CHAPTER TWO
The mood was low. The atmosphere was tense. The squadron promptly left the smoking debris of the exploded hangar, wary of another potential attack from Nazi soldiers, or worse! Charlie led the way, without a word, without an order, keeping himself a fair distance ahead of his men, who were following him in an awkward silence. The snow was light on the ground, and covered everything in sight, making the landscape bright, yet plain. Their boots crushed it as they trekked onwards, and for the longest of times no one dared utter a word.
Specks was preoccupied with his notes, constantly reviewing the scruffy information of numbers and sums and scrawling, whilst occasionally tripping over any unseen tree stumps or rocks, as he went. The brothers seemed happy enough, fooling around with a loose version of Rock-paper-scissors, which, quiet as they played, was getting more and more aggressive with every passing challenge. To the left of the trek, straying on the outskirts of the group, was Billy. He was busy stretching out his aches and pains and new-found bruises from his recent fight, muttering infuriated words under his breath. Ahead of them all marched Charlie. His walk, though determined, lacked his usual manner, and his eyes were fixed on the horizon, but without cause or direction. Around them sparse fields spread in every direction, with nothing out of the ordinary or untoward in sight. Truth be told, the men were finding the walk positively boring! Finally one of them broke the hush.
‘Ah, screw this stupid game. I don’t get it. I don’t like it. I mean… how can paper beat rock? It’s insane! Whoever invented this thing was do-wacky. I quit. Game over, man,’ yelled Doodle, finally sick of constantly losing against his big brother, snapping his hand away from the contest.
‘Damn right, game over. Game was already over the second you started playing, you big horse’s ass,’ remarked Yankee. ‘You suck more at this than you did when we got stuck in that treacle mine!’
‘Treacle mine? Treacle yours! Get outta here, man,’ replied Doodle, in a pathetic attempt to defend his loss.
As quickly as the din sounded, it was gone, and the group fell back into its ongoing silence, the men ill at ease with their Captain’s march. And for a time they continued that way. At some point down the line Specks noticed a small number of cogs and springs and other such components, sticking out from the snow. He snatched them up and began to study them as the squad pushed ever onward, the group paying him no attention, as he shoved them in his bag for later investigation. At long last, Yankee couldn’t bear the silence any longer, and all too soon his mouth was moving once more.
‘So, Billy. On a scale of one to ten, one being as weak as little Specks over there. And ten being me and my biceps. How would you rate that Mummy Man guy?’
‘I believe the recording aptly entitled it… the Manipulated Man,’ corrected Specks, who was still scribbling away in his notepad.
‘Yeah, yeah. Right. The Mutated Man,’ continued Yankee. ‘What would you give him? Was he funny scary, like those wind-up clockwork guys we fought that one time? Or weird scary, like when we crossed paths with that English guy claiming to be a Doctor, with the blue box, and those rolling tin-can laser men things, chasing him in every direction?’
‘With the hot assistant?’ enquired Doodle.
‘That’s the one.’
‘Eight out of ten?’ speculated Billy, uncertain. ‘He was strong and fast. And at one point the bugger even tried to stab me with some syringes.’
‘Come again? Syringes? Why would it do a thing like that?’ asked Doodle.
‘Beats me.’
‘Normally, the simplest of answers is the correct answer,’ said Specks, not bothering to take his eyes away from his notebook.
‘Meaning?’ asked the brothers in unison.
‘Meaning,’ he replied, in a huff, ‘it was trying to use them on Billy.’ They waited for the geek to deliver more information. ‘And syringes do one of two things. They extract.’ He momentarily lifted his eyes from his work and looked at the young man, inquisitively. ‘And they inject.’
‘But, why would it want to extract Billy’s blood?’ asked Doodle.
‘I would be far more concerned with what it wanted to inject him with.’
The squad went quiet. They were all more than aware of what Shoebox and his demented projects were capable of. Weird, twisted ensembles, that could only be created by the most damaged of minds. It was enough to send a shiver down the bravest of men’s spine. The mood went dour, and Charlie’s silent and distant stride wasn’t helping matters for the men. Onwards they pushed. Over a few hills, and jumping across a couple of streams, there was nothing to report other than the scenery. Specks’ bored eyes once again found something untoward in the snow. To his right he could see a blue stain amongst the purity of the white. Ignored by his group, he quickly leant down and found a syringe jutting out of the snow, its remnants now diminishing quickly. Carefully he picked it up, wrapping it in some cloth and shoving it in his bag, making notes in his pad as he continued with the squad. No one even seemed to notice his brief break from the march.
