Tomb of the Lost

by Julian Noyce

  “Motorcycle sidecars,” Rogers said.

  “The two Germans came out to greet them. They were wearing the same uniforms monsieur. The other vehicles came into the town now, lorries like yours. Two special people carrying vehicles, not like cars, but not like jeeps.”

  Alf questioned him for a clearer word.

  “He says the Germans used many types of vehicles. There was one car, an expensive one, it had flags on its front.”

  “Sounds like a staff car Alf.”

  “The men who got out of this car were leaders. One was wearing a similar uniform to the motor cycle riders, grey. The other was different.”

  He again got down and drew in the dust.

  “Alf that looks like a skull.”

  The two engineers stared down at the drawn symbol.

  “It does look like a skull.”

  Alf looked at his Captain.

  “S.S.”

  Rogers nodded.

  “What the hell are they doing out here?”

  Alf didn’t have time to ponder the question because his man was talking again.

  “Another man got out of the car. A white man.”

  “A white man?” Rogers asked.

  “A white man,” Alf said “A white man doesn’t make sense. Ah! He was dressed in white, white hat, white shoes, white trousers, jacket, and shirt. Even his tie was white. He had small round spectacles. His skin was very pale and pink where it was exposed to the sun. He constantly dabbed at his face with a handkerchief even though it’s not even hot now.”

  The Berber laughed again revealing his few teeth.

  “Wait until it gets really hot,” he said before tipping the bottle back and finishing the last of the beer.

  Alf pulled the top off another one and offered it.

  “The well, how did they get down the well?”

  “I was coming to that,” the man replied in his mix of languages, “The man in white talked to them for a few minutes then he said something to the skull leader. The white man got back into the car. He could no longer be seen because of the car’s dark windows. The two Germans were pleading now, more than they had with the others. Suddenly they were seized by the ones wearing the skulls. They were held still and their throats were cut. Then they carried them to the well and threw them in.”

  “They murdered them?” Alf asked “Do you understand why?”

  The Berber shook his head, shouting mainly in Arabic. Most of what he said Alf didn’t understand. He didn’t bother to get the man to repeat any of it. The Berber went over to the half full crate of beer and picking it up he swung it up onto his shoulder, the British moving out of his way.

  “What he’s told us doesn’t make sense Captain. Do you think he’s telling the truth? Wouldn’t they normally shoot deserters?”

  “Who knows. Deserters, the L.R.D.G, the SS, civilians in white, two dead men not shot for desertion but murdered in front of witnesses,” Rogers glanced at his watch “Well I wouldn’t worry about it, it shouldn’t affect our role here, they are probably long gone. Come on we need to get some rest. We have a job to do.”

  Johnny Larder was alone. He had found somewhere quiet to sit and collect his thoughts. The first thing he had done after leaving Alf and the Captain was to find some water and wash his face and rinse his shirt and vest. They were now drying on the bonnet of one of the jeeps. He sat down in the warm sun with his back to a front wheel of a Bedford truck. From his trouser pocket he pulled out a letter from his sweetheart Margaret Harris. They had met in the most unlikely of circumstances.

  Johnny and two of his friends had been drinking in his village pub ’The Black Dog’. They were celebrating the fact that they had just enlisted in the army and were proudly wearing their brand new uniforms. They had downed a few pints each and were approaching the merry stage.

  It was a good night in the pub. Johnny and his mates were at a corner table. They were excited and trying to get the attention of the landlords daughter Rosemary Clayton. Her parents Jack and Betty had run the pub for the last ten years. She unknowingly had given them a flash of stockinged calf when she had bent over to wash a table with a wet cloth. Her father had noticed too.

  “You can put your eyes back in all of you,” he said smiling.

  The other customers in the pub were mostly farmers, farm workers, game wardens. Many of them stood in groups talking about their work, crop rotation, livestock, the war for them seemed like it was a million miles away.

  Suddenly all conversation stopped.

  Three American GI’s had walked in.

  One of them was black, the other two white. One of them approached the bar and stood there swaying slightly. It was obvious from the start that they’d been drinking.

  “A pint of your strongest beer,” the American at the bar ordered. He was a huge man, well over six feet tall with muscles that bulged every time he moved. He downed the pint Jack had placed in front of him in one gulp, its nutty taste having no effect.

  “That was your strongest?” he questioned “It’s weak,” he said wiping his sleeve across his mouth “Weak like your men. Another!” he ordered.

  Jack refilled the glass and wiped the bar before placing the second pint of ale in front of the American. The American saw him smirking.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  Jack had thought he had understood the joke but now his smile vanished.

  “No sir just your remark amused me.”

  Jack had clearly misinterpreted the remark. The war was well documented in the cinema each week. The British soldiers were in the thick of the action every single day of their lives. The Americans so far had done little by comparison.

  The conversation in the pub began to increase again now. The big GI downed his second pint. He ordered another and one each for his friends.

  Jack was concerned. The strong beer would probably kick in soon and the American was already the worse for wear.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  The American smirked and looked around the saloon. He saw Johnny and his friends laughing as they shared a joke at their table.

