The Escape E-Book

André Baganz

• Herausgeber: via tolino media
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

In "The Escape," a gripping tale set against the backdrop of Cold War Germany, Private Wittke finds himself ensnared in a world of oppressive military rule and personal turmoil. Frustrated by his commanding officer's tyranny and the suffocating environment of the East German regime, Wittke's simmering defiance ignites a desperate plan for freedom. As he navigates the treacherous landscape of loyalty, betrayal, and survival, he must confront both external threats and his own inner demons. With a stolen weapon in hand, Wittke embarks on a perilous journey toward the border, where the line between freedom and captivity blurs. Will he escape the watchful eyes of the border guards, or will his rebellion lead to dire consequences? "The Escape" is a haunting exploration of courage, identity, and the relentless pursuit of liberty.

Leseprobe

The Escape

André Baganz

Copyright © 2025 André Baganz

All rights reservedNo part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.Cover design by: NightCafé Studio

Impressum

André Baganz c/o autorenglück.de

Franz-Mehring-Str. 15

01237 Dresden

The Last Straw

I wandered from the workshop back to my quarters, my mind a tangled web of thoughts. The dimly lit corridor echoed with my footsteps, a stark contrast to the distant sounds of machinery still humming in the workshop. As I approached the entrance, I spotted Kowalski leaning against the wall, cigarette dangling from his lips like a noose. That familiar, devilish grin spread across his face—the one he always wore when he had some twisted pleasure in store for me. Of all the EKs, he was the worst. His disdain for our traditions was evident; everything was just a game to him, fueled by a malicious joy in tormenting those of us lower down the ranks.

I brushed past him without a word, but his piercing gaze followed me, heavy with disapproval. A few steps down the corridor, his irritating voice sliced through the air.

“Hey, soldier!”

I turned, irritation flaring. “What’s your problem?”

“Are you always this clueless?” he sneered, his eyes glinting with mockery.

What nonsense was he spouting now? I rolled my eyes, feeling the familiar surge of resentment bubbling beneath the surface. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kowalski waved me over, his smirk widening. “Come here, and I’ll tell you.”

I stepped back outside the barracks, a cool breeze ruffling my uniform. He flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground and pointed at the overflowing ashtray beside the door. “It’s full, soldier. Didn’t you see? Empty it, now!”

I felt a surge of defiance rise within me. “Why don’t you empty it?” I shot back, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

Kowalski froze, disbelief etched on his face. “What did you just say?”

I held his gaze, unwavering. “Maybe you ought to wash your feet.”

“What?” His confusion was palpable.

“So the dirt slides off,” I explained, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Then you can hear better. I don’t smoke. Smokers like you can empty the ashtray.”

Kowalski stepped closer, a menacing glint in his eyes. “Are you being cheeky? First off, you need to address me as ‘Corporal’ every time, private. Second, you’ll follow every order I give without question. Understood? Now, empty the ashtray.”

Defiance coursed through my veins. I knew I was defying an order, but I refused to budge. In that moment, a deep resentment toward the world washed over me, and my sense of justice eclipsed any reason. I stood my ground, and that’s when the realization hit me—the moment I later recognized as the catalyst for my decision to act.

I had toyed with the idea of defecting since the weekend, but until now, it had merely been a thought—an idea that felt too audacious to pursue. Suddenly, courage surged within me, unbidden and fierce. It wasn't just about the ashtray; it was the last straw. It was everything—the culmination of months of pent-up frustration. Jail wouldn't have been worse; at least it would have been honest. The reasons I had clung to were evaporating like smoke in the air, and I found myself questioning why I even stayed.

Taking a deep breath, I relished the newfound feeling of freedom that swept over me. My eyes flicked across the barracks grounds, and I gazed up at the overcast sky—gray on gray, utterly bleak. Why had I allowed this to happen to me? That was over now, once and for all. As those thoughts raced through my mind, Kowalski's voice broke through the haze, muffled and distant.

“Empty the ashtray, soldier.”

