Free Under a War-Torn Sky by L.M. Elliott Page A

How long could it take to get to Portugal, anyway? A month? He’d made it into Switzerland within a few days.
    Henry sighed. “Okay, sir. Tell me what to do.”
    Watson smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”
    He started to get up, then sat down, spilling papers again. As he leaned over to pick them up, he whispered, “One other thing. You can’t write your parents. We can’t notify them. If we do, and the Gestapo catches you, you’ll be classified as an escaped prisoner. Then they’re free to shoot you. If your whereabouts, your very existence, remain a mystery, there’s a chance that they’ll assume you’ve been wandering around by yourself if they do pick you up. Then you should be sent to a POW camp. The Red Cross keeps tabs on whether POW camps abide by the Geneva Convention. Most do. Our only risk will be Swiss records. There will be one about your being here. But hopefully that won’t matter.”
    â€œYou mean Ma can’t know I’m alive?”
    â€œNo. She’ll only know that you’re missing in action. She can hope.”
    Henry was filled with pity. It would be so awful for her. But he held by his decision.
    â€œThen I guess we’d just better hurry, sir.”

Chapter Eight
    Four weeks later, Henry sat, rattling, on a train to Adelboden. The doctors had cut off his cast the previous morning. His ankle was paper white, his calf thin, but his leg had held his weight. It was stiff, but solid. They’d ordered him to internment.
    Next to Henry sat his escort, an aging Swiss soldier, reading. He seemed to Henry to be studiously inattentive. All that identified Henry as a transporting prisoner was a white tag around his wrist. He wore a civilian suit of clothes that had arrived at the hospital from the American consulate. But Henry hadn’t talked again with Uncle Sam about his escape. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. The train had just passed through the city of Thun. Adelboden was only two stops away, at most an hour’s worth of travel, maybe two. Henry wiped beads of sweat from his upper lip.
    A crowd of passengers had boarded at Thun and elbowed their way down the aisle, looking for seats. All were already taken. One after another, people lined up, squared their legs to brace against the train’s swinging, and opened their newspapers. Henry noticed a delicate pregnant woman enter the car, lugging a hatbox and small suitcase. She sighed and shielded her round tummy as she tried to slip past the standing passengers, their newspapers, and bags.
    What kind of men are they, thought Henry, who wouldn’t give up their seat to this woman? She obviously didn’t feel well. Henry stood and motioned to her. He looked down at the soldier, who assessed the woman, and then nodded to Henry. The woman smiled gratefully.
    It took her a moment to wade through the passengers to him. “ Danke, ” she said. As she brushed past him to the seat, she seemed to stagger. She clutched Henry’s sleeve and whispered in his ear, “Leave your crutches. Go to the toilet one car back.” Then the woman sat down with a plop and “ Tut mir leid, ” to the Swiss soldier.
    Had Henry heard right? The words had been breathed so quietly. Had he imagined it? He stood, hesitant, swaying with the motion of the train. A small foot began to nudge his. He looked down. It was the woman’s. He must have heard right.
    Henry leaned over and said to the soldier, “Toilet?” He pointed to the back of the car.
    The soldier grunted, annoyed, and closed his book. As he started to get up, the woman piled her hatbox and suitcase onto her knees. The soldier would practically have to pole vault to get out into the aisle. He scowled and waved Henry on. “ Schnell, ” he ordered.
    Henry nodded. He’d hurry, all right.
    Henry lurched down the aisle to the back door of the train car. He opened it to wind and racket. He watched