005. Revelations, Pt. 2

Caroline awoke. Groggily, she lifted her head and scanned her surroundings. She appeared to be in some sort of hut. Sitting up, she glanced down at her leg. She stifled a scream. A bloodied bandage covered a stump just below the knee where the rest of her left leg should have been.

'You're awake.' a voice behind her said.

She spun around. A white-haired man in his early sixties approached her with a small wooden bowl. She attempted to shield herself from him.

'Be calm,' he said soothingly, 'I just thought you might like some water.'

He proffered the bowl. Caroline grudgingly took it from him.

'Who are you?' she asked, and took a drink.

'About your leg...' he began.

'I asked your name.'

'I am Jose Guerrero's surgeon. He asked that I attend to you until you are well enough to walk.'

Caroline accepted she would not learn anything else from him.

'Walk?' she asked.

The surgeon grinned weakly and scurried off to another corner of the room. Caroline found it difficult to focus on him clearly. He returned a moment later with a crude, articulated wooden leg. It consisted of a wool-lined "cup", a steel knee joint, wooden shin, steel ankle joint and a flat women’s shoe. The surgeon noticed Caroline’s dismay.

'I carved it myself,' he said, somewhat proudly, 'Finest Samauma.'

She began to sob. The surgeon attempted to comfort her.

'It's so unfair.' she cried.

'There, there.' the surgeon said, 'We don't have to try the leg today.'

Caroline slept the rest of the day. She wept until her eyes were sore and her nose was caked with mucus. She slept through the following day as well, not even waking to eat. On the third day she woke early, before the surgeon. With some difficulty she dragged herself upright and hopped towards the opposite wall. Bracing herself against a table, she gazed out of the cut-out window at Guerrero’s camp.

The camp appeared to be semi-permanent; the huts were solidly built and Caroline suspected it would be difficult to move them in a hurry. Several tents were set up alongside them and a wooden guard tower stood at the centre of the camp. It appeared to offer a 360° view of the whole area. Opposite the hut Caroline presently occupied was a much larger hut – twice the size of the others – that appeared to be some sort of mess hall. Beside that was a standard-sized hut bearing a Brazilian flag. Caroline assumed this to be Guerrero's. A hand gently touched her shoulder.

'What are you doing?' the surgeon asked.

'Just getting my bearings.' Caroline said.

The surgeon nodded and helped her into a chair. He carefully removed the bandages around Caroline's leg and replaced them with fresh ones. He proffered his hand-made leg. Carefully, he fastened it around her thigh with leather straps and tested it for range of movement. Once satisfied, he had Caroline slip her left arm over his shoulders and helped her to her feet.

'Easy...easy...' he cautioned.

Tentatively, Caroline took a single step forward. The surgeon moved with her, and she took a second step. Forty-five minutes later she was walking unassisted, albeit at a slower pace than she was used to. The surgeon applauded her efforts.

'Wonderful.' he said, smiling.

Caroline heard a second pair of hands join in with the applause. She turned and saw Jose Guerrero standing in the doorway, flanked by two armed guards.

'Yes, very good.' he said in a sarcastic manner, 'The little mouse has learnt to walk again.'

Caroline fixed him with an icy stare. She hid her fear behind it. Guerrero turned and addressed the surgeon:

'Is she well enough to walk?' he asked.

The surgeon shrugged, 'It's hard to say...'

Guerrero leaned closer to him, 'Don't lie to me, Zacharie. It would not be in your best interests...'

The surgeon raised his hands in a acceding gesture, 'She can walk, yes,' he said, 'Though I would advise she take it slowly.'

Guerrero nodded and turned to Caroline, 'Ms. Carol, you will follow me.'

His men led her out of the surgeon's hut and across the camp to the hut Caroline had rightly assumed was his. Guerrero accompanied her in whilst his men stood guard outside. Behind a small wooden desk sat a stocky, red-haired man wearing a blue pullover. A smokers' pipe hang from his bottom lip. He glanced up.

'Hello, Caroline.' John Brady said.

She slapped him across the face.

He recovered quickly. 'I get the impression you're none too pleased to see me.' he said.

'What are you doing, John, working with this...filth?' Caroline growled, gesturing at Guerrero, 'What is he paying you?'

'You don't understand...' John began.

'Make me understand, John.'

He stood and dismissed Guerrero with a wave at his hand.

'We found your plane two days ago,' he continued, 'I'm sorry, but we don't yet know who shot you down...'

'It wasn't Guerrero then?' Caroline asked.

John laughed, 'A man with an army of less than forty, armed with antiquated pea-shooters from the Great War? No, it wasn't him.'

'Who then?'

John shrugged. 'Whoever they were, they used 88 millimetre rounds.'

'Is that unusual?'

He nodded, 'I can only think of one outfit that uses 88 millimetre rounds, and they have no purpose being here.'

'Who?' she whispered.

John smiled. 'Die Deutsche Luftwaffe,' he replied, 'Perhaps better known as the German Air Force.'

TO BE CONTINUED...