| By: Nils Durban |
Now…
Poul sat within the bombed out basement for a further hour in order to be sure that the transports
he had heard had passed well clear of him, eventually falling into a half slumber. Upon rousing he
reached for his pack and ate and drank sparingly from his carefully measured provisions. Then he
raised himself from the damp stone floor and climbed back up into the greyness of the deserted
and mostly destroyed town. He was worryingly unsure of whether he had passed this way before
and regularly comforted himself with a compass check to ensure that, at least, he was headed in
the right general direction. A further day, he estimated, and then three days back to the Line.
He had entered Coalition territory to the south, in order to avoid the Watcheyes which he knew
from the latest intelligence were patrolling the front in the vicinity of Warsaw, where the Coalition
was making a concerted effort to push the Separatists further back and take one more stronghold
from them. From Krakow he had passed carefully across the Line under the cover of darkness and
had since been travelling eastwards through this grim and desolate wasteland, cautious of the
aerial and ground patrols that he knew swept regularly back and forth.
Then…
He ran out from the burning building, his ears ringing from the mortar fire, dragging Karina behind
him. She in turn held tightly onto the hand of the small girl child whom they had found cowering
within, mute with terror, eyes glazed, perhaps no more than four years of age.
“We need cover!” Karina gasped.
“This way, quickly,” Poul led them across the debris strewn street and threw himself against the
boarded up doorway of what was once, perhaps, a grocery store. It gave way upon a second
attempt and he ushered Karina and the child in before him.
“Your radio?” she asked.
He held it before him and turned the dials slowly around. “Still nothing. I think it was knocked out by
that pulse earlier.”
“Do you think they’ve pulled out?”
“Our troop? Almost certainly. We were pinned down across the street for too long. They couldn’t
have held out any longer.”
“Then what do we do?” her voice was tinged with desperation.
He stared out through the broken boards at the disconcertingly quiet street, “we’ll wait until dark,
then head out across the fields, stay clear of the roads.”
Now…
He came upon the crossroads almost without realising it. The half broken signpost that he recalled
still maintained its vigil, its one remaining arm indicating his onward route. He knew that he was
close and he felt relief at knowing that he would not be searching around in the darkness hour after
hour. Carefully he climbed up onto the road and stared eastwards to where the rising sun had
begun to cast a glowing red aurora amongst the low grey morning clouds.
“I’ll be with you soon,” he whispered, “don’t worry.”
He would brave the road for a little while, he decided, at least until daylight.
Then…
“Hold on whilst I bind it,” he implored, “You’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Just….just something for the pain, please Poul,” her fingers dug into the earth on either side of
her, perspiration breaking out on her forehead and mingling quickly with the tears that stained her
cheeks.
He rummaged through the medkit and hurriedly charged a hypodermic before injecting it into her
upper thigh. Only moments passed before he saw her visibly relax and a brave smile came to her
lips. For the first time he cast his eyes around for the child and saw her seated quietly upon the
remains of some old farm machinery, staring away into nothingness.
It had been a land mine. They had made such good progress that he had begun to think that they
might even catch up with their troop. Perhaps he had been too eager in urging them onwards, but,
upon reflection, there was no careful way to step on a mine.
Karina had lost her right leg from the knee down and the profusion of blood was alarming. Her face
was already deathly pale.
“Do you remember St. Petersburg?” she asked.
“How could I not,” he indulged her reminiscence, “it was the most wonderful time. And,” he
asserted, “we’ll be there again.”
“No, my love,” she whispered, “you must leave now. It’s far too exposed here and I cannot bear to
think that neither of us will survive.”
Poul stared into her eyes, horrified. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll carry you.”
“Too weak,” she said, “and too much blood, I fear. And anyway, there is the child.”
“But,” he searched in desperation for the words that would convince her she was wrong, “she’s not
ours.”
Karina smiled at him, a warm and sunny smile that did indeed remind him of their time together
three summers ago, “I know you better than that, Poul. You wouldn’t desert her. You must go.”
He hung his head in sorrow, “how can I possibly do that? I would rather stay here with you.”
“Because,” she told him, “I know the man that you are, and I know that you will do the right thing.”
He felt a light touch upon his shoulder and turned to face the girl who was now stood beside him,
taking in this terrible scene. She reached out a small hand and he took it numbly in his own.
He leaned forwards to kiss Karina’s trembling lips a final time. She held onto his neck, brought his
ear towards her mouth.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she whispered, “you never forgot.”
