Champagne & Lemonade

by John A. D. Hickling

  “Here, ain’t you going to help him, Mrs Rabbit?” asked a concerned Mrs Hedgehog.

  “What him? No, I’m not; I’m going to have some peace and quiet.” And they both joined in with the laughter of the horses and their youngsters.

  Not long after the laughter died down, Farmer Tankard and his son came for the horses and, with tears in their eyes, they left. As the horses slowly trotted off they all turned to look at the field that had been their home, which helped dry their tears as some good memories came flooding back to them.

  *

  A couple of weeks later, Farmer Tankard and his family arrived at the town’s gala and settled themselves into their seats. They had arrived just in time to see the beautiful Lightning performing her greatest tricks, while elsewhere at the gala you could ride on Champ on the pretend Aintree race track for fifty pence. Around the corner was Nelly, who was taking families on cart rides, getting the odd carrot as a reward; and there, leading the parade, was Duke, making sure everything was running smoothly and casting the occasional glance at Lightning, his new girlfriend.

  However, the town’s people weren’t the only ones who were enjoying the show, because hidden safely in the hedge bottoms were the rabbits and the hedgehogs. Mrs Hedgehog had just finished lecturing her new man, Needles, about the dangers of the road, and beside him was Mr Rabbit who was covered in plasters and on crutches looking very cross.

  All of the animals and the Tankards smiled at the horses, who were all feeling proud and very happy, but more importantly together as one family.

  Stand Together

  We were now on our fifteenth day of being stuck on top of this goddam hill in North Korea. I’m Benny Dukes and I am a member of different regiments known as scatterings, which is what our lieutenant has named us. Brigade would probably be the more correct term as we have French, English, Dutch and a host of others from Europe all representing the United Nations in this conflict. Yes, I never thought I would become close to a French man, but we were all together as one now; we no longer belonged to our proper regiments. My unit got ambushed a couple of weeks back. Yes, Sir, all split up from our own units owed to this blasted war.

  We have taken siege of this hill and held it against all the odds. It is important for the outcome of the war, apparently; we must keep it from the Japs. I say Japs — which probably isn’t the right name as they’re technically Korean — but we call them Japs because they all look the same to us, and it’s easier to say. We are supposed to hold the hill until the Yanks come, which was supposed to be today, but then again, that is what we were told yesterday.

  “Here they come again, Lieutenant,” yelled a soldier. A chorus of sighs and moans went around as we wearily geared ourselves up for yet another battle. The sun had barely started to come up.

  “Right, take positions and hold till I say,” was the lieutenant’s reply.

  We all rushed to our positions, soldiers everywhere; fear in our tired eyes.

  The Japs were once again coming up in their hundreds; most with sticks, knives, and a rifle between every ten, and you could guarantee that they’d fight to their last man.

  Shots were fired. “Hold your fire; hold your fire,” the lieutenant screamed.

  I looked over my left shoulder to see the sweaty, white face of Fuzzy, who had turned twenty this very morning. I winked and gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Attack, attack,” followed by, “Fire, fire,” was yelled.

  The battle seemed to last for ages. Gun shots, blood curdling yells and agonizing deaths could be heard all around, but all my sore, bloodshot eyes could see were dead bodies and tired, frightened faces. From what I could tell, just like the previous fourteen days, we were managing to hold the hill. Then, from within this tense, bloodthirsty battle, I heard a scream and I looked round to see the lieutenant on the floor. His leg had been wounded; shot in the right thigh. I rushed towards him and a Jap charged at me; with one thrust of my bayonet he fell to the ground.

  Explosions, gunfire and screams filled the misty air. I shot a Jap; he fell to the ground with half his head gone.

  I got to the lieutenant, he looked up at me. “L-leave me, man.”

  “Quiet, Sir.” I flung him over my shoulder and made my way back up the hill, dropping two more of the enemy.

