Seventy six

The morning of March 25, 1944. Stalag Luft III, a German camp in Zagan (today Żagań, Poland). Sand, chilly air, the ground still icy.
A monotonous voice came over the loudspeaker: "Escape. Twenty officers." Pure bureaucracy. The real figure is quite different, but for now it's being hidden.
Sections, fences, floodlights. Formally a camp, in reality a perfectly designed open-air prison. The barracks are manned by officers from Great Britain, Canada, Australia, South Africa, Norway, Poland, France, Czechoslovakia, and the Netherlands. They know how to read maps, repair machinery, and plan escapes in their heads.

The Germans also understand who they're dealing with. That's why the barracks are built on stilts, so the space beneath them is visible. The perimeter is thirty meters of bare, illuminated ground. An area where you're in full view.
Seismic sensors are buried in the ground. Dogs are chained. Searchlights cut through the night. Machine gun towers.
It all seems calculated. Escape is impossible. But the people behind the barbed wire aren't going to wait for mercy.
The Man Nicknamed "Big X"
Roger Jeremy Bushell. South African by birth, British by shape, sky by choice. 1910, Pretoria. Then Cambridge, law degree. Could have worked in the courts, but preferred the Spitfire.

Roger Bushell in sunglasses
1940, France. Bushell shoots down several German planes. He himself is shot down. He almost makes it to Spain, but is captured.
In Stalag Luft III, he sees not a dead end, but a challenge. He takes charge of the underground network. His nickname is "Big X." He leads, sets goals, and holds the thread.
This is not a nice slogan, it is a position.
Bushell's plan: not one tunnel, but three. If one fails, the others will be in operation. "Tom," "Dick," and "Harry."
Three tunnels
March 1943. Work begins, just like in a real design bureau. People are divided into departments.
"Volume" They're digging under the barracks. A couple of months and a forty-five-meter tunnel is ready. In September 1943, the Germans find it and plant dynamite. Painful, but not fatal. That's what "Dick" and "Harry" are for.
"Dick" They start, but suddenly they decide to extend the exit zone to the camp. The tunnel is converted into a storage area for tools, documents, and all sorts of small items. They even dump sand from "Harry" there.

"Harry" becomes the main line. It is along this line that they will follow on the night of the escape.
An engineering marvel at a depth of nine meters
One hundred and ten meters of underground passage. Nine meters down, the depth of a three-story building. All this in loose sand.
The entrance is hidden beneath the cast-iron stove of barracks #104. The stove is on tricky hinges: when you pull it back, a shaft appears.

Why so deep? Because the sensors can hear everything closer to the surface. The deeper you go, the quieter the vibration.
The walls and ceiling are covered with planks. Planks are pulled out of the beds. A lath was pulled out and a support made from scrap material was installed. Over four thousand planks were used during the work. Without the planks, the tunnel would have collapsed on the very first day.
Ventilation is assembled from Klim cans. Thousands of tin cylinders are turned into pipes. Air is circulated with homemade bellows. Otherwise, people will suffocate.

Wooden rails are pulled through the tunnel, lined with tin. A mine cart runs along them, carrying sand and then people. Tons of soil are carried out. Where to put it? That's where the "penguins" come in.

Penguins, Printing House and Tailors
"Penguins" - one hundred and fifty men, each with a bag in his pant leg. You pour sand, go out into the yard, walk, slowly pour it out, and smear it with your foot. A new batch comes back. Day after day, month after month.
Mountains of sand. The Germans don't notice anything: the soil is similar to that on the surface.
There's also a printing press operating in the camp. They make passports, passes, and driver's licenses. The ink is homemade, and the stamps are cut out of heels. Any mistake means a death sentence.
Tailors remake uniforms for civilian wear. Greatcoats are dismantled and remade. Color is obtained by boiling blankets. Buttons are made from crushed biscuits and resin. Every escapee must look like a random passerby.
Some of the guards are bribed with chocolate, coffee, and canned goods from Red Cross parcels. For a map, a bar. For a compass, two. The lines between risk and fatal error are blurred.
The Night That Changed Everything
March 24, 1944, almost midnight. The plan is to get two hundred men out. Twenty minutes each. Every second is scheduled.
From the first minute everything goes wrong.
The hatch is frozen. The frost has gripped the lid. I have to thaw it out, break the ice clamp. The minutes are flying by.
Then there's a short circuit. Coffee is spilled on the wiring. The lights go out, and people crawl in the dark.
And the main blow: the tunnel didn't reach the forest. It was ten meters short. The exit was right in the open. So everyone had to crawl out, wait for the searchlight to move to the right, and then dash for the trees. Right under the guards' noses.
At dawn, the line to enter the tunnel is still long. Bushell gives the order to halt. Of the two hundred, seventy-six have made it out.
Score
Seventy-six are free. Seventy-three are back in German hands.
Three of them arrived.
Per Bergsland heads north and reaches Sweden. Jens Müller follows the same route. Bram van der Stok heads south, making his way through France and Spain to his own people.
The remaining Gestapo prisoners.
Hitler is furious. He demands everyone be shot. Himmler cools things down, but the Führer personally sanctioned the murder of fifty people. Without trial.
The execution scheme is the same: the fugitive is supposedly being transported to another camp, the car turns onto the road, and a guard suggests "try to escape." The man takes a step, and is shot in the back. The report reads: "Shot while attempting to escape."
Among those killed was Roger Bushell. He was thirty-three.
The list of the dead includes Britons, Canadians, Australians, Poles, Norwegians, South Africans, Czechs, French, and Greeks. Twelve nationalities. Fifty lives.
Twenty-three returned to the camp. Seven were transported to other prisons. Some to concentration camps.
Retribution
After Germany's capitulation, the British Royal Air Force established an investigative team. The goal was to find every Gestapo officer who participated in the executions.
The work lasts for years. Investigators gather documents, interrogate witnesses, and compile a daily chronicle. The killers change names, cities, and plan to hide.
Did not work.
A military tribunal is underway in Hamburg. Gestapo and criminal police officers are on the bench. The charges: war crimes, the execution of prisoners of war on orders from the Reich leadership.
The sentence: death by hanging. Thirteen people. The execution takes place in a Hamburg prison.
Remembrance
Today, a memorial stands on the site of the camp. In Żagan, there's a monument to the "Fifty." Fifty crosses, fifty names.

The memory of executed British Commonwealth officers lives on in military cemeteries. In Ottawa, the names of Canadians are inscribed on memorials. In Canberra, on the walls of the memorial aviation, names of Australians.

Jens Müller and Per Bergsland became heroes of Norway. Müller published his book in 1946. Bergsland lived a long life.
Bram van der Stok continued the war. He again took the helm of a pilot in the Dutch Air Force and flew until the end of the campaign.
Paul Brickhill wrote The Great Escape in 1950. Hollywood made the film in 1963: Steve McQueen, a motorcycle, an iconic scene.

Millions of viewers learned about storiesBut the movie smoothed things over. Reality was harsher.
There are no spectacular car chases in this story. There are one hundred and ten meters of tunnel dug by hand. A mine cart on wooden rails. Ventilation made from milk cans. Fifty people shot at the side of the road. And three who reached freedom.
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