“And if you feel a headache coming on I want you back here in an instant.”
The Doctor moved on to the next bed, other Doctors under his supervision tending their sick.
Alf helped Johnny to put on a clean pair of trousers and shirt before doing his own. He couldn’t do his shirt up so he left it. His dog tags glinted in the light. Johnny looked at them.
“How will it all end Alf?”
“Don’t worry you’re safe for the moment.”
They began to walk. Johnny struggling at first with the crutches.
“Come back if I develop a headache,” Johnny said with sarcasm “My head hurts all the bloody time.”
“Just don’t overdo it. Here we’ll go slowly this way.”
They left the tent they were in. German Wehrmacht guards with rifles covering every entrance and exit. There were over a hundred tents, each one with a clear space between them and their neighbour. Guards at every one. Beyond the tents barbed wire twenty feet thick and over six feet high encircled the compound. This was as much to keep not only the prisoners in but the enemy and indigenous people out. The biggest threat though came from the air. Allied aircraft so far had not bombed the hospital thanks to huge red crosses on the tent tops.
The sound of sawing and hammering got ever closer as they walked the prisoner of war camp being constructed twenty four hours a day.
“Why are they doing this Alf?”
“Doing what?”
“The Germans. Why are they helping us?”
“Because we are prisoners of war.”
“But why did Rommel get personally involved. I mean why did he save us?”
“Because he is a professional.”
Johnny’s head was thumping and not just from the injury he had sustained. There were many things he didn’t understand, many questions he wanted answering.
“It doesn’t make sense, well to me it doesn’t. He must have better things to do than save our bacon.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like the SS.”
Johnny puffed out his cheeks and blew.
“I know I don’t! Christ Alf I hate those bastards more than anyone and those are the first ones I’ve ever met. That bastard of a Major was going to hang me….”
“Listen don’t think about it anymore. It’s over. You are safe now,” Alf tried to sound reassuring.
“….For doing my job,” Johnny continued. He hadn’t heard Alf speak.
“Snipers have no friends Johnny. Ordinary blokes like ourselves hate them. The game they play is cruel. I know you’re a good shot but I wish you’d never picked up that Enfield. It nearly got you hanged. Promise me you’ll never pick up a snipers rifle again Johnny.”
Alf held Johnny’s cheeks in both hands.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Remember how you felt when you saw that sniper shoot me.”
“I wanted to kill him. I did kill him.”
“Good take that as a lesson then. That’s how every man in the army feels, including that Major.”
They continued walking for a while in silence.
“How does my face look Alf?”
Alf looked at him. The handsome young man from rural Wiltshire.
“The truth?”
“Yes.”
“Bloody awful.”
“It hurts Alf.”
His skin on his neck had received powder burns from the grenade’s exploding contact with the wall. It was healing well now, new scar tissue forming.
“The scars will fade Johnny.”
“Will Margaret still fancy me?”
“Of course she will. It will heal in time. You have the whole of your life ahead of you. Both of you.”
“I wish I was in her hospital. With her to take care of me. Just me and none of the others she has to look after.”
“Who knows Johnny the war may be over for us.”
Johnny stopped to look at Alf.
“What do you mean maybe?”
“As long as we are here and do as we are told the war is over for us. If the Germans trade us for their own P.O.W.s then our forces will undoubtedly send us straight back to the front.”
Johnny looked at Alf again. He pointed to his own face.
“Haven’t I given enough?”
“Some have given much more.”
“Their lives?” Johnny replied “When I signed up Alf I thought war was glorious. I haven’t seen glory, only death. I’ve almost died half a dozen times. We all have.”
“Try not to think about it. Think about the good things in life. Think about Margaret, about the things you’d like to do and have with her. Things that you can share. That’s what keeps me going. The belief that one day I’ll return to the life I once had.”
“You’re married Alf?”
“Yes Veronica. I call her Ronnie.”
“You have a family?”
“Yes. We have a son, Patrick, he‘s nine months old now.”
“What did you do before the war Alf?”
“I am a carpenter.”
“Is that why you ended up in the Engineers?”
“Yes. And you?”
“My family owns a farm. I was learning the business but decided I wanted to fight after I saw Luftwaffe planes flying over our land. I tried to shoot one down once with my fathers shotgun. Of course I missed, they were too high. The pilots used to wave at us. I don’t suppose the one I fired at ever knew.”
“I’ve always wanted to fly,” Alf said dreaming of what it would be like to be able to take off and fly. The freedom of a clear sky with nothing beneath you. The freedom to go where ever you wanted and see what you wanted.
“You should talk to the chap in the bed next to mine. He was a pilot until he lost his nerve after a bad crash.”
“The Indian?”
“Yes the Indian. He trained as a pilot in England at Biggin Hill but when he went home to India there was no call for pilots so he became a sapper instead.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Alf said “It will help to pass the time.”
“Yeah he’s an interesting bloke. He was telling me this morning all about the village he comes from.”
“Come Johnny we’d better get you back before the Doctor comes looking for you.”
Alf used that as an excuse but in truth he wanted to acquaint himself with the man in the next bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN
Alf smiled as the bandages on his wounded shoulder were removed for the very last time. He looked down at the wound. The scar tissue was a different colour and texture to the rest of his skin. It had healed perfectly. He rotated his arm in a large circle above his head.
“No pain?” Sanjay asked.
“No pain,” Alf replied “It feels stiff.”
“It will do for a time. This was a serious injury. It could take years to heal.”
“I’m glad to be free of those bandages because my shoulder itches,” Alf said scratching hard. The new skin he rubbed gently with his fingertips. Johnny was watching.
“Looks good Alf.”
Alf nodded and grinned at him. Johnny’s face was healed too. The scars weren’t so bad. They’d left him looking like he’d suffered from bad acne once. He could live with it. His headaches had gone also. He rarely got them now but hadn’t had one for almost a week.
Alf had got to know the Indian too. His name was Vijay and was from the Punjab. He told Alf about how his people were ancient. Thousands of years old when the golden haired Macedonian had arrived in his country. How Alexander the great had been unable to defeat the seven foot tall Rajah Porus sitting astride his mighty elephants.
“How old are your people?” he had asked Alf.
“Not that old. We were once Celts, invaded by the Romans and then almost a thousand years ago by the French. That was the last time that we were invaded. Of course we have….”