Chapter 2
Milk-white maggots bored their way through the living beech wood like worms through black soil. The sight threatened to turn his stomach again. Since waking up, he had felt hot, cold and nauseous, worse than yesterday. Nevertheless the boy reached out to grab one of the creeping things. In mid-motion, he paused, listening. The sound was gone. Had he imagined it? No…there it was again. Horses. The piece of bark he had stripped off slipped from his hand. No one must see him. His foot slipped when he stepped backwards and he fell down. With his heart pounding, he crept through the grass. He had to warn father and mother! Father was armed and together they would be safe.
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Michael Flat tossed and turned on his camp bed. His body was covered with sweat and the blanket stuck to his skin. Finally he abandoned any thoughts of sleep. He got up, put on his Red Cross uniform and stepped out of the tent into the oppressively warm summer night. A breeze surrounded him, but ceased immediately and brought no cooling at all. He gazed over the tent camp set up yesterday. The moon light sufficed to make out details. He looked up, past the gloomy fir trees. Full moon. Shreds of cloud scudded like black horsemen over the sky. In the distant, he heard trees groan in the wind. Down here in the valleys, one did not feel much of the up-coming summer thunderstorm. Over at the well concealed camp fire, Lieutenant McCalman kept watch. A few other soldiers sat there as well, no doubt as sleepless as he was. Michael Flat found his way to the group without problems and joined them, sitting down between Spinster and Connely. Moments later another figure approached, which turned out to be Captain Wilbert Morgan, the leader of the company.
McCalman looked up and greeted him with a nod and a crisp "Captain," when Morgan halted next to him.
"Lieutenant. Is everything quiet?"
"Couldn't be more quiet, Sir."
"Good. Carry on, McCalman."
A gust of wind grasped the tree tops, however did not reach the ground. Leaves rustled. The horses neighed. Animals sensed weather variations more precisely than human beings. Silence suffocated any sound at the tent camp again. Michael was restless, but it was not due to the silent men beside him. The last weeks had welded them together. He had been accepted as a valuable member of the troop, although their missions differed greatly and their arguments kept them from becoming close friends…
A log cracked in the fire. McCalman tilted his head and listened into the night. Inquiringly, Michael Flat looked at the Lieutenant, who now shook his head. Michael listened as well. Nothing. Only the call of a screech-owl broke the silence. Still his unease grew. He had felt watched since yesterday, but nobody had been seen or found.