Oscar stood back and, with what little strength he had left, he launched the final brick. The sweet melody of glass shattering filled his senses! He reached in to unlock the door, relief washing over him as he rushed towards the stock cupboard to retrieve everything he needed, as much as he could carry. Fully laden, Oscar scrambled towards the rear of the building with great urgency.
The sound of missiles whistling through the evening sky could still be heard in the background. The main priority was to get Jen out of the camp, but Oscar would not be going with her; his place was at the camp. He’d rather not suffer the indignity of getting caught again, and preferred to wait for the authorities to turn up and take him.
*
Panic had set in; Jen was not where Oscar had left her. She couldn’t have gone very far in her half-blind, disorientated state. Oscar looked around frantically for any sign of her. In the distance, a silhouette began to form under the fading light generated by the lookout turret. The figure’s movement was lethargic, but instantly recognisable as Jen. Oscar ran towards her, dropping most of the bandages in the dirt. His main concern was how much blood Jen had lost by moving.
‘Jen, stay where you are!’ he shouted.
Jen came to a standstill, swaying uneasily, and then fell to her knees. Oscar sprinted towards her broken, pain-racked body, which had finally succumbed to her devastating injury. She collapsed to the ground like a limp rag doll and lay as still as death.
Oscar rushed up behind Jen and lifted her to her feet by feeding his arms under her armpits. Jen faintly groaned and Oscar breathed a sigh of relief. He dragged her out of the way, propping her up against what was left of an oak tree that once stood proudly along the camp’s main perimeter. Jen’s body slumped awkwardly to the right, her head narrowly missing the ground. Oscar left her side briefly to retrieve the bandages that he had dropped; some were far too dirty to consider using on an open wound and were immediately discarded. The others he pocketed, and raced back towards her.
Oscar pulled Jen upright and then took a piece of lint from a side pocket in his overalls. The lint was placed over the gash, held on by the small trace of blood that had forced its way through. Then he placed a bandage tightly around her head to keep the lint in place. Oscar was satisfied that it wouldn’t fall off as he fastened it. Jen slowly began to open her one good eye and tried to focus on Oscar’s face. The first few seconds, her vision was blurry, gradually sharpening as she concentrated her efforts. Jen had no idea who sat in front of her.
‘Who are you?’ she asked with some puzzlement.
Oscar appeared bemused by Jen’s question. After all they had been through over a short time, it seemed cruel and ironic for it all to be lost by a piece of flying debris. Jen couldn’t even recall why she had been sent to the camp in the first place, and Oscar was unable to tell her because he didn’t know himself. Jen tried desperately to get herself up, only to fall back down again. It was far too soon for her to do anything.
‘I need to get out of here! Can you help me?’ she begged.
‘You shouldn’t try to move just yet,’ cautioned Oscar. Suddenly, he had an idea. ‘Wait here!’ he cried and dashed off.
Jen wasn’t in any fit state to go anywhere at the moment. She needed time to gather herself, and see past the pain, before she could think about escaping her now unfamiliar surroundings.
Oscar made the journey back towards the administration building to find Jen’s clothes. Each individual’s clothes were taken from them on their arrival at the camp, to be placed into storage with their name and individual number plastered on each box. Oscar scurried past the counter where the overalls were handed over, and made his way to the storeroom directly behind. Box upon box faced him as he entered. He didn’t know where to start. Logically, the late arrivals would have been placed in the front, but on first seeing his name and number glaring back at him, he knew this wasn’t the case. He left his box where it was for the time being, concentrating solely on finding Jen’s.
He rifled through boxes unceremoniously strewn across the floor from where others before him had retrieved their personal effects, leaving a trail of orange overalls in their wake. In the far right hand corner there was a box with Jen’s name and number on it. Oscar trotted over to it and took a look inside. One item of clothing was recognisable to him: his coat. He took the coat out of the box and rummaged through the pockets.
‘Oh! Thank god!’ he sighed.
