Chapter 5
"I tell you, we're chasing after Connely's phantom. As if the area hadn't been searched before. After all, we've done nothing else for a month than seeking Russians," Spinster muttered.
Nobody seemed to listen, though, as they inspected another glade, the fifth since the search party had set out this morning.
Michael Flat looked around. The glade was idyllic, but deserted. One could nearly forget a war had been led - one that had cost millions of lives – had there not been the little bomb funnel.
"Sir, over here are a couple of traces," a soldier informed Morgan. Flat followed the Captain and squatted down next to him.
The soldier pointed at the impressions at a clay puddle. "It probably serves as a water hole."
The clay broth could hardly be declared drinkable. The summer thunderstorm had rained down elsewhere, and what was in the pit could rather be considered damp clay than clayey water by now.
Morgan frowned.
"Sir?"
"An influx of the River Drau is not even one hundred fifty yards away. Why use this as a water source, if a river is nearby?"
The soldier hesitated. "There're only a few traces and the run in the bush is very narrow. And not very high."
Morgan nodded. "Strange," he said in a tight voice, his expression revealing nothing.
Sharply Michael Flat glanced at him, before he looked skywards. The sun stood so high that shadows were reduced to dark spots. Crows sat in tree tops and rock columns or flew, disturbed in their noon rest, over the blue sky. Two of them sailed over the glade into the same direction the slip through led.
The Captain beckoned everyone over. "Someone has been here in the last days. Our position?"
"Slightly south of our camp. Whatever Connely-." A giggle interrupted the soldier. "Whatever Connely had observed must be between us and our campsite. The slip through is too narrow, Sir, we'd make awfully much noise, but over there a narrow path leads along the rocks. Approximately last used a week ago, I'd say."
Morgan pinched his eyes together. "Can we be spotted sideways?"
"Negative. Only from ahead and behind, but we have to go sequentially."
Morgan nodded. "Increased watchfulness; have your weapons ready. We don't know what to expect."
Led by Morgan, the troop made its way along the partly overgrown mountain path. Moments later a flat piece of meadow stretched out in front of them. To the left the rock continued; to the right a man high elevation flanked by a tree row concealed what lay behind.
Connelly gave the sign that the flat meadow was clear. He waved them over to a spot where the steep elevation could be climbed. Morgan sent two men up. Robbing through the grass, they disappeared from sight.
A bit later they returned. „No one's in sight. There're some lilac shrubs and bushes to the left and predominantly meadow to the right. If someone hides here, than left, Sir."
Morgan nodded. "Ten men with me to search the bushes. The remaining eight to the right - check the forest edge and cover us. Mr. Flat, stick to McCalman and me."
Blackberries and undergrowth made a direct approach impossible. The men spread out but kept in eye-sight, to notify each other with hand signs if necessary.
They came to a little fir hardly large enough to claim Michael's size.
Morgan signalled, "Caution now".
Someone touched Michael Flat's sleeve. Lt. McCalman, who pointed forward to show him the reason for the order. Bend tendrils and leaves ripped from branches marked a small trail. Michael was glad for McCalman's help – as a Red Cross member, he was the odd one out, untrained for military operations, although a fast learner.
Apart from that there was no trace of human beings in the area. Michael Flat cursed mentally as they crossed a barrier formed by more bramble berries. The thorns of the undergrowth hooked in his uniform and tore little holes, every now and than scratching the skin as well. And they were stirring up more than a few mosquitoes that reattacked with a vengeance.
The Lieutenant pointed at more traces which had obviously been noticed by the Captain. They led ahead to the blooming shrubs. Michael Flat nodded. A feeling of dread washed over him from the view though he was not able to say why.
They crept on, their hands at their weapons. Right now Mr. Flat would have welcomed possessing one. The white lilac poisoned the air with its sticky sweet fragrance. But underneath was something different perceptible, something rotten, a smell that increased with every step he took. Spinster and Connely had pulled their guns. The innocent summer wind blew a wave of stench over the group of soldiers invading the quiet bushed.
Abruptly, they all stopped. There lay something - the body of a man, facing towards them and with a gun in the hand.
The man was without a doubt no danger. And this man's life was lost to help, that much was clear as well. Bugs crawled over his face, especially the eyes. Decay had already set in. The stench had its origin here.
Michael Flat sighed. He was sick of seeing death where he wanted to preserve life. He pressed one sleeve over his nose and carefully stepped closer. Behind him he heard one of the soldiers choke. He tasted bile himself. The corpse showed a shot hole, or rather a wound that could only have been obtained from a close-range shot. From the way the hand held the pistol, Michael guessed the stranger had done it himself, approximately a week ago, maybe less.
There was something else, a couple of steps away, half hidden from view by a dense lilac shrub. The man's corpse blocked the way. Michael Flat knew the Captain was not irreverent but pragmatic as he stepped over the corpse. He followed suit.
If in any way possible, the stench increased. The shrub released the sight of a female corpse in the same stage of decay, lying under one of the shrubs. One crow, disturbed in its meal, hoped to the side and flew away, croaking. The woman was covered with insects as well. The quantity of encrusted blood on her skin, clothing and blanket over her was by far larger. She, too, had been shot.
Michael Flat's eyes narrowed, as he realised that the Captain, and not only he, had tensed up. He peered around Spinster to get a better view.
After a clueless moment, he saw it as well. The cover moved, only slightly, but nonetheless it moved. More animals?
Spinster aimed his gun. Morgan put a restraining hand on his arm, and Spinster lowered it, still ready to bring it up the second it was necessary.
Morgan stepped forward. He pulled the cover, stiff with dirt, aside. With a strangled half-curse he took a step back.
A wave of rotten air rose up, freed from its narrow confinement, strangling the men nearby. Spinster retched, and more than one retreated slightly. It took Michael Flat a moment until he had taken in the whole sight. He blinked, bile rising up in his throat again. He had seen and had experienced terrible things during this war. Nevertheless he was not prepared for what he saw now.
A child was cuddling to the corpse. Its head rested on the woman's left breast side, the one the heart was. The cover had moved with its breaths and slight movements. Amidst the corpses, the child had survived.
He rushed forward, every instinct trained on helping. Morgan's hand shot out and held him back. Angrily he stared at the Captain, his gaze met by calm, sad eyes.
Morgan pointed out two men. "Check if the rest of the area is clear."
Everything in him urged him to do something, to help and to do it fast. From here, Michael Flat was not able to say whether the child had open wounds. He could only guess what illnesses it might have; fever was a certain.
Half turning around, Morgan said, "Look for something to identify them, than see that they are buried. Do it right here. The child…"
"Sir, may I?" Connely volunteered.
Captain Morgan said, "Go ahead." Turning to Michael Flat he added, "You'll need your hands free to check on it anyway."
Connely approached the child, while Michael opened his medical first aid kit and waited to get close to his patient.
A/N: The River mentioned (Drau) passes the town of Lienz, Austria. It may be that it is called Drave in English; if someone knows for sure, drop me a note.