Future Unwritten

He awoke slowly that day. One of the few times in the last four years. The fog in his brain, parting just enough for consciousness to percolate in like a cup of coffee. As it dripped and dropped him back to the realm of the living, pain was close behind.

His head pounded like an artillery piece as he wrestled his eyes open. The ceiling light blinded him, adding to his discomfort. With his senses now being kicked back into working order, now that his eyes were temporarily disabled, he could feel the cold stone beneath him. It was surprisingly comfortable given his current state.

His hand knocked a glass bottle as it was on its way to provide support to his eyes in order to retry his attack to get his eyes open and find where he was. Even just brushing the bottle made his ears hurt as it swirled on the stone floor assailing his ears.

His calloused hands brushed the deep scar that ran from the top of his left eye to his chin, passing his cheek and mouth, the latter of which turned his once bright, charismatic smile, into a permanent sneer. His black hair, now long enough to cover his bright blue eyes, was pushed aside to make room for his hand.

He winced as a sound like a giant banging his head against the wall started. Far at first but getting nearer and nearer. He had his eyes open now, the sound making his eyes forgo the discomfort of being blinded, to try and work out what in the Seven Hells that noise was.

He saw, when the light finally let him see, a light bulb hanging for a large dark room, filled with wooden shelves, mostly bare. The room was twice as tall as a man and would take about twenty large steps across from width to width. In front of him was a stone staircase swirling up into another source of light emanating from the top of the staircase, which blissfully for his eyes, he could not see.

The sound he could hear finally had a form as a soldier appeared walking down the stairs. He was American, that much was obvious. His rounded helmet and olive green fatigues were a dead giveaway. The vivid olive gave away that the man was new or had not seen a lot of frontline service. The American soldier, having not seen his slumped form at first, had a look of the finest terror as they locked eyes.

”Sweet Jesus!” He cried as he whirled his rifle around to face him. The sound made the man wince again.

”Bloody hell man! Keep the noise down would you?” The man called in a strained voice, his upper class English accent seemed to ease the American who quickly lowered his gun.

“Fuck, you scared the life outta me!” Said the American, getting a better look at his now established ally, by scrunching his face. He saw a dishevelled man in a green camo coat, which looked like the coat the Airbourne Limey’s used, but his beret was sand coloured rather than the Maroon of the British Parachute Regiments. His eyes then gazed at the Pips on the epaulets of the man in front of him and he stood bolt upright, coming to attention.

”Sorry Sir , I didn’t real-“

”Yes, yes its quite alright, just keep your bloody voice low”

The American said nothing but just stood at attention.

“For Godsake, stand at ease”

The American stood easy.

“You must be from the 3rd Infantry Division, one of the new replacements I presume?” The Englishman said whilst slowly getting to his feet. Hand clutched to his head, he began to look around for something lazily.

“Yes Sir, from the 15th Infantry regiment”

“Ah, right, and you are down here, presumably for the same reason I am down here?” He stopped looking around and smiled reassuringly at the American. The American shifted uncertainly. The Englishman sighed.

“Look Private, I don’t even know your name, nor do I care enough to report you to a Senior officer about looting Hitler’s personal wine cellar” the Englishman began walking to where the American came in. “Take what you can, most of it was looted by the dear French Division I am in repartee with, and your fellow Americans. Any that wasn’t, was probably drunk by me”. The American soldier went to step off, when the door to the cellar was heard swinging open.

The Englishman winced again.

“Great, more bloody company”

He was cut off abruptly by another American, this time, someone who recognised him and was recognised.

“Captain Lurvey, a delight” Said the Englishman. Nodding his head towards the tall, Red-haired American. His fatigues were not as olive as his fellow American.

“Your Grace” the Captain replied, nodding his head with a knowing smile.

“For God's sake, not you too. The bloody French are bad enough, soon no one is going to know that a Captain Kingsbury was attached to the French 2nd Armoured Division, just someone in dispatches called ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Comte de Court’. You and that bloody wretch D’Alembord know better than anyone; I was the son of a Police Officer, not some bloody Toff!” Kingsbury had spoken with quite a bit of vigour and fury that belied how ill he felt.

“Bad hangover, Your Grace?” Lurvey said smiling, his jovial green eyes took the sting out of the barb, but had clearly been missed.

“Damn your eyes!” Kingsbury pushed out at a whisper. He then sighed and rubbed his eye

Kingsbury put a palm on his head and his blue eyes were closed.

“You’re right of course Lurvey” Kingsbury muttered. Looking back up to Lurvey.

“I’m sorry old boy, you didn’t deserve any of that vitriol. He paused.

“Was I really out for that long that you came looking?” Kingsbury said, straightening his sand beret and tucking his black hair into where it couldn’t be seen.

“No, I was looking for my new driver.” Lurvey pointed to the Private who had been looking manically through the nearby shelves for anything he could take, looked up suddenly at the word “him”.

The Private sheepishly.

