[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

'Sorry,' he said, 'I didn't mean to patronise. How long have you been out
here?'
'Two weeks.'
'I've been here two years
,' said Landen, 'but it might as well be two weeks. Take a right at the
farmhouse just ahead.'
I slowed down and cranked the wheel round to enter the dusty farm track. The
springs on a Dingo are quite hard  it was a jarring ride along the track,
which passed empty farm buildings, all bearing the scars of long-past battles.
There was old and rusting armour and other war debris lying abandoned in the
countryside, reminders of just how long this static war had been going on.
Rumour had it that in the middle of no man's land there were still artillery
pieces dating from the nineteenth century. We stopped at a checkpoint, Landen
showed his pass and we drove on, a soldier joining us up top 'as a
precaution'. He had a second ammunition clip taped to the first in his weapon
 always a sign of someone who expected trouble  and a dagger in his boot. He
had only fourteen words and twenty-one minutes left before he was to die in a
small spinney of trees that in happier times might have been a good place for
a picnic. The bullet would enter below his left shoulder blade, deflect
against his spine, go straight through his heart and exit three inches below
his armpit, whereupon it would lodge in the fuel gauge of the Dingo. He would
die instantly and I would relate what happened to his parents eighteen months
later. His mother would cry and his father would thank me with a dry throat.
But the soldier didn't know that. These were my memories, not his.
'Russian spotter plane!' hissed the doomed soldier.
Landen ordered me back to the trees. The soldier had eleven words left. He
would be the first person I
saw killed in the conflict but by no means the last. As a civvy you are
protected from such unpleasantries but in the forces it is commonplace  and
you never get used to it.
I pulled the wheel hard over and doubled back towards the spinney as fast as I
could. We halted under the protective cover of the trees and watched the small
observation plane from the dappled shade. We didn't know it at the time but an
Page 25
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
advance party of Russian commandos were pushing towards the lines in our
direction. The observation post we were heading for had been overrun half an
hour previously and the commandos were being supported by the spotter plane we
had seen  and behind them, twenty Russian battle tanks with infantry in
support. The attack was to fail, of course, but only by virtue of the VHF
wireless set carried in the Dingo. I would drive us out of there and Landen
would call in an air strike.
That was the way it had happened. That was the way it had always happened.
Brought together in the white heat and fear of combat. But as we sat beneath
the cover of the birch trees, huddled down in the scout car, the only sound
the coo of a partridge and the gentle thrum of the Dingo's engine, we knew
nothing  and were concerned only that the spotter plane that wheeled above us
would delay our arrival at the OP.
'What's it doing?' whispered Landen, shielding his eyes to get a better look.
'Looks like a Yak-12,' replied the soldier.
Six words left and under a minute. I had been looking up with them but now
glanced out of the hatch at the front of the scout car. My heart missed a beat
as I saw a Russian run and jump into a natural hollow a hundred yards in front
of the Dingo.
'Russkie! I gasped. 'Hundred yards twelve o'clock!'
I reached up to close the viewing hatch but Landen grabbed my wrist.
'Not yet!' he whispered. 'Put her in gear.'
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Ja...Well%20Of%20Lost%20Plots%20(v1.
1%20htm).html (25 of 212) [10/15/2004 12:52:28 AM]
Jasper Fforde - Thursday Next 03 - The Well of Lost Plots
I did as I was told as Landen and the soldier twisted around to look.
'What have you got?' hissed Landen.
'Five, maybe six,' the soldier whispered back, 'heading this way.'
'Me too,' muttered Landen. 'Go, Corporal, go!'
I revved the engine, dropped the clutch and the Dingo lunged forward. Almost
instantaneously there was a rasp of machine-gun fire as the Russians opened
up. To them, we were a surprise ruined. I heard the closer rattle of gunfire
as our soldier replied, along with the sporadic crack of a pistol that I knew
was
Landen. I didn't close the steel viewing hatch; I needed to be able to see as
much as I could. The scout car bounced across the track and swerved before
gathering speed with the metallic spang of small-arms fire hitting the armour
plate. I felt a weight slump against my back and a bloodied arm fell into my
vision.
'Keep going!' shouted the soldier. 'And don't stop until I say!' He let go
another burst of fire, took out the spent clip, knocked the new magazine on
his helmet, reloaded and fired again.
'That wasn't how it happened !' I muttered aloud, the soldier having gone way
over his allotted time and word count. I looked at the bloodied hand that had
fallen against me. A feeling of dread began to gnaw slowly inside me. The fuel
gauge was still intact  shouldn't it have been shattered when the soldier was
shot? Then I realised. The soldier had survived and the officer was dead.
I sat bolt upright in bed, covered in sweat and breathing hard. The strength
of the memories had lessened with the years but here was something new,
something unexpected. I replayed the images in my head, watching the
bloodstained hand fall again and again. It all felt so horribly real. But
there was something, just there outside my grasp, something that I should know
but didn't  a loss that I couldn't explain, an absence of some sort I
couldn't place
'Landen,' said a soft voice in the darkness, 'his name was
Landen
.'
'Landen !' I cried. 'Yes, yes, his name was Landen.'
Page 26
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
'And he didn't die in the Crimea. The soldier did.'
'No, no, I just remembered him dying !' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]