CHAPTER SEVEN
Charlie couldn’t think straight. Blinded by overwhelming emotion and anger he stumbled his way through the town, and into one of many abandoned buildings. As expected, the place was wrecked, but he didn’t notice a single detail. Instead he fumbled his way across the room and sat down on a large pile of debris, that was once an inside wall. He rested up against a window, enjoying the cool glass against his bruised and sore skin. His mind was racing with rage and confusion and shame and endless thoughts. He scratched his scalp hard, before intently studying his bloody hand. What had he just done? Finally he closed his eyes. Time passed.
A quiet tapping sounded, raising Charlie from his short-lived forced slumber, and drawing his attention. He looked up through the dirty glass of the window, and saw a boy standing on the other side. He was very small, very skinny, and looked very cold, wearing little more than rags for clothes. But nonetheless he was still smiling broadly at the Captain. The boy moved forward, closer to the window and pressed the palm of his tiny hand against the glass. He waited, staring up at Charlie, who did nothing but watch. The boy muttered something in German, or Polish, or perhaps a mixture of both - Charlie couldn’t be quite sure. But whatever the language, the tone was evident - he was asking him for something. Unsure and hesitant, Charlie pressed his own hand against the glass, meeting the boy’s spread palm. No sooner had he done so, the little boy giggled a high-pitched reply and dashed off.
Charlie looked out the window and down the street, but the small boy was already out of sight. Just then a voice in the room called to him, causing the Captain to jump - the boy had returned, standing in the doorway, spouting excited sentences that he still couldn’t understand. But again, being a father himself, he could sense the tone - playtime. The boy burst into the room, running around, doing a brilliant impression of an aeroplane. If Charlie had been in a slightly better mood he would have smiled, or even laughed. The boy circled around, making engine noises. He turned and began heading towards Charlie, shooting at him with his make-believe weapons. Charlie did nothing to respond. So the small boy tried once more, again circling round and firing upon the man. This time Charlie returned fire, though rather unenthusiastically. The boy took the shots well, staging a dramatic death, falling to the floor in a fit of explosions, letting out a final tragic cry.
Charlie had already had enough, putting his head in his hands, frantically trying to clear his mind, but the boy wanted his undivided attention. He got up, dashed over to the debris, and began clambering over Charlie, as if he was a great big tree. Charlie allowed him the recreation, ignoring him as best he could. The boy began to play with his shoelaces, flick his jacket buttons, root through his pockets, until by chance he stumbled across something very precious indeed. It was Charlie’s photo of himself and his family. At long last, the Captain turned and paid proper attention, allowing the boy to look at it. He grinned, pointing at Charlie in the photo, then pointing to him in person. He then pointed to Caleb, Charlie’s son, before pointing at himself. Charlie shook his head - no. The boy looked around the room, wondering where the character in the photograph was. He looked up at Charlie with big hopeful eyes, but the Captain shook his head again.
‘He’s not here,’ spoke Charlie, in barely a whisper.
Another voice called out. The child’s father stood in the doorway, looking at the odd pair. Immediately the boy jumped up from Charlie’s lap and dashed over to him. Yet before he could get there he skidded to a halt, turned on the spot and returned to Charlie, gently passing his photo back to him. Again he muttered something in German or Polish, that Charlie couldn’t understand, before boasting a massive smile at him. Charlie nodded a thank you at him, slipping the picture back inside his jacket pocket. But then something unexpected happened. Without warning, the small boy hugged him. It was simple and innocent and real. He wrapped his small arms around his broad neck, and held on tight. Charlie couldn’t help himself, and embraced the hug with gratitude, like he was hugging his own son back home in England - it was exactly what the tortured man needed. He stood up and carried the boy to his waiting father, carefully passing him over. The child’s mother appeared next to them, kissing the child on the top of the head and stroking his hair. The boy made a finger pistol and took one last shot at Charlie, who played along, grasping at his chest and making the appropriate noises as the make-believe bullet hit. The boy giggled, nuzzling his head into the nook of his father’s neck and closing his eyes. The father smiled politely at Charlie, before putting a loving arm around his wife’s shoulders and leaving.
And so the Captain stood alone, watching quietly as the family slowly walked up the street, the boy waving at him with a big smile on his face. Charlie couldn’t quite grasp how something so beautiful, so simple could survive in such a place. And suddenly, all he could think about was his own distant family, and just how much he missed them.
Meanwhile, over the other side of the village, things were loud with activity. Yankee was sitting on the stone steps of the church with the rest of the squad, whilst three of the more willing women cleaned up his bloody face as best they could.
‘You sure got your ass handed to you,’ remarked Doodle, who was sitting immediately next to his brother. ‘Glad I didn’t think to put any money down. Would have lost my last few bucks,’ he added, offering him a little sarcastic support.
‘Goddamned man just got lucky, is all. Bring on round two I say. I won’t go so easy on the old fool next time. I’ll show him just who the boss is,’ Yankee replied, jerking his face away from the nuisance of the fluttering women.
