One Hope in Hell

Then came the day that, for Laszlo, was to be the worst day of all.. One morning the whole platoon was ordered to be fully prepared, with all their gear for a move north. Apparently the Varians, or a section of what passed for that force, had made a foray through the north pass, and a village called Diblana had been decimated.

Laszlo froze at the news. Diblana was his home village. It was a three hour drive in a convoy of trucks and jeeps, and all the way Laszlo was fearing what he might find.

When the convoy reached the village square, Laszlo leapt from the truck ahead of most of the others. He raced past many damaged houses until he stood at the site of where his home had been. All that remained was a pile of rubble. Laszlo's heart sank.

"They got away, lad." The rattling voice had him spinning around to see old Jensa, leaning awkwardly on his walking stick. "Your parents went away west, just after you were taken. They'll be safe."

"Did everybody get away?"

The old man hung his head, raised his stick to point at fields beyond the village. "They marched what men there were down that way." he croaked. "I heard gunfire. I've been frightened to look" And the old wrinkled face began to crumble even further. "I was too old to worry them. They weren't like proper soldiers."

"Mercenaries," Kanin's voice said, as he came and placed a hand on Laszo's shoulders. "Your house?"

Laszlo pointed to the pile of rubble. Kanin's mouth twisted, "Bastards," he swore.

Another fear was in Laszlo's head, "What about women?"

Jensa pointed his stick again at a damaged white building, "The older ones are hiding in the chapel, frightened to come out."

"The older ones?"

Jensa's head nodded slowly, and Laszlo had the impression that he didn't want to say more, but all he did say was, "Some under forties were taken away in a truck."

"Do you know who?"

Jensa's eyes rested on Laszlo, looked away, looked down before he said, "I didn't see who."

For sure, Laszlo knew he had. So he had to suffer for the rest of the day, and overnight, as the decision was taken to set out after them at first light. It would be a two hour drive through the pass and there could be an ambush if they were caught in fading light.

Laszlo volunteered to be in the burial party of the men executed. With only a little relief he found that there were only fifteen corpses, all riddled with an excessive number of bullet holes.

If it had been up to him, they would have driven through the pass without delay. However, after a disturbed night under canvas, he was in one of the trucks that set off the following morning. They drove until the mountains were left behind them. Kanin commented how lucky they were that there had been no ambushes.

Then he said how pleased he was that Laszlo's parents were safe. "Shame about your house, though. This bloody war."

Soon the foothills became flatland, and the road they were on cut through open fields, broken by groups of trees that might have given cover for an enemy. Suddenly, a mortar was heard and one of the rear trucks exploded in flames.

Within seconds all the trucks were empty, and, like the rest of the squad, Laszlo, alongside Kanin, was lying in the cover of a ditch, while several mortar shells, just short of length, exploded in the field ahead of them.

A sergeant, stooping low came along the ditch issuing orders."There's only the one mortar, we're sure. A group is going to try to get behind that band of trees. There are buildings there, and we're sure we outnumber these bastards. On the whistle it's up and head for those trees, returning any fire coming our way. Listen for the mortars, theirs whine in the air."

Kanin caught Laszlo's eyes, "A real battle. Don't worry, lad, we're going to make it. Easily.They're amateurs."

On the whistle, they were up and keeping low, guns poised, they were moving quickly towards the trees. Laszlo could see the broken line of their men advancing, firing as they went.

The field was pitted with holes made by exploding mortar shells. Then small arms fire came at them as they progressed. Laszlo saw one or two of their men go down. Fiercely they returned the fire. Laszlo noted the way Kanin sprayed his weapon from side to side, like he was scything through the enemy.

It became clear that their weren't that many mercenaries, and Laszlo was beginning to think that this wouldn't take long. Just as he thought that he became of aware of a whining sound.

Kanin's face was turned to him as he yelled, "Jesus, Laszlo. Get down." And his left arm slammed against Laszlo's back, driving him sideways. Laszlo tumbled down and found himself sliding over the edge of a shell hole, and at that exact moment came a violent explosion, and the earth trembled around him ,stunning him, blinding him, deafening him, taking away all his senses.

Slowly he recovered from the shock of it. Had he been unconscious? He wasn't sure. Something lay across his back, and putting his hand back, he felt the reassuring arm of his friend Kanin. Moving to sit up, he was aware of the arm rolling down to his legs.

