Soul at War (2 page)

“Cancer, John. I’m sorry for your
loss. He was a good man.”

I walked past Mark, looking around the
rooms for any sign of his presence. Silly, I know. The walls were
covered in photos, certificates from his time at college, trinkets
on the shelves from holidays. A picture of Mum and Dad. There was a
photo of the two of us on my pass-out parade; me stood saluting in
my starched uniform, and him laughing in the background.

“He spoke of you often. I get the
impression he thought a lot you, and that’s not just a routine line
I say to all the bereaved. Often we would talk in the church until
the late hours, sharing stories. Most of his tales often involved
his little brother.”

“How was the funeral?” I asked, moving
towards the kitchen.

“We held it at the church and it was
well attended. We are a close community here and we look after each
other.”

“Did my father come?” Mark shook his
head. “Typical Dad. Probably in a bar somewhere feeling sorry for
himself.”

“We tried to reach you
but...”

“I was on active duty – no
communication.” I walked into the kitchen. The back door was open
and I could see the fields stretching away from the house and there
was a barbeque against the wall, rusting with lack of use. On an
oak dining table in the middle of the room was a manila envelope
and a letter.

“Those were left for you.” he
said.

“He knew I was coming?”

“He had
a feeling.
” I tore open the
envelope. The deeds for the house and the land in my name, and a
letter. I sat down in one of the chairs to read it. It was what I'd
expected – a letter of goodbye and regret. Regret that we'd not
spent enough time together after I'd signed up. Regret about Mum
dying. He was sorry for the way Dad had treated me after Mum had
gone as if it was his fault. He'd finished by saying the house was
mine by way of a 30 year apology for not being the older brother
he'd wanted to be. As I finished the letter I realised why I'd come
home, sadly far too late. But in life it is so often the case that
our best moments are missed by our lack of urgency.

“Was he a 'believer' then?” I asked
Mark as I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my fatigues.

“Yes. He was baptised in the river not
a few miles from here. He had a lot of guilt he wanted to take to
the Lord.”

“Even the guilt of Dad he'd taken upon
himself? Hardly fair, is it?” I spat. My mother had been a devoted
Catholic in life and I'd never taken to the concept of off loading
responsibility for what I'd done onto someone else even if he was a
volunteer. Though after an easter service we'd been dragged to once
by Mum where the Priest talked about Gethsemane I'd stopped
believing he was a 'volunteer' after all.

“You can always carry it yourself. Be
punished for your own crimes I suppose.” Mark replied though I
could see he'd used this line before. He almost looked braced ready
for a harsh response from me. He was relieved to find I didn't on
this occasion.

Instead I returned the letter to the
envelope and got up from the table.

“If you don't mind, Mark, I'd like to
get settled in.” I said suddenly very tired from the flight
in.

Mark understood. He shook my hand and
left.

CHAPTER 2

Life in the village was a far cry from
my days in the military. Despite the undertones of their intent to
convert me; the people who made up the small community were
friendly to me and extended every courtesy to a relative
stranger.

I fell back on my trade almost
straight away as there were still bills to pay on my 'new' old
house and the army 'sick pay' wouldn't cover it indefinitely. So I
setup a small workshop in the large open garage that my brother had
used in his final weeks of life as a sick bed. It had been hard to
wheel out the bed itself, the machines, the things he'd had as
company before he'd died. A medical team from the city came to
collect it in a white speeder. Silently they packed it all away,
nodding as they climbed in and drove off southwards. The next day
my shipment of tools and equipment arrived and I did my best to
hide the memory of the final hours of my big brother's life I'd
never had chance to see.

As was my custom I buried myself in
work. It was the only therapy I would have and for several years I
rose early, made gates and fences, repaired pots and pans and sat
with a beer on the porch and watched the sun go down over the
pines. Not once though did a single memory fade and with every
nights sleep I saw the charred corpse of a boy lost without his mum
and a brother who died alone in a sterile bed.

*

"Good morning, John," A voice shouted
to me from over the short steel fence I'd put up last year. It was
rusting in parts where I'd missed with the paintbrush, streaks of
watery brown ran down the struts and pooled on my red brick
wall.

"Good morning, Mark," I shouted back.
"You're early today."

"On a morning like this I think it
would be a crime to lie in bed."

"I'd agree with that." I put down the
hammer I was using to form a scrolled latch for the Church gates,
got up from my stool and wiped my hands on my jeans. Mark began to
walk up the drive just as I finished the last dregs of a cold cup
of tea, drops escaping down my chin.

"How are they coming along?" He asked,
indicating the other five foot gates that were hanging from the
beam in the shed.

"A couple more coats of paint and I'll
fit the lock tomorrow," I replied. "Can I get you a
drink?”

"Please, that would be great." He sat
down on one of the chairs facing east. The sun was just climbing
over the hills but even at seven o'clock it was warm enough to
sweat. The air was crisp and tinged with the scent of wild flowers
growing in the field across the path and as I brought out two mugs
of coffee I was hit with the first bird songs.