  At the base, the medic, Aart Houben — Dutch — took care of the lieutenant and I went back to my position at the front of the trench. My legs were getting really heavy as I tried to manoeuvre in the thick, slippy mud with the added weight of my backpack and equipment. My uniform felt as heavy as a coat of metal with all the sweat and mud that clung to it. I pulled myself together and turned around and looked out over the chaos of the battlefield: overturned tanks, dead soldiers of all nationalities, craters in the ground from bombs dropped, the whole area covered in a thick smoke from all the fire power.

  As I looked a few feet in front of me there was a young soldier who had met his gruesome death. But, as my eyes fixed firmly on this unfortunate soul, my heart skipped a beat for there, on his back, was Fuzzy with a rusty blade stuck firm in his throat. I was overpowered with anger. “Fuzzy — no.” I charged at two Japs; I shot the first and then ran out of ammo so I brought my heavy bayonet blade down on the other, splitting his head like a melon.

  It seemed to me that the Japs were slowly retreating, and on that fifteenth day, the hill would be ours.

  All of a sudden, the hill was overwhelmed by a deafening noise; helicopters, jeeps and plenty of Yanks (twice our number) appeared as if from nowhere. I rushed down to their corporal. “About time, where have you lot been?” I shouted.

  “It’s Corporal Zimmer to you, and relax, England, the best are here now so go home; we don’t need you.”

  I was furious; the arrogance of these guys. It was as if the long hours, blood, sweat and deaths of our comrades in trying to keep this hill had all meant nothing. I just wanted to go home and let them have this goddam hill and all the pain that came with it.

  My anger kept on building up inside of me, but at that moment our lieutenant limped up to us, he was heavily patched up, but he otherwise looked OK. “Good, ’cos I wouldn’t help you if you were the last Yank of all time, which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” I shouted. We squared up to each other but a couple of soldiers pulled us apart. Zimmer was about six foot three and quite thick set, whereas I was five foot seven and possessed a smaller frame than him. But that didn’t deter me; I still wanted to tear him in two.

  “Right, men, in position; march,” yelled the patched up lieutenant, supported on a crutch made from a tree branch.

  “Yeah, leave it to the experts,” shouted a grinning American soldier; Matthews his name, according to the badge on his uniform.

  We couldn’t believe the Yanks’ arrogance; they arrived in all the top gear and we had to march off on foot. And march we did, stopping only to have five minute breaks, which were very welcome after first marching through thick mud and then sharp, hard, rocky ground. Our trek was made harder still by the heavy burden of helping the wounded: men that were on crutches or had their eyes and faces bandaged up. And now, with the falling rain beating down on us, we wished they were hour breaks instead.

  As I marched I was thinking about Fuzzy; how it was his birthday today and how he was looking forward to seeing his wife and kid. I thought about myself and how at one point I wouldn’t hurt a flea. I can remember being so shy and saying to myself that I would probably hide at every opportunity instead of fight. Then I saw my best friend get chopped in half by these monsters and with the anger that overwhelmed me I killed my first, shooting him straight between the eyes. After that I had wanted more, wanted to kill every last damn one of ’em. And here I am now, having done more courageous acts than I can count; like the time when I attacked about twenty Japs on my own to rescue an officer who was a POW. How glad I now was to let them Yanks have that hill and hopefully to be going home. I have done my bit for my country and seen far too much needless death. I
couldn’t wait to hold my wife and son again.

  We were all very tired; we must have marched close to ten miles when we were ordered to stop because someone was trying to get through on the radio.

  “This is Bluebird Five Zero, repeat again, Yankee Ten, repeat again,” said Ginny, our radio operator. There were cackling noises and faint screams coming from the radio.

  “Try again, keep trying; rest, men,” ordered the lieutenant.

  “I repeat, this is Bluebird Five Zero, state your situation, over.” The radio crackled and fizzed, then…

  “Come in, Bluebird Five Zero; come in, Bluebird Five Zero.”

  “This is Bluebird Five Zero here; what’s your situation? Over.”

  “Bluebird Five Zero, this is command; Yankee Ten have lost the hill. I repeat, Yankee Ten have lost the hill. You must return and take back the hill; we’ll get help to you as soon as we can, over and out.”

