Fireshadow (7 page)

‘Sir?'

Again, the nervous glance around.

‘I shouldn't tell you this, Erich, but after tonight you probably need to know. He was injured before he completed his training.'

‘What kind of injury, sir?'

For the first time during the conversation, the hint of a smile creased the commanding officer's face.

‘A gunshot wound. To the foot.'

Erich fought back the urge to laugh. Everyone knew what that meant.

‘So he is a coward?'

In his own division, several men had shot themselves deliberately in the feet and legs during training, in attempts to escape the war. They had been tried as traitors. Stutt made a non-committal gesture with both hands.

‘Possibly, but from what the other guards tell me, it was a genuine injury. This is why he was not drummed out of the army.'

‘So then he is just incompetent.' The idea that Thomas might have shot himself in the foot accidentally was even better than that of him as a coward.

‘Also possible. In either case, you need to remember one thing, Erich.'

‘What is that, sir?'

‘This young man could well be very dangerous if he decides to. There's no bully worse than a coward, and no man more dangerous than one with damaged pride. You should steer clear of him if you can, because I get the impression he doesn't like you much. Now get yourself across to the hospital and, if the doctor hasn't gone back to his hut for the night, have that cut on your lip seen to.'

Stutt made his way off towards the mess, where boisterous laughter probably marked a retelling of the evening's parade, and Erich, wiping at his face, trudged back towards the hospital.

And from the deep shadows cast by the far wall of the mess hut, Guard Thomas watched him go.

Ten

Vinnie

For some unaccountable reason Vinnie's gut churned as he picked his way up the terraces to where Helen and her grandfather waited. A few moments earlier, when he'd noticed them making their slow way out for the day, he'd not hesitated in raising his arm and calling. Now, climbing towards them, he could see impatience in the old man's stance and wondered if the invitation from the night before was still open.

‘Vinnie. Hi.'

Helen also seemed ill at ease. Something in the way she glanced nervously at her grandfather, and the nervous moistening of her lips suggested thinly masked apprehension.

‘Are you going to join us?'

‘Yeah. Thought I might. If that's okay?'

Vinnie shuffled his feet, acutely aware of the gaze searching him. The old man's body was gnarled with age, but his eyes, blue and unwavering, suggested none of the watery senility Vinnie had seen in other old men.

‘This is my grandfather. Doctor Pieters.'

‘G'day.'

No hand was offered, none expected. All that filled the silence was a continuing appraisal. For long seconds, even the constant restlessness of the bush seemed to fade. Scar tissue itched as it felt itself scrutinised, and Vinnie tried not to scratch at phantom nerve-endings.

‘Shall we go, then?' The man's voice; deep, strong and accented, held none of the tremolo of age. He didn't wait for the consent of the two younger people but wheeled on his heel in a slow, military turn and started into the dim forest.

Behind his back, Helen offered a wan smile before following. Vinnie hesitated. At the bottom of the slope the security of his camp site called. It would be easy to slip back down and spend the morning in quiet, secure solitude, unconcerned about the judgment of an old man. A few steps along, Helen stopped and turned, and with another smile and a shake of her head she drew Vinnie onto the path and into the darkness of the bush.

Progress was slow, set by the pace of the retired doctor. On occasion they would arrive at some small obstruction, a tree or branch fallen across the path, and would have to wait for Helen's grandfather to negotiate the difficulty. At first Vinnie reached to assist, an instinctive gesture, but Helen had caught his eye and gestured
don't
.

‘Did you sleep all right?'

‘Fine, thanks. A little restless in the middle of the night, but I've been finding it pretty easy to sleep out here.'

‘It's sort of hypnotic, isn't it? Lying at night and just listening. The first night freaked me out, but I'm used to it now.'

The old man made no attempt to join the conversation and Vinnie and Helen restricted themselves to inconsequential chat. They stopped to rest at the bridge beside the pool where Vinnie had considered his reflection. Sitting, Vinnie was again uncomfortably aware of Helen's grandfather examining him.

‘What happened to your face?'

The bluntness stung more than the question. Helen frowned but said nothing, leaving Vinnie to respond.

‘I was in an accident.'

‘Did you burn?' The German accent revealed only detached curiosity.

‘I . . .' Words deserted him. Vinnie stood, trembled, prepared to flee.

‘Grandfather,' Helen gently chastised, ‘it's not a question you should ask.'

The old man shrugged. ‘Why not? I am a doctor. It seems clear to me that the boy has been burned. I am curious, that is all.'

