Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

  ‘That noise, Mr. Cutter,’ he said, ‘means there has been an escape, and that is why you are getting up and dressed. You and your squad are charged with capturing the rest of the escapees.’ He paused. ‘But you are not to take them to the labour camps. You are to bring them back here. Is that clear?’

  Myron looked puzzled. ‘Why?’ he asked, much to the sergeant major’s bemusement.

  ‘Why? I don’t know. The order has come from the higher powers. They have suggested that the few escapees that are left would be better used on the battlefields, redeeming themselves for their crimes. Now, no more questions! Have your arses on the parade ground in five minutes!’

  As Deacon took his exit, Myron slipped on his uniform and boots, and adjusted himself accordingly.

  ‘Come on, guys, let’s go!’

  They grabbed the rifles that they had kept with them after a day on the range, and Myron led them to the parade ground, ready to receive their orders formally from the horse’s mouth—Major Burns—who most of them considered a horse’s arse.

  *

  For fifteen minutes they waited, and there was still no sign of the major. The sergeant major stood like a statue, waiting patiently for the arrival of his superior. Five more minutes ticked slowly by before two amber specks of light could be seen in the distance, heading towards the parade ground.

  ‘Squad—ATTEN-HUT!’ Sergeant Major Deacon bellowed at the top of his lungs. The deafening thud of jackboots on tarmac rang out across the compound, as Myron and his squad of fifty came to attention.

  The major’s jeep pulled up behind Sergeant Major Deacon. There was a delay as the major contorted his body to rummage around on the back seat for his clipboard.

  The major stepped out of the jeep and stood parallel to his subordinate, perusing the list he had in front of him before passing the honours over to Deacon. Although the full squad had turned out to receive their orders, only a handful would be needed to carry out the job they’d been tasked with.

  ‘Will the following recruits step forward: Cutter! Jones! Cruet! Musgrove! Palmer!’ The selection was quick, and the rest were dismissed back to the red squad’s barracks.

  *

  It had just struck midnight. Myron had successfully led his elite force to labour camp five, or what was left of it. Myron was astonished to see Oscar Saracen amidst the ruins: the activist had resigned himself to the fact he was going back to one of the labour camps, but Myron had other plans. He approached Oscar in an almost friendly fashion, without even levelling his rifle.

  ‘I know you!’ Myron exclaimed. ‘Hyde Park, about ten, maybe eleven weeks ago! You’re Oscar Saracen, aren’t you?’

  Oscar smiled uneasily, not knowing what to expect next.

  ‘You are, aren’t you?’ Myron pressed.

  Oscar nodded by way of a reply. Myron then did something that Oscar was not expecting: he walked up and shook his trembling hand. Oscar grinned from cheek to cheek.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked inquisitively. ‘Why are you shaking my hand? Shouldn’t you be taking me to another camp?’

  Myron shook his head and explained what was going to happen to him. ‘We have been ordered to retrieve any escapees and bring them back to the barracks with us. We are lacking men to fight, and the powers that be have decided your best use is on battlefields, not languishing in the labour camps.’ Oscar couldn’t believe his ears. Why should I be forced to fight in a war that I’ve been speaking out against for so long? It was against everything he believed in.

  ‘You know my feelings on the subject of the war!’ Oscar barked. ‘I’d rather take my chances in the labour camps!’

  Myron said nothing and turned away. ‘Let’s move out!’ he shouted to the others. Oscar just stared as they left the camp to continue on with their search.

  *

  It was one-thirty in the morning, and the need to find shelter now outweighed the need to round up escapees. Not only was the darkness shrouding their vision, the weather had also taken a turn for the worse. The impenetrably dark forest loomed straight ahead of them. They ran with all their might to escape the bitter wind and stinging rain. Myron took hold of the flashlight that he had packed for the journey, as relying on the moonlight was no longer an option. The flashlight was nearly as bright as turning a light on; everything in their path was visible. The same glint of metal from the KEEP OUT! sign caught Myron’s eye.