  “I’ll tell you what I have had enough of,” the GI said “And that’s having to leave my country to come here to save your nancy boys from trouble while all they do is sit in their pretty uniforms with bits of grass stuck between their teeth.

  “All right,” Jack said taking the beer back “That’s enough. You don’t come in here in your flashy uniforms upsetting my regulars. Get out!”

  “Make us.”

  Sixty eight year old George Tompkins had heard enough. He got up from his chair by the window and approached the American from behind. The other two Americans made room for him. They shared a sneer with each other.

  George reached forward and tapped the Colossus in front of him. George had seen war. In World war one he had been a blacksmith and had spent the years shoeing horses at the front line. He had survived history’s bloodiest war.

  “Uhh!” The American turned round at the fingers tapping his shoulder. He looked George up and down with a smirk. He laughed when he saw the holes in George’s jacket and the mud on his boots.

  “Well what do we have here?”

  “Hey loud mouth yank. While you’re over here with your cowboy hats and your spurs our boys are over in Africa fighting a mans war. More man than you’ll ever be.”

  The American picked up the beer Jack had moved and poured it over George’s head. Many of the locals rushed forward to defend the old mans honour but Jack shouted at them to stop.

  “I’ve called the police,” he said, the telephone receiver still clutched in his hand. The truth was the local policeman lived six miles away and only had a bicycle for transport. Even if he left straight away it would still take him an hour to get there.

  “All right,” the American said thinking through the scenario of being arrested and facing the American military police.

  “OK. We’re leaving. Jeez you guys just can’t take
a joke.”

  “Not when our boys are dying for the likes of you,” George responded.

  The three Americans disappeared through the door. Some of the locals got up to pat George on the back. The big American came back through the door. Instantly there was a ring of locals surrounding him. There was no way he was coming back in. He threw a handful of blades of grass at George’s face.

  “Here don’t forget to put these between your teeth.”

  No one saw who threw the first punch but the fight was vicious. The big American went down with six men on top of him. He soon threw them off though and getting to his feet he was throwing punches in all directions. The other two Americans were now in the fight and Johnny and his friends took them on.

  Sometime during the fight Johnny Larder had a beer bottle smashed over his head. He slumped unconscious to the floor. Jack was trying to get order. Now his furniture was getting broken. He’d seen enough. He went out to the back and returned moments later with his shotgun and jammed both barrels under the big American’s ribs. This brought the fighting to an abrupt stop. The American looked down under his armpit.

  “Hey! Hey! Take it easy. We were just having some fun.”

  “Now the fun is over. There has not been a murder in this village for a very long time but I’ll happily start with you.”

  He drew the shotgun back and levelled it into the GI’s face.

  The American tried a brave laugh.

  “You don’t have the balls.”

  Jack drew the triggers back. It was a wonder the gun didn’t fire. No one doubted he would do it.

  “You wouldn’t want to try me boy, now get out all of you.”

  The three Americans begrudgingly left.

  The locals watched them from the windows and door. Rosemary Clayton began straightening the furniture. Then she saw the inert form on the floor.

  “Johnny!” she cried.

  His two friends rushed over to him and lifted him up. He was still out cold. There was a nasty gash on his head and it was bleeding badly.

  “Johnny! Johnny!” his friend Tim called.

  Betty Clayton got some clean water and a towel.

  “This is bad,” she said dabbing the wound “Jack call for an Ambulance.”

  “It’ll take too long to arrive,” he threw his keys to Tim.

  “Take my car.”

  “But Jack we’ve been drinking.”

  “Rosemary you can drive.”

  Rosemary had had a few driving lessons but she was far from an accomplished driver.

  “No dad I don’t think I could.”

  “He needs to get to a doctor and quick,“ Tim pleaded with her.

  “All right,” she nodded. She grabbed her coat, took the keys from Tim and fled through the door and around the back of the pub to the garage. She found the padlock on the double doors and struggled to get the key into the lock in the dark. Finally it clicked open. She pushed the doors open wide and got into the drivers seat, started the car and drove it around to the front.

  Tim and Charlie loaded Johnny into the back seat of the Morris and Charlie jumped into the front passenger seat.

  “Is he still unconscious?” Rosemary asked.

  “Yes, quick let’s get a move on,” Tim shouted.

  “Don’t forget the lights,” from Charlie.

  Rosemary flicked on the lights but they were quite ineffective due to the blackout fittings on them. The light generated by them was about twenty five per cent of their full use. She took a few deep breaths to psyche herself up and pulled away roughly and stopped again almost as suddenly. Tim and Charlie felt themselves being thrown forward.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.

  “Sorry but I can’t drive in these shoes,” she unbuckled them and gave them to Tim to hold. Now her feet clad only in stockings she stomped on the accelerator and the car kangarooed away. Rosemary was convinced this was the worst evening of her life. She battled to keep control of the car on the narrow country roads and pulled up outside Salisbury General Infirmary forty five minutes later.

