The Narrative of Benjamin White

by Aaron Brinker

  “Second chances; is about Chaun Hutchins he was in a dysfunctional marriage he was very unhappy, tragedy strikes and changes his life forever. This story was very captivating with loss, love and a daughter to take care of, and something dark haunting the whole family this is intriguing story a must read.” –Summer Day

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  The

  Narrative

  of

  Benjamin White

  Written By

  Aaron D Brinker

  1

  As with every war or conquest, legends always arise and are often exaggerated. The stories of Benjamin White were no exception to this rule. After the 1882 battle at Tel El Kebir, he went missing. A dead body -that was not White was found, and his “story” became legend. Some say he went rogue to solely obliterate any further resistance to the British Conquest of Egypt. Others say he snapped and abandoned his unit and all he knew. One legend even says he faked his death to make the legends more extravagant.

  He was someone with whom I had served. Neither of these stories fit his character. I traveled for months to the dunes of Egypt to find the source of these legends and the truth. I spoke day and night to contacts from the war and commoners on the streets. There were rumors of a man who stayed at an oasis. They said he never leaves and always greets travelers on their journey.

  I found a place to sleep and prepared for a long tiresome journey. The man at the Oasis would have the answers to all the questions racing through my mind. The night before my departure into the countless rises and falls, I jotted down my thoughts, questions, and feelings about the issue. After finding out the location of the oasis, I mapped out my course.

  On my fifth day of travel I came upon the oasis and its occupant. For the war ending years before, he still looked relatively young. He spoke with a youthful tone. “I hope your travels have not left you too exhausted.”

  I climbed down from my camel and said, “Not at all. I come seeking answers.” His brow furrowed. “What do you know of Benjamin White?”

  His mouth stretched into a grin. “Now that is a subject of which I know plenty.” He gestured with his hand towards his camp. “Come and rest your bones. Dusk is approaching. I’ll build a fire and tell you all I know.”

  Once the fire was going, he took a seat opposite of me. “Benjamin White was a legend. Some say he faked his death, while others say he roams the Earth as a wanderer.”

  “I came for the truth Ben.”

  His brow raised as his eyes widened. “Do I know you?”

  “In a way, I was at the Battle of Tel El Kebir. I have heard all the tales, but I seek the truth.”

  He nodded. “You don’t seem familiar, but I suppose it’s time someone heard the real story…

  2

  My story of solitude began during the Battle of Tel El Kebir. I was a soldier of the British Empire in the service of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. My name is Benjamin White.

  I was one of the few British soldiers assigned to the Indian Regiment, and our orders were to flank the rebellion forces if they traveled away from Tel El Kebir. When our Brigade came upon a small town on the outskirts of Tel El Kebir, we began taking fire. The unit worked its way to the edge of the town taking cover, and returning fire when the opportunity presented itself. Those who could not find shelter lay on the ground inching their way along. Snipers were taking out our men from rooftops and windows. I watched as the sand began to turn red with the blood of friends and fellow soldiers.

  As we entered the town, we began moving building by building capturing or killing anyone we found that resisted. After clearing a few buildings, I entered the third building in our sweep, with my mate, Jonathan Ackerly, was right on my heels. It looked like all the others; hollowed out windows and a tan color similar to the sand on which we walked. The lower floor was clear of any resistance and headed upstairs. Upon cresting the top of the staircase, we saw two men shooting out of the window. Jonathan’s food ground some sand on a stair behind me, and the men turned their heads in our direction. As the men began swinging their rifles towards us, I shot the closest man. Half a second later, two shots rang out simultaneously, and the second man’s clothes turned crimson from a centralized point before he collapsed. Searing pain ripped through my left shoulder.

  The pain was excruciating, causing my knees to buckle. I collapsed by the stairs. Jonathan hovered over me. “Are you okay, Benjamin?”

  “It hurts like mad, but I’ll be good for a while longer. Clear the rest of the floor, and then we’ll see to my shoulder.” He nodded and went to inspect the remainder of the floor.

  Jonathan returned and stood in front of me. “It’s clear. There’s no trace of anyone, other than these two.”

  With no time to react, I watched as an arm swung around from behind Jonathan. A hand covered his mouth and pulled his head back. I watched his wide eyes quiver for a split second, then stop the moment the blade emerged through his chest. His eyelids sagged for only a moment and widened again as the blade was removed from its meaty sheath. In a fluid motion, the hand holding the blade appeared from the opposite side of Jonathan’s head, rested the sword edge on his throat under the opposing wrist and drew the edge across Jonathan’s throat. Blood sprayed and spurted from his neck. His head tilted back at a grotesque angle. The attacker released Jonathan.

  As Jonathan’s body fell with a thud, his eyes distant, the crimson outpour no longer spurted but cascaded. My eyes returned to the attacker to find him raising the sword high overhead. The mind tends to race right before death. One ponders over bad decisions, regrets, and loved ones left behind. As the assailant began the downward arc of my deathblow, a shot rang out from the stairwell. The man’s head snapped backward, and the momentum threw him off his feet.