Rolling? Arms don't roll! He twisted his body to look. Kanin's arm, with those familiar tattoos, lay at his feet---unattached,

"Kanin!" Laszlo screamed, scrambling up the side of the hole. Over the edge he found the huge bulk of his friend, motionless. He saw the ragged bloodied section where his arm had been, but a further horrific shock was seeing that half of his left leg was gone.

Crawling across the ground he wanted to see if he was breathing. There was a massive pool of blood, soaking into the earth, and pulling himself up level with his friend's shoulder, he could not prevent a wild despairing scream escaping his lips.

Kanin had no head!

Wildly, desperately Laszlo groped around the area looking down into the hole, searching, searching as though finding his friend's head would make things all right. He had lost all thought of the battle, which had gone very quiet. He staggered round to the other side of the body and clutched at the hand on his friend's right arm. He held it and sobbed uncontrollably, hearing Kanin's steadying voice in his head, "It's the bloody war."

Laszlo had no idea how long he sat holding onto Kanin's hand. When a voice spoke above him he jerked with shock.

"Puliz, are you hurt? You're covered in blood." Looking up through tear filled eyes, Laszlo saw Corporal Farsi standing over him, and he was saying, "Jesus, is that---is that Kanin? Oh, sweet mother of God."

"He saved my life, " Laszlo sobbed. Corporal Farsi's hands were under his arms, trying to lift him. Farsi had been one of his least favourite people, but his voice was gentle almost kindly as he said, "Come on, son. It's over. We've got the bastards. Oh, God, the things they've done."

Slowly, unwillingly, Laszlo came to his feet. He saw now that his uniform was covered with blood. It wasn't his blood. He turned to Farsi, "Kanin's blood," he said, dumbly. "Kanin's---blood."

"All right, lad," Corporal Farsi guided him away. He moved reluctantly, looking back at the dear dead mound of broken flesh that had been Kanin.

Totally numbed, Laszlo was lead through the trees. There were ruined buildings, but not by this war. They looked like some kind of historical place, an old fort or castle maybe, but all low stonework now. There was nothing taller than two metres.

Then the bodies began, men with their genitalia missing in most cases, or with bullet holes in their foreheads. Separately, there were the women. In spite of his desperately fragile state of mind, Laszlo forced himself to look. There must have been five or six naked on the ground. All of them were on their backs with their legs spread for obvious reasons. Most breasts showed many savage teeth marks. The last woman, rather chubby , had something sticking from between her lips.

Was it her tongue? A white tongue? Hardly. Laszlo, against his better judgment, leaned forward for a closer look, and stepped back at the disgust of finding the business end of a penis sticking from her mouth. Why? What kind of creatures were they fighting against? Sickened, he turned away.

Then he saw that there was one more naked female. She had been spread-eagled on top of a low wall, one leg on either side. Even as he looked a breeze caused a strand of blond hair to stray across her face. No, not this. It couldn't be.

Each step towards the body was painful, and, because of the blond hair, the first place he looked was the face. Blue eyes gazed at him blindly, wide in the agony of her last moment. Those lips that had kissed him fourteen times, were strangely twisted, blood and white stuff had seeped from one corner to trail obscenely down her cheek..

Laszlo yelled his anguish to the sky. Turn away, turn away, his brain was urging him. Yet his eyes continued their excruciating journey downward. Breasts, whose skin he had never stroked, bore deep bite marks, and a blood spot replaced one nipple.

Acid rose in his throat. That lovely flat belly looked as though it had been pummeled, and then he was at the fair fuzz, blood streaked, where his fingers would never wander. Beyond that---and now Laszlo vomited into the earth, vomited violently, before he could look back at—at---the bayonet handle that jutted from between her thighs.

Insanely, he grabbed that odious item, and with a misplaced tenderness, drew the blade slowly out of her. The instrument of evil, came away, coated with blood and streaked with white.

Wildly, Laszlo flung the bayonet away into the bushes. Watching it fly away, Laszlo saw the roughly uniformed men who were being pushed out into the open area. There could only have been twelve of them, but the madman that was Laszlo wasn't counting. Running towards them, clicking his rifle to automatic, he yelled, "Out of the way," to any of his own.