Now…
Poul became lost in his own thoughts as he strode purposely down the broken road, determined as
he was to reach his goal without delay. The distant steady drone failed at first to penetrate his
consciousness. By the time that realisation dawned upon him, he was sure that it was too late.
Watcheye!
He dove heedlessly into the dense vegetation that encroached upon the verge of the road. He
pulled himself downwards, uncaring of the briars that ripped at his skin as he did so. He squirmed
around, trading off the additional noise and movement this generated against his absolute need to
confront his possible end face on. The increasingly voluble thrum signalled the approach of the
mechanism. Poul hunkered down and, through the foliage before him, stared back up towards the
carriageway.
The Watcheye swam into view, hovering at a height of some six feet above the pitted and scarred
tarmac, steely appendages dependant from its undercarriage. Poul willed it to continue on its way,
swore inwardly when it paused, its gleaming metallic body swivelling slowly about until its glowing
red camera eye was directed towards the side of the road where he had secreted himself. It
bobbed in the air contemplatively before heading across the road towards Poul’s location. He held
his breath, his heart hammering so loudly that he was convinced that the machine must be able to
hear it. The Watcheye remained there, pensively, for what felt to Poul like long minutes but was
actually only a handful of seconds. It then swivelled around to face once more down the course of
the road and continued upon the mission that had been programmed into it.
Poul continued to hold his breath, long after the whirr of the automaton had passed beyond the
capacity of his hearing. That had been too close. He had allowed his concentration to lapse and
had very nearly paid the price for doing so. He castigated himself, angry that he had required so
severe a lesson. He would not allow his alertness to flag again.
He came at last upon the field, identifiable by the blasted oak that sat at its centre and the rusted
hulk of the plough to one side. He crossed it with firm resolve, knowing that his footsteps had
passed this way many times and that he would be unfortunate indeed to befall the same fate as his
love.
He reached the precise spot and fell to the ground, sat there contemplatively for many minutes
before un-slinging the pack and reaching within to find the wrapped white lily. He carefully unfolded
its now lifeless petals before placing it upon the scarred and broken earth.
“Happy Birthday, Karina, my love.”
An hour at most would he spend here, his thoughts eventually turning to Sofia, already twelve and,
he was sure, anxiously awaiting his return.
Poul sat within the bombed out basement for a further hour in order to be sure that the transports
he had heard had passed well clear of him, eventually falling into a half slumber. Upon rousing he
reached for his pack and ate and drank sparingly from his carefully measured provisions. Then he
raised himself from the damp stone floor and climbed back up into the greyness of the deserted
and mostly destroyed town. He was worryingly unsure of whether he had passed this way before
and regularly comforted himself with a compass check to ensure that, at least, he was headed in
the right general direction. A further day, he estimated, and then three days back to the Line.
He had entered Coalition territory to the south, in order to avoid the Watcheyes which he knew
from the latest intelligence were patrolling the front in the vicinity of Warsaw, where the Coalition
was making a concerted effort to push the Separatists further back and take one more stronghold
from them. From Krakow he had passed carefully across the Line under the cover of darkness and
had since been travelling eastwards through this grim and desolate wasteland, cautious of the
aerial and ground patrols that he knew swept regularly back and forth.
Then…
He ran out from the burning building, his ears ringing from the mortar fire, dragging Karina behind
him. She in turn held tightly onto the hand of the small girl child whom they had found cowering
within, mute with terror, eyes glazed, perhaps no more than four years of age.
“We need cover!” Karina gasped.
“This way, quickly,” Poul led them across the debris strewn street and threw himself against the
boarded up doorway of what was once, perhaps, a grocery store. It gave way upon a second
attempt and he ushered Karina and the child in before him.
“Your radio?” she asked.
He held it before him and turned the dials slowly around. “Still nothing. I think it was knocked out by
that pulse earlier.”
“Do you think they’ve pulled out?”
“Our troop? Almost certainly. We were pinned down across the street for too long. They couldn’t
have held out any longer.”
“Then what do we do?” her voice was tinged with desperation.
He stared out through the broken boards at the disconcertingly quiet street, “we’ll wait until dark,
then head out across the fields, stay clear of the roads.”
Now…
He came upon the crossroads almost without realising it. The half broken signpost that he recalled
still maintained its vigil, its one remaining arm indicating his onward route. He knew that he was
close and he felt relief at knowing that he would not be searching around in the darkness hour after
hour. Carefully he climbed up onto the road and stared eastwards to where the rising sun had
begun to cast a glowing red aurora amongst the low grey morning clouds.
