A Perilous Journey

by A. S. Hames

  “Do you know my brother, colonel? He’s Captain Two-Five.”

  “I do. In fact, I’ve seen you both previously, a long time ago. I was a friend of your father.”

  And it hits me like a hammer to the chest. The other man! The one who was there when Ma called the Leader of the Nation a liar!

  I finish my food fast and leave. And I almost bump into Ax getting out of an officer’s car that’s pulled up.

  “Ax. Everything alright?”

  He indicates that I join him away from the others. Up close, he’s sharp-eyed, keenly intelligent, and three inches taller than me. He has similar brown hair to mine but no one calls him dung head.

  “Everything’s just fine. How are you getting on?”

  “I’m getting on fine, Ax.”

  “Captain Two-Five,” he says to correct me. He’s pointing to his captain’s badge with its three slim vertical bars.

  “Sorry, captain.”

  “Discipline is everything, leading trooper. If the war goes on, you’ll end up a captain too. You won’t want your troops calling you Jay, will you?”

  “Do you think the war will go on then?”

  “Hard to say, but I don’t see there being a final push anytime soon.”

  “I was hoping… well, it doesn’t matter.”

  “You’ll be home again before winter, I’m sure.”

  There’s a gap between us. I don’t mean the two feet of rough ground at our feet, but the space between a farm girl who wants to be a teacher and a soldier who has fought on the Front and been promoted.

  “Where have you been, Captain? You’ve been away almost a year.”

  “I can’t say. Not everything is for everyone’s ears.”

  “Was it a secret mission?”

  “Don’t concern yourself,” he says. “I’ll make sure you earn the respect of the others before long. They’ll see what you’re made of.”

  He salutes me and I salute him back. Then he’s away to attend to other things, leaving me in awe of his maturity. And what did he say? That I’d be respected. Well, let me tell you Captain Ax, that it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  Back at the tent, with Dub just waking, I decide to walk Von. I don’t think about where. We just walk until we reach River 17.

  I offer Von a cookie. He sits and offers me his paw.

  “I won’t be seeing you once we go into battle,” I tell him.

  I’m not sure why I’m talking to a wolf so I just give him the cookie. The orders are that he’ll be handed over to more experienced soldiers so he can go to the Front in safer hands than mine, or Dub’s, or Taff’s. I can’t say we’ve become friends but I’ll miss Von’s presence.

  I try to get a sense of him. He’s completely calm.

  We walk on and I take in the beauty of it all. It’s a gift I appreciate more than ever now that the war is so close. I even speak to the river.

  “O Seventeen, your waters run pure. Let your spirit nourish us and wash away our fears.”

  I lean down and splash my face.

  On the way back to camp, I watch for any signs of enemy activity, but I reckon whoever planted the roadside bomb is long gone.

  At the tents, I tether Von to his lean-to and I go off to see how the bomb survivors are getting on. At the field hospital, I’m stunned by what I find inside. Nothing. I leave and go to look for the field surgeon. I soon find him having coffee alone in the mess tent.

  “Where are the survivors?” I ask.

  “What survivors?” He says it like it’s nothing.

  “The survivors of the roadside bomb.”

  “There weren’t any. If you’d been there you would have—”

  “I was there!”

  “Oh. Well, they deteriorated. That’s the way it goes sometimes. I’m sure they appreciated your help.”

  Something’s wrong. Okay, so a couple of the casualties looked in bad shape, but one of them was only missing part of his foot – and the tourniquet was done right because I watched the sergeant tie it. I try to get a sense of the surgeon, but his stare is too intense and I have to withdraw.

  Outside the mess tent, everything looks normal: a row of tents, an empty troop truck coming in, volunteers messing around like there isn’t a war going on, Ax and the colonel discussing something…

  I think of my duty to the Nation. Is it right for me to question what has happened? Didn’t the general say something about that? Even so, I scour the camp in search of another burial or cremation site. I’m not being disloyal. I just want to find out the facts.

  I find Ben.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him. I’m sensing sorrow.