As his gun chattered into its task, ripping open the chests and groins of the mercenary prisoners, Laszlo sprayed it back and forwards just as Kanin had done. Kanin, now Nadia. He began to turn his rifle around. He wanted to be out of this.

Somebody yelled, then hands grabbed him," For God's sake, Laszlo," from an unknown voice. Something struck the back of his neck and everything went black.

Slowly his senses returned. He was lying on the ground supported against some stonework. "That's not like Laszlo," someone was saying. From someone else he heard, "Christ, I thought he was turning the gun on himself."

He opened his eyes, and to his left he saw with a degree of satisfaction the heap of flesh, blood and tattered clothing. Some of the faces around him, slowly became familiar.

Corporal Farsi was there, his face dark, brow furrowed, " He lost his mate, Kanin---nasty."

Laszlo shook his head. His losses on this day were unassessable, "No," he managed to wave a hand towards the low wall on the right, where the open thighs of Nadia, pointed the bloodied mess of her nether regions at them.

"He's from that village, Diblana."

"Did you know her, Laszlo?"

Laszlo nodded, inside he felt empty, "Nadia. My girl."

"Jesus, Laszlo that's cruel."

'Cruel' seemed too gentle a word to Laszlo, as he saw one of the men walk over to look down at Nadia's body. He winced. It was like another violation. But the man came back to say, "Nobody could blame you for what you did. How was there so much blood down there?"

Laszlo told them about the bayonet.

"The fucking animals. You removed it?" Farsi was silent for just a moment after Laszlo's slow nod. Then he said, "You'll not want her left like that?"

In his troubled mind, Laszlo had been wondering what he could do. Now it seemed that Corporal Farsi was forcing the pace. "In amongst those trees over there would be decent. Agda, get me a tarpaulin. You two, help Laszlo."

Laszlo couldn't believe that this was the same Farsi who had so eagerly set up the rapes. Cautiously, he rose to his feet, and walked slowly towards Nadia's body. The terrible thought in his mind was that rigor mortis might make it difficult to draw her legs together. Tenderly he lifted her ankle, and her leg came up easily to lie flat along the wall. This indicated that she couldn't have been dead that long.

Looking down at the mess on her skin he was thinking that it would be sacrilegious to bury her in this unclean state. He turned as someone came alongside him. It was a sergeant he didn't know, and he was placing a bucket of water near Laszlo's feet. A sponge floated on the surface.

"We thought you might wish to---" The sergeant indicated Nadia," "–you know."

Laszlo, tears starting again, could not express his gratitude. As he bent to pick up the sponge and squeezed it, he noticed that all the men who had been sympathizing, had turned their backs out of respect as he carried out his horrendous task.

Tears were constant as he began at the worst part, her thighs, gently wiping away blood and semen. Hating them, loving her. This, her body, was a sanctum he had never sullied, never really touched, yet he was loving her with only gentility and tears.

When he reached her face, he cleared away the mess that had trickled from her mouth, and as he tried to straighten her lips he wondered if he could make one last act of farewell. Nervously, tentatively, he leaned down, and delivered the fifteenth kiss to lips that were ice cold.

Looking around he saw the two men digging among the trees, and he called out, "Ready," as he drew her legs together and folded her arms across her chest. Immediately Corporal Farsi was beside him with a tarpaulin, which he spread on the ground.

Carefully they lifted the body down from the wall, which was still heavily stained with her blood. Farsi stood back as Laszlo drew the ends of the tarpaulin over her. Together they carried her into the trees, and the two men there joined in helping to place it gently in the hole they had dug.

That done Corporal Farsi asked, "You want to do the first shovelful?"

Laszlo nodded, and his heart lying heavy inside him, he let soil dribble onto the tarpaulin. He stood back as the work was completed, and the others left.

Corporal Farsi told him, "We leave in fifteen minutes."

Laszlo nodded and kneeled down at the graveside. He didn't pray, but thought only of what might have been, of how it could have been with Nadia and him, if it hadn't been for this war. This bloody war, and Kanin was shifting into his sorrowing.

As he finally stood up he murmured, "I'll be with you soon, Nadia" For he knew now exactly what he had to do to get out of this whole horror show. His colleagues has viewed his first attempt, and been able to stop him. One bullet was all it would take. He would go to his tower hideaway, and ---only one shot.

