Escape From Coalbitz

FIX Entertainment Tentatively Presents Escape From Coalbitz…

Right, gentlemen. Let's get on with the committee's report. First, last week's effort. Frobisher?

Not good news, Colonel. Johnno Mills didn't make it over the wire, I'm afraid.

What happened?

He hit the inner fence full on at a height of only two feet, Sir.

But he had a 16-foot pole to vault with. What happened?

Bit of bad luck, Sir. When he planted the pole, 14 foot of it disappeared down the airshaft we'd just completed for the tunnel to the post room.

Ah, yes. The one we were to use to get to our parcels before the guards could nick all the treacle toffees. What did Johnno get?

Two weeks' solitary and a plaster for his nose, sir.

Bad show. Next, current plans. Freddie, what ideas have your chaps come up with?

Another tunnel, Sir. This time, we start from the fireplace in the camp library, go down 20 feet and then head under the dining room, and up into the German officers' wine cellar.

Excellent scheme. And then what's the plan?

Er, that's as far as we got, actually. Apart from the idea of using the empty bottles we collect to carry sand out into the exercise yard, strapped to our legs, don't yer know, with a string attached to the cork thingy, so we can dribble the dirt out during cricket matches.

Good, do that – the pitch could do with a bit of levelling; my leg-breaks were going haywire the other day. Anything else, anyone? Yes, Blickswade?

Um, bit far out, Colonel. But I was just wondering, that as we've got most of the camp connected by tunnels now, if we might not dig one that actually went outside the perimeter and into the woods nearby.

What on earth for – picnics?

No, Sir. I was thinking we might actually use it to escape and make it back to Blighty. It does get a bit boring here, especially in the evenings. And the winters are useless for soccer, too cold, what?

I suppose it's a possibility. But surely we'd be spotted and picked up.

We've thought of that, sir. One of our chaps was a bespoke tailor in civvy street and he's knocked up some pretty nifty German uniforms. So we can simply march around the countryside, shouting 'Raus', like Trixie and Bubbles, our dormitory guards, do each morning, until we reach allied lines.

It just might work, chaps. But what happens then? In German uniforms, surely, our own side will shoot us?

No, Colonel. Not if we each carry a copy of Beyond Sudoku that the Red Cross send to us. One look at that and they'll know we're British.

How?

Beyond Sudoku has a proper full-size Battleships puzzle in it. The Germans, of course, only have pocket battleships.

OK. Form a group. Take the hearth out of the fireplace and get digging. We'll cover you by sitting by a pretend fire, solving the rest of the puzzles.