V.
This was not like in the movies. There were no confrontation, mean stares, or epic music. The men kept fighting without pause and Newkirk was not sure of who was winning. He considered escaping while no one was watching him but at the same time, he was drawn to the relentless combat unfolding right before his eyes. Who were these blokes, or more like it, what were they?
He refused to think there was something supernatural about them. These were regular men, deciding their differences on the battlefield… with swords. All right, this was the 20th century and weapons had been perfectioned, but who was he to judge them, right?
Attack and defence, parrying and retreat. Turn, stroke, stop, repeat.
Minutes passed quickly. Duncan parried, turning his back on Albrecht. His sword rested on his shoulder in time to repel
one attack from behind. Then, with the same momentum which he had turned, he brandished his sword and… Newkirk shut his eyes, clenching the bars of the gate until his hands felt numb. For a glorious second, there was complete silence, as if everything around him had ceased to exist.
He did not see what happened but he could imagine the denouement and did not like it. The way things were going, there was only one way they would come to an end. He heard something that sounded like metal cutting bone, and he felt sick. Nothing would be more welcome than losing consciousness right there and waking up at the stalag to realize that this had been but a horrible dream. Forget it, Newkirk thought, that's not going to happen.
He opened his eyes slowly, getting the pistol ready to shoot. He would shoot Albrecht, and Duncan and anyone who would come after him with a sword. Thunder echoed in his brain and the wind began to blow out of nowhere. Lighting that reminded Newkirk of fireworks back in his circus days, illuminated Duncan as the last man standing, with his sword held on high. It also shone on Albrecht's headless body, lying at the Highlander's feet. As if that was not disturbing enough, the thunderstorm circled the trees around them and the lightning hit the ground so hard that Newkirk could feel the vibration under his feet. The gates got so hot that he had to let them go before the bars burned his hands. Newkirk had to shield his eyes with one hand as a wall of fire built around Duncan. At this point, he thought it would be a good idea to start running, or maybe not. Duncan was still his responsibility. Even when he had acted behind Hogan's back and now he might be facing a shooting squad at home, he still had his orders. Duncan would get to that submarine if that was the last thing Newkirk did in his life. He still had to pick up the man, though. The storm was literally above the Highlander's head and that sword looked like a perfect lightning bolt. Newkirk called his name but his voice was drowned in a gasp.
Duncan's eyes were closed although he was still on his feet. Electric discharges ran through his body, and the static was not even falling from the sky but coming out of the headless corpse. This is insane, whispered Newkirk as his mind raced to try to find some explanation for what he was witnessing. Duncan convulsed and screamed but did not fall or lose his ground. One last discharge of light hit the Scotsman's sword and projected a bolt of lightning that rocketed to the skies. Almost simultaneously, an explosion lit the sky, bringing the commotion to an epic finale. Duncan took his sword with both hands, using the last of his energy to drive the blade to the ground. Only then, it was over. The lightning, the thunder, the sparks, and the fire, everything came to a sudden halt.
It was dark again, as though the night had just swallowed the turmoil, leaving everything as it was before. The forest was silent, disturbed only by Duncan's panting. Newkirk shone his flashlight on him. He looked exhausted, down on his knees, leaning heavily on his sword. Newkirk stood by the gates, hesitating to come closer. Holy ground, he was on holy ground, and after what he had seen, he hoped that was enough to keep him safe.
Duncan lifted his head and heaved a deep sigh. He got up and pulled his sword off the earth.
"All right, that's close enough." Newkirk drew his pistol, aiming at him.
"I'm sorry," Duncan smiled, keeping his hands, and his sword in Newkirk's sight.
"You'd better. I suppose you've got a bloody good explanation for all this."
"Would you like to hear it?" He pointed at the pistol.
"You're the axe killer… well, you use a sword." Suddenly, the rest of the story dawned on him. "That's why you were delayed last night. You killed Captain Heinrich."
"Yes, we duelled." There it was again, that look Newkirk had noticed back in the tunnels.
He pointed at Duncan's sword. "Pass that thing under the gates towards me… gently. Let's hear your story." He kept his pistol ready and with his free hand, he threw his canteen over the gates and towards the Scotsman. "What was that? Magic? Are you a warlock?"
"No," Duncan caught the canteen in the air and had a sip of water. "It's not magic… not that I know of. You're not really scared, are you?" He tilted his head, still fighting exhaustion.