The one thing he thought he had lost was still hidden within a secret pocket: an old picture of his parents, whom he had long thought of as dead. They, too, had been sent to a labour camp for their political beliefs twelve years earlier.
Oscar had no intention of taking the jacket. He knew Jen needed it far more than he did. He took what he needed and placed the coat back in the box, along with the bland grey uniform that Myron had forced Jen to wear.
Oscar took the box and headed towards his own, pulling it away from the others and placing it on top of Jen’s.
He raced back to her through the deserted camp, as fast as his feet would take him.
Jen was still propped up against the oak tree. She was having great difficulty trying to keep her good eye open, as exhaustion and the events of the day had taken a heavy toll on her.
Oscar placed both boxes on the ground and dragged out Jen’s uniform, and his coat. He thought it pointless to ask her where she found it, as she had no recollection of anything at the moment. All he could do for the moment was wonder.
Oscar crouched down in front of Jen and began to unzip the front of her overalls, putting his hands over her back and pulling her towards him while slowly slipping the material over her shoulders and exposing her skin to the damp night air. Aware someone was jostling her around; Jen’s right eye slowly began to open.
‘Hey, now, what’s going on?’ she protested feebly.
‘Hush, now! Save your energy,’ said Oscar as he continued to undress her, replacing the orange overalls with the clothes she arrived in as he went.
This took twice as long as Oscar had intended. Jen hadn’t been much help, drifting in and out of consciousness throughout—but at last; the job of dressing her in her own clothes had been completed. She was now free to do as she pleased, and no one would be able to tell that she had been an inmate of the labour camp. Oscar stood up and took hold of Jen’s hands, pulling her to her feet.
‘Come on! Let’s walk,’ he said. ‘You need to build up your strength before I can allow you to leave here.’
It didn’t take long for the blood to circulate around Jen’s body. Her movement was unsteady at first, but her strength returned with every step. Jen looked at Oscar and smiled.
‘Did you ever tell me your name?’ she asked.
Oscar smiled. ‘Oscar. My name is Oscar. Remember it!’
He walked Jen as far as the main gate, and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her so tight that she was unable to breathe.
‘Good luck,’ he said softly. He let go of her and passed her a wind-up flashlight that he had found near one of the boxes in the storage room.
‘Now get out of here before the border guards arrive.’ He pushed her away gently, and Jen just stared at him blankly.
‘Promise me one thing, Oscar,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’
‘That we’ll meet again … someday.’
Oscar smiled shyly. ‘I promise.’
Oscar watched as Jen staggered uneasily into the distance, not knowing if she would really make it. Had he known her a little better, he would have realised that Jen was nothing if not a survivor. Everything that had been thrown at her since her birth eighteen years ago had given her the strength to overcome even the worst of situations.
Chapter Seven
Jen covered a substantial distance in three hours, stumbling her way to the edge of Epping Forest by chance. Dare I go through? She thought to herself as she stared into the blackness. Her surroundings were altogether too eerie, and if she had had th
e choice she would have gone the long way around. Jen would need to go through the forest and forget her uneasiness. It was either that or get caught again, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.
Any pain that Jen was suffering had long been forgotten. It was an irritation to her and nothing else. The bleeding from her eye wound had subsided; her headache was gone. Every now and then she would be reminded of the electro-therapy torture that she had been put through, and her body would spasm.
The forest cast eerie shadows as Jen passed through. The moonlight shone on the trees and made them appear alive, with evil faces and grasping fingers. She was eager to get out and into the open as soon as she possibly could, but her need to rest outweighed the need to get out of the forest. The bright moon glinted on a metal plate that suddenly appeared along the path. Despite her cramping stomach and the painful blisters left on the balls of her feet by the inferior jackboots, curiosity took over and Jen had to investigate.
She brushed aside the creeping ivy to reveal a sign reading KEEP OUT! in bold black letters. A look of delight spread over Jen’s face. She tore away at the clinging vines that hid wooden slats, which had been placed loosely across what appeared to be a man-made tunnel, with steps leading downwards.
