 Words at war presents, they shall not have me by Jean Elion. Your feet, please. Your feet. What about my feet? They are grinding into my shin bones. Will you take them off, please? Or must I break them off at the ankles? My feet are here. Those are not mine. Then who's are they? I should know. Find out for yourself. I am comfortable enough. Whose feet are these? Whose feet are grinding? I'll help them. Whichever soldier's feet, please take them off my shins. Please. It's not my fault that I'm in this boxcar. Are we not all Frenchmen together? Please take your boots off my shins. Don't you hear him? Whoever it is, take your heavy feet off him. It is enough that German heel is on him. There. Are you all right now? Yes. Thank you, comrade. Thank you. Where are they taking us? I do not know. Go to sleep. Jean, are you asleep? Jean Elion, are you asleep? No, Georges. Did you hear that? Are we not all Frenchmen? It sounds like the old days. Bastille day. Even here packed like cattle in a filthy freight car, headed for slavery, German slavery. Do you have to say so? It can't be worse than what we went through. The war, the defeat, yes it can. They promised us freedom. If we lay down our arms, surrender, we should never have believed the Germans. No. They lie to us. Like our own politicians. They tricked us. Like some of our officers. Frenchmen, prisoners, Frenchmen. Frenchmen, prisoners. Betrayed. Lost. Me. Nothing but an insurance agent. What have I done? Nothing. In a freight car, like an animal. What am I going to do? I thought we were going home. We're lost. Lost forever. Georges, listen to me. You are not lost. You must not believe it. Say to yourself, they shall not have me. Say it. They shall not. It's easy for you, Johnny. You'll get a soft job. You're educated. You know their Bosch language. It's easy for you. Say they shall not have me. They shall not have me. I will say it. They shall not have me. Say it with us, Georges. They shall not have me. They shall not have me. Not me. Not me. Not me. Tonight, the National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime, brings you another in its series of radio adaptations of important war books. Tonight, a story of inside Germany. They shall not have me. By Jean Ellion. What's he saying, Jean? Faster. Faster. Faster. But we're working as fast as we can now. We'll be feeding our fingers into that threshing machine next. That God likes to hear himself yell. I'm working as fast as I can. I'm not used to this farm work. What do they expect? No food, but thin gruel, no meat, no wine. Just rotten turnips. Nothing but slavery. And they'll never let us go. Ever. Hitler's got all of us now. They'll never let us go. How can we make them do anything? You're out of your mind. You're going to try to escape, be quiet. You're a fool. They'll catch you, beat you. You're a fool to even think of trying to escape. Escape? Who said that? Who said that? That will teach you. I understand your job of a language you pick of a man. That will teach you to think of escape. But I wasn't. I wasn't even thinking of it. I wasn't. Don't kick me. Don't. It wasn't even in my mind. Don't kick me. Don't. I am thinking of it. It is my first thought. In the morning, in the bitter cold of the prison barrack. My one single burning thought. Burning in my mind like the frost of the frozen fields through my shoe soles. Marching under guard to our miserable work. With our miserable shrunken bellies. Hundreds of miles from the frontier of what was once my country. My one thought. Escape. Escape. While grubbing for their potatoes. Cutting their ice. Chopping their wood. Pausing. Pausing to look at my hands. At the calluses covering the blisters. And still the only thought my brain. Schnell. Schnell. Schnell. Escape. Escape. Escape. In the barracks at night. In the tiny hours of the morning. While the others sleep on the rotten straw. I think only a... Who is it? You know who it is. And I know what you are thinking about. What? Of course you are lying awake just to hear the... Lice chewing at you. Shh. Someone else moving? Somebody turning in his sleep. Jean? I will show you I know what you are thinking by telling you... Today in the garbage can. I found a map. A map. A shallow oil map of the whole of Germany and northern Switzerland. Do you hear, Jean? I hear. Shall we try it together? You and I? You've got good hard muscles. You are toughening up. And you've