Fireshadow

by Anthony Eaton

  The bodies lay in a pit, dragged by the few survivors under the direction of the British soldiers. Blood soaked the surrounding sand, staining it a thick, heavy brown. Staggering, Erich hauled at the legs of the final man, a man he recognised but couldn’t remember his name. He was a mechanic from Munich, Erich recalled.

  A British soldier bent and removed the steel tags from around the body’s neck, then nodded at Erich. Without a word, Erich and another man swung the body as gently as possible into the pit and stepped back. That was the lot.

  The British waved their rifles and the survivors clustered together before the unsteady barrels.

  ‘Right then, any of you lot speak English?’ The British sergeant was blackened and weary. A cigarette hung lazily from the corner of his mouth. Erich stayed mute.

  ‘That’d be bloody right.’

  One of the other soldiers slouched across to the sergeant and spoke words too quiet for Erich to make out. The officer spat the cigarette butt into the sand and ground it under his heel.

  ‘Bloody ’ell, Jim, will you look at that pile there. ’Aven’t we killed enough of these poor buggers today? Anyways, this lot did well enough just gettin’ through that first assault. Somehow wouldn’t seem fair to top ’em now, would it?’

  The soldier named Jim just shrugged and stared off again into the morning.

  Erich studied the enemy soldiers closely. Apart from the different uniforms there wasn’t much to distinguish them from his own company, now mostly dead. All were grubby and sand-blown, burnt by exposure and clearly fatigued.

  Most were in their early twenties.

  ‘You are thinking they are all the same as you, aren’t you?’

  ‘What?’ Erich spun round.

  His father stood a couple of feet away, his uniform pressed and creased perfectly, out of place in the hot desert morning. His decorations gleamed in the early morning sunlight.

  ‘Father?’

  ‘Ja. Not so different, are they?’

  ‘What are . . .’

  ‘Of course they aren’t, my son. Enemies never are. You should remember that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just that, Erich. You must always look hard to find your true enemies, because chances are they will be just like you.’

  His father turned to leave, walking towards the line of British soldiers, who seemed oblivious to his presence.

  ‘Father!’

  The figure stopped and turned. ‘Ja?’

  For long moments Erich stared at the face of the man who had taught him to hunt, to read. Stared into familiar blue eyes. ‘Why?’

  His father gave a rueful smile. ‘For Germany.’

  And with a casual salute he walked between a couple of the British soldiers and faded into the glare off the sand.

  ‘Erich?’

  Another voice, this time floating, disembodied, and yet in an odd way more tangible than his father’s. More solid. Familiar.

  ‘Erich?’

  It seemed to echo around the ragged group of soldiers, but no one else appeared to notice it.

  ‘Erich?’

  It came from the air, from above, and Erich let himself be drawn up towards it, and the brightness of the desert faded into nothing . . .

  ‘Erich?’ Alice leaned over the unconscious figure, resting her hand against the boy’s forehead. It was hot, clammy and burned beneath the cool skin of her hands. ‘Will he be all right?’

  Doctor Alexander saw the concern in his grand-daughter’s expression.

  ‘I imagine so, Alice. It must be a terrible shock for him, but he’s young and strong. He’ll be fine. I’m going over to the mess for a cup of tea.’

  Her grandfather left, and looking at the sleeping figure Alice wondered if the old man was right. Beneath the sheet Erich seemed small and fragile again. He’d looked the same way the night she’d brought him in from the storm after Günter’s operation – as though he might break and dissipate into nothing at any moment. She wiped his hot head with an already soaked hand-towel.

  ‘Erich, wake up . . .’

  Darkness. Coolness. Nothingness. Drifting up towards the voice, Erich felt peaceful, as he hadn’t for months and months. It came from inside him, from the voice which seemed to be washing around him, through him, drawing him to itself with gentle insistence.

  Light gleamed in the shadowy air and, like a moth carried by instinct, he let himself waft towards it.

  ‘Erich, wake up . . .’

  Holding the damp towel to his head, Alice watched trickles of water from the fabric run down his cheeks and neck. Could he hear her? she wondered.

  ‘Erich, it’s Alice.’

  Cold cut like an icy blade across his skin and rolled down his face, and Erich moaned at the exquisite coolness.

  ‘Erich, it’s Alice.’

  Alice? He knew the voice. He knew the name. Somewhere in the empty darkness of his mind memories started to shiver and wake, drawn back into his consciousness by the chill press of cold towelling against his forehead. He felt himself floating further and further from the heat and sand of the Libyan desert, and somehow knew that he’d never be returning there again.

  Alice?

  Alice . . .

  ‘Alice.’

  He opened his eyes.

  Just as the first time she’d seen him, Alice was startled by the blueness – the burning, intense blueness. They bore into her with a strength and energy that almost made her gasp. She was dimly aware that her heart was beating faster than usual.

  And he smiled. For the first time that she could remember, his face creased into a proper, full smile, a carefree expression that seemed to lift him from the pillow.

  ‘Alice, you are crying.’

  Crying? Her hand lifted to her eyes and came away moist.

