following morning, coming ever closer to the angry roaring. The 195th was supposed to replace a worn division on the front line. Two long lines of hollow-eyed troops had passed by, heading to the rear on the way to much-deserved rest. Hans led his company in a rousing cheer for them. At noon, they stopped to divide into individual units and receive detailed written orders and maps.
As he was standing near two of his sergeants, examining the complex contours of the map he had just received, an errant shell crashed nearby. He flew through the air, aware of only silence and surprise. Crumpling to the ground, he felt a cold blanket of darkness collapse over him.
When he regained consciousness, two days had passed and he found himself lying in a hospital bed. His entire body was sore, inside and out. Bandages tightly bound his chest and he could at least hear some faint sounds. The doctor explained that both his eardrums had been ruptured and would take quite some time to heal. A piece of shrapnel had cut through his chest, missing his heart by half a centimeter. Lucky to be alive, he would be able to fight again.
He was evacuated back to Germany and his father came to visit him, proud of his only son. Hans accepted the congratulations with a smile but knew that his wound was not a noble cut, but an accident of fate. Even so, he found it chilling how close death had come to severing life from him.
CHAPTER NINE
I come awake abruptly. Confusion scraps at my thoughts. Where am I? Who am I? My hands fumble across my body, seeking answers, finding a tee shirt, no bra, soft flesh, thin arms. Up to my face stumble the fingers, revealing delicate features and long hair. I am Joanna Prall.
My eyelids are so heavy that I don’t bother to open them. All I want to do is sleep, return to my memories. There I will find answers, of that I am certain.
For some reason my journey back through my memories persists on lingering with Hans Kruppen, recalling the smallest details. Why, I cannot really say. I usually try to stay away from wars, too much danger there, and so often there is so little that I can do for soldiers. They die so soon. Perhaps I am attracted to my memories of Hans because I felt that I might truly succeed with helping. With him, I could honor all that is good, to use my unique nature to do good.
I think that maybe I haven’t always tried to do good.
That thought pops open my eyes with a bit of shock. What about my enemy, who is obviously not good in any way? The problem with hiding is that not only can’t anyone see you, but you can’t see anyone else. Completely isolated, my knowledge of the world outside grows more outdated by the minute. What has my enemy been up to? Are people under its control, or at the very least, its influence, closing in on me. I need to find some access to the web and google some facts.
There is a small town only two miles away, an easy walk along a trail through the woods. A plan forms. Walk into town, but don’t follow the trail, in case I stumble across another hiker, but make my way through the woods, using the trail as a guide so that I won’t get lost. The thought of using that much energy makes me feel ill. Joanna’s body is still weak from years of inactivity. I am concerned that my face is everywhere, on television, on the web, and in newspapers, like a wanted man in an old western movie. Anyone could recognize me.
There would also be cameras in town, for traffic, stores, and automated teller machines that might see me. There would be people that might see me. I could find someone and contrive to put a fragmental in them and send them to the small public library, a small red brick building that used to be a post office, where they could do my research for me. My hunger for information, to feel connected, tugs at my fears of the enemy, threatening to bring them to full bloom. I want to know what is going on!
Calming myself, I realize that going into town would be too risky and too exhausting. Better to find answers in my memories and trust that my hiding place will remain secure.
Best to find out if I am as good a person as I think (no, as I hope) that I am.
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