got a good head. Shall we try it? How long do you figure? Two, maybe three months. Walk all night. Hide in the woods by day. We can live on raw grain soaked in water. It will fill us anyway. I've saved some pens. We could bend them and use them for fish hooks. For lines we could use the thread out of the lining of my coat. That's something to dig for bait with. We'd have to sneak a fork along or a shovel. Yes. Yes, but we could make better time if... Listen, there's that old peasant. You know him, the one who has two bicycles. We could swipe them and be nearly a hundred miles by daybreak. Dump them in a river. Not a trace. But what is wrong, it is perfect. The old man's been nice to me. He gave me a drink of schnapps once. But listen, Jean, we're... I know how you feel. The old man has not got much himself. Maybe I can leave something for him. Just a little money. Much better, Jean. We do not want to rob anybody. We are just going to... No. Don't say it. It'll be a good omen, Jean. If we pay for the bikes, it means we'll have luck. We'll make this plant perfect, Jean. You and I. Present. What does he say, Jean? I'm being transferred to another camp. They're taking us now. He's telling us to get down into the hole. I still can't believe it. A ship. I saw its name. The Nordenham. There's somebody lying on that straw over there. Comrade. Comrade. Tell us, where do we ship to? This ship never sails, friend. It sits here rocking on the waves of the river order. Never sails. The same rotten straw to sleep on. What do you do? Drug cement for 18 hours. I don't just now because I'm just back from solitary. One week for being caught escaping. Escaping? But I'll be back like the rest. Slave to a German cement factory. And still, the thought is only... Escape. Escape. Escape. Even after a year, and sometimes the only relaxation is sitting on the little stool, a towel around your neck, feeling the barber's clippers on your head, and the teasing little whisper of his voice in your ear. A little more off, yes? Just a little more? Your breath stinks. Take it off my face. Sorry. It's the turnip diet, but did you know, Jean, that the prisoner in the next... Comrade, you mean, don't you? Of course. The comrade on the next cot had a package from home yesterday. Yes, I knew. You talk too much, Tribault. Perhaps, perhaps. But I do not tell all I know. That's good. Take this towel off me. Yes, Jean. Yes, Jean. No, you do not tell all you know. For this is a war between the prisoners and the captors. It is not just I after a year who thinks of escape. It is each prisoner's thought. And without each prisoner, no one escapes. Without the bitter knowledge that those who have been caught brought back to the camp whispered as we huddled in the rotten straw at night. I walked on the wrong side of the street. That's how they caught me. I was in the wrong section of the train. That's how they caught me. The roads aren't safe, though. Use the trains. It was on the road they caught me. Out of each veteran's experience in this bloody campaign of ours a little more knowledge is gained until one other soldier wins this battle for freedom. Inspection. Everything to be shown. Everything. Including that tuber paste, please. I will see it. Nothing, huh? Nothing but 180 marks. Well, well, well. You will not need money. You will receive an exchange, this miss. The money I was saving for escape. Who knew of it? He knew exactly where to look. Where I'd hidden it. Who knew of it? I did. I've been helping with the scheme from the beginning. I was told what the money was, but there was one other person who overheard us. The barber. Trebowl. Trebowl. Then we will try the barber. For treason. Now, tonight. Do you want of me? Trebowl. What are you doing to me? Hacking me from my cot? I'm cold. Stand here in my shirt. We are all cold. That's the point. Trebowl, you are accused of treason to your shivering fellow prisoners. I've done nothing. Let me go. One of us will guard the passageway. I will. Drop your shoe if the guard comes in to get warm. Listen. You can hear him now. The enemy, Trebowl. The enemy. Sit down, Tre... You cut the guard's hair at seven. We know that. At seven thirty, I handed in the sick list as part of my duty. The guard was whispering to the camp commander. They shut up when I appeared. At eight, the inspection. And a hundred and eighty marks were found. A hundred and eighty marks that were intended