Beyond The Horizon
written by: LJ Jacobs
I.
Sarah wanted me to kiss her. I could tell by her body language and subtle hints she wanted me to kiss her. We’d just been on our first date to the pictures, and we spoke and laughed as we shared a bag of fish and chips through the park on the way home. I was grateful that there were no air raids tonight to disturb us and that a late summer sun was casting a lovely glow on all the things below it.
We stood by a water fountain in the form of Cupid, when she suddenly looked at me with a longing stare, lips ready.
-I love romance, she said. -I mean, I would love to be romanced.
She turned slowly to face me.
The way she stood before me, I think she wanted me to put my hands on her hips, draw her close and softly put my own lips to hers.
However, I lost my nerve. I’m ashamed to admit it. I had the most beautiful girl in the world in front of me and I lost my damn nerve. I experienced what could only be described as an anxiety attack.
I had doubts and questions.
Would she like the way I did it? Would she laugh if she didn’t? Would my breath smell of fish and chips?
Only later, in the depths of guilt and regret, did I realise that she wouldn’t have cared about such a thing as fish and chip breath, for she’d had the same meal as me!
And, she loved me as much as I loved her.
I just didn’t want to disappoint her at that moment. That was my main fear. I loved her so much that I didn’t want to ruin my chances by doing something stupid. But by doing nothing – by being scared and pretending it was because I was the perfect gentleman – I ruined my chances anyway.
I walked her back to her house in silence, and that is the last I saw of her before my deployment.
The next day I was shipped off with other young men to the far east, to help win the war that was raging like a wild fire in the South Pacific.
I had only served in the navy for three months when my ship, the HMS Raglin, was torpedoed in the side by the enemy and we were picked up and taken prisoner. The only thing I managed to save was a letter I received from Sarah before the fateful attack.
Dearest,
How are you my beautiful, gentle man? I think about you constantly and worry for your safety to the point that I can’t concentrate in the day or sleep at night. I cry into my pillow so as not to wake mother and father. I think they know how much I fret, though, for they are being extra kind to me.
I try to keep myself busy on the allotment and in the munitions factory. It’s hard work, but we must all do our bit, mustn’t we! And you are a perfect example of that, my darling.
Churchill keeps stressing that the job’s not over yet, even though that scoundrel, Mr Hitler, is on the run. If you ask me, he’d do well to kill himself and get it over with quickly.
I keep reading stories in the paper about the increasing attacks on ships in the South Pacific. Please promise me that you will keep your life jacket close and always be aware of where the nearest lifeboat is. I’m sorry to sound like a nagging partner – I have no right to make such requests of you. We aren’t engaged or even intimately familiar, but I do love you, my brave man, and pray to whoever sits on high that you make it home safe to me.
I keep replaying our last time together over and over in my mind, and feel that I scared you. Please know that I had no such intention. I just thought after years of growing up together it was our time, but your friendship means more to me than anything and I hope we can at least pick that up from where we left off.
Know you’re missed, my dearest. And please know you’re loved more than anything. I wait for your safe return with a hopeful heart.
Yours with eternal love,
Sarah.
I re-read this letter many times over the next few months while in captivity. It was the only thing that kept me sane.
II.
It was a Sunday – at least according to our best calculations it was a Sunday, for we were getting more and more confused with each new day that took us closer to malnourishment (being accurate about such things as the day was as hopeless as our situation, for time played no part in a world of captivity), when we happened upon the idea to finally go beyond the horizon. Or, if you prefer, to escape a prison that was a literal living hell on earth.
Our capturers had put everyone who was a prisoner of war into makeshift barracks that were just rickety shacks crudely constructed with the weakest wood, and these acted as our living quarters and dormitories. They were dotted around a stretch of sandy expanse, creating a courtyard in the middle, which was used for trucks and gatherings.
The interment camp was high up on a hill and the ground disappeared beyond the horizon when we looked out the broken windows at the back of the shacks. We weren’t sure what was down there, because before the drop was a long stretch of ground with a chainlink fence halfway between us. It had a roll of nasty looking barbed wire running along the top of it.
With the courtyard being in front of the shacks, we would regularly see and hear executions performed daily. And it was on this Sunday, after witnessing a particularly upsetting and unforgettably cruel beheading, we decided we had no other choice but to try and figure a way out of here if we wanted to live.
Captain Franklyn, commander of the HMS Raglin, was the one who put it out there what everyone was quietly thinking.
