Operation Pied Piper
Part One
NOTE: details of the future of OPP can be found at chapter 4.
Atkar.
The train jostled, people swaying, hands flying out to grab hold of something, to find some form of stability in the bustling carriage.
Historia bit her lip, eyes cast down to stare in her lap. She had been lucky enough to get one of the table seats when the train had been mostly empty. But a quick glance up now showed that barely anyone could move and that with every sharp jerk and sudden turn of the train made the groups of people abruptly shift, the people in their seats also clenching their teeth, some digging their nails into the leather beneath them. The train was going fast and the mass number of bodies inside didn't make it any better.
However, 'people' was probably the wrong word to describe the small figures that filled the carriage. Children. We're all children.
Historia's hand curled around the label that hung at her neck, being careful not to bend the card but wishing she could just scrunch it up into a ball and throw it out the window. She didn't need to read it to know what was written there. Christa Renz.
The lie was elegantly written in cursive that graced the brown card – her mother's handwriting. The letters underneath were an illegible scrawl that were supposed to denote her destination.
Before she had stepped onboard the train, she had turned to her parents, her mother's eyes glistening with deceitful tears, her father looking down at her with a blood-curdling smile that was supposed to appear loving. She knew both of them were glad to see her off, glad to wave at her through the carriage window, glad for the war that sent her away.
She also knew that they never expected to see her again. Not that I particular want to see them again either.
Sighing, Historia looked up across the table. Two boys and a girl were opposite her, sat close together yet not looking uncomfortable with the proximity. They must know each other.
As if hearing her thoughts, the brown-haired boy sat in the middle suddenly turned to the girl beside him. His green eyes seemed to glow as he whispered in her ear. She looked to be asleep, her face hidden behind her warm red scarf, but at his voice her almost black eyes blinked open.
The blonde boy beside them, sat next to the window, had his face buried in a large leather-bound book, his bright blue eyes flitting quickly across the pages with an expression of growing fascination with each quick flick of paper.
All three wore the large luggage tags as she did and she tried to make out the names but failed to decipher the words. The trio had been on the train as long as she had and she wondered if they had come aboard at the same station.
Historia watched as the green eyed boy turned to the fair-head at the window, reading over his shoulder, asking a question about what he saw. The girl's black eyes followed them, her expression blank yet the look in her eyes curious.
Looking closer, Historia saw the shadows under the trio's eyes, the creases in their clothes, the scruff marks and the dull greasy shine of their hair. It was obvious that the three had seen their own part of the war already.
The war had just begun but there was already scars being drawn across the country, men leaving, families torn apart, the lands bleeding crimson.
Sensing Historia's gaze, the girl's eyes met hers. Historia immediately looked down. Before she could even consider that the girl may think her rude or try and initiate a conversation, the train started to slow.
Historia looked to the side, the outside of the train a green blur of racing fields and hills. While it thrilled her to be away from home, escaping the dreaded fate she knew she had there, she was also terrified. She had no clue where she was going or who would care for her. She'd heard stories of children worked to the bone, of children who'd been beaten by uncaring guardians, of children who were fed the bare minimum. However, at this point those were only rumours, perhaps only created by whispering women over cups of rationed tea with nothing else to do but ponder the lives of those sent away. They preferred to imagine about the children sent to the countryside homes than the lives of the men who were sent across the Channel.
Of course, the newspapers declared victories and beautifully skipped around the fact that men were dying in the most horrid of ways. The world is built on lies and deceit.
Historia knew that the country's morale was more important that the truth – at least to the politicians and war leaders. But she didn't care much for that. Many children had already been evacuated from the cities in preparation for the incoming attacks on British shores. Many men had already left their homes to take up arms against the attacking armies across the water. Nazis. The word felt foreign on Historia's tongue. Adolf Hitler. She had seen pictures and footage of the man, his moustache bristling on his upper lip as he shouted out a language that bubbled nonsense to her.
Historia had heard about the fallen in France. That was the entire point of the second lot of evacuations. The reason why they were here – sat on this train, being sent away to places unknown. The war had only just begun yet it felt like a century had already passed. Time was racing by, yet the days moved by so slowly. The war had only just begun but it felt like it would never end.
The train had slowed to a steady roll, brakes squealing loud as it stopped, the green world outside blocked out by the sudden appearance of a grey-stoned platform.
Historia swallowed. Is this the place?
The train had stopped at various stations throughout the morning but no one had motioned her to get off, so she had remained in her seat, resisting the temptation to rip away at her nails.
A loud voice boomed, causing everyone in the carriage to startle. People started to move out through the open door, lugging cases along with them, nametags swinging on their necks.
The voice boomed again and Historia twitched in her seat. The trio across from her were shifting along their bench, the blonde shutting his book with a light thud of heavy paper. As they rose, Historia also stood, following close behind them, her own suitcase in her grasp.
Just as her feet hit the platform, the door shut behind her, a whistle blowing, a man waving, and the train soon began to roll away once again. It left a foul taste in her mouth. We really are just luggage to be dropped off – who cares where or who, there's a schedule to keep to. The idea dismayed Historia and she dragged her gaze away from the leaving train, forcing down the feeling of abandonment that rose in her throat.
The voice from before boomed once more, this time the words coherent. "Get away from the edge, move – I said MOVE! Line up. HEY, do you hear me?! Line up by the wall!"
Historia's hands clenched tighter around the handle of her suitcase as she joined the others in the rush to the wall, pressing their backs against the cold stone.
The booming voice belonged to an imposing man, his eyes sunken in dark pits, frighteningly wide with anger as he roared at the children who dared to be slow. He wore an army uniform and, from the look of it, the man was of high rank. Why would he be organising children?
As the man turned to look at the line of children before him, his bald head gleamed in the afternoon sun, his hand reaching up his bearded chin to brush away spit that had escaped from his yelling lips.
Historia glanced to her sides at her fellow evacuees. She judged that there was at least around fifteen or more around her. She wished to count how many had gotten off the train, how many people she would be sharing this new home with, when another shout made her press hard against the wall again.
"RIGHT, let's get this over with. The sooner the better!" The man lifted a clipboard, his shadowy eyes darting madly, his fingers dashing through the papers, reading names and searching numbers.
With a sharp tap on the clipboard, he seemed to find what he was looking for and he looked back up at the children. All were still. Silent. Waiting.
"ARMIN ARLERT!"
NOTE: details of the future of OPP can be found at chapter 4.
Atkar.