"If these forests could tell you the things I've seen, the people I've met," he shrugged, lifting the sword for closer examination. "Blimey, it's a tad heavy, innit?"
"There are others way heavier… Be careful, it's an antique."
"Oh, really? How old is it?"
"It's a katana. 350 years old. It was presented to me by a samurai."
Newkirk caressed the hilt, made of ivory with artistic carvings all around and ending in a dragon head. "What a beauty…" He was still making calculations of how much it could be worth in the black market when reality hit him again. "What a minute. A samurai you said? This is Japanese, then."
"Yes," Duncan chuckled. "I've got it a couple of centuries before Pearl Harbor."
"A couple of centuries, sure. Quick, your age and the year you were born."
"I am 350 years old. I was born in 1592. " He replied without pause or hesitation.
Newkirk could pretend that this came as a surprise but after the fireworks and the thunderstorm that actually sounded like a good explanation. "You're bloody old, I see… but how? And, what happened here? Why beheading that bloke?"
Duncan took more water. "What you saw is called the Quickening. It's an ancient ritual, a duel if you want to. We're immortals."
Newkirk put down the katana and sat on a gravestone. Pretending he was not scared got harder as Duncan's explanations got less and less coherent. "Immortals? Are you serious? Is he coming back to life?"
"No, no… he lost his head, he's dead."
"Why? What did he do to you?" He stared at him warily.
"I told you, it's a ritual. Immortals are called to fight to the death until there's only one left."
"Like in a ruddy competition? That's barmy, mate… Where did you come from? Why are you here?" Newkirk breathed deeply, trying to cope with this nonsensical situation.
"Newkirk, let me in… I'd like to sit down."
The Englander shrugged and let him open the gates. What else could he do? Unnatural forces were hard to beat, he was a simple mortal. "I warn you. I dealt with the strongest sorcerer on this side of the world. Don't try anything funny."
"I'm not going to hurt you. I need you to trust me. I'm telling you all my secrets, you just have to ask."
"Let's start with that rubbish about being immortal. How did that happen? Were you born like that?"
"It's a long story…"
"The submarine is not coming for another three hours, keep talking or I'll see that you miss it, permanently."
Duncan smiled and took another sip of water. "Are you going to take my head?"
"You're taller than me, I'd probably shoot you first, then I can chop your head off. I've got two swords here." He pointed at Albrecht's sword still next to the body.
Carter came out of the old guardhouse first. He and LeBeau barely had time to find shelter in the abandoned structure when the storm raged so fast and suddenly. It was all fireworks, noise, winds and a spectacular blast that illuminated everything around them. The young sergeant kept his hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart calm down slowly.
"What's that a tornado? For a moment, I thought it was going to lift the guardhouse and take us both to Kansas," he laughed. "This country has the weirdest weather."
"Brutal." LeBeau nodded behind him. "Look, it's gone," he pointed at where the bridge had been standing. The lamp posts and cables had disappeared under a cloud of dust.
"Yeah," Carter gave him an exhausted smile. "The blast was quite something. That last lightning hit right where I put the clay. Boy, those explosives…"
"Vraiment, oui." Le Beau grinned.
"Carter! LeBeau!" Hogan did not yell aloud but he was more concerned to find his men safe and sound than to be heard in the next town. "Thank God you're okay… Are you okay? That storm came all of a sudden. Could you get some shelter?"
"Oui, mon Colonel, that guardhouse resisted the explosion quite well."
"Did you see that? The blast? Duncan's explosives. I couldn't do that with a couple of sticks of dynamite from my lab." Carter shook hands with Kinch.
"That was pretty good, yes," Kinch nodded looking around.
"The storm went away so suddenly, just like the other day. Only this one wasn't that long." Carter took his bag and toolbox.
"People will come soon to see what happened. We should stay away from the main road." Hogan picked up one of the bags. "Make sure we don't leave anything behind."
"We have everything with us, except for that broken bridge, sir." Kinch turned to take one last look at the emptiness.
"We'll leave it to the Germans to put it back together, after the war." Hogan was exhausted but relieved as they walked back to camp.
A little after midnight, Newkirk and Duncan resumed their way to the dock. The Englishman was still digesting all the facts about immortals and their infamous Game. He refrained from asking questions until he reckoned they were out of harm's way and it was safe to talk again.
"Can I ask you a stupid question?" He spoke softly, keeping one eye on the road and another on the dark.
"Ask away," Duncan smiled, keeping his voice low too.