  “Yes, I’m…” he looks away, I guess to hide the tears that are welling up.

  This is no time to alarm him.

  “I’ll um… we’ll talk another time.”

  I continue looking around the camp. I find nothing, so I decide it’s time to rope in Dub. He’s in the tent, resting, when I interrupt to ask why there might be missing bodies.

  “How do I know?” he groans. “Maybe they’ll serve them up for dinner. They were half-cooked anyway.”

  I’m shocked. How can he make fun of it like that?

  I explain more fully, that I’m not talking about the original dead, but the injured troopers who have supposedly died, even though there’s no trace of any funeral activity.

  “You’re serious?” he says, now more serious himself. “Shoot me if I joked about it.”

  “Forget that, Dub. Why would the surgeon say those troopers are dead?”

  Dub gets me out of the tent and we’re soon walking Von. I’m guessing Dub doesn’t want us to be overheard.

  “Can I trust you?” he asks.

  “Of course you can.”

  “Did you really inform on someone before we left home?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I lie. I wish I could find a way out of the mess I created, but revealing the details to Dub would go very badly for me.

  He seems to weigh the matter… or maybe he’s weighing me and wondering if I’m devious enough to tell lies.

  “If I were you, Jay, I wouldn’t trust anyone in authority.”

  It seems he doesn’t see me as the liar I have become.

  “There’s no reason I can see that killed those injured troopers,” I say, glad to move our discussion on. “There was no time for infection to set in and none of them was likely to bleed to death.”

  “Unfit to serve, Jay.”

  “I know, but that’s not the point.”

  Dub grabs my arm. “That’s the whole point. They were unfit to serve and we don’t have the rations to keep non-fighters alive.”

  It’s a horrible explanation. One I try to dismiss.

  Dub lets me go.

  “All I know,” he says, “is we’re expected to kill the enemy and take their food, because there are shortages all the way from here to home.”

  “You there.” It’s Sergeant Seven-Nine. “I need a volunteer. Von is to be filmed leading an assault with one of the new handlers.”

  The sergeant looks to Von and to the soldier at the other end of his leash – me. While my stomach lurches horribly, my brain is wondering how I can hand the leash to Dub. And then I have it.

  “I can’t go, sergeant. There’s something wrong with my rifle. It might explode if I fire it.”

  The sergeant nods sympathetically then turns to Dub.

  “Swap weapons.”

  “Yessarge.”

  I can only say it’s the fastest Dub has ever carried out an order.

  “Sergeant, my brother is Captain Two-Five. Maybe we could check with him first?”

  “No need, Leading Trooper Two-Five. It was your brother who picked you for the job.”

  12. Is This a Suicide Mission?

  BEN

  It’s mid-afternoon and there’s an unwelcome drizzle of rain in the air. Standing around with twenty-four other troopers at the assembly point, I’m not feeling too optimistic. We’re half the fit and survivi
ng members of the 117-309 Forbearance-Pinedale group. The other half look no less worried standing twenty yards off us. They’ll follow at a distance and fill in if any troopers in our group are killed.

  But Kim…

  I want to honor her life. I want to mourn my loss. But the truth is I barely knew her and my guilt is that I couldn’t prevent her death before we had a chance to achieve anything together. And there’s more guilt heaped on top, because I have a feeling we never would have fallen for each other. It was just a family transaction. I think of Ma and Gran, and of Kim’s family. I wonder how things are for them right now. What would they make of all this?

  “Ready yourselves,” the captain says. “You are trained soldiers. The rabble waiting for you is no match for your power.”

  Dub told me our captain is Jay’s brother, which I find hard to believe – they are so different. I wonder what else there is to learn about Jay, but I put that idea out of my head because my focus needs to be on the lower of two outposts that protect a town two miles or so farther on. A team from the 332-677 Prospect-Inspiration Group will be attacking a hilltop outpost a mile north of our position. It’s the first I’ve heard of a town having outposts but I suppose that’s the reality of life near the Front.

  We’ve been told that on seeing us, these outpost defenders will fire flares into the air to warn the town. They’ll also try to shoot us dead, so our approach will have to be a cautious one.