Determination surged within me as I finally met his gaze. “Forget you.”

Kowalski erupted into laughter, a cruel sound that echoed in the corridor. “Are you serious?” He sized me up, searching for the right words. “You know this is insubordination, right? You know what’ll happen if I report this?”

“I don’t care,” I replied, my voice steady and resolute. Then I turned and walked back toward the barracks, each step a declaration of my defiance.

“This will have consequences, Wittke,” Kowalski called after me.

I raised my right arm and gave him the finger without breaking my stride, a rush of adrenaline coursing through me.

The punishment turned out to be mild, as everyone knew Kowalski relished harassing the new guys and slackers. I only had to spend a day in detention, a small price to pay for my moment of defiance.

As I paced back and forth in the cramped cell, my mind raced. I kept telling myself, If anyone can do this, it’s you. You’re going to show those damn communists what’s what. The decision was made. I would seize the next opportunity.

When I finally stepped out of the detention center, the facility was on high alert. The entire company was ordered to the armory, each of us handed a submachine gun with a magazine of thirty rounds. The instruction was clear: keep the weapons in our quarters overnight, ready beside our beds.

Having a firearm was crucial for my plan—not because I intended to shoot at random, but for emergencies. My act of revenge against Kowalski was to steal his Kalashnikov while he and everyone else slept soundly.

The next morning, chaos erupted—people frantically searching for the missing submachine gun. But they had no luck; I had hidden it well in the workshop. Eventually, the search was called off, and I watched with satisfaction as Kowalski was led to the cellblock to begin his detention.

The Border Guards

The icy wind cut through the trees as the border guards moved cautiously through a cleared patch of forest, their boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. Each man kept a few meters apart, eyes scanning the terrain, alert for any signs of movement. Snow speckled the earth beneath their feet, while the occasional tree stump jutted out like a sentinel in the quiet landscape.

At one point, one of the two men, the corporal and patrol leader, stopped and looked through his binoculars. His breath hung in the frigid air, a small white cloud that hovered for a moment before dissolving into nothing. The soldier behind him caught up and stood beside him. The sharp wind made his eyes water uncontrollably. He kept squinting to see clearly, but the tears were faster. When he noticed his patrol leader smiling, he raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny?" he asked.

The corporal kept smiling, ignoring the question. Finally, he lowered the binoculars and handed them to the other soldier. "Here, see for yourself."

The soldier looked through them, then, after a moment, he dropped them in surprise. "Someone's waving at me," he said, his voice a surprised and slightly nervous whisper in the cold.

The corporal used his teeth to pull off his right glove, pulled a pen and a small notebook from his shoulder bag, and glanced at his watch. "That's normal," he said as he made a note. "The West German Federal Border Guard always tries to make contact. We ignore it, of course, but we document it." He put his writing tools back in the bag, pulled his glove back on, and took the binoculars. He gave his companion a friendly wink. "You told me your name earlier, but I forgot it. I'm not great with names."

The soldier waved his hand dismissively, a stiff gesture in the cold. "No problem. I'm Björn. You're Christian, right?"

“Correct,” Christian replied, offering a friendly nod. “And where are you from, Björn?”

“Eberswalde. What about you?”

“Lichtentanne in the Zwickau district,” Christian answered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “It’s fucking freezing out here. It’s only minus ten, but the wind makes it feel like minus twenty. I can’t wait for this shift to end… do you smoke?”

Björn nodded, grateful for the conversation to distract him from the chill.

Christian pointed to a small mound next to a tree stump about thirty meters away. “Let’s take a smoke break over there. We’ll be out of the wind.”

Björn hesitated, glancing around nervously. “And… what if a superior sees us?”

Christian waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. No one’s coming out in this cold. Besides,” he added with a chuckle, “that’s an order, Comrade Soldier—got it?”

“Yes, sir, Comrade Corporal,” Björn replied, grinning as he mimicked a salute.

