Escape From Wolfenstein

Escape From Wolfenstein was a piece of short fiction by Ed Curtis, which covers the events of the Allied Soldier between Castle Wolfenstein (game) and Beyond Castle Wolfenstein. 
The story places the events of Castle Wolfenstein in August 17, 1943.
==Escape From Wolfenstein==
There it is...Switzerland! Just fifty more yards to
the frontier and those dogs can howl all they want
after that. Those miserable dogs! I haven't had a
wink of sleep in the past four days because of those
DOGS!! Hold it... Get hold of your self! Don't let
those moon-cast shadows get the better of you. Of
you? Now I'm talking to myself. That last grenade
must have shook me up more than I thought. That
last grenade. It seems like a lifetime ago that I got
out of the Castle. How long ago was it? Lets
see...the Schweinfurt raid was on the seventeenth,
August seventeenth. Only last Tuesday. Just hit
the ball-bearing plant on the swing back from the
fighter factory, and the rest was home free. That is
until you lose your engines and half your
crew to fighters that were supposedly drawn south
with the other formation. And then, slowly drifting
down as you watch your B-17 hit the ground in a
ball of flame. I was sure that they were going to
shoot me until one of the officers recognized that I
was a bombardier. All that I remember after that
was one word which kept reoccurring in their
conversation--Wolfenstein.
Time seems to lose much of its meaning as the
preliminary interrogation took place. "Tell us
about the Norden bombsight and how it works!"
"Don't be a fool, captain, you know that you will
tell us everything before long." "Why make yourself
suffer needlessly?" "Your fellow officers have
already given us the information we need; all we
ask of you is enough information to check what
they have given for minor errors which may have
occurred due to their conditions at the time." On
and on, over and over with what appeared to be
random interruptions. It got to the point that I
wasn't sure anymore about my ability to hold out,
when it happened.
That night, a British commando, little more
than a pile of rags after what he had gone through,
slowly pushed a pistol, that he had somehow
gotten, over in my direction. He knew that he was
through, he insisted, and told me of the plans for
an Operation Rheingold. I now had a duel [sic]
mission; to keep my information from the Germans,
and getting the plans out. More importantly,
I now had the means to do at least the first half!
I was being taken to the interrogation rooms
again when the second miracle happened. As we
passed another prisoner, who was being taken to
the holding cells, my guard's attention was off me
long enough for the pistol to do its work. The other
prisoner, hit by a stray bullet, at first seemed dead.
I don't know what made me check his body, but
turning him over brought a small gasp from the
otherwise lifeless corps. Coming slowly to
consciousness, he held on, somehow, long enough to
give me a possible escape route.
From that point my escape became one battle
after another, as I slowly worked my way down
the building. Off the bodies of the common soldiers
I scavenged bullets and grenades that cleared my
way room by room. The chests that I opened
helped even more as they provided me with a
uniform, food, and other very useful items. Protected
by a bullet-proof vest and in German uniform,
my only bane proved to be the equally
protected and unrelenting SS. I don't know how
many times I ran from one room to the safety of
another only to be pursued by those devils. Fanatical,
they would walk right into a stream of
bullets, trusting their vests and Adolf Hitler to
protect them.
Throw a grenade and duck around the corner.
Before I got out of that death-trap, I had developed
that response to anything...throw and duck. That,
I'm sure, is why my head feels like something that
was borrowed from some poor relation. And, that
last one! If miracles come in threes, then that must
surely have been the third. I'm still certain that I
was closer to it, when it went off, than the SS
officer.
I don't remember much of what happened the
next day or two, but it seems that I just kept going
away from the dogs. It is even possible that the
Germans, by heading towards the border, kept me
from wandering aimlessly until they picked me
up. Even with the way that I feel, the thought of
the Germans making my escape possible brings a
grin.
Oh, well! I've rested enough, and the howling
grows nearer. Time to check my pockets and go
those last fifty yards. Lets see, wurst, schnaps,
pistol, grenades, map, and...oh yes...the plan.