Escape

A trainload of German prisoners chugged north through the Laurentians from Montreal, one day last week. One of them, a jug-eared, wiry young man, kept his nose pressed against the windowpane, his eyes on the bleak Canadian countryside. Baron. Franz von Werra, pursuit pilot with a score of 14 British planes, was a more valuable cog in the Reich's war machine than most of his fellows on the train. And he intended to get back where he belonged.

After dark, the three guards in the car relaxed. Squadron Leader von Werra opened a window, jumped out, struck westward through the woods to a highway. His facile French got him a ride from a French-Canadian who could not see the German tunic under his passenger's civilian greatcoat. Soon Franz von Werra was in Ottawa. There he begged a road map from a filling station, hitched a ride to somnolent Prescott. All that lay between him and freedom was the broad St. Lawrence. But at that point the river was not frozen over. After dark Werra stole a rowboat, paddled across to Ogdensburg, N. Y. There he was picked up by police on the tip of a suspicious service-station operator.

With his frost-nipped ears taped up, Franz von Werra was taken in tow by the German Consulate in New York City. Out on bond, he reported in Manhattan to see what would happen next. Since international law forbade the U. S. to return him to Canada, likelihood was that the Government would order him deported. How a deportation order could be carried out with Britain in control of the seas was a question resourceful Franz von Werra did not worry about. He knew that, to Adolf Hitler's Luftwaffe, he was worth 20 times his $5,000 bond.

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