The Great Escape of Mad King Ruprecht the Fish
Created | Updated Aug 31, 2002
Colditz, 1943.
Tonight would be the night.... the escape was on.
I waited pensively for the all clear signal that would herald our descent on Hut 17 and the freshly completed tunnel that was safely ensconsed beneath the tiles of the shower room. As I buttoned the jacket of my civilian disguise, my door was flung ajar and in walked none other than Big X himself. I saw from his demeanour that he had ill tidings to deliver and began to fear the worst.
"Ruprecht, I'm afraid you can't come on the escape old man. You're blind."
Immediately I protested that I had sacrificed my eyesight to the cause of freedom whilst enscribing the minutest details on over a hundred Nazi Aussweisses, toiling night and day with my hand constructed typewriter concealed within a tobacco tin.
Big X hesitated momentarily and then rallied once more,
"Ruprecht, you can't come on the escape because you're deaf."
Taking umbrage at this remark I pointedly indicated that my auditory functions had been irrepairably impaired by the constant shrill whistle of the carborundum dental drills employed in cutting faultless keys that were able to combat even the fabled Leitz Cruciform locks installed by the camp Commandant.
Considering this briefly, Big X then retorted,
"Ruprecht, you can't come on the escape because you have no hands."
Indignantly I ventured that the incessant preparation of climbing ropes from torn cotton bed sacks; rolled, sewn, and then plaited, spliced and twisted into thirty foot lengths had worn my fingers to the nub in the service of the escape committee.
Finally, Big X fixed me with a penetrating stare and announced in a composed steady voice,
"Ruprecht, you can't come on the escape because you are an SS Oberleutnant of the EinsatzGruppen Totenkopf Verbande."
Grudgingly I accepted this remonstration and returned to my garrison.
