Posted As Missing

Chapter Eight

David sat on the narrow bed with his back against the wall as he studied the sections of the map sheets to the south and east of Freiburg.

Probably the best idea is to keep to the unpopulated areas as I work my way across the Schwarzwald. Stay high as I aim toward what seems should be a less popular area to cross the border.

With the map's latitude scale, he measured the distance across the mountains from Freiburg to the large bulge of the Swiss border across to the north side of the Rhein at Schaffhausen. It looked close to half a degree, thirty nautical miles, or about fifty-six kilometres as the crow files.

But I'm not a crow. There'll be many twists and turns along the way, many ups and downs.

He noted that Feldberg, the highest point in the Black Forest, is a broad plateau in the centre of a web of high ridges. He ran his finger across the high land, and then along a trail leading up toward it from a little to the east of Freiburg.

Looks like an elevation gain of 1100 metres to the plateau and a distance of almost twenty-five kilometres.

The line from the summit of Feldberg to the closest bulge of Swiss Schaffhausen measured thirty-seven kilometres, and he saw that once the elevation was gained, the interconnected ridges remain above 1000 metres for most of the traverse. Must be places which would be difficult to effectively patrol. Must be good hiding spots to camp.

He figured there would be few out walking and hiking along his intended route this early in the season. Besides, the war will surely have taken all the fit and adventurous. To be safe, though, he prepared and outfitted himself to do the entire route off the trails and stay as far away from them as possible.

The guidebook was new last year, surely all of them are marked.

The contours and hachures on the map sheets showed the tops to be gentle. There were many streams cutting the slopes along the entire route.

Drinking water will not be a problem up there.

Satisfied with his route, he refolded the maps and set them aside, then rolled out the large piece of oiled canvas, two metres by three. He folded it in thirds across its long axis, then creased the ends of the folds. With the tip of his knife, he pierced eight holes around the periphery of the sheet, about an inch in from the edges, one on each corner and one at each of the four creases. 

He began sewing cringles like he had learned in the sailing club while he had studied at University School. Part of the club instruction was sail-making, maintenance and repairing. As he fumbled with the needle, forcing it through the heavy canvas, he thought, a palm and wax will make this easier. 

He looked at his watch. Twelve minutes past four, 1612 Army time, he thought as he put on his shoes, took his small rucksack and went out.

It took him nearly half an hour to find Walder Nähenden Geschäft from the conflicting directions he was given when he asked for Leder Nähzubehör. Inside he bought two more darning needles, a stitching palm, thick cotton thread and a small block of beeswax. On his way back he stopped at the metzgerei he had seen and bought a dozen pair of landjäger. He had sucked on a small piece from the stash he had bought in Köln and loved the flavour, and he knew with jaw getting better, he would soon be devouring it.

David stopped in the Gemischtwarenhandlung two doors along and had the grocer bag half a kilogram each of lentils, split peas, rice and barley. He mumbled to the questioning frau that it was for soup; he was due back in Belgium and was getting ready. She reached behind, picked up the remains of a large ham, placed it with the bags and said, "Hier, nehmt diese Schinken. Suppen brauchen ein gutes Stück Fleisch." She added a small bag of peppercorns and a box of salt.