushed it up. It had drifted open and the bald head of a German supervisor now poked through it.
Marc was furious with himself and scared by how easy it is to make mistakes when you’re weak with hunger. As the German stepped in, he crept backwards into a tight space between a bunch of flour sacks.
‘Hello, hello?’ the supervisor said, sounding more guilty than suspicious. ‘Somebody left the door unlocked.’
Marc pulled his legs tight to his chest and moved one of the sacks so that you’d have to walk right up to the back of the kitchen to spot him. But the supervisor just assumed the door had been left unlocked by mistake, and only seemed interested in the contents of the larder.
Marc heard but didn’t see as the supervisor picked up the knife he’d himself used to cut sausage. This was followed by chewing sounds and a big, mmm .
With the cloth sack in one hand and the knife in the other, Marc crawled out of his hiding spot as he heard the supervisor moving deeper into the larder. As the delighted supervisor pocketed a can of pear halves, Marc peeked around the kitchen door to make sure it was all clear before dashing out and heading along the hallway towards the stairs.
Note
5 Ersatz coffee – the Germans had no access to coffee-growing areas and made this bitter-tasting fake coffee from acorns.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Food and drink brought Marc’s strength up and enabled his brain to focus on something other than a growling stomach. Better still, after months of powerlessness, being master of his own destiny felt good.
He didn’t want to risk spending any longer in the offices than he had to, so he went straight back out
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