‘Oh, I got one,’ said Doodle, unable to bear the silence within the group. ‘What ya’ll gonna do after the war is over?’
‘Well, I know exactly what I’m gonna do,’ began Yankee, eager to voice his own thoughts. ‘The first thing I’m gonna do is go round and see Ma. I’m gonna get myself a slice of her famous blueberry pie. Snag a bottle of Farmer Joe’s homemade root beer, that she keeps in the fridge for special occasions. Put my feet up in front of the radio, and let the old girl make a fuss over me!’
‘Ha. You know better than me that putting your feet up can only lead to one thing,’ said Doodle. The brothers looked knowingly at each other, their grins imminent. ‘Two clouts round the back of the head and chores till sundown,’ they said together. The pair laughed heartily at the reflection, allowing themselves some much needed enjoyment. ‘What about you, Specks?’ asked Doodle, jabbing the small man with the butt of his shotgun.
‘Me? Oh, I don’t know,’ he closed his notepad and looked towards the horizon in quiet contemplation. ‘I imagine… that is, if they’ll be so kind as to have me back… I will probably head back to Kent… Canterbury University… and continue with my work.’
‘Damn. You some kind of teacher?’ giggled Yankee, not quite capable of grasping the concept. ‘No way in hell can you control a classroom full of kids!’
‘Actually, they have an excellent science program there. I rarely leave the laboratory.’
‘Rarely find your way out of the laboratory, more like,’ Yankee retorted.
‘Yeah. Can you imagine him with a group of kids,’ said Doodle, preparing his best impression of Specks. He crouched low, pulled his helmet further down his head and began. ‘Erm, you there… sit down… please,’ he stammered, pushing an imaginary pair of glasses up his nose, all the while trying to keep a straight face, as Yankee chuckled. ‘Pardon me, I said sit yourself down… please… thank you. Otherwise it’s… it’ll be detention. Now… detention is the detaining of people forced upon them due to…’ Doodle could barely contain himself. ‘Now, would you all please excuse me… I have a time machine to build, and… a sandwich to make.’ But Doodle finally cracked up, joining his brother who was beside himself. Even Billy was grinning at the impression. After a jovial chortle, Doodle composed himself and continued with the game. ‘And what about you, Billy, my boy? What you gonna do with yourself? I mean, you could do anything you want. If you ask me, you’re turning into a bit of a legend.’
‘And a bit of a threat,’ said Yankee, with a hushed tone.
‘You what?’ asked his brother, lowering his voice even more so.
‘Well, no offence to Billy. But half the soldiers we come across are scared stiff of him,’ he whispered in reply.
For a moment Billy didn’t answer the question. He could hear what the brothers were whispering about, but he took no umbrage from it. Truth be told, he’d never thought that far ahead in his own timeline. The young man still had no idea w
here he came from, so how would he have any plan where he would move on to?
‘I don’t know,’ he answered, finally. ‘All I’ve got is you guys, and my dreams… or memories… or whatever the stupid things are! An image of a pretty girl in my head. A voice of an annoying boy in my ear. And that’s it. And what the heck is that exactly?’ He stopped for a moment, taking a long deep breath. ‘You lot… you all have your memories. You have your life before all this. You can go right back there. Even if it’s changed.’ None of them noticed, but Charlie had tilted his head ever so slightly, listening to the boy’s rare reveal. ‘Me? I was born in war. It’s all I know. Perhaps it’s all I can do.’ The men were silent, utterly focussed on the poor young man’s feelings. ‘Besides,’ he raised his arm into the air, slowly turning the armour-plated device from left to right. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I kind of stick out. I’m not going to be blending in at family picnics any time soon!’
Momentarily no one said anything, stewing on the sincere words. But the brothers weren’t having any of it for long.
‘Nice one, Random. You are hilarious,’ said Yankee, slapping Billy on the back. ‘Trying to kill the mood like that and ruin Doodle’s game. Shame on you.’
‘Yeah. Screw that. You can come straight home with us,’ added Doodle.
‘Great idea,’ continued Yankee. ‘How’s about it, Random? You, me, Doodle here? Adventures across the United States of America. Old Lady Liberty waving us in? Think about it. We could hit Broadway. Billy Random - the eighth wonder of the world!’