“I’ll be with you soon,” he whispered, “don’t worry.”
He would brave the road for a little while, he decided, at least until daylight.
Then…
“Hold on whilst I bind it,” he implored, “You’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Just….just something for the pain, please Poul,” her fingers dug into the earth on either side of
her, perspiration breaking out on her forehead and mingling quickly with the tears that stained her
cheeks.
He rummaged through the medkit and hurriedly charged a hypodermic before injecting it into her
upper thigh. Only moments passed before he saw her visibly relax and a brave smile came to her
lips. For the first time he cast his eyes around for the child and saw her seated quietly upon the
remains of some old farm machinery, staring away into nothingness.
It had been a land mine. They had made such good progress that he had begun to think that they
might even catch up with their troop. Perhaps he had been too eager in urging them onwards, but,
upon reflection, there was no careful way to step on a mine.
Karina had lost her right leg from the knee down and the profusion of blood was alarming. Her face
was already deathly pale.
“Do you remember St. Petersburg?” she asked.
“How could I not,” he indulged her reminiscence, “it was the most wonderful time. And,” he
asserted, “we’ll be there again.”
“No, my love,” she whispered, “you must leave now. It’s far too exposed here and I cannot bear to
think that neither of us will survive.”
Poul stared into her eyes, horrified. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll carry you.”
“Too weak,” she said, “and too much blood, I fear. And anyway, there is the child.”
“But,” he searched in desperation for the words that would convince her she was wrong, “she’s not
ours.”
Karina smiled at him, a warm and sunny smile that did indeed remind him of their time together
three summers ago, “I know you better than that, Poul. You wouldn’t desert her. You must go.”
He hung his head in sorrow, “how can I possibly do that? I would rather stay here with you.”
“Because,” she told him, “I know the man that you are, and I know that you will do the right thing.”
He felt a light touch upon his shoulder and turned to face the girl who was now stood beside him,
taking in this terrible scene. She reached out a small hand and he took it numbly in his own.
He leaned forwards to kiss Karina’s trembling lips a final time. She held onto his neck, brought his
ear towards her mouth.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she whispered, “you never forgot.”
Now…
Poul became lost in his own thoughts as he strode purposely down the broken road, determined as
he was to reach his goal without delay. The distant steady drone failed at first to penetrate his
consciousness. By the time that realisation dawned upon him, he was sure that it was too late.
Watcheye!
He dove heedlessly into the dense vegetation that encroached upon the verge of the road. He
pulled himself downwards, uncaring of the briars that ripped at his skin as he did so. He squirmed
around, trading off the additional noise and movement this generated against his absolute need to
confront his possible end face on. The increasingly voluble thrum signalled the approach of the
mechanism. Poul hunkered down and, through the foliage before him, stared back up towards the
carriageway.
The Watcheye swam into view, hovering at a height of some six feet above the pitted and scarred
tarmac, steely appendages dependant from its undercarriage. Poul willed it to continue on its way,
swore inwardly when it paused, its gleaming metallic body swivelling slowly about until its glowing
red camera eye was directed towards the side of the road where he had secreted himself. It
bobbed in the air contemplatively before heading across the road towards Poul’s location. He held
his breath, his heart hammering so loudly that he was convinced that the machine must be able to
hear it. The Watcheye remained there, pensively, for what felt to Poul like long minutes but was
actually only a handful of seconds. It then swivelled around to face once more down the course of
the road and continued upon the mission that had been programmed into it.
Poul continued to hold his breath, long after the whirr of the automaton had passed beyond the
capacity of his hearing. That had been too close. He had allowed his concentration to lapse and
had very nearly paid the price for doing so. He castigated himself, angry that he had required so
severe a lesson. He would not allow his alertness to flag again.
He came at last upon the field, identifiable by the blasted oak that sat at its centre and the rusted
hulk of the plough to one side. He crossed it with firm resolve, knowing that his footsteps had
passed this way many times and that he would be unfortunate indeed to befall the same fate as his
love.
He reached the precise spot and fell to the ground, sat there contemplatively for many minutes
before un-slinging the pack and reaching within to find the wrapped white lily. He carefully unfolded
its now lifeless petals before placing it upon the scarred and broken earth.
“Happy Birthday, Karina, my love.”
An hour at most would he spend here, his thoughts eventually turning to Sofia, already twelve and,
he was sure, anxiously awaiting his return.
| Remembrance |
| February 2010 |
| Fiction |
| Copyright 2010 by Nils Durban |