  She hadn’t even realised.

  ‘Oh, God. No, I’m okay.’ She looked away in embarrassment.

  ‘I’m fine, really.’

  ‘Alice . . .’ He tried to sit up, but fell back.

  Wiping her eyes with one of her grandfather’s handkerchiefs, Alice wondered if she should go and get him. Tell him. But he’d be here soon enough and she shouldn’t leave Erich. Not now, especially not now. She turned again to the smiling young man in the bed and, because it seemed the thing to do, she kissed him.

  Even her lips felt cool. Cool, fresh, invigorating.

  It was brief. After a couple of seconds she pulled away, startled, embarrassed.

  ‘I’m sorry! I . . .’

  ‘Alice . . .’ He lifted his hand and touched her cheek lightly, his fingertips still wrinkled with scars. ‘It is all right. It is very fine.’

  His fingers were brushing only lightly against her skin, but heat radiated from them and into her. She knew that her cheeks were starting to flush, was aware of the blaze of warmth rising into them, but it was nothing compared to the fire in that gentle touch from his calloused fingers.

  She chuckled at his accented expression and he pulled his hand away, suddenly uncertain, puzzled by her laugh. She caught his hand and held it.

  ‘No, Erich, you’re right. It is very fine indeed.’

  Closing her eyes, Alice leaned her face in towards his again and this time she didn’t pull away nearly so quickly.

  Twenty-three

  May 1945

  Sunday. Rest day. A chill wind stirred between the buildings of the camp as Erich trotted towards the hospital. Winter was coming again and the day was cold. Grey clouds hung low overhead, just above the treetops.

  At the hospital, as usual, Alice was waiting for him.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  They kissed and for a moment Erich allowed himself to sink into the sensation of her body pressed against his own. Then she pulled away.

 
‘Where is the doctor?’

  ‘He said to tell you that he’ll be along in a little while and you should start your revision of last week’s work on the respiratory system until he gets here.’

  With the new textbooks, Erich’s medical studies had come along faster than anyone expected. Despite the doctor’s appeals, Stutt still insisted that he work in the forest during the weekdays. Surprisingly, Erich didn’t mind any more.

  Sundays were different, though. Sundays, Thomas usually accompanied the furlough party into Marrinup. Sundays were Erich’s days to study in the hospital with the doctor and, of course, Alice.

  ‘I have a better idea than study.’ He reached for her again, encircling her waist, and she pushed him away half-heartedly.

  ‘Later. He could walk in any moment.’

  But she let him kiss her again, anyway.

  ‘Ja.’ Erich smiled at her as he pulled one of the thick, leather-bound texts down from the shelf. ‘Your grandfather would not be too happy to walk in and find me not doing my homework.’

  ‘That’s not the only thing he wouldn’t be happy with.’

  Alice also fished a book out from her bag. ‘I brought something to read myself.’

  The two fell into their respective books with ease and a comfortable silence filled the room. Erich glanced occasionally at the girl settled with her book on the chair by the stove. A beam of pale light reached in through the window behind her. He smiled as he stared and stored the memory of how she looked to carry with him through the week. Outside, a few spots of rain thudded against the tin roof.

  Footsteps on the verandah announced the arrival of the doctor. He entered slowly.

  ‘Good morning, Erich. How was your week?’

  ‘The same as the one before. And the one before that. Not much changes in the forest.’

  ‘I can imagine. I’m pleased to see you got my message about starting your revision.’

  ‘Ja. Your grand-daughter is an excellent messenger.’

  Erich and Alice exchanged a quick smile.

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. I was worried that you might be finding her a little distracting.’

  ‘Distracting, Doctor?’

  ‘Just a thought. We might put you through the next of your tests next Sunday. What do you think?’

  ‘I think I will be ready for it by then.’

  The doctor hummed a popular marching tune as he settled behind his desk.

  ‘Erich?’

  ‘Yes, Doctor?’

  ‘Do you still think about your father?’

  ‘I am sorry?’

  The question was unexpected. The old man stared levelly at him.

  ‘I am just wondering, because you haven’t really talked about him to anyone, as far as I know. It’s been some time now and was clearly a terrible shock to you. I have always believed that it is better to discuss things openly and was wondering if you have dealt properly with his death.’

  Erich thought for a few seconds.

  ‘When I joined the army, Doctor, I did so because I wanted to impress him – my father, I mean. I thought what he believed in the most was the glory of Germany, as it had been taught to me at school and in the Hitlerjugend. And when I was fighting, and in the prison compound, and even when I arrived here, the one thing I never doubted was that I was still fighting my father’s war, for him. For what he believed would be a good future for Germany.’

  ‘And then they executed him . . .’

  ‘Ja. When I got the news, all I could think about was that it was all a lie. He didn’t believe any of it. He never had, and that left me without anything to believe in. That is why I am not talking too much of these things. I am still trying to find out what it is that I am believing in myself.’

  ‘And have you?’

  Erich shrugged, but smiled at Alice as he replied, ‘I am not sure. Perhaps I have.’

  The girl dropped her eyes, blushing.