  There’s also the problem of an official news film team coming with us. A man and a woman with hand-cranked cameras, along with a spare man. I thought they would film events from a distance, but no. They’re going to film our attack up close. It’s not an idea I like. What if I die and they capture it on film for people to gawp at on big screens?

  I stare at them with contempt. They fail to notice. Obviously, I’m not newsworthy yet. Preoccupied with checking their cameras, there’s a calm about them that suggests they’ve done this before. I suppose I should be impressed by such composure, but I’m too wrapped in thoughts of being shot dead.

  Maybe I should offer a quick prayer to the sky. Well, why not? Some people say God looks down on us with love. Then again, some people say the cities of falling towers were once as good as new and filled with millions of people – and God didn’t do much to help them.

  Even so, I have no better plan…

  JAY

  Ax comes over. “Ready?”

  Ready? How can I be ready? I make a point of not answering him. I thought he’d look after me, not put me in danger. It brings me out in a cold sweat to know I’m not ready for the war.

  Of course, the war is utterly ready for me.

  “Okay,” Colonel Five-Five says, “I need the forward party in two groups.”

  He moves half over to join Sergeant Seven-Nine, while Von and myself are with Ax, Taff, Essie, Tallboy, Ben, a Pinedale girl of fifteen called Zu, and the small Pinedale boy who wanted to be, and would appear to now actually be, a leading trooper.

  I can’t dislike him though. Some of his hair has been burned away. No doubt he had a lucky escape when that roadside bomb went off.

  Ben smiles nervously at me and I try to smile back.

  “Scared?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, which is a lie.

  “I’ll stick with you then.”

  “You trust me?”

  “Von’s a Hero of the Nation,” Ben says. “His nose keeps him safe.”

  I check Von’s leash to make sure it’s tied tight to his collar. “Let’s hope he keeps us all safe then. We lost enough to that bomb.”

  Ben’s face changes. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

  “Right,” the colonel says, “the outposts are guarded by enemy turncoats working alongside cowardly redcoats. If you’re quiet, you’ll get in close.”

  It sounds daunting.

  “Okay, let’s move,” Ax says.

  We move off with half the forward group following the sergeant and half behind Ax. There’s a gap of ten yards between the groups, although I guess that might grow as we near the target.

  As we leave the back-up troopers behind, fear grips my chest and bowels.

  The bad ones always do well.

  What bad things did Dub mean? Ax was Head Boy at school and he worked on the farm too. He was going to ask Ti to marry him but then he chose to join the army instead. What does Dub know?

  “I’m not ready for this,” Zu says.

  “We’ll be okay,” I tell her, even though I’m not ready either.

  Von, in contrast, seems happy because his nose is picking up fresh scents.

  “Here, Von.” I offer him the last of the cookies, which is little more than crumbs from my pocket. All the same, he licks them off my open hand before resuming his ground-sniffing.

  The 332-677 Prospect-Inspiration group. Who are they? Where were they camped? Can we rely on them?

  We tramp for twenty minutes or so then come to a road. Ax’s hand goes up and we halt. He signals to the sergeant’s group to move off to the left. They move quickly and quietly and I feel more vulnerable without them nearby.

  I look to the north to see if I can spot the Prospect-Inspiration group attacking the hillside outpost, but the weather is too thick with misty rain to make out anything a mile away.

  We follow my brother across the road and down onto a strip of land. While trying to work out which way we might go, I slip on mud and yank Von’s leash, which makes him growl. Ax nails me with a look as deadly as any bullet.

  We soon reach the top of a low ridge. And there it is, a hundred yards away over open ground – the outpost. It’s just a run-down timber farmhouse with a few outbuildings, although the outbuildings have all been burned out.

  “You’ve a good hold on Von?” Ax asks me, looking every inch an officer and nothing like the Head Boy he was two years ago.

  “Yes, captain.”

  He eyes Taff. “If your friend gets shot, you take Von’s leash. Understood?”

  “Yes sir. If your sister gets shot, I’ll take Von’s leash. Understood.”