  ‘At last!’ he cried. ‘Come on, men, we can finally bed down for the night.’

  Myron sprinted over to the mess of ivy that ably concealed the entrance. Slowly, he pulled the ivy away to reveal the boards and the KEEP OUT! sign. Myron pulled on the boards, unaware that they had already been loosened, and with a clatter they landed at his feet.

  *

  Jen woke up with a start after being alerted of someone’s presence outside. The first thing that crossed her mind was to get up from the mattress and find something to arm herself with. In the far corner lay a piece of metal piping, which looked like it could do some serious damage to someone’s skull.

  Jen leapt out of bed, picked up the pipe, and positioned herself at the bunker’s damp, craggy entrance. Hearing steps on the stairway, she raised the pipe high over her head.

  All right, you bastards, she whispered, steeling herself, I’m ready!

  *

  Myron ordered his small squad to hang back while he pushed forward into the main part of the bunker, holding his rifle out in front of him out of habit. First came the tip of the rifle through the entrance, then the barrel. Jen was ready to strike! Gradually, more of the rifle appeared—but Jen wanted to see flesh. First came the hand, and then the forearm. Jen let the pipe fly.

  ‘Aaaargh! What the —!’

  Myron dropped his rifle and clutched his left arm, staggering in pain. In a flash, Jen had the gun in her hand. Conveniently, the lever had already been cocked, and it was a wonder the thing hadn’t gone off as it hit the ground.

  ‘Put your forehead on the wall and raise your hands where I can see them!’ Jen commanded the intruder.

  Myron obliged.

  ‘Good. Are there any more of you?’ Jen demanded. Myron nodded. ‘Call them in!’ she hissed.

  Myron chuckled, suddenly recognised the voice, despite its gruffness.

  ‘What the hell?’ asked Jen, puzzled, ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘Jen, is that you?’ he asked, to be sure.

  ‘Just call them in and ask no more questions!’ she barked menacingly. ‘And keep your bloody head down!’

  Myron did as he was told, wondering why she hadn’t noticed he’d called her by name.

  ‘It’s safe to come down!’ he shouted through to his subordinates.

  ‘There’s a good boy,’ said Jen, ‘When they get here, order them to drop their rifles!’

  The four-man squad crept cautiously into the bunker. On reaching the entrance, they could see Myron with his hands against the wall, and his head bowed.

  ‘Put your rifles down!’ Myron commanded. For a second the squad stood their ground, training their rifles on Jen’s head.

  ‘Tell them again!’ Jen said. ‘I don’t want to have to use your own rifle on you.’

  ‘Do it! Put them down!’ Myron said desperately.

  For Myron’s sake, they complied. Any bravado they might have had faded as they wondered what they had gotten themselves into.

  *

  Several minutes passed. The group of four stood in the corner like statues while Myron still had the rifle pointing towards his head, but not one word had been spoken. The situation was awkward, but Jen needed to know their intentions.

  ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’ she demanded, breaking the long silence.

  Myron pulled himself away from the wall and turned to face Jen. One thought ran through his mind: she’s changed, both physically and mentally. Why can’t she remember me? What’s happened to her? He stared at her patched eye and wondered what awful torment she must have endured. Her brief
stay in the camp had obviously taken its toll on her.

  ‘Don’t you remember me?’ Myron asked forlornly. ‘Can you remember anything at all?’

  Myron was saddened by the fact that all Jen could do was stare blankly at him. He didn’t want to push her, but he had to try to explain what had happened to them—that she had been taken to a labour camp.

  ‘Yeah, I know where I’ve been, I was told by someone else! Tell me something I don’t know, pretty boy,’ she growled sarcastically.

  Myron explained in great detail what had led to both of them being taken.

  ‘Before all this, before you were taken to the labour camp and I was taken to the training facility, we were together. Do you remember?’ Myron asked.

  Jen strained to give him an answer. She didn’t know how to respond without hurting him. The last thing she could really remember was the shrapnel striking her face just before hitting her head on the ground.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know you, and you haven’t answered my questions!’ came her gruff reply as she continued to target Myron’s head with his own rifle.