‘It's not something that he likes to discuss.'

Through this Vinnie stood, acutely aware of the instinct calling him back into the tree-closed protection of the path behind. There was something else, though. A tiny spark of ingrained knowledge that kept him rooted. If he left now, if he ran, then part of him would always be running.

‘It's okay.' His voice rang strange in his own ears. ‘I'll be right.'

Even through the conversation with his grand-daughter the old man's gaze hadn't wavered, but remained steady on Vinnie. Now, for the first time, Vinnie returned it, meeting the doctor's stare directly.

‘Yeah,' he replied, ‘I burned.'

‘Ah, then.' The old man looked away, up the path towards the old prison camp. ‘We shall continue onwards?'

Helen fell into step alongside and touched Vinnie on the forearm, her voice low.

‘I'm sorry about that. He tends to confront people when he first meets them.'

‘It's okay.'

And, in a moment of startling revelation, Vinnie realised that it was.

‘People are gonna want to know about it, aren't they? I guess someone had to ask sooner or later.'

‘Exactly my point.' The old man didn't even glance back towards them. ‘It is far better to have these things out in the open from the beginning, I am thinking.'

Vinnie threw a brief grin at Helen.

‘His hearing's pretty good too.'

‘As good as ever.'

Emerging from the trees, the trio followed the slight uphill path to the gate arrangement at the edge of the old prison camp site. Vinnie was aware of a strange new lightness within, of having faced and beaten a demon, perhaps one of many. A couple of black cockatoos flitted towards the tree line, oblivious to the three people below.

A thin breeze quivered and again Vinnie was struck by the different stillness that pervaded here.

‘It's a strange place.'

Abruptly, Helen's grandfather stopped.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Can't you feel it? There's an atmosphere here that's, I dunno, something different from the camp site, anyway.'

A bushy white eyebrow lifted itself on the old man's forehead.

‘Do you think? Ghosts, perhaps?'

‘No idea. Just something I felt the other day when I came here the first time.'

‘Do you believe in ghosts, Vincent?'

‘Nah.'

‘Good. That sort of thinking defies rationality. Still, I am thinking that you are right about this place.'

Turning, the doctor murmured, ‘Let me remember . . .'

The blue eyes closed and the old body relaxed. Vinnie tried to imagine the prison camp rebuilt in the old man's mind – wire and guard towers, lights and wooden buildings.

‘Over here, I think.'

The old man led off again, shuffling up a gentle incline towards some decaying foundations a few hundred metres away.

‘Mess hall, guards quarters . . .' Each landmark, now no more than grey, mouldering blocks, was indicated with small, impatient gestures.

‘There,' he continued, indicating a small square foundation set some way apart from the others. ‘There was the German detention compound – the isolation cells. Boiling hot in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, and tiny. I only visited it once, for a week.'

‘Why?'

He smiled.

‘A little matter of a disagreement with a guard. Silly to think about now.'

The matter clearly closed, the tour continued. Making slow progress between the ruins, Vinnie was struck by the change in the old man's demeanour. It was clear that memories and visions of a lost place were transporting him not only out of time, but also out of place and body.

‘How different it all seems,' the old man said, almost as if reading Vinnie's thoughts.

‘It's the same forest, though, surely?'

‘In some ways, yes, in many others, no. Ah. Here . . .' A shallow ditch scored the mossy ground, running off towards a clump of trees several hundred metres away. ‘The German fence line. That means . . .'

With no further remark, the old doctor led the two young people up the slope towards a rectangular foundation a little way off. There he eased himself down, settling on the cold concrete. A smile hinted at the corners of his mouth as he gazed around, left and right.

‘There. Just so . . . familiar.'

‘What is it?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘This building.'

‘This, Vincent, is all that remains of the place where everything changed.'

September 1943

‘What happened to your face?'

Doctor Alexander crossed the room quickly, concern in his expression.

‘Nothing, Doctor, a little mishap at rollcall last evening.'

Arriving at the hospital after his run-in with Thomas the night before, Erich had found the little hut deserted, apart from the sleeping form of Günter, and not wanting to disturb the patient he had retreated again to his own bunk. Now, in the light of day, his lower lip was swollen and crusted with dried blood.

‘Let me take a look at that.'

‘I'm certain that it will be fine, Doctor.'

‘Nonetheless, I'm going to make sure.'

