A Town Called Discovery

by R. R. Haywood

  ‘Jesus,’ she says, grimacing while watching him make drinks. She pulls the zip down on her running top, tugging it off to show the tight sports vest top underneath. ‘At least you’ve put your heating on…’

  ‘Only because you were here,’ he says.

  ‘Ah, the old turn the heating up trick and make her get naked, got it, like it…good thinking.’

  ‘No, I was just…’

  ‘Yeah, whatever, go on…so the Krauts killed the Tommies…what’s the job?’

  ‘Corporal John Simmonds dies at some point over the two days…exactly when is unclear hence the overnighter but the Old Lady wants him alive.’

  ‘Ah, gotcha, he in the trenches, is he?’

  ‘No, medic…like three miles back from the front line. Should be easy enough. Thomas can talk us in then we just keep an eye on him. It’s really nothing exciting. We’ve done a few wars now…not in the fighting bit…just on the outskirts.’

  ‘Interesting,’ she says, holding his eye contact when he passes her mug of coffee over. ‘So, you’ll be in uniform?’ she asks lightly, lifting an eyebrow.

  He smiles, looking away with a shy blush.

  ‘I heard about you being a cop…’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, got all the girls going that did…you er…kept the uniform anywhere?’

  He shakes his head, smiling over the rim of his mug. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Shame,’ she says, smiling over the rim of her mug.

  He blinks away from the intense eye contact, not knowing what to say or do. ‘Listen er…I need a shower, you okay here?’

  ‘Yeah, go for it. I’ll drink my coffee and steal your er…’ she looks round for something to steal and shrugs comically. ‘I’ll just try not to think about you in the buff…unless you need urgent medical attention, of course?’

  ‘I’ll shout if I start drowning…’

  A strange energy fills his insides as he turns the shower on and strips off in the bathroom. Like an expectation hanging in the air. A foreknowledge of a thing that will happen. A sense of it. An instinct. He thinks to stop it before it happens, maybe ask her to leave or lock the door but instead he steps in under the flow and lets the hot water drum on his skull to blot his senses.

  ‘Thought I heard a cry for help?’ she rushes in with a smile that makes him start laughing. ‘Are you drowning? Hang on, mate…I’m coming…’

  She undresses quickly, cursing at the tight sports clothing twanging noisily that makes him laugh more while thinking he should tell her not yet, another time, not now, it’s too soon. She’s his doctor. It’s not ethical. It’s not right but he doesn’t say those things. He hears her step in behind him and turns round, swallowing at the sight of her flawless, perfect body but seeing only Roshi in his mind but Roshi is dead and it’s as though Lucy can detect the thoughts in his mind with a sudden raw vulnerability showing in her eyes.

  They come together a second later with mouths and bodies pressing. They move back under the flow, feeling the sensuality of the water pounding their bodies as they kiss hard and long because Roshi is dead and she’s not coming back.

  He stiffens quickly when her hand goes down, gripping to rub as his moves down over her stomach to slip between her legs. A sense of urgency. A sense of rush. A need, a hunger. His fingers move softly, feeling her stiffen and grow wet before he slides in while her hand grips harder before pushing him back and dropping to her knees. She takes him in her mouth, her head moving up and down with her red hair plastered back and her wide blue eyes watching him staring at her because Roshi is dead. She’s not coming back. This is real.

  He lifts her up, gripping her hard and turning to press her back into the shower wall, hooking her legs up and round his back and slides deep inside her. She arches, straining at the sensation as he starts to move. Her fingers on his back raking harder and harder, her mouth biting his neck and ears.

  Roshi is dead and he fucks Lucy in the shower because she is not coming back. Emotions swarm inside. This is wrong. All of it is wrong. Everything is wrong. It’s a game, a trick, Roshi told him to stand for her and now his dick is inside someone else. He starts to wilt but grunts and moves harder, refusing to let it overtake his desire to change.

