“There is very little time.”

“We’ll take care of you.”

“Soon.”

“Don’t worry, brother, we have a doctor. You’ll see. He’ll fix you up fine.”

“The time has come.”

“Just a little further now.”

“Sleep.”

They pulled the first man from the tunnel and into the barracks. The other prisoners stood back as one shone a light on his face. The SS man reeled. His face was ashen and speckled with orange and red blotches. His shaved head was festooned with scabs. Then came the next, and the next, and soon, the prisoners of Barracks One, all Westfrontgefagenen, were reunited. Boch pulled himself out from the hole and stood regarding the men. He turned to Soldat Müller who stood rapt at attention, a nervous smile plastered on his youthful face.

“My men need sleep.”

“Yes, Mein Obersturmbannfuhrer. Seig Heil.” He snapped a salute. Boch did not return.

“My men are not to be disturbed. And there will be no talking. It is almost seven-thirty. Soldat.”

“Yes, Mein, Oberst-”

“I want Strauss.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will be all.”