Part Three
By Pebbles
Pebbles@ukgateway.net
It was like a nightmare. Luka felt himself falling; over and over he tumbled in slow motion. He tried to grab hold of something to impede his progress but he just kept falling and falling, gathering momentum. He hit a rock – smack against his upper back knocking the wind out of him. Still he kept falling.
Luka grabbed out at a branch as he plunged by. For a moment he felt his progress braked but then the force of his body weight tore at his shoulder and it dislocated with a sickening pop. He was forced to let go in agony.
Down, down he tumbled. The pain in his shoulder blasting through him each time he impacted with the ground. Then, blessed relief, he was flying through the air. It seemed like he was airborne for ages but in reality it was just seconds.
Crash, he hit the ground. Pain shot through him as his thigh collided with a rock and a brief sensation of cold washed over him before Luka lost consciousness, his head bleeding from a blow sustained on the descent.
At the top of the ravine, Doug sat on the damp ground trying to pull himself together. The fog in his head was clearing a bit although the mist all around him was getting thicker. He slowly eased himself forward feeling with his feet. About a yard along the ground suddenly dropped away.
"Kovac!" He yelled and then strained to hear an answer. Absolutely no sound reached his ears. "Hey, Kovac!" again he waited for an answer. He had no idea how deep the ravine was or how steeply the ground fell away. He was completely blind. If he went back to find the road he might never find this spot again and there was a good chance he would just lose himself completely.
The best bet seemed to be to inch forwards on his backside and try to follow the route that Kovac fell. If he kept low to the ground he could hopefully avoid sliding and with luck he might find the man. Come on Doug, you can do it. Just slow and steady, no point in falling yourself.
Little by little Doug made his way down the slope. The grass was wet and slippery but dotted about there were rocks, which he could brake himself against. About twenty yards down the slope the fog started to clear and he could make out the shape of trees and bushes. The moon was up; illuminating the valley with it’s pale light.
Another ten yards and the slope ended in a sheer drop of about twenty feet. Doug could just make out the sound of running water and the silvery reflection of the moonlight between the trees – a river. How in hell was he going to get down there? He eased himself sideways like a crab. A short way to the left was a copse of stunted trees. Doug clung on to the trunk of one and peered over the edge.
The trees grew right on the edge of the precipice their roots spreading out below in their search for anchorage. Doug reckoned that if he lowered himself over the edge he could use the roots to help him get nearer the ground. It looked like a drop of about ten feet to a patch of bracken below. He could make that, couldn’t he?
Gingerly, Doug eased himself over the edge; praying that the roots would be strong enough to take his weight. The first couple of handholds proved to be good. Doug reached out to a smaller bough lower down. It flexed. Should he trust it to take his weight? The decision was made as the last bough snapped leaving Doug clinging on by just one hand.
The bough bent. Doug was helpless. There was nothing else within his reach. Luckily it did not break just bent further and further until his feet were no more than about five feet from the deck. "Here goes nothing." Doug said out loud, his voice sounding eyrie in the silence of the valley. He let go and braced himself for a hard landing.
The drop was in fact greater than he had anticipated but the bracken below cushioned the impact and Doug suffered no more than a few scratches and bruises. For a moment he lay still thanking God or whoever. Didn’t they say that the Lord looks after small children and drunks? Doug now felt completely sober.
Carol stopped the car. The fog was closing in rapidly and she could no longer make out the sides of the road. This was ridiculous; she couldn’t possibly drive in these conditions. She also couldn’t leave the men stranded on the moor. They must have calmed down by now. Driving off and leaving them had been pretty stupid she admitted to herself however much they deserved it.
She got out of the car to try and determine if there was room to turn around. The road was single track but there was a passing place just ahead. Carol carefully worked her way around the perimeter trying to make sure that there were no rocks or other obstacles in the way. She walked back to the car; it’s headlights guiding her back.
Very slowly she drove into the passing space and began to perform a turning manoeuvre that anyone would have been proud of. She lost count of the times she inched first back and then forward; turning the wheel from full lock right to full lock left. First gear – reverse gear– first gear – reverse gear. Without power assisted steering it was hard going but just as well it was a small car, anything bigger might have got stuck.
