From Behind Barbed Wire

Baby steps

Rain. I used to love the rain. The feeling of it's cold touch sliding down your skin. How clean and pure it was yet it just fell from the sky. Now I disliked it. Reminded me of blood. The way it trickles down you with no purpose. Just a hinderance or a taker of life. My anorak was drenched the once soft fur lining was patchy and rough. I trudged on. The trees slowly thinned into burnt stumps. I sighed, this wasn't going to be easy. I could see no way around the chaos stretched for miles in every direction. It reminded me of that song my mother used to sing about the bear hunt."We'll have to go through it." I mumbled to myself. It looked like a war zone. No it was a war zone. It was strange thinking about it, a few weeks maybe even days ago it was a hive of action but now it was eerily silent. I stopped it was silent, silent enough to make me think something was wrong. I shifted the bundle on my back nervously. Usually the small battles were won by one side or another. The little army's were just taking land and trying to make an advance on their enemy's line. But where was the winning side?

The possibility of a chemical weapons sprung to mind so I pulled my mask up off my neck where it hung. Gently I slipped the little sack off of my back. The little lump of life was still there, eye lids drooping from the mild sedative I gave it. I placed the mask over its tiny head. It practically covered its whole delicate body. At least it was safe. The hands of my watch read ten too three or maybe five too three, it was hard to tell because the sun had bleached the paper which showed the numbers on its face. That was irrelevant the small differences played no role in my journey. I dug around in the pockets of my coat until in I found my own mask. It was a funny looking thing. Light reflected off the wide glass front which was surrounded by some kind of  "resistant metal" I remember the teacher telling us. What they were resistant against was another matter. When a few people asked the teacher had refused to tell us saying that we didn't need to worry. I quietly snickered to myself. Oh how things had changed. I looked back at the mask, a few years ago you might only have seen such a thing in a museum used in the First or Second World War, shame it had to be reused in a third one. When they first handed them to us I was surprised at how simple they were. I suppose I was expecting something a little more modern, something that looked like it might actually keep us safe. But no that was up to ourselves.

The deep mud sucked at my boots making it hard to move. I was tired, that was a constant now. Dark circles surrounded my eyes. I slept but my restful bliss was plagued by snaps of memory that I would rather leave behind. I stumbled up the edge of a crater. The destruction never seamed to end. Far behind me I could see the naked trees of the forest where I came from. Everywhere else was the same, mud wire and death. If I didn't have my mask on I would be able to smell it, that unmistakable smell of rot and decay. At first it used to make my insides crawl but I got numb to it, along with everything else this world threw at me. I tried to just look at my feet or straight ahead but now and then I would cast a sideways glance at my surroundings and wish I hadn't.

The lump was beginning to gurgle which meant two things; it was going to throw up or wanted food, or both. I sat down with a thump and kept my eyes down. I could see a hand and an arm, I didn't know if a body was attached but them agin I didn't really want to know. I slung the makeshift carrier off my back. Slipping off the lumps mask and I held its nose, it would cry if it smelt that, I would. I pulled the battered bottle out of my anorak and fed it into the lumps mouth. The lump did have a name. John or James? It didn't look like a james or a john, it looked like a skinny pile of bones that kept us both eating. It's parents had begged me to take it. I would have rather made the journey alone. But they had given me good money. Not that that really helped my cause. You couldn't exactly walk to your nearest Tesco and get a meal deal. It was more bargaining with the "aid workers" for some extra rations. A few lumps of bread could go a long way, even if they were a little stale. Someone  in another world once said it wasn't fair to only feed those willing to pay. Life is unfair though. People who have money, even in countries without war, will eat better than those who don't. I patted my coat looking for the secret pocket I had sewn in. Finding the little pouch I pulled out the quickly shrinking roll. I tore the corner off and popped it into my mouth. Letting it sit there on my tongue I let the small amount of flavour seep into my mouth. I chewed it as many times as possible before swallowing. I stood up and swung the bundle over my shoulder as gently as possible.

My knees felt a little weak. I let the stars drift across my vision for a few seconds before trying to take another step. I used my heel to make a shelf in the craters edge. I had been stuck in craters for hours at a time trying to crawl up the huge banks before I figured this technique. After slipping only a handful of times I scrambled onto level ground. I looked around trying to gather my bearings. There was a pattern. To how they laid the land mines. Most of the ones here had already exploded luckily for me, not quite so fortunately for the poor soul on top of it. It was very useful if you know it. But you did get the occasional rouge mine which was very unfair.

As I scanned the area a small movement caught my eye. A overturned cart was shifting. You could see a deep wallow in the mud.They did use horses in this war to take around the supplies. The war had dragged on for so long and after the technological crisis it was easier and cheeper to revert back to the very old technique. It was cruel. But that was no change. Keeping up on the drier ridges I made my way over towards the animal. It definitely a horse not a pony. It was in a double shaft. But it appeared that the other half of pair hadn't been so lucky. It was a skinny dappled grey with a lopsided blaze which ended in a pink strip along its nose. Blood was caked around its chest in a dark red almost black circle. I brushed my hand across the creatures glazed eyes. The other one was a dun, slick in sweat. It had wild eyes which rolled backwards and forwards in a mad frenzy. It huffed and tried again to stand. The weight of the other pony dragged it down. Groaning and heaving it slipped on the mud and collapsed back down. I felt no sympathy. Walking backwards I reached for my pocket knife.

It was still connected by the reins through the collar up to its mouth which was foaming a thick and creamy white. Under the cart the reins where trapped and pulling back on the bit. The horse was lying still now, breathing heavily. The cart was slightly singed so I kicked at the burnt wood, it crumbled under my touch. Now a small arch had been created I worked on digging a little hole to free the reins. The earth was clay and easy to dig. Soon the reins where loose. The dun had felt the release and pulled forwards. It's legs scrabbled but it was just becoming more and more twisted in the straps. I waited for it to exhaust its self before I lay my hand on its side. My fingers ran through its thick coat. It was early September yet the horses had foreseen the future winter. The dun was a he. He had the remains of thick muscle. The muscles was now soft and quickly declining as its body ate into the reserve. You could see he could have been a hunter or endurance horse. He had a slim frame, long stick like legs and a smaller native head with large black tipped ears. I put down the baby and pulled at the broken shafts. Rocking them backwards and forwards till they snapped. The horse flinched a little but he was a war horse, he had probably been through shelling and bombs to get here. I broke the other shaft then started sawing at the leather straps that held the carcass to him. Once the last buckle had snapped I stood back. He wasn't moving. "Good lad come on then, up up up." My voice was croaky because nowadays I only ever talked to my self. He grunted and rolled off his side. Struggling he pulled his legs out from underneath himself. I coughed but my voice still sounded gravelly. "Come on then up ya get. Good boy, there you are." There he stood in all his glory. He was around sixteen hands with high withers. I just hoped he wasn't lame. Two magazines remained in my pocket and I wasn't planning on using them. While the horse gathered its bearings I crouched in front of the dead pony, there wasn't much meat left on him. Flies had got to him first and soon the crows would too. At least something was benefiting from this war.