  *

  It took some time to explain to Jen why they were in the bunker, apart from sheltering from the wind and rain. The atmosphere became a bit more relaxed and convivial as they sat and talked. All the guns had been leaned precariously against the craggy wall. Jen listened to what Myron had to say, but was still none the wiser. He explained to her that he hadn’t been sent to take her to another labour camp. Rather, he was there to help her, to get her away from danger—but when he explained where he would be taking her, the objections started flying.

  ‘You want me to fight? You must be joking!’ She stared blankly at Myron for a moment and then added, ‘What war are you bloody talking about?’

  Jen was mystified. Not only had she forgotten about Myron, she also couldn’t remember that the country was at war. The only real memories she had were her most recent ones, and even those were fragmented. Myron had to start all over again to explain everything from the beginning, but whether or not it would sink in was another matter entirely.

  *

  While the others slept, they talked for hours. Jen was still trying to get everything that had been said straight in her head.

  ‘Stop me if I get anything wrong, but you’re saying the country has been at war for years, and I’m a victim of your father’s brutality?’ Jen asked with disbelief.

  Myron nodded. ‘That’s pretty much it.’

  ‘I need to rest. It’s too much for me to take in at the moment.’

  She got up slowly and walked over to her mattress, leaving Myron to his own thoughts.

  Myron sat staring into nothingness, trying to think of ways to trigger Jen’s memory. He had a feeling that she didn’t believe a word he had said to her over that night. After everything they had been through, he felt dejected by the way she had been acting towards him. However, it dawned on him that the only way was forward. Maybe he could start again with Jen—if she’d have him.

  Sleep was not Myron’s main priority as he gazed upon Jen’s battered and broken face, seeing beyond the encrusted blood and the gashes that would scar over. He saw not the victim of labour camp barbarity, but the person lying on the bench around the corner from the academy—the beautiful and temperamental young woman with whom he had fallen in love.

  Jen was in a state of unrest, twitching and wincing every now and then as though she were trying to block out a disturbing vision, or fighting off the pain of her countless injuries. Myron’s eyes became misty as he sat and watched her tossing around in her sleep, wondering whether or not to arouse her. He thought it best to let her alone, not relishing the consequences of disturbing her sleep.

  *

  Myron sat blurry-eyed, contemplating the day ahead, and the move back to the training facility. Jen would recuperate before being forced into fighting the war—a war she couldn’t remember anything about, and in which she didn’t want to be involved—but she was involved, and more than she could know. Myron hadn’t gone too far into the matter, at her request.

  The others had been awake for a short while, gathering their thoughts and mentally preparing for their journey back as they ate their tasteless, barely edible breakfast rations. During the morning, there had been a certain amount of activity near and around the Watford Gap—the north/south divide, as many referred to it. The sound of heavy artillery lumbering towards the forest hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others, although Myron remained oblivious as he continued to gaze on Jen as she slept.

  ‘Sir, I think you should come and look at this,’ said one of Myron’s men.

  Myron took his leave of Jen and made his way over to his subordinates, one of whom had his eye stuck firmly to the viewing glass, looking out into the vastness of the forest at the congregation of Army personnel and weaponry just beyond.

  ‘What is it?’ Myron asked. ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Doesn’t look good, sir.’

  Myron made his way over the viewing glass and pushed the recruit out of the way. ‘Well, they are far enough away that we can leave here safely,’ he muttered. ‘And I think it’s about time we left!’

  Myron returned to Jen, who was still asleep. He knelt down beside her and began to rock her gently. The only reply he received was a grunt of annoyance at being disturbed.

  ‘We need to get out of here now!’ Myron said firmly, jostling her. ‘Get up, Jen!’

  Jen turned over and gave Myron a foul look.

  ‘All right, all right, but you can go to hell!’