  ‘Roshi groomed you,’ that’s what Lucy said during all those sessions, one a week for six long months. ‘She took a newbie with no character, no memories, no personality and made you what she wanted. She manipulated you to fall in love. She tortured you and made you believe it was right…like a game... She groomed you, Bear. She used you.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ Lucy gasps in his ear, her voice adding to the memories of the sessions of therapy. ‘Harder…’ she clings tighter, driving him into her. ‘Oh, god…’ she kisses his neck, his ear and they angle to find each other’s mouths, kissing deep as she climaxes, her body shuddering with spasms running through. A second later he comes hard and fast, driving deep with an action that can never be undone but it doesn’t matter now. Roshi is dead. She’s not coming back.

  They kiss for a long time. Holding each other in that position under the shower until he does finally wilt and slip from being inside her. They wash each other, gently and slowly with the awkward after-moments of the first time lingering in the air.

  He goes out first, leaving her to rinse and going through to his bedroom to the wardrobe and drops down to take a clean towel from the bottom shelf and as he rises he sees the glint of metal under his bed catching the morning sun streaming through the windows. He leans closer, trying to see what it is then stretches his fingers under the frame, groping about before feeling something delicate and small that he draws out and stares at while his heart skips a beat and his stomach lurches. A fine silver necklace with a pendant attached and the word discovery in flowing script.

  26

  Bear blinks, snapping back to the now, panicking with the notion that he was just asked a question, but everyone is nodding at whatever Martha just said. He reaches out for his mug, looking round the office at the people gathered.

  ‘…three miles out in this village where the command structure is based,’ Zara’s voice permeates his mind. Her hand pointing at a map on a monitor. Pete and Jacob lean forward, studying the terrain while Thomas reads the set of identification papers in his hands.

  ‘…they’ll question both of you so Bear, be ready in case they separate you from Thomas…’ Zara trails off.

  ‘Got it,’ Thomas says, studying the papers held in his hands. ‘I’ll get us in.’

  The necklace jarred Bear to the core. Finding it there. Feeling it in his hands and suddenly he was back in the masquerade room seeing it for the first time. See me now? That’s what Roshi said. Goading, taunting, mocking him while he stood naked and terrified. She groomed him. She used him. Played and manipulated him.

  Was it always under his bed? How could he not see it before? Was it a sign or an act of pure serendipity?

  ‘Keep your training in mind,’ Jacob says, bringing Bear’s focus back to the room. ‘Language, behaviour, don’t eyeball officers…just because they are not technologically advanced it doesn’t mean they are not intelligent.’

  ‘Got it,’ Thomas says again, looking at Bear who nods quickly.

  ‘Sure,’ Bear says, shifting in his chair.

  ‘Bear, you okay?’ Zara asks, glancing over.

  ‘Uniform is uncomfortable,’ he says, tugging the tight collar away from his neck.

  ‘Say that again,’ Thomas says, doing the same. Both in standard issue battle dress for the First World War. Stout boots with leggings wrapped round their calves to their knees. Thick trousers, shirt, tie and woollen tunic. Webbing belts over the clothes. Lee Enfield .303 bolt action rifles rest against the office wall, each with a steel soup-bowl shrapnel helmet wedged on the top.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Jacob says as Pete snorts a dry laugh.

  ‘You will not get used to it,’ the Frenchman adds.

  ‘They’re stretched, strung out, under pre
ssure and desperate so as long as they don’t suspect you of being a spy, you’ll be fine…’ Zara says.

  ‘The papers are real too, from dead soldiers serving in the Africa campaigns…’ Martha cuts in.

  ‘Great,’ Bear says, shifting again.

  ‘Okay,’ Zara says. ‘Locate and identity Corporal John Simmonds…’ she taps the black and white photograph of a man in uniform on the screen. ‘That’s him. Royal Army Medical Corp…your papers declare you as from a rifles company so actually getting close and staying close will be down to you on the ground...’

  ‘I can do that,’ Thomas says.

  ‘Now, onto the time of deployment…you’ll arrive a few hours before the shelling starts…’

  It’s not a sign. It’s not. It’s pure fluke. He only ever uses one towel and he never looks under his bed. It's just a fluke. A one off. It’s not a sign.

  ‘…and at some point, during all of that, Corporal John Simmonds is declared as killed in action, what’s not clear is how or when,’ Zara says.

