Fireshadow

by Anthony Eaton

  ‘Thank you for your help with the bird. It was not too much trouble for you, I hope?’

  ‘Nein. It was good to catch up with the doctor again.’

  ‘And his grand-daughter, I’ll bet.’

  Erich threw a sharp glance at the man, but the easy smile on the pocked face showed that Kaiser was very aware of his own teasing.

  ‘Ja. Though I think she is not so pleased to see me now.’

  ‘You might be surprised. Women are fickle things.’

  Kaiser took a final puff on the cigarette he was smoking and absent-mindedly flicked the butt away into the undergrowth.

  ‘Careful!’

  ‘Damn!’

  Rules were strict about smoking in the forest, especially during the summer. Men were to ensure that their butts were fully extinguished underfoot.

  ‘We’d better find it, just to be safe.’ Kaiser plunged into the spiny shrubs, following the direction of the discarded butt.

  For ten minutes the two combed the bush as best they could, thwarted by thorns and bracken made dry and sharp by the desiccating heat, and then the whistle blew again, signalling the end of the break. Kaiser took a last look around.

  ‘We’ll have to give up. It was out anyway.’

  ‘Ja,’ Erich agreed. ‘There’s no smoke.’

  The two returned to their equipment and their tasks and the afternoon wore on in hot, uncomfortable silence. Even the birds, usually so omnipresent this deep in the forest, seemed to be absent. And, caught in a tiny fork between two dry branches, Kaiser’s cigarette butt, fanned by the hot wind, glowed, an infinitesimal hidden pinprick of red heat.

  ‘FIRE!’

  The shout went up about twenty minutes before the end of work, accompanied by a frenzied blowing of the whistle. Men tumbled towards the muster point, but the forest was already well ablaze, flames hissing angrily and flinging dark smoke and ash high into the narrow gaps between the tree-crowns. The air, thick with the pungency of burning eucalyptus, seared the lungs.

  Erich sprinted through a confusion of shouts in both German and English, the guards as panicked and uncertain as the prisoners. The timber-cart and equipment trailer were already alight, and the angry wall of flame, fed by the hot wind, was visibly spreading, its hold on the tinder-dry forest strengthening with every second.

  ‘Fall back – towards the camp!’

  Gradually the cry was taken up and the working party retreated up the trail, away from the blaze. Frantic guards counted and re-counted.

  ‘How many missing?’

  ‘Dunno. At least three or four.’

  ‘Bugger me! Who?’

  ‘No idea. They’re still comin’.’

  Between the trees men stumbled through moving, dim yellow light, coughing and blinded by thick smoke. One of the guards, the senior one, was yelling.

  ‘Everyone – further back up the trail. We can’t fight it.’

  Through the stupor of confusion men staggered, some still clutching equipment, some half naked, stripped to the waist as they had been when the call went out. Someone grabbed Erich’s arm and yanked it roughly.

  ‘Come on, Youngster! This way.’

  He followed, feet moving independently from brain, and with each step away from the inferno the temperature dropped perceptibly and he began to shake. The man who had grabbed him ran on ahead, hauling at other, slower men as he did so, and Erich slowed to a walk. For the briefest of seconds in the flames and heat he was back in the burning camp site in the Libyan sands, but then the forest closed in again.

  From behind, the roar of the flames was shattered by a crackling explosion and a piece of flaming timber as thick as his forearm whistled past his head, missing him by inches and leaving behind it the searing smell of burning hair.

  ‘Mein Gott !’ He started running again, but managed only a couple of steps when a ghastly scream tore from the flames behind him. A figure lurched from the bush onto the track, clothes and hair fully aflame, a primal, deathly wail of agony emanating from the maw of his mouth.

  Launching himself at the staggering human torch, Erich threw it to the ground and the two rolled over and over in the gravely dirt, locked in a deathly embrace. Some small part of his brain, some reptilian synapse, was vaguely aware of a sensation of heat, and the smell of cooking, but his concentration was on smothering the licking red devils that caressed the man in his arms. Grabbing the man’s shirt he ripped and flung it away, then using his bare hands, he hit at the man’s blistering legs, again and again, each blow extinguishing tiny tongues of fire.

  And all the while the man screamed. And as long as he screamed he was alive and Erich kept on, hitting and hitting until the flames were gone. But even then the man didn’t stop screaming and for the first time Erich looked around for assistance.

  ‘Help!’ He yelled up the track in the direction of the retreating party, but his cry was drowned by the roar of the flames and carried away by the wind.

  ‘Somebody!’ But there was nobody, and gasping with the exertion Erich lurched upright, grabbed the screaming man by the wrist and pulled him up too. It was a big load, but fuelled by adrenalin and fear, the man seemed almost weightless. Erich hauled him up onto his back and dragged him, feet trailing in the dust, away from the devouring flames.

  When the others, regrouping in a small clearing upwind, noticed him, Erich felt as though he’d been carrying his burden forever. Then hands were assisting him and men lifted the now-silent body from Erich’s back, having to pry his scorched fingers from the other man’s wrists. Someone else lifted a canteen to Erich’s lips, which were burnt and wouldn’t open all the way, and the water was shocking in its coldness as it streamed across his face.