  I slumped to the ground, the lieutenant shook his blood-stained head and the look of horror on the men’s faces was something I would never forget.

  “Right, men, about turn, quick march,” the lieutenant ordered wearily.

  *

  The next morning we reached the hill. We sneaked through the smoke filled woodland to see that they were still fighting but the Japs were in control.

  “Good luck, men, get me that hill. Charge,” yelled the lieutenant and in we went.

  The fighting, as normal, was intense. Grenades and gunfire echoed around the hill, bodies littered the landscape. A Yank was buried deep in the undergrowth, lodged in like a tick on an animal; he was picking Japs off one by one with his rifle. He shot one in the head, another in the back and was just about to shoot another when a grenade landed on him, decorating the trees and landscape with his body parts.

  A good hour had passed and we were getting closer to the top of the hill. We had made good time considering it was steep and caked with mud. I charged and with my bayonet, gun, gun butt and bare hands I killed what seemed like hundreds, and then, in front of me, I heard a moan. “H-help, Eng- England, help me.” There, badly wounded with a blade in his right leg and fingers missing from his right hand, was the Yank, Corporal Zimmer. My first instinct was to leave him, but it hit me that, no matter what I thought of him personally, just like Fuzzy he could have a wife and kid and they didn’t deserve to be without him. So I picked him up and made my way to a medic.

  “Medic, medic, sort him out,” I shouted to Aart.

  Zimmer’s eyes met mine. “Thanks, Eng-ahh, England.” I nodded and made my way to find the lieutenant.

  The noise of the battle was deafening with the cries of pain and screams as men met their untimely deaths; the sound of grenades and mortar shells filled the air and bullets cracked out of all sorts of guns. My focus came back to me as one Jap tried to jump me, but he met his death on the end of my bayonet. Then I heard the lieutenant’s voice, “Aaah, Benny, help.” I ran, but it was too late, a Jap had stuck his knife into the lieutenant’s chest. I ran, pressing my trigger, to find I was out of bullets. The Jap charged at me with a sly smile on his face, which I had the pleasure of wiping off as I clubbed him to death with the butt of my rifle.

  “Lieutenant, Lieutenant.”

  “Listen, Ben-Benny, you must take the hill.” The lieutenant’s eyes rolled and he drew his last breath as I felt his body flop in my arms. Those were to be his last words. This hill, that I hated so much, had become my destiny; I loaded my gun and, with some of the scatterings, charged up the hill.

  Nothing was going to stop me from taking back the hill; I’d do it for the lieutenant and my country. I knew how important the hill was and how important we were to command; plus, help was on its way.

  I was helpless (our numbers were dwindling fast) as I watched another scattering meet his gruesome death. He was at the side of me and was shot in the head, some of his blood splattering my face. I charged at three of the enemy, slaying them all in seconds. I had the urge to take control because all of our leaders had either fallen or were nowhere to be seen, and I wanted so badly to take this damn hill.

  “Come on, men, we’re nearly there,” I yelled.

  Near the top of the hill I saw a medic. I went to him and I tapped him on his back; he fell back, his eyes wide open, with a machete firmly lodged in his skull.

  “Eng-England.” I looked down. There was the arrogant Yank soldier Matthews. Surely I couldn’t take this injured soldier with me, I hated those guys, but I also knew I couldn’t leave him. I draped him over my shoulder and dragged him with me, still managing to fight; I dropped the Yank near the top of the hill, hiding him behind a thick tree.

  With one last surge, I jumped over the barricade, followed by some of the men. I clubbed a Jap of about sixteen to his death, with no sorrow. Then their leader attacked me, burying his blade in my arm. “Aaah, you’ll not take me,” I screamed. With my uninjured arm I punched him, but I fell back and he jumped above me with an empty gun which had a bayonet fixed to it. I was doomed.

  A shot was fired; the Jap fell to the ground with blood pouring out of his head. I looked up to see the arrogant Yank Matthews on his knees with a gun in his hand. He fell to the ground but soon showed signs of life when he tried to crawl to safety.