  Roshi is dead. Lucy is nice. It’s not a sign.

  ‘…that’s a good question but, as with all RLI’s, it has to stay fluid…’ Martha says.

  Christ. Why can’t they just get in and get it done? Stop talking about it and get it over. Actually, this is what he needs. Something hard and difficult. Something physical to get his teeth into. Yeah. He needs this. Roshi is dead. It wasn’t a sign.

  ‘Okay, I think you’re probably good to go, questions?’ Zara asks.

  ‘Nope,’ Bear says, his voice louder and firmer than he intended, making everyone turn to look at him.

  ‘Bored then?’ Zara asks, smiling as the others chuckle at the man of action ready and willing to get stuck in. Thomas pats Bear’s arm, pushing up from his chair to grab his rifle and helmet.

  ‘Bear, Tom…quick word,’ Zara says, nodding at the others to go. ‘Pep talk with my team.’

  ‘Good luck, chaps,’ Jacob says brightly, patting Bear on the back as he follows Pete out.

  Zara holds still, watching the two men get kitted up as Martha goes out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. ‘Bear? What’s wrong?’ she asks immediately.

  ‘Nothing…’

  ‘My arse nothing. Spit it out…you kept zoning out. Are you up for this today? I can put it back if…’

  ‘I’m fine…honestly. Don’t give me the look,’ he groans. ‘I just had a weird morning.’

  ‘With Lucy?’ she asks as Thomas’s eyebrows shoot up.

  ‘I forgot man, how was it?’

  ‘Yeah, good, er…you know…running and…we did running…um…’

  ‘You totally had sex dude!’

  ‘Did you?’’ Zara asks, blinking at him as he blushes furiously.

  ‘You did! You had sex with Lucy…’ Thomas says, grinning widely.

  ‘Er, we, er…’

  ‘Oh, my god, Bear. You went for one run with her…’ Zara says, shaking her head in shock. ‘How fast do you move?’

  ‘What? We’ve been speaking for like six months now…’

  ‘She’s your bloody doctor, right…well…is that’s what’s freaked you out?’

  ‘No, I found this straight after,’ he says, pulling the necklace from his pocket.

  ‘A necklace?’ Thomas asks.

  ‘Roshi’s necklace.’

  ‘Roshi’s?’ Zara asks. ‘You’ve seen her?’

  ‘No! It was under my bed from…you know…that night she stayed.’

  ‘Oh…oh, okay. Sheesh dude, I thought you’d seen her. I was like…what the fuck!’

  ‘No, at least…I mean…I think it’s from that night.’

  ‘Ah,’ Thomas says, nodding with understanding. ‘The roses huh? A sign? It’s not a sign, dude. It dropped off when you fucked and…’

  ‘Don’t say fucked like that,’ Zara says with a tut.

  ‘When you made love then…either way it stayed under your bed because, buddy, you are a filthy shit that doesn’t sweep under his bed.’

  ‘It’s just coincidence,’ Zara says. ‘I’d be freaked out too. But are you sure you’re up for this today?’

  ‘Yeah, course, I’m fine,’ Bear says, pushing it back in his pocket.

  ‘Okay,’ she watches him for a second, studying his reactions and expression. ‘I’ll keep the live link on to watch when I can.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Just a weird day.’

  ‘Weird day? Man, this is a good day, Lucy is like the hottest woman in Disco…’ Thomas says enthusiastically, looking at Bear while detecting the glare coming from Zara. ‘Other than Zara,’ he adds, still looking at Bear. ‘Who is the hottest woman ever, like…’

  ‘Twat, she’s not that great,’ Zara mutters. ‘But it’ll do you good to…’ she flaps her hands, floundering for a second. ‘Get it out of your system? Is that the thing to say? whatever. Go save John Simmonds and we’ll dissect it when you get back.’

  ‘Lucy is like the second hottest woman man,’ Thomas continues, holding a mock serious look.

  ‘Sod off, the pair of you,’ Zara says, ushering them out of her office. ‘Sally? Room one?’