-You do know they’re gonna kill all of us eventually, he said, -and that they’re intent on torturing those of us who follow by making us witnesses to their gruesome methods of killing? It’s time to get out, gentlemen.
We couldn’t agree more and started pitching ideas back and forth on how to escape and hopefully find an Allied convoy to team up with and continue the fight.
Someone suggested we get out by digging through the floor of the shack with the two metal cups we were permitted to use to drink the dirty well water with. This was dismissed as being near impossible, as the noise of the excavation would bring unwanted attention and, as sure as night follows day, a violent bloody end for all involved. Also, before we had even managed to dig to the edge of the shack, we’d be dead, for it would take far too long to tunnel such a distance.
-It’s the fence we’ve got to target, isn’t it? I said. -If we want to get out of this shit hole right away? That’s the weakest point and the best chance of success. We’ll have to charge at it as one and hope our collective weight will topple it. Am I right?
Captain Franklyn nodded slowly. The others saw his positive response to my statement and took long deep breaths, knowing that a human battering ram, though the best chance, was bound to cause injuries.
An American soldier called Ryan Petrov spoke up then. -I say we do it and we do it tomorrow night. I don’t care how risky it is. After witnessing what I saw today, I know I’d rather break my limbs or die trying than face the fate of that last poor sod.
There was a general murmuring of agreement from the rest of the tired soldiers who had once upon a time looked nourished and battle ready, but now only looked weary, frightened and skeletal.
III.
The latest ‘poor sod’ to be executed had been that very afternoon. He was a British soldier called Alan Barnsdale. I knew him before the war, for he played in the same cricket team as me back in the county of Yorkshire.
He was known as a man of alternative persuasion, and though this never bothered me in the slightest – knowing that natural urges come in all variations and that love is much better than hate – he’d been ridiculed back in Blighty and then amongst the men he’d fought with here.
He tried to win over his fellow brothers in arms by offering sexual favours to an equally inclined guard in the camp, in exchange for extra rations for everyone.
It worked, and we were very grateful, but then he got caught pleasuring the guard in the guard’s sleeping quarters. They were both dragged out into the courtyard there and then. The guard was shot in the head at point blank range with his pants still round his ankles and Alan was tied to a post and blindfolded.
He was kept there for the rest of the night, crying and shivering, for he knew by his foolish actions he’d pushed himself to the head of the queue of a fate we were all trying desperately to avoid.
The guards left him there all of the next day as well. The strong sun burnt and blistered his skin until he looked like a scolding victim.
As the last rays of the evening sun went down, the main guard and the most sadistic of them all, approached with an unsheathed samurai sword. His fellow guards cheered him. He pulled the blindfold off Alan as we watched with morbid curiosity from the relative safety of the shack.
-You are a dirty pig, said the guard. -You corrupted and tainted our youngest officer. He was happy to be cleansed by the bullet. He knew his actions and nature were wrong and that it was the bullet which was the only way to have his honour restored.
-But I’m willing to offer you a chance, pig boy.
He went to the back of the post and cut the ropes off Alan.
We all looked at each other, knowing that this was more than likely entertainment for the guards, rather than genuine mercy, and that Alan was now being played with like a cat might play with a mouse.
-If you can run to the main gates over there by the time I count to twenty, you can keep your head, said the head guard.
Alan looked hopeful. -Really? he asked, trying to stand upright. -You’ll let me live?
-Of course, said the head guard. -You have my word.
Alan moved stiffly because of being static for so many hours, but he started to shake himself loose, then tentatively crouched into a sprinting position, waiting for a ‘Go!’ from the head guard still standing behind him.
We saw the head guard raise his samurai sword high above his head, then we gasped as he brought it down with a quick, direct thrust, severing Alan’s legs below the knees.
The sword was so sharp, and the blow so fast that there was no blood from the stumps for a moment or two, as if the very arteries and veins were in shock.
Alan fell forward squealing.
-Go, said the head guard. -I said GO! he screamed.
Blood started to seep out, slow at first then gushing. The sand became red and wet around Alan’s lower half.
Crying, Alan began to pull himself along, as if thinking the offer of freedom was still a guarantee.
The head guard followed slowly, counting up to twenty.
-Eighteen!
He raised his sword.
-Nineteen!
Alan became hysterical, his bodily functions giving way. -No, no, no, he screamed. -I can make it, I know I can make it.
-Twenty, cried the head guard, and brought the deadly blade down once more, this time on Alan Barnsdale’s thin neck.
IV.
The next day, instead of being subdued because of Alan’s horrendous execution, we felt more motivated than ever to escape the confines of the camp, which was when we came up with the human battering ram idea.