  A familiar face emerged from the staircase, his rifle still trained on the attacker’s still form. The man’s name was Jacob Forrester. He lowered his gun after looking at the prone body. Jacob rushed over to check on me. Inspecting my shoulder, he asked, “Are you okay, Ben?”

  I couldn’t speak or move. His hand met the side of my face with a jolting smack. Our eyes locked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll survive.” Jacob turned to check on Jonathan. “He’s gone.”

  Jacob lowered his head and inhaled a hissing breath. He ran over to the attacker’s body and screamed as he kicked and stomped the attacker’s head repeatedly. I lowered my gaze towards the floor, not out of disgust, but more out of anguish for losing a close friend. I was jealous of Jacob at that moment. I wished I had the energy to help him mutilate the body of the man who robbed us of a great friendship and was a millisecond from ending my life.

  I then noticed my foot was lying in Jonathan’s pooled blood. I followed the edge of the puddle to connect with Jonathan’s lifeless eyes. The screaming had subsided, and Jacob now lifted Jonathan’s body to his shoulders. “Can you move?”

  I nodded and stood. My rifle, I slung over my good shoulder, and, with my knees still weak from the pain, used Jonathan’s rifle to bear some of my weight. Jacob started down the stairs and waited for me at the bottom. When I reached the lower floor, I noticed a translucent streak on Jacob’s cheek. Neither said a word as we walked towards the door.

  Jacob glanced out the door, then casually walked through it. Knowing that Jacob was never careless, I followed. As I stepped through and looked around, I saw fellow soldiers swarming the streets. They were smoking, keeping prisoners covered, and rejoicing over the victory. At seeing Jacob, a soldier ran to grab a litter. When he returned, they respectfully lowered Jonathan onto it and carried him to
the row of soldiers that awaited burial. I followed all the while.

  Jacob looked at the soldier and said, “Thank you for the assistance.”

  The soldier nodded, “Did you know him long?”

  Jacob nodded. “The three of us grew up together.”

  The soldier knelt down, gently closed Jonathan’s eyelids, crossed himself, and stood. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

  Jacob and I said, “Thank you.” The man turned and walked away.

  My legs buckled, and I fell to my knees. It wasn’t from pain this time, but regret. Jacob knelt down next to me. “You all right, Ben?”

  I shook my head. “It’s my fault. He’s dead because of me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “I told him to check the floor we were on, but not the roof. We had known coming into the town there were men located on rooftops.”

  “Don’t you dare blame this on yourself! He knew, as well as any one of us, how to clear a building. It was his mistake that got him killed, not yours.”

  I nodded to let him know I had heard him. We stood, lingered for a few moments longer, then turned and headed to seek medical attention for my shoulder.

  3

  In the infirmary, I spent my time in bed recovering and healing. My second day there Jacob walked in and handed me a few items. “I figured these would help you pass the time while I’m not here.” One of the items was my ledger in which I documented all of my thoughts and struggles with the campaign. The other items were a few books I was in the process of reading. “What have the doctors told you?”

  “Oh the usual, ‘rest, recover, and don’t strain yourself.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. I flipped through my ledger to skim over the last entry. It was about one of Jonathan, Jacob, and I’s last hilarious moment together before we all entered into hell. I started laughing and crying.

  Jacob rested his hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay Ben?”

  I shook my head. “We are still so young, Jacob. It should have been me and not him. We were so happy before all of this, and we’ve been miserable since training ended and the fighting started. I can’t get his last moments out of my head. I’ve never seen terror like that in anyone’s eyes, and it being Jonathan, the one of us that would always joke more than either of us, just breaks my heart all the more.”

  Jacob nodded. “We have to go on, Ben. I don’t think he would want us to beat ourselves up over his passing. We all knew the risks of war, and we gladly took those risks for Her Majesty and England. Jonathan left a note for us in his personal effects. I will have you read it when you are released from here and return to our tent.”

  I nodded. “I know he would have wanted us to keep moving on and not grieve for a long time over his death, but it is still so fresh in my mind. What’s worse is knowing it could have been prevented with a little more caution and intelligence. It was foolish of me to forget to remind him to check the roof, and foolish of him to forget our training.”

  Jacob sighed and lowered his head. “Very true, which is why we have to learn from this mistake. We were trained by some of the top ranking Veterans to serve, and we must hold tight to that training if we want to survive. We cannot let Jonathan’s death cloud our judgment, or we will end up with the same fate.”

  My brow furrowed. “You’re right. His lapse in judgment was my wellbeing. If he had put training first, he would have checked the roof, before seeing to my wounds.”

  “I understand why he reacted the way he did. We’ve been friends since we were little, and I may have possibly made the same lapse in judgment if either of you had been wounded.” He lowered his head a moment then raised it again. “You get some rest. I’ll be back to see you again shortly.”

  Although I had no intentions of sleeping, I nodded. “Some rest would do me good.”

  Jacob stood to leave. “I’ll see you soon.” He turned and left.