  ‘Bloody hell, mate.’ It was one of the guards. ‘That was a piece of work.’

  ‘Give him space.’

  Voices, all talking at once. Indistinguishable from faces and bodies.

  ‘We’d better get him back to the doctor, pronto.’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘No hurry there. Not now, anyway.’

  Then someone took his arm and he was walking. The air was cooler and cleaner, and after a few minutes Erich started to become aware of the pain in his arms and face.

  Twenty

  February 1944

  ‘Good morning, Erich. Let’s have a look at these bandages.’

  He unwound the gauze gently from Erich’s still-tender skin.

  ‘Getting better by the day, I’m pleased to say. We’ll be able to let you go back to your own bed again soon.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘Not at all, Erich, not at all. It’s healing up nicely. You are very lucky, you know?’

  Erich shrugged. ‘Perhaps. More fortunate than Kaiser, certainly.’

  The two fell into silence. Erich lay back against the cool pillows. The burns on his face and head weren’t as bad as the ones on his hands, which were still smothered in oily cream and swathed in bandages. Outside, Erich could hear the cockatoos calling in the forest.

  ‘Is the fire out?’ In the three days since the blaze started, the doctor had been keeping Erich up to date with the progress of the bushfire.

  ‘Almost. This cooler wind from the coast has helped to knock it on its head.’

  ‘Good.’ Erich nodded. ‘It is a terrible thing.’

  ‘Not really.’

  Erich looked up at the doctor in surprise.

  ‘I’ve told you before, Erich, sometimes burning is all you can do.’

  ‘But surely, Doctor, the destruction . . .’

  ‘This is true, and the destruction is often appalling. But the fire also brings life. Clears away the dead wood, makes room for new trees and plants. It’s a paradox, Erich. A terrible but purifying force.’

  Erich pondered the doctor’s words. It was true, he had bee
n lucky. Several of the men had been burned more severely than him and were under guard in the hospital in Perth. Kaiser hadn’t survived his ordeal in the flames, despite Erich’s efforts. He wondered what the bush looked like now, in the aftermath of that devilish heat. Despite his dislike of the brooding green expanse, part of him wanted to see.

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Yes, Erich?’

  ‘Will I return to the forest?’

  ‘In a few weeks, when your hands are well enough healed. At the moment, though, I doubt you’d be able to even hold a bucket of water, let alone an axe.’

  ‘May I have a book?’

  ‘Of course. How about advanced anatomical studies?’

  ‘That would be good.’

  The doctor retrieved the weighty tome from the shelf, but with his hands swathed Erich found it impossible to both support it and turn the pages. He was struggling to find a way around the problem when the door to the hospital swung open.

  ‘Good morning, Grandfather.’ She crossed to the old man’s desk and planted a light kiss on the top of his head.

  ‘Hello, Alice. How are you this morning?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ She turned to the bed. Erich looked at her, and for some seconds there was silence between them, until the girl spoke, hesitantly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I am good.’ Erich dropped his eyes and started struggling again with the pages.

  Without a word, she took the textbook from him and settled herself on the bed alongside.

  ‘I’ll hold it for you if you’d like.’

  A rush of blood to his cheeks made Erich’s face burn.

  ‘It is all right. I will manage.’

  ‘Erich.’ She touched his arm lightly, towards the top where it was not badly burned. ‘I’d like to.’

  Slowly the tingle of sensation managed to penetrate the traumatised flesh of his arm, sending a shiver through him, until he inclined his head in a slight bow.

  ‘If you have nothing else you would rather be doing.’

  And for the first time in a long time, Alice smiled at him.

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  While Erich was lost in the pages of the book on her lap she watched him, at first with small sideways glances and then, as she realised that the boy was totally engrossed, with open attention. She watched the thickly bandaged hands resting on the bedclothes, the inclination of his head and the tiny furrows of confusion when he came across a word or passage he didn’t understand, the miniscule twitch of a muscle on the back of his shoulder, casting gentle spasms through the cotton of his shirt. And as she watched she became more and more aware of a sensation of warmth, somewhere inside her, and smiled again.

  And later, when the doctor had been called out to the Italian compound, the two young people sat in the quiet duskiness of the tiny wooden hospital and talked.

  ‘Alice?’ Even now – especially now – Erich liked the way her name felt on his tongue and lips each time he spoke it. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Ja. For the . . . incident with the scalpel. You know.’

  And Alice laughed. A light ringing laugh.

  ‘Whatever made you bring that up now? It was months ago.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’ He searched for the right words, his English uncharacteristically deserting him. ‘But I am sorry nevertheless.’

  She smiled again. ‘That’s fine. I’d forgiven you ages ago.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. You just haven’t realised it.’

  ‘Well, I am never around.’

  ‘True. What happened to the bird?’

  ‘The bird?’

  ‘That little one you brought in here.’

  ‘Ah. It died in the night.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so sad.’

