CHAPTER SIX
A few hours later the squad had covered a lot of ground. Charlie led the way, marching a good few yards ahead of his men, keeping up the pace, his eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. Fortunately the day had become unusually hot, and the men had dried out. But then, the weather had been growing more and more sporadic the closer they got to their goal, and it was a little unnerving to say the least. They were all exhausted, disheartened, and running out of daylight, fast. Tempers were rising, and all of their displeasure seemed to be focussed on Billy. Struggling to keep up, at the very back of the group were Yankee and Doodle, carrying the young man between them. He had an arm draped over each of their shoulders, and his feet were dragging along the floor.
‘This is complete baloney,’ complained Doodle, his eyes glaring at the strange metallic monstrosity draped over him, as if it were a creature from outer space. ‘Explain to me again, Captain, why I have to walk across Germany, while this English dope gets a free goddamned ride? All at the expense of Uncle Sam!’
Charlie didn’t bother with a reply.
‘Damn straight,’ joined in Yankee. ‘Why don’t we just dump him here? Give the Nazis something to snack on when they come looking for us.’
The rest of the squad laughed at the comment. But the laughter quickly turned to complaints and sneers, and grumbles of agreement. They were angry.
‘You know what,’ said Yankee, finally reaching his limit. ‘Screw this.’ Without another step he and his brother dropped Billy to the ground, letting him hit it hard. ‘Ain’t nothin’ but a dead weight anyways!’
Charlie stopped his trek. He turned and watched. The men circled Billy, even dragging in Specks to join in, as disinclined as he was. They kicked up dust and dirt, shouting abuse at the downed man, working themselves up into a frenzy. ‘Let’s kill him,’ came an aggressive voice. ‘Leave him for dead,’ yelled another. The men started pushing Billy’s limp body from side to side with their boots, rolling him to one another like a kaput football. Charlie could see that one or two of them even had a hand twitching on their holstered guns. Enough was enough.
He barged his way into the group, separating the ruckus, immediately staring them all down until they took a few steps back. It was tense to say the least, but he let them stew for a minute or so. At long last he straightened up his uniform and composed himself.
‘So, this is what it’s come down to?’ he asked, his voice sharp. ‘Let’s see a show of hands. Who here has killed more times than they’d care to remember?’ He waited, and after an awkward hush, one by one, save for Specks, all the men raised their hands. ‘That’s precisely what I thought. It’s not a good feeling, is it?’ Charlie circled Billy’s unconscious body, looking down at him pensively. ‘We don’t know this boy’s crimes. We don’t know which side he fights for. If indeed any. We don’t even really know where he comes from. And you want to kill him?’ He looked at his men, shaking his head in disgust. He was waiting for a reply, but no one dared say a word. He cleared his throat. ‘Never in all my days have I been so disappointed in you all.’ Quick as a snap, he snatched his pistol from its holster, pulled the trigger and placed it to Billy’s head. ‘Want me to kill him?’ he asked, looking to his men. ‘Want me to pull the trigger?’ But again no one spoke. ‘Cos I can do it. Can you?’ None of them had the courage to make eye contact with the man. Finally he pulled away from Billy and holstered his weapon. ‘We are not murderers. We are soldiers. There is a significant difference. It would serve you all well to remember that.’ The men shifted, their heads hanging low. ‘And until proven otherwise, this… Billy Random, is assumed innocent… and under my protection.’ He exhaled deeply, maintaining his composure. He stood to his full height and looked down at the squad. ‘Now, would anyone care to challenge me?’
The men didn’t speak. But then:
‘Cowards,’ came a wavering voice from the ground.
Charlie looked down in astonishment. Billy Random was at long last moving. Everybody watched in fascination. Needless to say, he was awake. Gradually he pushed himself to his knees, struggling a great deal, and after a while he reached out his gloved hand without looking up and waited. No one took it.
‘Little help,’ he asked, a tone of sarcasm very apparent in his voice. Taken aback, but ever the gentleman, Charlie eventually took the young man’s hand and pulled him up. Billy sprung up, landing scrappily on his feet, with an unexpected smile on his face. ‘Thanks, big guy,’ he said, giving Charlie a few patronising pats on the shoulder.
The squad watched patiently and with great scepticism as Billy seemed to rise from the ashes. He took his time, steadying himself on their Captain. He rubbed his eyes, scuffed up his hair, brushed himself down, and even yawned, almost unaware of their presence.
‘Interesting get-up,’ he remarked to himself, rubbing his face aggressively and checking himself out. ‘A tie? Why on earth would I be wearing a tie?’ He scratched his head. ‘That’s a bit random. What… are we… are we going to a wedding? Am I getting married?’ He looked at the soldiers, who were looking back at him, with wide eyes and mouths agape. ‘Apparently not.’ He looked them all up and down, just as surprised at them as they were at him. ‘Hmm. Most definitely not. This looks more like a funeral to me.’
‘Identify yourself,’ commanded Charlie.
But Billy didn’t reply - he was too busy with himself. He leant on Specks and pulled up his boots.
‘Alright?’ asked Billy in a ridiculously casual and cocky manner.
‘Well… erm… Yes… I suppose… given the circumstances…’ stuttered Specks in reply.
‘Cheers, four eyes’ said Billy, finishing with his boots and slapping a friendly hand on the geeks back, having not listened to a word he had said.