Soon he was back on a truck among varying noises of sympathy from his comrades. Some only knew of Kanin, and that made Laszlo wonder if his headless body was still lying out there. But as the truck crossed that patch of land it looked as though most of the dead had been removed.

Soon there would be one bullet to count.. He was almost looking forward it.

But on reaching their broken down quarters, they were informed that, in their absence, genuine Variana troops had made an attempted incursion through the central pass. They were ordered to catch a few hours sleep, and be ready early for what looked like being a fierce confrontation.

Laszlo was sure he wasn't going to sleep. It had been all too much. Then, in planning when to take that single bullet to the brain, he found his thoughts were suddenly on his parents. He had been glad that they were safe, but how would they feel if they'd heard he'd committed suicide?

Right then the grand idea struck him. There was no need to commit suicide. Tomorrow was presenting them with a fierce confrontation. Exposing himself to enemy fire, that was the idea. He'd attempt something rash, and his parents would hear he had died a hero's death. And he would be away and gone from this bloody war.

And he slept.

Next morning as they prepared to move into the pass, Laszlo found himself looking forward to it. He had no nerves, the events of the previous day had killed all his nerves.

Half way into the pass they were told to dismount from the trucks and advance on foot. A small party came back from the battle line to report that the enemy was well dug in and they had a machine gun positioned on raised ground so that it could sweep the whole valley.

"And we have no mortars," a sergeant was heard to moan. "Why in hell don't we have mortars?"

"Nobody can get near enough with hand grenades."

Laszlo's heart jumped as he thought, 'I can. Or at least, I can look as if I tried."

When they got to the front line, they were able to spread out in a wide arc, exchanging automatic fire with the Varians, but whenever any of their side ventured forward they were immediately cut down by the machine gun fire, which continuously swept back and forth along their position.

Laszlo lying between a tree and a rock estimated that he was just about one hundred metres from the machine gun position. Corporal Farsi and three other men were closest to him, but there was no one who would be able to pull him back. The terrain between him and the machine gun was fairly flat, although the machine gun was slightly raised, and the crew were well protected by surrounding rock.

He had it all worked out. Two hand grenades were tucked in his belt, his gun was on automatic, and he knew he was arguably the fastest runner in their platoon. If the machine gun set off one of the grenades, then so what? If he was close enough when it went off it might do some damage. He'd need to be damned quick to get that close.

Watching the swing of the machine gun barrel, he was waiting for it to be at its greatest angle away from him. That's when he'd start his suicidal run. Crouching, as though for a sprint race, he watched the spouting gun as it sent bullets crashing against the trees and rocks as it moved away.

Laszlo tensed, this was goodbye then. There wouldn't be much pain. Not as much as he'd been suffering mentally these past months. The machine gun had reached its furthest distance away from him..

Yelling wildly, Laszlo was on his feet, firing his automatic weapon as he ran. He heard Corporal Farsi's voice, "Puliz, you fucking idiot." Keeping his eye on the machine gun barrel moving on its journey back, Laszlo almost grinned. Almost over, and he was making good ground too. Faces stared at him from behind the rock. He fired in their direction and they disappeared.

But the spouting gun barrel was almost upon him, bullets from small arms fire buzzed around his ears like angry bees. Laszlo fired, as his stomach tightened waiting for the hit.

That, he would say later was the moment that the gods who had so far deserted him, suddenly decided to change his luck. The machine gun barrel pointed directly at him, but had stopped firing. Now he could see someone making frantic gestures, he could even hear their desperate shouts. No language needed.

The machine gun had jammed.

Laszlo suddenly realized that he must be within twenty five metres of the post. He drew out a hand grenade, pulled the pin, and threw it. The explosion was pleasing, and he saw the machine gun barrel point crazily upwards. No movement at all. He took out the second one, pulled the pin, noticing that he was almost too close. Lobbing it over the rock was his intention, but was less effective as it exploded on top of the rock.

The next second something struck hard against the side of his head. This is—Blackness.

_____________________________________________

Slowly, as consciousness returned, Laszlo wondered what the black horses were doing galloping away from him. There was a voice, there was more than one voice. "He's coming around."