"How do you carry that sword under your coat? It must be awfully uncomfortable."
"Is that the question? Really?" Duncan chuckled. "You get used to it… all of us do."
"Of course… Okay, that's not the real question…" He took a purposeful breath. "Someone after your head at every turn of the corner… How do you manage? How do you cope?"
"With killing each other? Taking another immortal's head? I don't know. I try not to do it too often, some of us are pretty friendly… But it's part of our destiny, and as I told you, in the end, there can be only one."
"That again. So simple… But it's not, the whole thing is insane. You live forever, don't you need people who live as long as you do? Don't you have immortal friends? Will you behead them too?"
"I don't think I would do that, they're all good people. I have enemies, though, and it's up to them not to challenge me. Once the challenge is made you can't refuse and no one can intervene."
"Can't you just not behead people? Quit or hide, by any chance?"
"There are immortals that have chosen to withdraw from The Game. They're a few but," Duncan smiled as he said it, "they're so much better than the rest of us."
"Really? Can you do that, then?"
"It's a risky move but yeah, there are no rules against that."
"Just imagine all those blokes with swords, coming after your head. I would hide in a monastery."
"Like Darius, well, he's not hiding," he smiled. "He had his own armies and went through numerous battles throughout centuries, but when I met him, he was just a priest."
"Centuries? How many?"
"I don't know, he's about 2000 years old? He lives in Paris now, I was with him a few days ago."
"2000 years?" Newkirk's hand flew to his chest. "Blimey!"
"I know," Duncan nodded. "I'm glad he just quit. I don't know what we would do if someone came for his head. He's so wise... He has been my mentor for a long time."
"But you're still fighting wars. Wouldn't he like you to stop? Leave the war for someone else?"
"I've been a warrior all my life, even before I became immortal. Leaving this chaos for others to fight while you know you can help them? That's not what I am. I know that it's not easy making friends and watching them die but yet, getting into battle is their decision. I respect that because they know they can die at any minute. Of course, I used to feel guilty for surviving but it's not my fault to be so hard to kill. You can see your friends as your own family but, Newkirk, you can't protect them all the time, not all of them."
Newkirk kept walking, staring in the darkness at where his feet should be. Duncan's words hit him deep, but that did not stop the pain that kept haunting his mind. After a while, he threw some light ahead. The murmur of water was rather comforting. "We're here, the lake is down there." He checked his watch. "Half an hour earlier. The gov'nor will be pleased, I hope." He put his bag on the ground and sat down with his back against a tree.
Duncan sat on his ankles, with his pistol on his lap. He quietly watched the Englishman until he finally asked a question. "Newkirk? Why were you grounded?"
Newkirk cast a quick glance at the Scotsman before turning his eyes to the lake. "The gov'nor thinks that I'm not getting enough sleep."
"He thinks?"
Newkirk chuckled. "Well, I'm not but it's hard to get some rest while the world is at war. You should know that."
"Yes, but even warriors need to sleep before battle."
"You sound so old," he smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I worked with an SOE agent a couple of months ago… he was killed. It's been rough to overcome that. "
"Was it your fault that he died?"
"I was supposed to shoot a bloke, I thought I could talk him into surrendering but I was wrong. He shot at the agent. Only then I shot the bastard." He turned his head to the lake. "Bloody war, if I hadn't been there poor Berger would probably still be alive."
"You don't know that, but it doesn't matter, does it?" Duncan raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Have you talked about this with anyone?"
"The colonel knows how I feel. We talked… Well, he talked. He says I need time." He smirked, staring at his pistol.
"Time heals all wounds,"
"Seriously? Over 300 years old and that's your piece of wisdom?"
Duncan chuckled. "Well, yeah. It's actually true. After three centuries of wars, I have done everything, good and bad. Guilt is not the best path to follow, I've been there. It doesn't fix anything and only drives you crazy. "
"What do you do then? What's there left to do?"
"I honour the men that have fallen before me by becoming a better man myself." He tilted his head. "It's a long path, hard to follow, full of ups and downs, but as long as you feel something, you're going in the right direction."
Newkirk would have wanted to object to Duncan's words but deep inside, he knew that the Highlander was right. He just needed time, he just needed to hang in there for his friends.
Something shining over the water dragged their attention. "They're here." Newkirk stood up and responded to the signal with his torch. A few minutes later, a boat approached the shore.