“Sir, I just… I uh…”

Captain Lurvey let the boy squirm as the Private tried to think of some excuse.

“You’ll never finish those memoirs if you keep drinking like that” Lurvey said, his voice with a genuine worry.“Jesus wept Lurvey, put the boy out of his misery” Kingsbury sighed.

Lurvey smiled.

“Take what you can, Copperfield. War’s over anyway, might as well take what you can for… Who was it?... Amelie? Was that her name?”

“Yes Sir” the Private smiled with relief.

“Just don’t let Sargent Brown catch you, and I’ll say I haven’t seen you”

“Oh, and Private, if you find my Sten gun down there, I’ll reward you” Kingsbury said.

“Of course Sir”

Private Copperfield saluted both the officers, smiled. Then went back to looting.

As Kingsbury and Lurvey came up the stairs to the cellar, they came up to a lavishly decorated house. Once filled with some of the most expensive things money could buy in Germany, now, the Berghof was close to a desolate ruin. Carpets and drapes had been ripped, furniture that couldn’t be taken had been smashed to pieces as soldiers took souvenirs of “Hitlers’ own chair” or “Hitlers’ own Ash tray” not knowing the former Fuhrer didn’t smoke.

The two Captains walked through this former stronghold of Nazi ideology, talking as they went.

“You’ve lost your gun again?” Lurvey started the conversation.

“I’ve lost my weapon more in these few weeks here than I ever did in Burma, North Africa, Italy, and Yugoslavia combined.”

Lurvey almost looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth at some of the mentioned places, stepping over a toppled table as they walked towards the front door.

“Jesus…” Lurvey whispered in equal parts wonder and horror.

“I can see why your CO attached you to the French to write your account of the war”

“Well… Yes, I did some big wig a good turn by pulling his son out of a dodgy spot in Thessaloniki" Kingsbury half smiled at the memory, walking past a blackened room that smelled of smoke and terror.

“The rest of the Raiding Support Regiment have gone to Greece to help the new Government fight the Communists there” Kingsbury mentioned.

“I think I would rather be fighting the Communists than babysitting these denazification efforts,” Lurvey said, nearly tripping on the remnants of a broken statue whose image would never be identified.

“You and me both, Fredrick” Kingsbury said as they walked through the door that exited the main building of the Berghof, heading to the gatehouse.

“Look, Joffre” Even Lurvey’s neutral American accent made a mess of the “Comte de Court’s” birth name.

“Just call me Jeff like the other Americans, Frederick, my mother is spinning in her grave at your butchery of her language”

“In all respects, Joffre, it's either that or Your Grace” That easy smile was back on Lurvey’s face.

“Anyway, you don’t call me Fred like the other Americans do”

“Fine, damn your eyes”

“Semantics aside Joffre, it is a good thing I bumped into you” the two Captains had been following the road from the shell of the Berghof, down to its gatehouse, and at his pronouncement, he looked over the rest of Bavaria, stopping to take in the sight.

“This zone is coming under our occupation zone” Lurvey started once Kingsbury had joined him in looking at the former heartland of the Third Reich.

“The French are rumored to be moving out, demobilising, so the rumour from HQ goes” he drew cigarettes from his pocket, taking one and putting it in his mouth. He instinctively held out the packet to Kingsbury.

“Ah” he said, the cigarette inhibiting his speech slightly.

“I forgot” Lurvey then put the pack back and lit his cigarette.

He took a long drag.

“You’re going home Joffre” Lurvey breathed out the proclamation,his smoke that lazily headed over Bavaria, to the recently risen sun.

Kingsbury looked aghast.

“I’d get transfer orders, I’d just go back to the Regiment in Greece” the Comte de Court said, trying to convince himself.

“No you won’t” Lurvey said with such confidence that Kingsbury nearly just accepted that fact at face value.

“D’Alembord has in his possession a letter from your government, saying as much, he’ll be up here to find you in an hour or so I’d wager, when he has also woken from his… ‘Celebrations’” Lurvey turned, smiling to what he expected to be an ecstatic Kingsbury, but horror was etched on his friend's now very pale face.

“Are you good?” Lurvey enquired, concern etched his face.

Kingsbury then fell to his knees, and wretched, throwing up all of last night's anaesthetic of the mind.

“Jeez, I didn’t realise it had been that much” Lurvey knelt next the now, alcohol-free Kingsbury.

“I can’t go back” Kingsbury whispered, his voice hoarse from vomiting.

“I CAN’T go back” he insisted on the verge of shouting.

“I haven’t written their story, who will know of their deeds, how they died?” Kingsbury was now nearly feverish with fear.

“You were a writer before the war, yeah? Just write it back home, away from the drink” Lurvey said, putting his arm on the back of the fear-stricken Captain.

“I’ve got nothing, Frederick” Kingsbury was staring at his gloved hands as he spoke.

“My Father and Mother are dead, Ruby stopped writing to me back in ‘44, probably with some bloody injured Tommy or one of you dashing Yanks” His hands clenched into fists as he spoke, his teeth clenching together.