Jen took one hesitant step inside, placing her hand on the damp wall. She thought it wise to try and pull the slats back over the entrance to make it appear untouched. She slowly made her way down the slippery steps to what looked like an old bunker or Army lookout point.
Jen pulled out the flashlight that Oscar had given her and wound it up. It was bright, but it flickered, much to Jen’s annoyance. The bunker was damp, and only just inhabitable. It looked like the previous resident had left in a hurry, leaving behind bedding, clothing, and documents containing battle strategies. There was what looked like a viewing glass hanging down from the ceiling’s crude wooden beams. Curious, Jen walked over and looked into it. She could see outside.
‘Well! At least I can see what’s coming,’ she said quietly to herself.
Jen went further into the bunker with her wind-up flashlight, but there was nothing of interest to see, only a long wooden table and one wooden chair with a broken leg. Jen knew where she was better off and made her way back to the bedding. She was overcome with tiredness, and couldn’t wait to lie down for the night. She was even too tired to eat. The bedding was slightly damp where rain had seeped through the ceiling, but Jen hardly noticed. She placed her body on top of one of three padded mattresses, removed her sore feet from the jackboots, and covered herself with two blankets to ward off the chill.
Although she thought of herself as safe, Jen could not settle straight away. With the wind whistling through cracks in the foundations and the cries of creatures in the forest, it was a long time before she fell into a fitful slumber.
*
Border guards moved stealthily through the forest, scouting every inch of the undergrowth for labour camp runaways. Jen had done such a good job of replacing the boards and the ivy that the guards were blissfully ignorant of the concealed entrance to the bunker.
‘There’s nothing here—let’s go!’ one guard said to the others. ‘We have many miles to cover before daybreak, so shake a leg—we need to find the stragglers!’
Jen had awoken to the sound of rustling and voices. She remained still, not even daring to breathe, and prayed that they would move away quickly. She worked on the assumption that if she could hear the border guards from where she was, then the border guards could also hear her every movement. She didn’t dare to go back to sleep until she knew that they had gone completely. Eventually the sounds outside faded into the distance, and Jen realised she was safe again.
Thank God they’ve gone, she thought, as her right eye began to flicker, struggling to stay open.
Her body fell back down into the mattress, which had moulded itself to the contours of her slim but muscular frame. Her eye finally shut, and her frame of mind became peaceful.
*
Jen wasn’t the only one who had found the forest. Gunnar Bailey had also made his way through, ahead of the border patrol. He intended to try and cross the border again to see his wife, but had chosen a different approach. He remained on the edge of the forest, keeping out of sight and completely unaware of who was approaching from behind.
‘Shhh! Don’t make a sound—just look ahead!’ The border patrol leader growled, pointing at Gunnar.
‘Ready your rifles.’ he ordered his troops in a whisper.
With cat-like stealth, the border patrol moved towards their unsuspecting target. Had Gunnar not heard the sudden snap of a twig underfoot, he would never have known that a border patrol was about to put an end to his intentions.
Without a second thought, Gunnar took his chances and made a run for it, heading towards the six-foot wall that separated the north from the south. He didn’t get very far. No sooner had he started to run than a single bullet pierced the top of his left thigh, cutting his run to a crawl—and finally, a complete stop.
‘Where did you think you were going?’ the border patrol leader sneered. ‘Drop to your knees and put your hands on your head!’
Gunnar was helpless; he had a bullet in his left thigh and a gun pointed at the back of his head. It was a forlorn hope that he would see his wife again. His life flashed before his eyes as he braced for the worst.
The patrol leader walked up behind Gunnar, who had managed to place his hands on his head but hadn’t knelt down as ordered. The pain was too excruciating; kneeling was out of the question. The border patrol leader did not care about Gunnar’s pain, however. He slammed the butt of his rifle into the wretch’s wounded thigh.