for... But I've done nothing. It's a lie. You heard me tell about the money to my comrade. I saw you listening. Look at your jury. Your judges, Trebone. Their shirts are as short and tattered as yours. To others they might look like foolish clowns. But to you, prisoner of the fascists, a soldier in this army, they are the last appeal. For escaping is the goal of all the prisoners here. It is around freedom like an ivy plant that hopes live and climb. We are the defeated, Trebowl. But not the vanquished. And a man preparing to escape is taboo. A kind of saint. Doing anything against his chances is a crime against all of us. And announcing to a German, a comrade ready to break out is the worst of treasons. I am innocent. If in the opinion of your fellow prisoners, you, Trebowl, must also dream of freedom and willfully betrayed death. There's an exhaust pipe from the ship's machinery. It's melted at two-foot-old in the ice. If Trebowl has dropped through it, he won't come back. If you did it through stupidity, through your love of gossip, then you'll be ostracized. Shut out. Be still, all of you. It's our enemy, the God. He's passed. Do you understand, Trebowl? I wish to say something. If he's not killed, only ostracized. Then as a Frenchman, I demand this ostracism be extended to a civilian life. The shame he has brought on us be made known when the time comes to his whole village. No, no, no. Do you still deny the charges? I've done nothing, nothing. Look at us and say it. Then what do you say, judges? Army and underwear. Soldiers and tatas. Slaves with the brand of freedom on your foreheads. Guilty. How? On the second count. Stupidity. Let him be shut off from us. Let him be in our midst now like a deaf man who can see our lips move but not hear a word from this army of prisoners. Trebowl. You are ostracized. For we prisoners of war are guerrillas. Our objective is to gain freedom. We plot and plan with only our wits to eject like a hidden cannon in the bush, the rocket, the shell of another man. For this we prisoners of war take the insults now. For this we bear the gripes in our bellies. For this we walk slower, work slower so that at last we may send into the dark. No. Into the crinkled dawn. The shape of a man. Those who believed in witchcraft once made the image of a man. Here, John, our shoes. I've cut them so the patches won't show. John, here's a coat. An overcoat. I've dyed it. It's streaked in the back. I'm sorry. Here, John, a passport. I swiped it. Copy the stamp. Here. Here. Here. Until the patched up image of a free man is built. Not to stick pins into like the witchcraft images but to eject out of prison into freedom. I can't get the brim of this hat straight, John. I've put everything on it. But it's still curls. I've got to have a hat though. It'll do. Try it on. I must look like a scarecrow. No, no, no. You look like a fashion plate. But don't forget your copy of the strike, Dr. Goebbels' paper. Then it won't matter if you had brim of curls. Curse it. Curse it. Why won't it go straight? I want it. Gressed and ready. In the armor my comrades have made for me. And still I must depend upon them. Now, John. Now, John. Now. Break it up. I think I'm like your son. Now what do you lost the war? Same on you. Break it up. And I take one step, two steps, three. If the bullet is coming, it'll come now. It'll catch me just below the left shoulder blade. That's where it'll strike. Now. Now. Five, six, seven steps toward freedom. Put your freedom in mind, my comrades. This. This freedom. Now I am the grain of sand the raven carries from the mountain two miles high once each thousand years. And when the last grain is carried away, eternity will have only begun. But only my fellow prisoners mistakes to sustain me and my wits. Good evening, her policeman. Good evening. It is cold. Yeah, it is cold. Her policeman, would you direct me to the railroad station, please? I have my passport if you should wish to. Oh, three blocks to the left. Three blocks to the left. Thank you, her policeman. Thank you. Thank you. Pardon? Nothing. Only this line for tickets is so long. Yes, indeed. But we're nearly at the window. And they're used to waiting in line by now, aren't we? Oh, yes, of course only. Don't lose your nerve. Keep your head. Don't talk too much. Only I'm just naturally an impatient person. I see. Uh, ticket to Metz, please. Sorry. The Berlin train is full none too later. When