  The morning wound on quickly, the doctor working through the textbook, with Erich listening and occasionally questioning. He was distracted, though, the doctor’s words still in the back of his mind, and later, when the doctor left for lunch in the officers’ mess, Alice touched his arm.

  ‘Are you all right? You don’t seem quite as focused as usual.’

  ‘Ja, I am fine. I am thinking about what your grandfather was saying.’

  ‘In a way it is good, you know. The way he died. It means you were right about him being a true German.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because’ – Alice hesitated, realising that she was on shaky ground – ‘if he had to die, surely it is better that he died doing something good.’

  ‘I think I would rather have him alive. Doesn’t his death make it all a lie? Everything they taught me at school? All those men I saw die in Libya, they died for nothing. For a lie too. And me – it means that I am here in this forest because I joined the army for a lie. So many lies.’

  Erich pulled away from her hand and stood up. Anger welled up inside, sudden and unexpected.

  ‘All I am sure of is that on that night, when Stutt and Günter told me, I felt as though nothing I knew was certain any more. Nothing. Like I had nothing to hold on to.’

  The girl sat on the bed beside him. ‘You can hold on to me, if you want.’

  ‘Danke.’

  ‘And I think that your father will be remembered as a hero.’

  For a while they sat in silence, then from outside came the sound of men yelling, both in German and English.

  ‘What could that be?’ Alice looked up, alarmed. Erich was equally perplexed.

  ‘I do not know. It is too early for the men to be coming back from town.’

  ‘What are they shouting?’

  ‘I cannot understand it from here. Come.’ She followed him onto the verandah.

  The gates to the camp were open and the Australian guards were standing around and smiling, every one of them. The prisoners were there too – some inside the fence and some outside, milling about, slapping backs and everyone babbling in their own language. The doctor emerged from the crowd and hurried towards them. He too was smiling.

  ‘What is it?’

  He strained to hear the words. ‘I think they are saying that the war is over.’

  Twenty-four

  July 1946

  Rain and wind lashed the camp, tearing at the surrounding trees and throwing a storm of leaf and twig litter up against the perimeter fence. Every three or four seconds lightning would rent the grey sky, the crash of thunder following hard upon it. Aside from those brief flashes, the day was dark. Guards huddled in their towers, crouching low to avoid the worst of the weather, paying little attention to anything other than staying dry.

  This was ironic, given that Marrinup Camp Sixteen had endured more escape attempts in the twelve months since the end of hostilities than in the previous five years of the war. After the initial euphoria of the war’s end it quickly became apparent that the men of Camp Sixteen were still prisoners and would remain so for the foreseeable future until arrangements could be made to get them to Europe again. Many of the prisoners, Germans and Italians alike, had received letters from home telling of the aftermath of the war and were less than willing to go back.

  Erich paused at the door of the mess. No working party was permitted to venture out into the forest in this kind of a storm. A bolt of lightning crashed into the forest only a few hundred yards away, and even through the noise of the storm Erich heard clearly the sound of splintering timber. He shivered for a moment and then, pulling the collar of his greatcoat high around his ears, sprinted down the slope to the hospital.

  ‘Good morning, Doctor. Alice.’ The two smiled. ‘It is a terrible day out there.’

  ‘Good morning, Erich. We haven’t had a storm like this one since the night
of Günter’s operation.’

  ‘Ja. I’d forgotten how wild it can be.’

  ‘Have you heard anything from him?’

  ‘Günter? No.’ Erich shook his head. Günter, as an invalid, had been shipped back to Germany on the first transport, some eight months earlier. ‘From what the commander says, though, it is not likely that we will, either. Nothing back home is too efficient at the moment.’

  ‘I can imagine. It is certainly strange not having him around the camp.’

  So far, two shipments of German prisoners had been repatriated from Marrinup. Already huts were being pulled down, and without the full compliment of men the camp seemed strangely deserted.

  ‘Do you know when you are leaving yet?’

  ‘No, sir. Another shipment is due to depart any day now, but nobody knows how many men or who they will be. It might not even happen for another month.’

  ‘Still, you will be looking forward to getting home, I imagine.’

  ‘Not really, sir.’ Erich and Alice made fleeting eye contact. This was something they’d discussed many times in the last few months.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I cannot imagine that there is much left in Germany for me to return to.’

  ‘I know, Erich. I am sorry that I couldn’t have a little more influence on your behalf, but you know how the military is. All prisoners are to be repatriated, forcibly if necessary.’

  ‘Perhaps I should escape?’ Erich was only half joking. Looking at Alice a small part of Erich seriously considered trying. She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. It was a tiny gesture but one that filled Erich with an unsettling combination of fear and affection.

  ‘They caught the three that got away last month, you know?’ So often nowadays she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

  ‘Did they?’

  Eric looked at her expectantly, eager for more information. The three Italians had bolted from a farming assignment and hadn’t been seen since. It was widely suspected that they’d had the help of a couple of locals in their escape.

  ‘They caught them trying to get a ride to the eastern states. A lorry driver picked them up near Southern Cross and took them to the police in Kalgoorlie.’