  I feel sick. What did I do to deserve this? Surely Ax doesn’t know about me landing Ma with a death sentence.

  BEN

  The captain waves us down onto our stomachs. I look across to Jay, who’s holding Von’s leash tight. Doesn’t he stick up a little too much now that we’re all flat to the wet grassy scrub? I suppose his coat matches the rain clouds, so won’t stand out too much for any sharp-shooter looking for an easy kill. At least I hope not because I’m so close to him I can smell his fur.

  “Okay,” the captain says.

  His tone is obvious. The moment is on us. I’m a mossback and my time has come.

  “Forward,” he says.

  We move off, into the open, and it’s scary. Each muddy yard I cover brings me closer to something I’ve never experienced before – someone who will want to shoot me.

  The captain halts. We halt.

  I force the lid on my emotions to stay in place. It’s not easy. I am trapped in a long moment and there is no one coming to help me.

  The captain moves. We move.

  Nearer and nearer. We’re halfway there now and my bowel feels more ready for action than I do. I think of the people back home watching this sometime next week on the official news film, sitting in a warm hall as enemy bullets tear through my body on the screen.

  What if I act in a cowardly way? What if I’m dead but I live on in a film that shows me disgracing myself for as many times as people care to watch it? In the scheme of the whole damned universe, would it matter?

  JAY

  Blood is thumping in my head. My uniform is wet through and my chest and stomach feel icy cold. I also have pins and needles in my right foot. Is it possible to have a seizure during a battle? Do many soldiers die like that without anyone ever realizing? It seems strange to me that none of our training dealt with the terror of going into battle.

  What if I’m wounded? What if a bullet smashes through my teeth
and out through my neck? Would it be possible to survive that? What if I were to lose a foot? Would I be knifed by someone like Sergeant Seven-Nine and thrown into a shallow grave? What if I’m killed outright in the next few minutes on this wet misty morning? Is that it? Do I fade to nothing? I’ve never thought of my life as having an ending before, at least not like I am now.

  It’s a suicide mission. I can see that now. But why would my own brother do this to me? Did the Town Guardian call him over the radiophone? Is this it? My brother’s revenge?

  No, that’s ridiculous. When we were younger, Ax’s spiteful streak always saw him tease me before making sure I got hurt at some rough game. If he knew about Ma, he’d have mentioned it. Although, I guess there’s still time. He could tell me any second now.

  We continue, silent and purposeful, me on my belly, Von alongside me, his nose no longer coming close to my face to sniff the grass for clues about the creatures that have scurried across this landscape. No, Von is alert to something else. He knows.

  And my powers are rising in me. Although I’m too shaken to make sense of it all, I’m feeling strong emotions all around me. A darkness. A suppressed screaming fear. At least I’m not alone in that. I also sense a determination in some. I can’t isolate who, but there’s courage and nerve here. I’ve never anything on this level before – dozens of minds… powerful raw emotions… all pouring into me. I try to shut them off.

  I need a pee.

  I’m hot too. And cold. And weak. I must have an illness coming on. Flu, maybe. I feel like running. I feel like getting up and running and never stopping. I feel like running flat out all the way to the coast. I would prefer to run that far without food or water than take another yard toward this stupid pointless outpost.

  Ax moves. We move.

  Inch by inch through cold, wet mud. And the fear goes with us, like a cloud.

  Strangely, moving takes the edge off the need to run away. Probably something to do with using some of the same muscles. Each stop only gives me time to discover that I’m more scared than the last time we stopped.

  I’m useless. I know it. I’m the wrong type of person for the job. Why don’t they have tests to weed out people like me? The Nation deserves tougher volunteers, like those southsiders. What use am I? My shooting is untried and my unarmed combat skills are barely average. I don’t even like fighting. I prefer walking, reading and singing. Damn it, those kids at school who said I was only chosen as Head Girl because of my brother were right. Ax was the best Head Boy the school ever had. While he was brilliant at sport, I wrote poetry. Poetry, for God’s sake. What use is that here!