then? Sometime. Hang around. Thank you. Salot. He said Salot. He used it like a Frenchman. Pardon, sir? Yes, what is it? You call the ticket Salot? Salot? Slip of the tongue. But that's what we say in Alsace about such people. Hang around. Yes. Yes, that's what we say in Antwerp, too. Oh, you are from Antwerp? Don't talk too much. Why, yes, I... Achtung! Achtung! Why are you so jumpy? They're only announcing trains. Yes, of course, but I'm so anxious to get home. I've been working here in Germany. I have to leave. Don't say too much. Keep calm. They don't know, won't know for two hours more that you've caught us empty in the camp. We've arranged that. Don't worry. Achtung! Achtung! What you need, my friend, is a glass of beer to steady your nerves. What do you say? Yes. Achtung! Achtung! Achtung! Another glass of beer, wait, huh? And you, today, yes? Of course, a glass of beer. Oh, your friend is sad. If you kept looking at me instead of him, you wouldn't know he was sad. But he is sad. Women notice more than men. Be careful. Well, not sad. The beer is a little heavy for my stomach. In Antwerp... But we're not in Antwerp. With sweets, plump truda, nothing is too heavy for us. Nothing. Even though your head is spinning, don't eat now. Somebody might recognize the prisoner's bread of your sandwich. Save your money for the... An election for the police force fighting so gloriously in Russia? Give all you can. All you can. You, sir. Yes. Do you not wish to contribute to the German police fund? All you can, yes? Of course he does. And he'll give a mark for truda, too, won't you? Yes. And get a fine, handsome swastika to wear in your lapel. Give, give all you can. Attention. Attention. Look how he jumps truda. He's so anxious to be off. Maybe he does not like me. Attention. Attention. I do truda. That's what's important. I thought it might be the train. My train. Attention. Train for Berlin. There's the train. We've got to hurry. Aren't you coming? I like the sights here. Don't I truda? Then I must run. I won't get a place. No, not so fast, my friend. Not so fast. A train closeman. He spotted something. But there's still a chance. Come here, my friend. Yes. What do you want? I ain't nothing. I just thought truda might like to give you a going away kiss. With pleasure. There. And good luck. And then closer, my friend. You haven't quite got that swastika straight in your lapel. Isn't it strange for a German girl to be kissing a Frenchman good luck? He knew. He knew. All the time he knew. He knew I was a Frenchman. He knew and he helped. Helped me. He helped me. But why now are that man and woman staring at me? The inspection passed. Why do they have to? Why do they- Don't lose your nerve. You're getting nearer and nearer. But why do they stare at me? Not now to lose. Not now. Pardon, sir. Who are- Oh, forgive me. I guess I was asleep. No, you were not. You have been looking steadily at us. Oh, you're mistaken. You have very fleeting eyes, sir. Well, you're both mistaken. I was looking out the window. You said you were asleep just now. I was only- You were a swastika. I'm on leave from work in Germany. There I learned the benefits of national socialism. My wife and I have been working too in Germany. We are Belgians. We could not starve, could we? Stove. Oh, those poor shoes you wear. Even the polish will not hide the patches. And your hair too, old friend. Honestly. And your foolish little hat with its curling brim. Why do you make fun of me? We don't. Only stay close by us. Are we not prisoners too? Just stick to us. We will soon be across the border. And then you can drop your swastika in the gutter. Can't you, Frenchman? That is I. Weepin' and unashamed. Like a baby. Like a child. Because I've been tricked and betrayed. No. Because I'm free. I'm safe. One more speck of grain has been taken from the mountain. One more scarecrow has become a man again. I stand in freedom's holy light once more. My comrades, army and underwear, soldiers and tatters, slaves with a brand of freedom on your hearts. To you who still dig potatoes, who still listen at night to the slow pace of the enemy about you. You who slave long hours but do as little as you can in the factories. To you who I dedicate my freedom. The freedom you made possible. I say to you, my comrades, still in captivity. Our password. They cannot have me now. They shall not have me. They shall not have me. They shall not have us.