Duncan put his hand on Newkirk's shoulder, making him turn to him. "Newkirk, you're going to survive this war, you'll do it for yourself and for your friends. You're not alone, but when you feel like things go wrong, come to Paris, St. Julien le Pauvre, that's Darius' church. Tell him that Duncan sent you. He'll help you." Then, he smiled widely as though he had just found a long lost friend.
"Okay." Newkirk chuckled, staring at him, warily. "Duncan, are you all right?"
Duncan waved at the men in the boat and picked up his things. "Actually, I am." He smiled and nodded. "We'll meet again, Peter Newkirk."
"You don't even know where I'll be after the war." Newkirk laughed.
"I'll know where to find you." He did not turn to see him as he went down the path to the shore with his duffle bag on his shoulder.
Newkirk shook his head, scratching it under his beanie hat. This was one of those unforgettable stories that he could never tell anybody.
The next day, the meeting was early in the morning at Colonel Hogan's office. Carter and Newkirk sat there through a speech of responsibility, communication and trust. Of course, no harm was done, the missions, all of them went well, quite well, actually. The explosives turned out to be a blast, literally and figuratively. They had to thank Duncan for that. London sent a shipment of coffee and tea with notes enclosed, thanking them for all the effort and special commendations for Carter and Newkirk for services beyond their duty. God knows what the Highlander said about them.
Certainly, Hogan was ready to let the stressful week behind once and for all.
"Gentlemen, somehow you managed to dodge the bullet and honestly, I don't see the need of going further with this incident. The next time you plan an outing without my authorization, I'll make sure that you stay grounded in the barracks even after the war is over. Understood?"
Carter and Newkirk made their promises of behaving from now on. They would not make objections and even the Englishman was rather cooperative and willing to change his attitude. Whether Hogan bought it or not was beyond the point. The important thing was that they were out of the mess without consequences.
"I feel weird, I never lied this much to anyone before, especially the colonel… Thank you for backing me up on this one, Newkirk. You have no idea what you've done for me, for Duncan... for all of us," he whispered. They went for a walk around the barracks and away from Hogan.
"Actually, Carter, I know why I did it and I know why you did it too." He smiled, lighting a cigarette as he walked away.
"Hey, wait up." Carter rushed to catch up. "You know? Did he tell you?"
"Yeah, pretty much he did… Such an interesting bloke, innit?"
"Interesting? Well yeah, you can say that. But what did he say? Did he die on you too?" He whispered.
"No… we met Albrecht, actually."
"And what happened?"
Newkirk stared at the sentry tower. "Have you noticed he's not here anymore?"
"Oh boy… What happened? Newkirk, you gotta tell me," Carter turned to him but he had disappeared. "Newkirk!" He ran towards him again.
"Carter, I can't tell you. It's a secret, don't you understand that?"
"Of course, I know the secret… half of it. You have a lot of secrets for yourself. Can't we share this one, it's only fair."
"I don't know. There are too many people around." Newkirk tossed the cigarette and put his hands in the pockets of his coat.
Carter tensed his mouth as he thought deep into the situation; then, he smiled. "Okay, come with me." He pulled Newkirk by his sleeve.
They crossed the camp and the courtyard all the way to barrack seven, the last one on the rear. Carter looked inside just to make sure there was no one in and closed the door. "Okay, everybody is at volleyball hour, the guards just passed by, so they won't come back around here for another fifteen minutes." He sat on the bench outside the barrack and made sure they were alone. "Quiet enough? Sit down, aren't you dying to tell someone about what happened last night?"
Newkirk stared at the sentry tower, letting out a deep breath. "All right," he pushed Carter to sit down next to him. "But you've got to promise that we'll never ever have this conversation again, not us, not with anyone else. Ever, do you understand?"
"You sound like Duncan," he chuckled. "But okay."
"Oh, one more thing. No questions."
"What?" He pouted, glancing at Newkirk, who did not look open to negotiations. "Okay, I promise."
"Well, then. Where should I start?..."
"What about last night, when you and Duncan came out of the tunnel."
"Ah, yes… Everything was normal until we got to the cemetery."
"The cemetery? Wait a minute. The path to the lake is on the opposite side, how did you end up in the cemetery?"
"Carter? What did we say about questions?"
"Oh, okay… So you were in the cemetery."
"Yes…Everything went downhill after that." As if he were telling a fairytale, Newkirk began the tale of the immortals and their swords, ending with a legend known as the Highlander.
The End