They made their way to the tree stump, the wind howling around them. Christian glanced around one last time, then slung his LMG off his shoulder and crouched down. Björn, armed with a submachine gun, followed suit, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.

Christian pulled out a pack of Karo cigarettes and a lighter, offering one to Björn, who accepted it gratefully. He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag, savoring the warmth it brought to his chest. For a moment, they both smoked in silence, the world around them falling away.

“Tell me,” Christian broke the quiet, looking at Björn with genuine curiosity. “How old are you?”

“Still 19. And you?”

“22,” Christian replied, enjoying the smoke. “How did you end up here? Did you volunteer?”

Björn nodded, his thoughts drifting back to the decision that had led him here. “It improves my chances of getting into university.”

“What do you want to study?” Christian asked, genuinely interested.

“Architecture,” Björn answered, a spark of passion lighting his eyes.

Christian raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow. That’s ambitious.”

“And what about you?” Björn asked.

Christian shrugged, drawing the smoke in deep. “I didn’t volunteer. I trained as a carpenter. I guess they sent me to the border since I don’t have any family in the West.”

“My mother has a cousin over there,” Björn said. “They used to visit us all the time when I was a kid. But eventually, we lost touch. They live in the Ruhr area.”

Christian nodded, the conversation creating a bond between them. “Are you going home for Christmas?”

Björn frowned, the thought bittersweet. “That would be nice. But not until after New Year’s.” He looked at his comrade, curiosity piqued. “You?”

Christian grinned playfully. “Three days: Christmas Eve and the two holidays.”

Björn looked at him with envy. “Man, you’re lucky.”

“I’m what you’d call a short-timer,” Christian said, putting a cigarette between his lips. He pulled out a tape measure from his pocket and held it up to Björn’s nose. “See this? I’m almost out of here.”

Björn sighed, a mix of longing and determination in his gaze. “Once I get to that point, I’ll be glad I did.”

Christian waved a hand, then put the tape measure back in his pocket. “You’ll manage. Time passes faster than you think. Feels like my enlistment was just yesterday.”

For a moment, they fell silent, the weight of their situation settling in. Finally, Björn spoke up again. “This whole thing is really getting to me. I can’t wait for it to be over so I can start my studies. I wouldn’t have joined the army, especially not here on the border. I’m actually a pacifist.”

Christian nodded, his expression serious. “I get what you mean. But it’s better to keep thoughts like that to yourself. I mean,” he pointed to himself, “I’m not with the Stasi, but some folks who talked too much ended up in detention or even in Schwedt. So, it’s best to keep your mouth shut. That’s the way to go.” He took a drag from his cigarette, then changed the subject. “Is someone waiting for you?”

Björn nodded, a sense of pride swelling within him. “As soon as I get back, we want to get married.”

Christian started to say something but stopped, a bitter smile crossing his face. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Christian replied, but after a moment’s hesitation decided to share a piece of his own heart. “My girlfriend and I wanted that too. But after four months, it was all over; she moved on.”

“Mine’s waiting for me,” Björn said almost defiantly. “I’m sure of it.”

Christian grinned, waving his hand dismissively. “Of course.” He seemed to brush off the topic, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

They continued smoking in silence, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air.

“Has anything ever happened here before?” Björn asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Christian removed a piece of tobacco from his lower lip with his tongue and spat. Shaking his head, he replied, “Nope. It won’t. Anyone trying to cross over from here must be crazy. The whole area is mined now. It’s impossible to make it.” After another drag, he grimaced, his face flushed from the cold. “I did experience one incident, though.”

Björn leaned in, eager to hear more. “Tell me.”

“In my first six months of service, I was in Berlin at the Anti-Fascist Protection Wall,” Christian said, emphasizing the last two words with a dramatic flair. “A pioneer unit was assigned to rebuild a section of the Wall. To transport the panels, the truck had to cross 200 meters of no-man's-land. Driving through there was no problem. But the driver wasn’t allowed to leave the vehicle. And that’s exactly what one idiot did.”

“To escape?” Björn asked, eyes wide.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---