  I picked up my ledger and began writing.

  Today, through lapse of judgment, I severed a mother’s bond.

  I was foolhardy and lacked judgment, and understand I was not fully at fault.

  What becomes of those who unknowingly curse someone to execution?

  As ravenous grief plagues my mind,

  I wonder what I could have done differently to change the outcome.

  You can’t change history but learn from it.

  So what has this “little” mistake taught me?

  Clear a rooftop?

  In all reality, I have no clarity of thinking regarding how to move forward.

  I will surely be haunted by misjudgment for the rest of my breaths on earth,

  And cursed in heaven for my poor judgment.

  4

  Two nights later, as I dreamed, I relived the entire battle. Everything remained the same until the point when I told Jonathan to clear the floor. “Jonathan, clear the floor and the roof. Clear the roof!” His movements were as before, he only checked the top floor, and returned to see to my wounds.

  I watched terrified as the scene unfolded once again, but this time something had changed. Jonathan’s eyes quivered, this time, not out of terror, but pure rage and hatred. The movement stopped and, as before, he was dead soon after dropping to the floor.

  Jacob once again killed Jonathan's executioner. While he was over exposing the man’s gray matter to daylight, I looked into Jonathan’s eyes. They were absent of death’s distant gaze. The look I was returned was of seething anger. He rolled onto his back, leaving his head flopping around at an unusual angle. Jonathan grabbed his hair, twisted his head around to align his head with his body, and lifted it to close the crevasse in his neck. “Why didn’t you tell me to check the roof? You mangy git! You let me down, and your mistake cost me my life.”

  I looked down and was horrified at the sight of his pooled blood traveling up my leg. The searing pain and guilt grew as the blood continued to cover more of my body. I tried shaking my leg to free myself of the creeping crimson but had no luck. Jonathan began laughing in a stuttered laugh that sounded like Morse code. This was caused when his body would shake, it would open the gorge in his throat creating a raspy movement of air. I looked down at my leg, the feeling of pain traveled farther up my body. I found that both my legs were covered and so was my lower torso. Jonathan laughed harder the farther it climbed. I was paralyzed in fear and pain. The last thing I saw before waking in a cold sweat, was the room turning completely red as the blood flooded over my eyes.

  Sitting up in a cold sweat, I reached for my ledger and began writing.

  Is it his memory, or mine, that haunts me?

  We can never know the outcome of our choices.

  All we ever know are what intentions we had at any given moment, and we can only hope for the best outcome.

  My forgetting to remind Jonathan to check the roof, and his not following through with his training is what ended him.

  I will be haunted for all my days and more.

  Can we make amends with those who have passed while we are still living?

  Oh, how I wish dreams could be that portal for healing and atonement.

  5

  I had been moved back into my own tent. As Jacob sat across from me swirling the scotch within his glass, he thought before speaking. He looked up at me with his brow furrowed. “You say these dreams have haunted you every night?” I nodded. “And you’ve awoken in a cold sweat every time?”

  “Every time and the nightmares are getting worse.”

  “And, as before, I told you to let it go. His blood isn’t on your hands, it’s on his. He was the one that forgot to check that roof, and you have to come to terms with that fact. I believe these dreams of yours are due to your feelings of guilt. If you continue to degrade your mental health over this, it is going to drive you mad.”

  “Do you really think it could drive me mad?”

  He flung his arm out palm up. “Look at you! You’re already half way there. You can’t sleep at ni
ght, and you’re becoming obsessive over the incident. We’re not that fresh out of training. The new guys coming in have no idea what to expect from the occupation and battles. Death is guaranteed in war, and there is no stopping that fact. It’s the same with breathing and life, one cannot exist without the other. You haven’t had any issues before with other men dying, save our first one or two skirmishes on the battlefield.”

  I sat back and tilted my glass back for a drink. “You’re right, but with all those others, it wasn’t someone I had practically known my entire life.”

  “And I understand that, which is why I had the reaction I did when you told me he was gone.” He paused and looked down at his glass before he softly spoke again. “Do you remember Robert Campbell?” He looked up at me, knowing what my reaction would be. I looked down and nodded. “He accidently shot Jack Stewart in the head during training. The shot had killed him instantly, and Bob tore himself up over it, just like you’re doing now. He went mad and hanged himself from his bunk.”

  “How does that compare to me?”

  “Because you’re heading down the same path, and I don’t want to see you kill yourself over it. You haven’t been eating, and the nightmares have been impairing your sleep. I love you like a brother and don’t want anything to happen to you.” A tear silently rolled down his cheek. “It was the same with John. I have always held you two, in heart, as brothers and my only family. I’ve lost one brother due to this ordeal, I don’t want to lose the other.” He downed the rest of his scotch in one draught, set his glass down, and walked out of the tent.

  Am I truly going mad?

  I’m sure I can handle this, I still refuse to believe that Jacob is right.

  Jonathan’s death is on my hands, as well as his own.

  I cannot let the guilt kill me.

  Maybe I just need some time to clear my head and come to terms with the destined situation.