‘We live nowhere near New York,’ whispered Doodle.
‘I’m just trying to paint the boy a nice picture,’ said Yankee. ‘Specks, get out the list of Billy’s awesomeness.’ But he couldn’t wait for him to deliver. ‘Let’s see, we’ve got your super speed.’
Very quickly the brothers began to trawl through all of their adventures throughout their journey, reciting the various abilities they had witnessed from Billy as a result.
‘Super agility,’ added Doodle.
‘Super crazy ninja fighting moves.’
‘Super recovery.’
‘Super memory of anything and everything… and also nothing.’
‘Super weird arm. Now with customised super armour, made from super metal, from his super ship, found in that super crash!’
‘You two really need to expand on your vocabulary,’ suggested Specks.
‘And let’s not forget his super strength,’ finished Yankee.
‘He ain’t no stronger than me,’ remarked Doodle, defending his own credibility.
‘Little girls are stronger than you,’ snapped Yankee, nudging his brother joyfully. The pair could see a grateful smirk spreading across Billy’s face. ‘You’d love Arizona, mate. Sun on your back. Beer in your hand. Pretty ladies round every corner,’ he shoved the man playfully. ‘Besides, it’s either that, or teaching Algebra at boring-bury university with stuttering Professor Specks over there.’
The three men fell into a fit of laughter, dragging the small irritated geek into the embrace, taking pleasure from the well-needed distraction.
‘And Cap’n? Don’t think you’re getting out of this. What are you gonna do after all this?’ asked Doodle, who was wiping a tear from his face, thoroughly forgetting the man’s dismal mood.
The men hoped for a colourful jaunt about their Captain’s wife and beloved son, Caleb, and perhaps a whimsical future tale of a typical English day out - that somehow always managed to put a smile on their faces and make things bearable. But instead they got a short, sharp answer - something far more sinister. And even giving his standoffish mood of late, it was markedly more concerning than they were expecting.
‘Depends who wins the war,’ he muttered, in a grim response.
The answer was poignant, and killed the conversation dead in its tracks. So they continued their trek in quiet contemplation, each man deep in thought about just what the future may hold for all of them. Time rolled by, and Doodle tried to reignite the conversation with other juvenile questions, the most favoured being which time period all of them would like to be born in. He and his brother were more than enthusiastic about visiting the Wild West, whilst Specks muttered interest in the Egyptian Empire and the Industrial Revolution. Charlie didn’t even bother with a participating reply, and Billy, reluctant as he was, hinted at Pirates and Vikings. Though he couldn’t recall how he was even aware of such a thing - his memory, and more importantly, his existence prior to his collision with the squadron still being the universal mystery it was. But soon enough the low spirits of the group defeated the game and the conversation filtered off.
A light snow began to fall, bringing with it an icy chill. Almost immediately Billy took off his jacket and flung it over Specks, who was clearly suffering from the wintry weather a great deal more so than himself. Without word they walked on, crossing white fields, passing deserted buildings and pushing their way through sparse woodland. Every now and again Specks noticed discoloured snow in the distance, red to be precise, but all too soon the weather wiped away any and all blemishes. He quickly summed it up to him being cold and tired, and his imagination getting the better of him, so decided to keep his thoughts to himself, not that that stopped him taking notes.
‘So, Captain,’ spoke Yankee, after half a day’s walk, at long last breaking his peace. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking. And, seeing as our pursuit of the tracking device didn’t end up exactly as we planned. Let’s face it, the thing was a big old red herring. We’ve been pushing north all day, and I’m not sure why. I don’t wanna question your leadership, sir,’ he tilted his head in respect. ‘But the way I see it, we have zero clues as to where that S-O-B might be. For all we know, he’s sunning himself in the Caribbean, whilst we freeze to death out here in the blistering cold. So, I don’t mean to be rude Captain, but just where in hell are you leading us?’
Charlie finally stopped, causing the squad to do the same. Slowly he turned and looked at them all, and they all looked back. He went to answer, but something stopped him. He lifted his hand to his ear and narrowed his eyes as the something trailed on the icy wind. They all listened intently, as they tried to distinguish it from the breeze. It was a voice. A call. A plea for help. Charlie turned in the direction of the holler and burst into a run.
The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 3 - Poppies and Warpaint Page 3