‘You have been fighting, youngster?' Günter looked up from the old woman's magazine he had been flicking through.

‘No. Go back to your knitting.'

The soldier grinned. In the last few days his spirits had been rising steadily and he was almost back to his old self.

‘Your lip should have been stitched right away. How did you do this?'

‘An accident, Doctor. Nothing serious.'

‘Erich, either you tell me yourself or I'll get Commander Stutt in here and he can inform me.'

Erich considered the doctor. Behind his moustache his eyes were hard, a flinty quality reflecting in the dull light.

‘I had a run-in with one of the guards, sir. Commander Stutt has already dealt with the issue.'

‘Which guard?'

‘I do not know his name, sir.'

It was clear that Doctor Alexander knew he was lying, but there was little he could do unless he was prepared to push the point.

‘If something like this happens again, Erich, you are to inform me immediately, do you understand?'

‘I will try to, sir.'

‘No, not try,
immediately
. If I am not around you ask one of the gate-guards to get me. All right?'

‘Yes, sir.' It was an empty promise. Both knew that there was no way the doctor would ever be able to enforce it.

‘In the meantime, I think I will speak to Stutt about this.'

‘I would rather you didn't, Doctor.'

‘Why not?'

‘It has already been dealt with.'

For long seconds the doctor regarded his young orderly, tugging thoughtfully at his left moustache.

‘I will think about it, Erich. That is all I can promise. Now come here and let me see if there is anything we can do for your lip.'

With the swelling, there was little to be done, so when Alice entered the hospital a few moments later the doctor was daubing brown antiseptic onto the cut.

‘What happened?' Alice crossed to them.

‘It appears Erich had a run-in with one of the guards last night.'

‘Are you all right? Who did this?' Her concern seemed genuine, and for the first time Erich regarded the girl through different eyes.

‘I am fine – just a little cut.'

‘Now that you're here, Alice, would you mind finishing this for me while I see to Günter's dressings?'

Erich was only faintly aware of the feather-light touch of the cotton wool against his lips. Involuntarily, his tongue flicked out at the irritation, and the acrid taste of the antiseptic caused him to start.

‘Careful!' The girl smiled. ‘You're not supposed to eat it.'

‘I am sorry.' Erich's voice seemed thick through his swollen lip, but he made an attempt to return the smile. ‘I have not yet had breakfast.'

‘Well, that's all right, then.' She finished applying the rest of the antiseptic. ‘There. You'll probably need to put some more on in a little while, when this lot wears off. Now, who'd like a cup of tea?' The girl crossed to the wood stove, stoked the flames and placed the kettle on the top.

‘That would be nice, my dear.' The doctor didn't look up from his work. ‘This is healing nicely, Günter.'

Günter, understanding roughly what the doctor had said, replied in German, which Erich translated.

‘He says that he can still feel his toes, Doctor.'

‘A quite normal response, I'm afraid. The nerves are still alive, even though they're no longer connected to anything. Poor Günter here is going to get the occasional itch and have nothing to scratch.'

Erich translated again and to his surprise Günter laughed.

‘At least he can see the funny side.'

‘I cannot understand how he does so.'

‘Perhaps you need to go through a tragedy in order to really understand one, Erich.'

‘Excuse me, Doctor?'

‘I am saying that it is a matter of perspective, which you cannot realise until you are actually faced with the prospect of dealing with a changed life. You and Alice would both be too young to know what it is to face a life different from the one you had envisaged for yourself.'

‘I have seen many tragedies.' A trace of the old anger blossomed inside Erich. ‘In Africa and Italy.'

‘I'm certain that you did, Erich. And I'm not for a minute suggesting that you are any less of a man or a soldier. All I am saying is that at this point in your life your foundations haven't yet been shaken, and you should be glad of that.'

Erich still wasn't quite certain what the doctor was trying to imply, but the conversation was getting dangerously personal so he stayed silent. After a couple of minutes the doctor finished Günter's bandaging.

‘There. Perhaps, Alice, you could make a cup for Günter as well?'

‘Of course, Grandfather.' She fetched another cup from the sideboard.

‘And Erich, if you don't want a cup of tea, you could deal with these for me.'

The doctor gestured at the bloody bandages which he had removed from Günter's leg.

‘Yes, sir.' Taking the bowl, Erich made his way over to the laundry hut, where a copper full of boiling water steamed in the cold morning air. Franz, the private assigned to laundry duty, greeted him cheerfully.

‘Youngster! How's the mouth?'