‘AAAARGH!’ Gunnar cried out as he sank to the ground.
‘Hurt, did it? When I tell you to do something, you bloody well do it!’ the patrol leader hissed, leaning over Gunnar’s pain-racked body. Gunnar rolled himself up in a ball in a desperate attempt to protect himself.
‘Put your hands back on your head, you scum, and keep ’em there!’
Slowly, Gunnar moved his hands towards his head before he again felt the rifle butt’s sting. He remained motionless out of fear, not knowing what would happen from one minute to the next.
*
Jen had been reawakened by a sudden bang, followed by an agonised cry in the distance. Jen got up to have a look through the viewing glass. It rotated full circle and, inch by inch, she scoured the forest. It wasn’t until the viewing glass had fully rotated that she could see figures mercilessly beating a man with their rifle butts. Who their hapless victim was, she didn’t know.
She continued to watch the border patrol as they moved away from the rolled-up ball on the ground. From what Jen could gather, the man was middle class—his navy-blue garments told her as much. Her good eye remained fixed, watching to see what else they would do to their prisoner. One patrolman, wearing a peaked cap, pointed to the ball of flesh in the blue uniform. Jen watched as another patrolman walked over to the prisoner and forced him to his feet by grabbing hold of his hands, which were still firmly clasped behind his head.
*
‘Tie his wrists!’ the patrolman in charge ordered.
The patrolman took a large cable tie from his utility belt and placed Gunnar Bailey’s hands behind his back. The cable tie was placed around his wrists so tightly that it cut off his circulation, causing an unbearable case of pins and needles that would only end when his journey did. The same patrolman tied off Gunnar’s wound, stopping the flow of blood.
The leader pointed to two of his five patrolmen and bawled, ‘Right! Both of you, grab an arm each. We have to get going! Time’s a-wastin’, and we have many miles to cover before we reach camp four.’
Gunnar was swiftly turned round and forced to hobble through the vast forest again. Even through the looking glass, Jen could tell the poor sod was in tremendous pain. As they came closer, the man seemed vaguely familiar to her in her foggy, amnesiac state. She turned a ghostly shade of white upon f
inally remembering where she had seen him before. All that remained was a hollow shell of a man she had met in Nissen hut number five—beaten and bloodied and close to death, but not so close that the guards at the new camp couldn’t have more fun with him.
Every now and then, Gunnar would let out a yelp. Each pathetic sound had Jen wondering what would happen if she were to try and help him. For one, she wouldn’t be any match for the five-man strong border patrol, and for another, she didn’t relish the thought of ending up like him: beaten and bound, about to face a fate worse than death. Jen had no choice but to watch helplessly as the border patrol dragged him through the forest to meet that fate.
*
The forest became silent again, apart from the distant screech of the sirens; the border patrol had long since passed. Jen was free to go back to sleep without having to worry about whether or not someone was going to find and infiltrate the bunker. She made her way over to the moulded mattress she had claimed as her own, and laid upon it with a gentle, graceful movement, not the flumping manner that was her habit. She would stay there until the early hours of the morning—knowing that she would be safer moving around in the darkness, and wouldn’t draw as much attention to herself.
Chapter Eight
Sergeant Major Deacon announced his arrival at the red squad’s barracks around ten p.m., waking the recruits with the irritating sound of his cosh banging against bunk frames. No matter how hard they tried to block out the sound, the recruits couldn’t shake the infernal racket the sergeant major was gleefully generating.
‘Come on, you lot! Get out of your pits—chop-chop!’ he shouted over the din of the clattering. Sluggishly, Myron and his squad rose from a less than peaceful sleep. The sirens that had sounded through the night were still screeching in the distance.
‘What’s going on? What’s that noise?’ Myron wondered aloud as he wiped the residue from his eyes. The sergeant major walked towards the large window to part the blinds with his fingers, and gaze out across the fire-lit sky.
Going Underground Page 10