  By morning Johnny was in a hospital bed, his head stitched and heavily bandaged. His friends had waited with him until the Doctor had sent them home telling them to telephone in the morning to see if there was any change in his condition. They had begged to be allowed to stay. The Doctor had been firm but kind, reminding them that there was a war on and that at any time he may need the extra space available for patients. Reluctantly they had gone home. The Doctor promising that he would telephone the pub if there was any news.

  In the early hours Johnny had woken up. The first thing he was aware of was intense pain in his head. It hurt to open his eyes. He was on his back in bed that much he realised. Light was coming in from a window behind him. He closed his eyes and slept some more. When he woke again there was someone else in the room with him. Johnny tried to get out of bed, his eyes only half open.

  “No!” the strong female hands were there again and they stopped him easily “You must rest.”

  “I want to go. I don’t want to be here.”

  “I know but you can’t go anywhere until the Doctor has seen you. He will be here soon,” the female voice said.

  Johnny left hospital the following day. During his stay he had gotten to see the owner of that sweet voice.

  She was a young pretty nurse with beautiful eyes and long dark curly hair tied in a bun and held by pins and her nurse’s hood. By the time he left he knew that he was in love with her. He was devastated that it was her day off when he was released. He enquired as to her name and had to ask half a dozen people before any one could tell him.

  “Margaret Harris.”

  No one would give him her address but he was promised by one of her friends that if he wrote to her at the hospital the letter would be forwarded to her.

  Feeling on top of the world a bandaged Johnny Larder waited with his friends at the bus stop for the bus home. As soon as he got home he began writing to her. Then they had begun dating and their love grew. They often talked of the future, of children, of old age, of the things they would do, the places they would see. Then one day the news came that they had been dreading.

  He was joining the eighth army as an engineer.

  Their world was suddenly torn apart. They were devastated. They spent their last remaining hours trying to put off the inevitable. Margaret didn’t know why she did it, and knowing it would probably make matters worse she let him take her virginity and as she lay there as he panted in her ear she knew that this was it between them. She couldn’t carry on with him so far away from her for who knew for how long. She didn’t want to spend her days worrying about him.

  He tried to see her at the hospital but the sister told him she couldn’t be spared the few minutes because there was a serious car accident case coming in. A dejected Johnny Larder left wanting to smash the hospital up.

  The following day he left for North Africa.

  The letter from Margaret ending their relationship arrived almost a month later.

  Johnny was heart broken and every time he’d been alone he’d had tears in his eyes. He had tried to get out of the army but was refused. He had even considered suicide.

  Then unexpectedly a new letter from Margaret arrived. The one he was reading now and it lifted his spirits to a new height, a plane he had never reached before in life.

  She was coming to him.

  To Cairo to be precise.

  In this new letter she had apologised for ending their relationship and explained that she didn’t think that she could cope with them being so far apart and that she’d panicked. She had applied to nurse in the British hospital in Cairo and had been accepted.

  Johnny read her words again. She had included a tiny piece of lace that she’d cut from her lingerie and had glued it inside the letter to remind him of what he was missing. He had kept this out of sight of the others because he thought they would probably make fun of him.

  He couldn’t wait to see
her. He would visit her in Cairo next time he got some leave.

  “Let me know when you’re coming Johnny and I’ll get my leave arranged for the same time.”

  Johnny hated the thought of the servicemen in the hospital looking at and touching his Margaret, his sweetheart. They laying in their crisp, clean bed sheets. Her in her crisp, clean uniform. The men laying there all day watching her bottom wiggle. She unaware of the lustful looks as she went about her work. Them all so far away from and so safe from the war.

  He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  Every day she held a man’s hand while he slipped from this life to the next. The smell of decaying flesh surrounding them. Of blood, pus, burned skin, charred flesh. Margaret knew that the stench would stay with her for the rest of her life.

  How could she forget?

  When grown men whimpered like babies and called for their mothers. Some just passed away, their eyes glazing over, never wanting or asking for anything. Dying thousands of miles from home in a war that wasn’t theirs.

  Johnny tried to put the negative thoughts away as he re-read her words. Then he kissed the small piece of lace and folded the letter and put it away.

  There were two black dots in the sky. Johnny screwed his eyes up to see them better.

  They were probably birds. Two big black birds, flying to only god knows where in the endless rolling dunes of the Sahara.

  ‘Maybe they’ve found a corpse,’ Johnny thought.

  He laughed as he saw some of his mates rugby tackle Alf to the ground. For a ball they were using a rolled up jacket tied with string.

  The two dots appeared to be heading straight for them.

  Johnny watched them. Then he heard the drone of the engines.

  Alf spat out dust, the others pinning him down. Then as one they all looked up into the sky.

  Billy Mitchell loved flying. It had been his dream since childhood. Since he had been able to walk and talk he’d wanted to fly. As a child he spent all of his time making model aeroplanes. His big break had come at eighteen when he had been accepted into the rapidly forming U.S air corps. Just a year after pearl harbour he was now a veteran at twenty one.