At last the car was facing in the right direction. Slowly she drove back along the road she had come. How far had she driven? It all looked the same in the fog. There was no sensation of distance travelled. She peered through the windscreen trying to pick out a landmark. Suddenly a shape loomed out of the mist right in front of the car. Carol floored the brake pedal. It was large and hairy and it had four legs. A Dartmoor pony!
As it slowly shambled out of the way, Carol dropped her head against her hands that gripped the wheel. She was not sure whether to laugh or cry. She was feeling pretty shaken up by now, beginning to panic that she would not find Doug or Luka. Guilt mingled with fear was a potent brew and tears began to fill up her eyes. "Pull yourself together" She spoke to herself, continuing on down the road.
Checking the speedometer Carol saw that she had driven four miles since she turned. It had taken her over half an hour! Although she could not be sure at what point she had thrown out Luka and Doug she was sure that if they had been at the side of the road she would have seen them – or at least they would have seen her. Now what? A few yards further on twin glowing eyes came at her out of the fog.
Luka was in a twilight world between consciousness and unconsciousness. It was filled with pain. Excruciating pain and coldness. His shoulder hurt but that was eclipsed by the agony in his leg. He had experienced this pain before and now he was back there, cowering in the dark from the blows of his aggressors. He could taste the dirt in his mouth, his head held down by a jackboot on his neck.
The guards took delight in torturing their prisoners. It was not enough to just lock them up and starve them. A hard core would pull men out at random and dole out punishment. These were usually beatings with knotted ropes or riffle butts. When the man was down on the ground they would put the boot in.
Luka had spent six months in the camp after the fall of Vukovar. During this time he had been beaten half a dozen times. At the end of each he had been black and blue and once he had lost a couple of teeth but so far he had got off better than some of the others. He had even found the pain therapeutic in a twisted kind of way. It was what he deserved wasn’t it?
His grief burned inside him, far greater than any physical pain. It consumed him, became what he was. If the guards had chosen to smash his skull it could not hurt him more. Luka believed he was already dead and this was hell.
The final beating was in the spring. Perhaps the guards were more vicious because they knew their sport was coming to an end. The prisoners were to be moved the next day. Luka was standing in line waiting for the meagre ration of food when he made the mistake of looking the supervising officer right in the eye. For a moment their gaze locked, then Luka quickly dropped his eyes to the ground.
It was too late. A cry went up and soon two heavily built thugs were pulling Luka out of the line. His hands were tied behind his back and a blindfold secured over his eyes. He was pushed and shoved along until he crashed right into a wall. Then strong hands were pulling his hands above his head and he was literally hung up like a side of meat on a butcher’s hook.
Blows rained upon him. He could not tell how many. They came from all sides. Finally a massive blow to his thigh fractured his femur and he passed out in a vision of red. He came to where they had left him, cut down and slumped to the floor. For how many hours he lay there, moaning in agony, he did not know.
He was aware of strong hands examining his body. A voice came from far off, speaking in a language he did not understand. "Kovac! Speak to me man." The hands were working in a methodical fashion and the voice came again. It seemed nearer this time. "Open your eyes, Kovac! Come on." His eyelids were pulled open and a face peered at him, all out of focus and distorted.
"Come on Kovac, stay with me now. I’m going to fix you up and then were going to get out of here." The voice sounded reassuring but Luka could not make sense of the words. He opened his mouth and tried to speak. "What’s that?" The face appeared again, looking more familiar now. "Speak English Kovac!"
"I said, call me Luka." He finally managed to process the language and spit out the words.
"Yeah, now we’re getting somewhere. Now, tell me who I am."
Luka stared at the friendly face looking down at him. It took some time but then it came to him: "Doug Ross." He mumbled before the pain radiating from his thigh grabbed his entire attention.
"Now we’re getting somewhere." Doug repeated, smiling at Luka, wishing he felt as confident about the situation as he was trying to sound.
End of Part 3