He had no plan other than taking the shortest distance to the fence.
It was just before lights out, the snow had stopped and the atmosphere was as relaxed as it’s possible to get when you have no laces in your shoes and everyone on the other team has live ammuntion and a casual attitude to it’s use.
He knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. That stretch of fence to the south that had been damaged by the falling tree had been straightened up, but it still lacked the razor wire deterrent on its top edge. These soldiers were miserable enough as it was to be here anyway, and in this weather they were happy enough to wait for “someone” else to fix it. And with two feet of snow on the ground who the hell was going to run?
He ran. He took a right-angled left turn before the barrack block and went as fast as he could for the fence. 300 yards, 200 yards, 100 yards…shouts, there were shouts…the harsh white light hit him square on his back and he now found himself tearing through the snow after his own sharply defined shadow. The razor sharp air dried his lips and burned his throat, tears streamed back to his ears, tears from eyes shocked by the rush of cold air, tears of hope, and of regret.
A single shot. The sound was sucked from the air by the snow that had been a silent witness to the act of desperation.
Warmly uniformed guards stood in a semi circle at the fence and looked down. Spots of blood led to the fence. On the other side a trail of disturbed snow snaked into the forest. They looked at each other, then backat the barracks where the guests had gathered in numbers at the entrances and windows.