That night, we quietly sneaked out of the opening where a window had once been, through a dirty mosquito net, and faced the crest of the hill, the chainlink fence between us.
It looked like an opponent, staring us out, daring us to take it on…
-On the count of three, gentlemen, whispered Captain Franklyn, -charge that fucking fence. -One… two… THREE!
We ran at the silver diamond pattern, guided by the light of a full moon. We hit it with all our might. It tilted slightly, but to our dismay it still stayed stuck firmly in the ground.
-We need to try again! whispered Captain Franklyn. -Another run at it should be enough to topple it. Quickly, gentlemen, back in line.
As we expected, some of us were injured during the impact. I had felt my shoulder pop out of place like a bike chain. Grimacing, I simply brushed it off and turned my other to the barrier. Inside I was screaming in agony.
Once more a line was formed and we ran again with all our might at the chainlink fence. This time it fell like a domino.
-Yes! hissed Captain Franklyn, raising his hand in a defiant fist. -Yes! Yes! Yes!
The rest of us hugged in quiet celebration, ignoring our injuries. I noticed Petrov had a large gash across his cheek.
The slope of the hill was only about thirty feet away from where we stood. Unfortunately, we were now in the dark because the moon had disappeared behind a large column of cloud. But we roughly knew the direction we wanted to run in.
When we felt the earth slope, we slowed. We didn’t want a tumble. Only when the ground became level again did we pick up the speed once more.
We ran and ran, feeling freedom was nearly within our grasp.
One by one, however, we ran into another obstacle. It felt similar to the fence we’d just bombarded, only stronger, sturdier…
Suddenly, truck lights came on from the other side, and the obstruction was revealed to be what we feared it might be – another chainlink fence, only this one was taller with thicker links and had two rolls of barbed wire running along the top instead of one.
There was a hanging sign written in our enemies’ native tongue.
‘Outer Perimeter Fence’ it said.
The guards waiting on the other side by dusty vehicles poked rifle barrels through the links and started to fire shots, killing a great many of us in the group.
Amongst them Captain Franklyn and Ryan Petrov.
The rest of us lucky enough to still be standing stood frozen to the spot, not daring to even blink.
At least now we knew what lay beyond the horizon… and it certainly wasn’t our freedom.
The guards began to reload their rifles.
Suddenly, from one side of the slope, yellow flashes appeared as more gun fire erupted. Our capturers grew instant bloody holes and fell.
After a brief silence, we heard a yell of ‘clear’ before we saw the familiar uniform of our fellow soldiers as they appeared from behind trees and bushes.
I crashed to the floor on my knees and cried as they cut the links on the fence with wire cutters. They came and spoke comforting words to me, but I was too dazed and shocked to reply. I just rocked back and forth, thinking of home; thinking of my fellow soldiers; thinking of Sarah, the girl I never kissed.
V.
The end of the war came with the two bombs of ungodly destruction.
Little Boy and Fat Man.
The atom bombs.
Straight away people debated whether it had been the right thing to do, to drop such a weapon, even though it made our enemy do the unthinkable and raise the white flag. It was the unconditional surrender that the Allies so wanted.
I believe it was definitely the right thing to do. Anyone who fought in that conflict will tell you there was no other way to win against such an unrelenting and determined foe without sacrificing even more of our soldiers. Soldiers we couldn’t afford to replace.
I spent some weeks convalescing in an American medical camp, where I was provided with an abundance of rice and stew to feed me up, then I was discharged and sent back to Blighty.
As soon as I left York Central Station, I knew where I wanted to go.
I bought a bunch of flowers from a street vendor, hailed a black cab and gave him Sarah’s home address.
After we arrived, I paid, tipped, exited the vehicle and walked up a long path to her front door and knocked.
Her father answered. He smiled and was about to shout his welcome home, but I quickly put my finger to my lips in a ‘shh’ motion and he knew this was meant to be a surprise for his daughter. He pointed to the living room door, mouthing, -She’s in there. I nodded and stepped into the hallway.
I went to the living room door, softly knocked and entered. Sarah stood up and dropped the book she’d been reading. She was bewildered and shocked. She instantly started to cry and ran to me, squashing the flowers between us. I let them fall to the floor as I put my arms around her. I drew her near and, putting my heart out there this time, planted my lips firmly on hers.
And that was the end of my story, but far from the end of mine and Sarah’s story together. I found my freedom and I eventually found true love. Both were where they always had been, and it was courage that won me both… beyond the horizon…
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