‘I’m afraid the figures aren’t quite in your favour,’ began Specks. ‘Calculating the history of Charlie’s individual accomplishments, measured against your own… Multiplied with his attention to detail, and not forgetting your haphazardness…’ But he stopped just in the nick of time, seeing all the men staring gob-smacked at him, and realising his mistake.
‘Specks. Finish that sentence, and I swear to God, next time we run into trouble I’ll be using you as a human shield,’ snapped Yankee, flapping the women away in annoyance. ‘Ladies, as pretty as you are, as good your intentions, and as much as I’d like to take you all out for fine dining and dancing, right now you’re just pissing me off. Kindly leave me be.’ Muttering irritated remarks between themselves, the three ladies tottered off, leaving the men to their own devices. ‘Just wait till I get my hands on that man again!’
‘Looks like you won’t be waiting long,’ spoke Billy, who was pointing down the street at something.
Lo and behold, much to their surprise, Charlie was walking their way, and heading straight for them. He wasn’t marching like the soldier they had come to know. Instead it was far more hesitant, and so far he wasn’t looking in their direction.
‘Son of a…’ exclaimed Yankee, throwing his bloodied-up rag from his nose to the floor, and standing up. All the men joined his action.
‘Just take it easy, Yankee,’ suggested Billy, delicately.
‘I’ll take it easy. Easy like a fox!’
‘That makes no sense,’ replied Billy, Doodle and Specks in unison.
Charlie stopped a few feet in front of them all, and waited. The situation was tense.
‘May I…’ He cleared his throat. ’May I address you all?’ he asked.
‘You got some Goddamned cheek coming back here,’ erupted Yankee, stepping forward and standing tall. ‘I ought to knock you right on your ass, old man.’
‘I think what Yankee really means is… Yes,’ said Billy, making a desperate effort to relieve the situation. ‘We’d love to hear what you have to say.’
‘Fine. Make it quick,’ barked Yankee. ‘I got places to be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ stated Charlie. It was short, straight to the point, and not what the men had expected. He took a moment, resting his hands on his hips, and taking a deep breath before speaking openly. ‘I didn’t want to go to war. And I’d hazard a guess that none of you tr
uly did either. It wasn’t a choice we were given. It was a responsibility thrust upon us. A responsibility that no man should ever have to bear. The burden is too much for any person, any nation to take. It is nothing more than a hideous disregard for the treasure that is life. Life that we take so easily from another man, yet forget to be grateful for our own on a daily basis.’ Charlie strolled from left to right, his hands behind his back. ‘Yankee, everything you said about me was true. I lost sight of what was important. What was right. Somewhere along route, I lost my way, and I’m sorry.’ He took another long breath, clearly struggling with the circumstances. ‘I’m not fit to be your Captain anymore. And I haven’t been for a very long time. I don’t deserve it. Heck, truth be told, you’ve all outgrown me. Now I can see things clearly, it is I that needs you, and far more than any of you have ever needed me. So, I step down, and I hope, no, I pray that you will all forgive me and accept me as your fellow soldier.’
The group said nothing, speechless at their Captain’s sincere words, who was exposing himself like never before. He approached Billy and smiled affectionately at him, reaching around the young man’s neck and pulling out his dog tags.
‘Billy Random,’ he read aloud. ‘I wonder if perhaps that’s an abbreviation for William. That’s a good strong name. Either way, you’re the boy who came from nowhere. I know you struggle with your memories, and you even fear that you might be one of Shoebox’s projects. God knows I thought the same when I first met you. But… not knowing who you are, or where you came from, or why you’re so different from everybody else, I can’t even begin to imagine how that feels for you. But trust me, I know good and I know evil. And you are good, through and through. I know we haven’t given your origins the attention they deserve. But we will. I promise you that. Billy, you are a phenomenal fighter, greater than any I have ever come across. Your powers never cease to amaze me. And the mysterious knowledge and skill you have for mechanics and other such things is unyielding. You, my boy, are an incredible enigma. But you’re an even better friend to me. And that is the simple truth of who you really are.’
The pair smiled at one another, but said nothing more. So Charlie left Billy and moved towards Specks, standing in front of him, shamed.
‘Arthur. For last night’s unforgivable torture I needlessly put you through, I apologise, sincerely. I cannot make it up to you. And for the years of loyalty, smart ideas, and sheer brilliance you have given me, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
Specks didn’t reply. He didn’t know what so say to such a thing, instead opting to take off his glasses and clean them. Charlie took a side step to Doodle, whose friendly face eased his pain.
‘Steve. Sometimes I haven’t given you the credit you are due. You are a skilled soldier, with an amazing American talent to lighten any situation, no matter how grim. And I know you’ve always had my back. I’m certain there are a fair few bullets that would have found their way into my skull, had it not been for you. Simply put, I couldn’t be without you.’
Doodle smiled, but it quickly cracked, causing him to look away, wiping something from the corner of his eye, trying to be a man about things. So, finally, Charlie walked over to Yankee. The two men met each other’s eyes straight on.