  ‘Good to go,’ Sally shouts back. ‘Good luck, Bear! And Tom, of course…’

  ‘Gee, thanks for the after-thought,’ Thomas shouts back, pulling his steel hat on. ‘Do me up?’ he asks, lowering his chin towards Zara.

  ‘Ask Lucy,’ she says, grabbing the strap to hoik under his chin, snorting a laugh at the look on his face. ‘Bear,’ she reaches up, getting his chinstrap in place with a fleeting eye-contact held between the two and for a second it looks like she will say something but then it’s gone and she steps back. ‘Good luck, go on…see you both later…’

  27

  YPRES, BELGIUM, 1917

  They step from room one into an old barn. The door behind them giving access to a storeroom now a portal with a live link back to the planning offices. A moment to adjust kit and peep outside before they stroll out onto an overgrown path and head east for the village.

  Early winter and the air is cold with a drizzling, soaking rain falling from low clouds. A few miles to the village, then a few more to the edge of the battlefields but already they can hear the booms of artillery guns firing in the distance. Solid percussive bangs that roll around the green and peaceful countryside.

  ‘Thomas Smith. Private. 8th battalion the Hampshire Regiment…Isle of Wight rifles. British by birth but I lived in the states for a few years…dude, are you listening?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Brian Jones?’

  ‘Regiment?’

  ‘Same as yours.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘8th battalion Hampshire rifles, Isle of Wight regiment.’

  ‘What the fuck dude? Wrong way round. Hampshire regiment, Isle of Wight rifles…where were you born?’

  ‘I don’t know…Oldport? Newport?’

  ‘Newport, listen, just stay quiet and act thick.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Which means act normal.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘Just you know, be this big lumbering guy that’s all brawn and no brains.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘That has sex with hot women after going for like one run.’

  ‘That bit is true.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Shower.’

  ‘Shower?’

  ‘Yeah, the shower.’

  ‘Then you found the necklace after?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I see. So…how did Lucy actually get in the shower?’

  ‘She stepped in.’

  ‘No, I mean…’

  ‘I said I was going for a shower and then she followed.’

  ‘You didn’t ask her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She just came in?’

  ‘Yeah…she made a joke that I was drowning and needed help.’

  ‘Man,’ Thomas says, tugging the collar of his tunic aw
ay from his neck while stretching his neck from the chin-strap already rubbing his skin while tilting and leaning to shift the weight of the trench-tools, bayonet, water-bottle and gas mask all hanging from his body with what must be the worst designed weight-distribution ever.

  Bear does the same. Fidgeting as he walks. Tugging the trousers from going up his arse while shifting, leaning, huffing and tutting.

  ‘So, you played hide the sausage with Lucy in the shower and now you feel like shit because you found the necklace from the dead girl you played hide the sausage with that one time after she groomed and made you into a killing machine…’

  ‘Noise ahead,’ Bear cuts in, straining to listen. A general hum of noise made of many things that grows louder as they walk. Then they breach the corner and stop dead to stare in stunned awe.

  A wide road, once a grand artery lined with trees leading to the beautiful ancient town of Ypres now a muddied sea of greys and browns filled with teams of horses pulling wagons loaded with the mangled remains of uniformed corpses. More horses pulling artillery guns that slip and slide through the mud on big metal spoked wheels going the other direction. Wagons of supplies and ammunition. Officers on horse-back cursing and shouting for everyone else to make way.

  Thousands of men on foot and every single one in a uniform of a degree. Some look new and shiny like Bear and Thomas but wan, shocked and stunned as they head towards the distant booms of the guns, passing the flotilla of corpses going past them and long lines of bandaged men shuffling with their hands on the man in front. Some with faces entirely covered with filthy dressings. Others can barely walk. Some laugh and grin manically and nearly every single one have blood stains coming from their ears.

  Thomas and Bear absorb into the mass. Earning a few half-interested looks but within seconds they are simply part of the flow and contra-flow that both feeds and drains the front-line of human fodder.

  The going becomes harder. The road boggier with thick mud that clumps and clings to their boots, making each step heavy and cumbersome. They stay quiet too because no one else is talking. The only voices heard are those from the men driving the horses or the officers on horseback shouting for room to get through.