  ‘It is the way of things. So Günter would say.’ He hesitated. ‘They say that the war is coming to an end.’

  Alice looked slightly perplexed at the sudden change in subject. ‘Who does?’

  ‘The men. The other Germans, the Italians, the guards. Lots of them.’

  ‘How would they know?’

  ‘They get letters occasionally, from home. People talk, make guesses.’

  The girl shrugged slightly. ‘I’ll believe it when it happens. Plenty of people thought that it would all be over by Christmas, and that was more than two months ago now.’

  ‘True. But still, it is good to hope.’

  ‘I thought you’d be upset at Germany’s defeat?’

  Now it was Erich’s turn to shrug. ‘Perhaps eight months ago, when I first arrived here. Now, though, I am not so sure.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About a lot of things. My father.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Ja. Günter thinks that he will be dead before the end of the war.’

  ‘Why ever would he think that?’

  ‘Because . . .’ Erich paused, the silence around them absolute. ‘He is . . . how do I say it? Important. An important man in the German Army, the Wehrmacht. Men in my family have always been officers, commanders. This is the reason I joined up, because I thought that I needed to show him that I can carry the honour of the family.’

  ‘Not because of Germany?’

  ‘Not because of politics, if that is what you are asking. For my father, Germany and military life has always been more important than that. That is why he is such a respected commander, but it is also why he will remain a prisoner after the war for certain if he is captured.’

  ‘Is that why you’re always so secretive about him?’

  ‘Ja. I know that he believes men should not place their personal feelings above their duty to their country.’

  Alice gathered Erich’s bandaged hands into her own, but gently, and stared deep and hard into his blue eyes. ‘Then, Erich, you must let go of what your father believes, or what you think he believes, and work out what you are going to believe for yourself. It’s the only way.’

  ‘The only way to what?’

  ‘The only way to be human.’ She brushed a fingertip lightly across a wrinkled, pale welt on his upper arm. ‘Most of this scarring will heal up, given time, but in here . . .’ Her finger traced across his chest and tapped over his heart. ‘In here scars can last much longer, if they’re not treated.’

  Abruptly the girl stood and crossed to the door.

  ‘I’m going to leave you for a while. To think. We can talk some more tomorrow if you wish.’

  ‘Ja.’ Erich managed a thin smile. ‘That would be most good.’

  She smiled back.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Twenty-one

  August 1944

  The men marched back to the camp, leaning into the hot wind which dried their sweat, cracked their skin and left them feeling gritty. The scar tissue on Erich’s hands and lower arms itched slightly as it always did this late in the day.

  Stutt was waiting at the gates, talking to one of the Australian guards, and the two turned to watch the approaching column of men. Silently the guard unlocked the double gate and swung it wide so the men could pass through two abreast. Stutt fell into step beside them and once they were secure again within the compound the senior officer murmured something to the team leader. Erich saw an involuntary glance thrown in his direction. Stutt made his way back along the column to where Erich was.

  ‘Erich, come with me, please.’

  He angled away towards the hut lines, and Erich followed, puffing slightly from the march, his fitness still not quite recovered after the weeks of soft time spent healing.

  Günter sat on the steps of Hut Seventeen, his face impassive. ‘Sit down, Youngster.’ The one-legged soldier slapped the step beside him.

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Nothing
, Erich. Nothing at all. The commander has something to tell you, and we thought it best I be here also.’

  When he addressed himself to Erich, Stutt’s face was drawn, his eyes tired.

  ‘Erich, today we received word that a month ago there was an unsuccessful attempt on Hitler’s life, an attempt to assassinate him with a bomb.’

  Erich looked at the man, confused. What had this to do with him?

  ‘There were a large number of men involved. All officers. All in the Wehrmacht. They and their families were rounded up and executed immediately. Erich . . .’ Stutt hesitated, wrestling with the words he had to say. ‘One was your father.’

  Erich stared, his face blank with incomprehension.

  ‘Excuse me, sir? There is a mistake, surely.’

  Günter’s arm fell lightly around his shoulders. Erich was barely even aware.

  ‘We don’t have many details, I’m afraid, but we have a list of names, Erich, and there is no doubt. Your father was implicated and he was executed.’

  ‘My family?’

  A look passed between the two men.

  ‘We don’t know, Erich. Your mother and sister’s names weren’t on the list so . . .’

  A black wave of darkness surged as comprehension dawned on him.

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I know, Youngster.’ Günter’s deep voice was soft.

  In a rush, Erich felt his gorge rise and, twisting, he vomited onto the ground.

  Everything. Everything he thought he’d believed, his father, his country . . . it was all a lie. A hopeless, futile, horrible lie. For a moment Erich railed against the hopelessness of it, tried desperately to find something else to have faith in, to hold on to. Then oblivion swept over him like a tide, a black void seemed to yawn in front of him and he dropped into it, embracing the silence, unwilling to feel. The last thing he was aware of was Stutt’s voice, coming from a long way off and growing ever more distant, ‘Look after him, Günter. I’ll go and fetch the doctor.’

  And then, nothing.

  Twenty-two

  August 1944