‘Oi, you show him some respect,’ spoke up Yankee, stepping forward and blocking Billy’s way.
‘Yeah,’ added Doodle, joining his brother. ‘His name is Specks.’
Billy stared at the two men with amusement, sniggering at their dim-witted defence of their friend. Clearly he was not intimidated by them at all.
‘Identify yourself,’ commanded Charlie for a second time.
‘Where the heck are we anyway?’ asked Billy, ignoring the man once again, and squeezing himself around the brothers. No one answered. He studied the soldiers for a moment, perplexed. His face changed, a look of seriousness promptly appearing. ‘What war is this?’
‘I won’t ask you again, boy,’ bellowed Charlie.
Billy spun round on the spot. The Captain finally had his attention.
‘And who are you to throw out your orders to me?’ Billy snarled, advancing.
The men shifted uncomfortably, their hands resting on their guns.
‘Easy, boys,’ said Charlie. Reluctantly, against their better judgement, the men calmed and released their hands from their weapons. Charlie stood to attention, ready to present himself. ‘Me? I am Captain Charles Caleb Crumble Senior, of the British Army.’
‘That’s one hell of a mouthful!’ interrupted Billy.
‘Proud leader of the Alpha-Omega missions of the Second World War,’ continued Charlie. ‘A father, a husband, a soldier. And Captain to these men.’ He relaxed himself a little. ‘And you boy, are seriously delaying us in our work. Now, for the last time, identify yourself.’
‘Listen, mate,’ said Billy, stepping in close and squaring up to the man. The height difference between the two was considerable, greatly in favour of Charlie. ‘The fancy uniform, the great big muscles and the preposterously handsome looks might impress these guys. But I’m not yours to command. You aren’t my Commander, you aren’t my Chief, and you certainly aren’t my Captain. Besides,’ he turned his back on Charlie in such a way it was insulting. ‘You’re the one holding my tags. So, you tell me.’
Charlie lifted up the dog tags, already knowing exactly what they read.
‘Very well. These tags claim that your name is Billy Random,’ he answered, throwing the dog tags at Billy�
��s feet. The young man knelt down and carefully picked them up, studying them, before putting them back round his neck where they belonged. ‘And would you care to explain that?’ pushed Charlie, pointing to Billy’s arm.
Billy lifted up his arm, the sunlight glistening off of its smooth metal. He moved it around, up and down, left and right, like a baby exploring its limbs for the very first time. There was a twisted look on his face, and a sad look in his eyes. But he said nothing. He wasn’t going to answer. He pulled it down, aggressively messed up his hair and began strolling amongst the squad. The men looked to their Captain for an order, but he gave none.
‘Right. I’ve had enough of this,’ said Yankee, finally snapping. Swiftly he pulled one of his pistols and placed it right against Billy’s temple. Billy immediately stopped his stroll, a worrying grin etching across his face. ‘Let’s see if you bleed red,’ stated Yankee.
But Billy turned, facing Yankee dead-on, the barrel of the gun right in the centre of his forehead. Yankee slowly pulled the hammer on the pistol. It was ready, as was he.
‘I’m giving you to the count of three to give us some goddamned straight answers,’ said Yankee.
‘No. I’m giving you to the count of three to get that gun out of my face,’ declared Billy, with a disturbing smirk.
The pair stared at each other, neither one prepared to back down. Everybody watched, utterly mesmerised at the stand-off. It was great viewing - Doodle longed for a box of popcorn.
‘One...’ began Yankee.
‘Two…’ continued Billy.
But before either of them could finish their count, Charlie intervened, reaching out and gently lowering Yankee’s arm. He put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and moved him aside, holstering his pistol for him. Charlie turned his attention back to Billy, discreetly throwing Specks a suggestive look. The geek fiddled with his glasses and took a nervous step forward.
‘Erm… Mr Random,’ he began, his voice shaky, and his eyes flickering from Charlie to Billy. ‘If I may… sir, you are seriously dehydrated. You are malnourished. You are concussed and disorientated. Where you stand right now is days from friendly territory. You have no food, no water. And in your current state, your chances of surviving the journey are severely limited. So… in my expert opinion, I would suggest your best option is to come with us.’
‘Uh-huh,’ replied Billy, a black look on his face. ‘Is that so?’
‘Erm… yes,’ stuttered Specks, shifting nervously.
‘Billy,’ intervened Charlie, relieving Specks from the conversation, who backed away into the midst of the group. His voice was as soft and sincere as it could be, given the situation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the day we’ve been having. It’s been… unique to say the least. You don’t want to talk, then you don’t have to. To be honest, right now I don’t particularly want to listen. Quite simply I don’t have time to discuss things through with you. I need to get my men to safety. That is my priority. But you are correct… I am not your Captain, and therefore I cannot order you to do anything you don’t want to do. I could however… take you prisoner.’ Billy laughed at the idea. ‘But that doesn’t seem right to me. Which is why all I can do is ask. And that is what I shall do. So, Billy Random…’ Charlie looked at his men, throwing them a reassuring nod. They could tell he was reluctant to do this. ‘Please, will you come with us?’
Charlie backed away, giving the young man some well needed time and space. Billy gazed off into the horizon, dreamy eyed, clutching the dog tags around his neck, and muttering under his breath. He seemed subdued, lost. Until finally, unenthusiastically, he turned and faced the squad. It would appear he had no choice.
The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 1 - Monsters and Machines Page 6