‘Scott,’ Charlie looked at the bruises and cuts he’d inflicted, wincing at the sight of them. ‘For everything I have done to you, I plead your forgiveness. But in truth, I don’t deserve it, and I certainly don’t expect it. But nevertheless, thank you for helping get all of us through this mess. Thank you for fighting alongside me every damned day of this God-awful war. And thank you for questioning my actions, my orders, and myself. You, sir, deserve nothing but my absolute respect. And I am forever in your debt.’
Charlie took a few steps back and looked at them all, looking like he could break down in tears at any moment.
‘The Alpha-Omega squad stands before me. And I am humbled by it. You are all without a doubt, the bravest, craziest, most brilliant soldiers I have ever been fortunate enough to fight alongside. I am proud of every last one of you. And I consider you all my brothers.’
A moment passed. The men said nothing. Silent looks were exchanged. Until at long last, Yankee took a bold step forward.
‘Takes a brave man to get into a fight with me,’ he said. ‘But takes an even braver man to admit when he is wrong… and face up to it like that.’ Slowly but surely he began to chuckle, quickly turning into outright laughter, causing the other men to do just the same.
‘Who’s up for a group hug?’ suggested Doodle, enthusiastically.
Every single one of them, apparently! They embraced for a long time, forgiving each other of their sins. Apologies quickly turned into gratitude, and before long jokes were being exchanged and hands were being shaken. All was forgiven.
‘So, what do you wanna do now, Captain?’ asked Yankee, wiping the tears of laughter from his face.
‘None of that, anymore, Scott. We’re equals. As we always have been. You just call me Charlie from now on, please.’
‘Okay, Charlie. What’s the plan?’
‘More group hugs?’ suggested Doodle, once again.
‘What was it you boys were talking about last night?’ asked Charlie.
‘Helping these people,’ replied Specks.
‘Right. Helping these people.’ Charlie looked around the town, watching the locals rushing around, desperate for survival in the cold bitter winds of the winter. ‘These fine people have made the very best of a very bad situation. They haven’t asked for our help, but undoubtedly they deserve it.’ Charlie’s eyes fell upon the three abandoned trucks sitting in the village square, then over to the tail-end of the sunken boat. ‘Scott, Steve, Arthur, your idea sounds like a great idea to me. But if I may… I think we can help them out a little more than just a few fixed doors and windows.’
‘Yeah? What have you got in mind?’ enquired Billy, who was looking a little excluded.
Charlie looked at the squad, smiling gleefully. He whistled, and moments later the same small playful boy appeared carrying with him a football, and running with excited strides towards them all. ‘I have a few ideas. But first things first. If you all concur, I think there’s just about enough time for one last game!’
It was a strange sight to behold. Any onlooker would have had to look again just to check they weren’t hallucinating. Yet somehow, the event was a beautiful mess of delight. Within an hour of apologising to his men, Charlie and the boys had rounded everyone up, literally everyone, and dragged them out into the cold light of day. Men, women, children, from the incredibly old, right down to the youngest and smallest, even the Nazi patients had been pulled from the confines of the church and into the square. The English, the Americans, the Germans, the Polish, and everything in between were out, and thanks to the enthusiasm of Charlie and his friends, all were increasingly more excited and ready to enjoy themselves.
And so a messy, but thoroughly enjoyable game of football played out. Everyone had a turn on the pitch. Guns were put down, replaced instead with hand shakes, pats on the back and rounds of applause. Those not able to play were helped, carried around on backs or pushed on chairs, causing eruptions of laughter, as goal after goal was scored on both sides, though no one was keeping count. Those not playing forged a supportive crowd, smiling, joking and hurling friendly abuse in all directions.
Of course, Specks, being the most revised on rules and regulations, refereed the games, endlessly blowing his whistle and reciting the set of laws, word perfect over and over again. He paid special attention to Yankee and Doodle, who kept picking up the ball and charging, reverting to American football tactics at any given opportunity. Charlie, as expected, got stuck in, playing alongside the Nazis in unity, as if he were playing a Sunday afternoon game in his own home town. All the while Billy was in goal, struggling with an abundance of children dangling from his arm as he moved from side to side. Every so often he’d manage to shake them off, just in ti
me to release his quick shield and defend the shots with ease.
As the sun began to set, food was cooked, and water was handed round, with refreshing drops of fruit squeezed into them. The simple game gradually turned into a party, a gesture of friendship and equality between the variety of guests. Laughter filled the air and dancing filled the streets, as the more elderly people took turns hammering on an old blue piano, with the more tuneful of women forming a small group and singing their hearts out. Occasionally Yankee and Doodle would join in, but their out-of-time, out-of-tune vocals were quickly silenced by Charlie and Billy, who took it upon themselves to muffle their dulcet additions and drag them away, only all to later return with scruffy bouquets of poppies, offering their apologies and adoration.
Before long the sun set and the day was done. Slowly but surely, one and all went to their respective beds with food in their bellies and joy in their heart. The day had been fun, and full of life, and re-energising. But their energy was greatly needed, for tomorrow there was work to be done.
The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 3 - Poppies and Warpaint Page 8