  That sure sounds like the old Jen I know! Myron mused, despite his shock. She got up from the mattress and shoved him roughly aside, almost knocking him to the ground.

  ‘What would you rather do? Stay here and wait for them to reclaim the bunker, or come back now with us?’ Myron called after her.

  Neither scenario was all that appealing in Jen’s mind, as she would rather have kept on sleeping, and taken her chances.

  ‘Be reasonable,’ Myron implored. ‘You won’t last five minutes if you stay here like a stubborn jackass!’

  Jen shot him another nasty look, but he was right. On weighing the pros and cons, Jen came to the conclusion that she would be safer for a little bit longer if she just followed Myron and his subordinates back to their training camp in Tooting.

  ‘OK! I’ll come back with you,’ she said, ‘but do I really have any choice as far as the fighting part of the bargain goes?’

  Myron did not answer, and Jen didn’t push; his silence had answered her question.

  *

  Myron peered through the viewing glass again. There had been no more movement at the edge of the forest. It was the perfect opportunity to leave the safety of the bunker before the assembling troops bore down upon them. Jen gathered what little stuff she had, as well as Oscar Saracen’s coat, and everybody readied themselves. They were headed back to camp five to pick up an abandoned transport which Myron had made a mental note of as they left.

  Myron scanned the forest again and saw that the troops remained at the edge.

  ‘Right, people—let’s move out!’ Myron ordered.

  The squad, with Jen in tow, followed Myron up to the entrance of the bunker. One last time, Myron checked to see if they were still safe to move out and away from the forest.

  ‘The coast is clear. Come on, let’s go!’ he whispered. ‘We need to get back!’

  As soon as Myron and the little band left the safety of the bunker, they were approached from the other direction by a small, mercenary band of bedraggled soldiers. They looked like they had seen more than their fair share of battles.

  ‘Don’t take another step!’ boomed the leader, coming forward. ‘What are you doing here? You should be up with the others!’

  The rough-and-ready sergeant had noticed the uniforms and presumed they were part of the troop formation. He didn’t quite know what to make of Jen, though, as she did not sport military attire.

  ‘Follow me!
Brigadier Howard will want to know what you were doing so far back from the front line.’

  The sergeant and his subordinates led Myron and the others towards the edge of the forest at gunpoint, making sure they did not stray from the path.

  Jen looked icily at Myron and grumbled, ‘And you said the coast was clear.’

  *

  Myron, Jen and the others were lead through a sea of inexperienced, frightened faces by Sergeant Mason. They wondered whether or not they would survive what lay ahead, as they stared into the distance at the gathering enemy. Jen turned to face Myron, visibly concerned about what fresh horror was in store for her. Myron could only give her a reassuring smile, not knowing what to tell her. It was enough to calm her for a while.

  They had made it to the front for their audience with the Brigadier, but were stopped from going any further by the sergeant. They were given orders to stay where they were until they had been called on.

  ‘Make sure they don’t move!’ he ordered an idle foot soldier as he went to find Brigadier Howard.

  The soldier stood fast, rifle firmly against his chest, waiting for the order to let them pass.

  *

  The sergeant explained the situation in Brigadier Howard’s command tent. ‘Sir, we picked up a few strays during our brief reconnaissance. They had nothing to say as to why they were so far from their posts.’

  ‘Bring them to me!’ Howard ordered.

  Sergeant Mason walked away from the brigadier, and made his way back towards Myron and his small group.

  ‘Stand down, soldier!’ he barked. ‘Let them through!’

  The soldier went back to his duties, as the sergeant escorted Myron, Jen, and the others to their audience with the brigadier.

  Myron gazed on Brigadier Howard with a sense of awe. Based on his legendary wartime exploits, he was younger than Myron had imagined. He had learned a lot about Brigadier John Howard in his battle strategy lessons at the academy. In fact, Sergeant Major Deacon had once served under him and often sang his praises. Many regarded Howard as a national hero for winning every battle in his long career. He had been highly rewarded for his bravery and military prowess, with medals and the adulation and respect of his peers.