  A chorus of ‘Hoorah’ echoed around the woods; we had taken back the hill, we knew command would send help and soon we’d be gone.

  Corporal Zimmer, who was seemingly OK, limped his way towards me. “Thanks, England, a job well done,” he said with his uninjured hand held out, which I shook with my left hand as my injured right arm was still oozing blood. I nodded my head. Just then the radio fizzed and cackled.

  “This is Bluebird Five Zero, over.”

  “Bluebird Five Zero, this is command. At this point in time we are unable to get help to you as we no longer need the hill. Our priorities have changed; we are going to give you some new coordinates, you will make your way there and take the target. Your coordinates are —”

  Bang.

  “Aah, what are you doing, man?” yelled the radio controller as I shot up the radio.

  We all looked at each other wondering what to do. I turned to see a young, tired lad, name of Jacob Wiggins, pointing; his arm was shaking and his lip trembled.

  He shook his head and yelled, “Japs, more Japs.”

  Look Mum I Can See

  It had been an uneventful day in Blindasabatsville, which was very unusual for a private investigator such as meself. Bob Cheesecake’s the name. Let me tell you how I got into this biz. I was out doing my hobby — trainspotting — and I was walking across the train tracks when a bolt of lightning hit me smack on the head. Ooh it did make me hop! I was running around in circles for ages. Before the accident I couldn’t see very well at all (not even with me spectacles on) and now when I take them off and give me ears a little twiddle me eyes glow red and I have X-ray vision. I can also run fast and not just your everyday kind of fast — as fast as a train. I raced one the other day and beat it by a minute (it would have been two if I hadn’t ran into that fence). I remember running round to me mother’s shouting, “Look, Mum, I can see.”

  “That’s nice, dear, but I’m your mum’s neighbour Joyce.”

  It was at that moment that I said to meself I would use these skills in me quest to become a private investigator — that is if I ever got a case.

  I was reading the local paper on a cold October day in 1946 when I found meself staring at the headline ‘ANOTHER CORGI STOLEN’. It made me wonder who would do such a thing and for what reason?

  I leaned back in me chair and surveyed me tiny office. It was so small you couldn’t swing a mouse around. I was just about to pick me nose when the phone rang. “Hello, Bob Cheesecake PI, how can I help you?”

  “Listen, and listen good, my life’s in danger; meet me at the lake at 10 p.m.”

  “Hello…hello?” Whoever it was had hung up. Work at last! Although I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of it, but what with me curiosity driving me ma
d and with me being so skint I had no choice but to be there.

  *

  It was very cold and quite foggy at the lake so I took cover under the old oak tree. As it turned out I would later be glad of the fact that I had turned up early for this meeting at nine forty-five.

  A tall man wearing a long tweed coat with the collar turned up and a trilby hat on his head slowly approached. He was constantly looking all around him. All of a sudden I noticed a drop in temperature and it became really cold. After a few moments I realized why — I’d forgotten to put on me trousers.

  I was about to make me way towards him when I heard a noise in the bushes. I took off me spectacles, twiddled me ears and me eyes glowed at the bush. I couldn’t believe what I saw sticking out of there; it was scarier than any woman I’d dated before and that was saying something. Someone’s hairy behind was going up and down like a fiddler’s elbow.

  I couldn’t get me eyes to stop glowing so I had to give meself a quick smack on me head before putting on me spectacles and making me way towards the man. Whack. What a place to put a tree. Me clumsiness startled the man in the tweed coat and he ran off. I cleared me head and whooooshh shot past him, stopping dead with the aid of a wall. “Ooh, Cheesecake, you idiot,” I said.

  “You’re Cheesecake? Quick, come with me,” said the man. He led me to his car: a 1942 two door Ford Coupé, black in colour with white tyres. It had a few visible bumps and scrapes, which was not surprising considering we had just come through the war. It took a couple of attempts to start the car and the man made sure to check all around him before getting in. He made no attempt to speak until we drove away.

  “Why meet at the lake, Mr —?” I asked.

  “I don’t feel safe at my home at the moment,” said the man.