Ollie dove behind a large slab, sucked in air, then sprang upward. Each time Boar fired a shot, he was given a few seconds to ascend. He did this four times until he reached a steep trail, turning out of view from the Wehrmacht. Continuing his climb, he stumbled and fell. He fought to catch his breath in the thinning air. His lungs heaved. The temperature began to plummet. Unwavering, he continued his ascent until the rain turned to sleet, then, eventually, snow.

Reaching the summit, Ollie collapsed. Ice scraped his face. As he rolled over, he heard a pistol shot, followed by a long blast of machine-gun fire, and then silence.

CHAPTER 52 - THE PYRENEES

CHAPTER 52

THE PYRENEES

The descent was far more difficult than the climb. Believing the Wehrmacht patrol would continue their pursuit, Ollie disregarded caution as he clambered down the mountain. Stepping onto a limestone shelf, he slipped on ice and fell. His wet clothes, like a lubricant, plunged him down the sleet-covered slope. Kicking his legs, he rolled onto his stomach and frantically clawed for a handhold. But the slide accelerated. Loose scree gouged his hands. He dug in his toes, feeling his bootlaces snap. His body skidded to a stop. He gasped for air and stood on shaky legs inches from the edge of a cliff. His pulse hammered in his eardrums. As he peered down the ridge, he noticed that two of his fingers were crooked. With numb hands, he snapped them back into place, sending a sharp twinge through his arm.

Unable to find a trail, Ollie traversed through rock fields and steep grades. With the lower altitude, he gained oxygen, allowing him to breathe better. But his body was a wreck. His muscles, atrophied from weeks of confinement, flared with pain. Forced to rest, he leaned his back against a boulder. As he took in air, he glanced at the summit and noticed movement. He strained to focus and saw two Wehrmacht soldiers scaling down the ridge. They were several hundred yards away, well out range for an accurate shot. But their pace was fast, nearly twice the speed of his own descent. He crouched, hoping he hadn’t been spotted. Seconds later, a gunshot echoed through the valley, sending him to his feet.

For the next two hours, Ollie struggled to stay out of range of the enemy. As the Wehrmacht narrowed their gap, gunfire turned from distant echoes to crisp cracks. Bullets ricocheted over rocks. Dashing over gravel, he twisted his bum ankle and toppled to the ground. Pain flared through his foot. He stood and tried again to run, but his body could only produce a hobbled jaunt. And he realized that it was only a matter of time before the soldiers would overtake him.