“You’ve got your parents, Lurvey, You have a comfortable lecturing job when you go back. You have a woman to marry, kids to have” Lurvey took a small step back as Kingsbury’s voice began to rise and fill with hot, furious intensity.

“Now that’s not fair Jof-”

“You have it ALL to look forward to, you bastard, YET!” Kingsbury yelled that last word before slumping on his knees in loss.

“All I can think about, are the ones who have less than us” Lurvey stepped forward toward the exploded bomb that was Kingsbury. He then sat next to the grieving officer, being careful to avoid chucks of last night's regret.

“Fred, I spent my civvie career knowing what to write.” Joffre turned to the concerned American.

“How can I tell them? What do I tell them? How will they ever know?” Tears had turned Kingsbury’s eyes to a glittering sea.

“Those boys in the jungle… Burma, fucking hell Fred, I was 21… leading boys 3 years my junior against the Japs. We boys of the 2nd West Surrey, shitting ourselves to death before we saw the enemy, the smell of disease sickly sweet like the rotting vegetation. The only distraction being the screaming Japanese bayonets in the night”. He wiped his face, sniffling before he continued:

“Then onto North Africa, dying of thirst and the Fox’s fury. The silence of the desert could turn to booming death, all at Rommel’s choosing. Whilst we sat on our arses getting picked apart, missing old faces and new, every day at the Officer’s Mess.” Kingsbury’s focus at directing his grief and fury, despite his agonised soul.

“You know what Italy was like Fred, you were there”

“I just remember the wind on the beach” Lurvey confirmed.

“You couldn’t hear the screams of those dying on the beach over the guns and the wind” Lurvey spoke almost in a trance, before catching himself, and pulled away.

“Joff-”

“Then there was Greece. That was the only time I ever killed up close” Kingsbury kept going despite Lurvey’s uncomfortable demeanour and active effort to stop the tirade. But hearing these unknown facts about the “Comte de Court” piqued his interest.

“I took a young German boys memories by his belly, all because he did his duty and checked a noise made by a Greek Partisan barely a man himself. He cried for so long with my hand over his mouth, my blade opening his belly. I tried to kill him quickly, but he deflected my blade… I… I… still tried, I tried to get it up to his heart, but his squirming, his pawing at my hands and muffled cries for Mama meant I had to wait for him to painfully die. We would have all died if the patrol had been alerted” The trance-esque state that he had been in suddenly ended and Kingsbury’s now clear, cold blue eyes locked with Lurvey’s with so much intensity that Lurvey nearly recoiled.

“How do I tell them? How do I tell them, I had the time of my life” the tears were resurfacing at the fleeting anger and hypnotic state that had driven much of the retelling.

“I was a struggling author before the war, living hand to mouth with Ruby. I loved her, I think she loved me, we’d planned to have kids when I’d get my best seller and could move to Guildford proper.” He sighed, tears dripping and crossed his legs and stared towards the rising sun.

“I thought I’d never love as deeply about anything else. But then I won my first firefight, made my first brother. Killed my first man.” He looked round at Lurvey again.

“What if I forget? I go back, I work my comfy civvie job, I get Ruby back or God willing, find someone else, and I forget all about Corporal Gene Holt, killed in action, Retreat from Burma 1941. Or Private Bert Hill, blown to oblivion by a Panzer III outside El Alamein 1942. Lieutenant Caldwell Crawford, died of infection after taking shrapnel, outside Augusta 1943. Ralph Woods, Cliff Hargreaves, Damon Glo-”

“Ok! Joffre, I fucking get it” Lurvey finally could take no more. The swear word had stunned Kingsbury enough to stop. Lurvey never swore. NEVER. Even when he was wounded in the Sicily landings.

“Look Joffre, you’ll remember all this until you die” The American Captain stood himself and the British Captain up.

“The dreams will never go away, the night terrors…” Lurvey had a dark look across his features as he talked.

“I… I’m worried about the opposite, Joffre. That not even seeing and holding Caroline will be able to stop the guns firing in my head” The darkness lifted as quickly as it had settled.

“I will have to wait until I see her” His easy smile was back.

“The future is unwritten Joffre, their stories are written into you. Go home, be uncomfortable at your comfy Civvie job and when you’re ready, you can preserve their memory before you join them”.

Kingsbury smiled uneasily.

“It’ll make you feel better, it just takes time. Like taking a crap ain’t it? Harder you try, more you’ll hurt yourself” The easy smile broadened.

Kingsbury looked incredulous, then burst out laughing. The laughter was so genuine that it seemed to brighten the brightening day over the Berghof.

As his laughter faded and his soul lightened, Lurvey spoke again:

“Let’s go find Major D’Alembord before he finds his way to the bar at the Platterhof whilst trying to find us”

“I don’t think I could touch another drop” Kingsbury smiled.

“Yes you could”

“Fuck you Lurvey”

The easy smile and eased soul walked out of Berghof’s Gate House for the last time.