"Looks like they're up early too," I
said, setting a cup in front of Mark.

"My congregation could do to learn
from their example."

"And how is Jane? Recovered from the
party yet?" I asked, reaching over to close the lid on the coal
forge that was just starting to die out. "I heard it was a
shocker."

"That's an understatement. My wife's
not a drinker John, as you know. But when I saw her bring in the
crate I knew it wasn't going to be just a quiet night in with the
girls."

"I could have told you that one." I
took a sip from the treacle-black brew and shook off the bitter
taste. Americans loved their coffee and Mark in particular. I still
hadn't converted him to English tea bags but there was still
hope.

"It was good to see them having fun
for a change, what with the news and all."

“News? You've lost me. The last bit of
breaking news we had was that the roof tiles had come off the youth
centre.” I said.

"Haven't you heard the latest, John? I
was going to bring it up in today’s service, try and get everybody
to pray a little for the people out there. As of yesterday, the
early warning beacons in the Zion group were alerted to a fleet of
'Man 'o' War' class ships on a course for the Prime world. I
thought given your history you would have..."

"I'm sorry Mark, I try not to
keep up with the news outside of this village. In the army
we
were
the news.
It's nice to be in the middle of nowhere for a change.”

"Well we have away teams on several of
those planets, members of our Church doing work out there. We can't
get through to them; the military has stopped all broadcasts for
security reasons. I suppose they could be intercepted or
something." My heart skipped a beat, and then returned to normal,
probably just a 'knee-jerk' response. Then I realised. "Mark, isn’t
your son out there?”

I could see it in his face, the pain
hidden behind the mask he wore for the benefit of the congregation.
I'd seen it on the faces of every parent who had a child in a war
zone; it wasn't something you could hide very well. But he was
trying and doing a pretty good job of it too.

"The Lord will protect him. We pray
everyday for his safe return and for those other unfortunate people
out there." I was stunned. I knew David; I'd watched him mature
from being a rebellious little teen to the devout Christian his
Father had hoped he'd become. But now it seemed it had become a
costly decision.

“You don't sound so sure?” I said
giving him a minute to think about it. I don't know how anyone
could commit their child to an invisible force rather than take
action to save them from harm. Although Mark's ability to help
millions of miles away were limited; to simply commit his loved one
to a seemingly inactive being had to be a coping mechanism for his
own inability to act. I'd seen it in trenches when the fighting was
thickest, people dropping to the floor to pray when the odds were
stacked against them and there was nothing they could see to do to
change them. They made dangerous soldiers to their own
side.

“What more can I do? I've sent
messages over and over and yet they all receive the same response.”
He looked at me with eyes begging for an answer that wasn't coming
from his book anymore.

“I'll get in touch with the MOD. See
if I can help.” I offered knowing full well it would go nowhere. He
seemed momentarily satisfied and after finishing our coffees in
silence he left.

*

The following day I woke up later than
I usually would. I'd had a rough time trying to get to sleep; my
mind kept turning it over, forming images of the conflicts I'd seen
and adding David to the hundreds of dead that collected in piles on
the road. I imagined the orbital bombs flattening the Church he was
in, wiping him out. I saw him decapitated by the enemy, burned
alive...

But by morning it was all pretty hazy
and the blazing heat from the sun lifted my spirits a little. I
made a mug of tea and started up the console while my toast cooked
in the kitchen. Instantly the news feed came to the screen and the
main headlines were taken up by the news from the Zion
group.

The Zion group was a cluster of
planets owned by wealthy believers who wanted a place to devote
their lives to worship. They’d colonised them around fifty years
ago, using most of the existing structures left behind by the
frontier men of the last century. It was pretty secure and the
nearest military force was only a week away, add that to the sphere
of EW beacons and you would have thought it would have been quite
safe for these people to practice their faith.

“Tensions are still mounting
as contact has been lost from several of the planets in the system.
Long range scans have shown considerable ship movement from ARC
forces directed to the region...
” the news
caster droned as I buttered my toast.

“Vid-link.” I called out to the
console. “Jeff Simms, MOD.”

“Clearence code please.” the console
chirped.

“B5678. Shap, John.”

“Subject?”

“Inquiry. St. John, David. Zion
group.”

“Thank you.”

I sat in my chair near the console and
ate my toast. It was set to be a beautiful day. The skies were
clear blue and the breeze coming in through the window was warm. I
could see my greenhouse at the end of my small field and on its
glass roof a gray shaggy looking cat was staring back at me. It
wasn't such a bad life after all I thought.

“John. Long time no see.” The face of
Jeff Simms appeared in my living room. He was all smiles and his
uniform was freshly pressed. Simms had been a stickler for the
rules and it had been his job to see every soldier through his time
in the forces from signing up to dropping out. Or at least it was
his job to arrange their funeral.

“Hello Jeff. How's things?” I
replied.

“Spot on, mate. You? How's civilian
life treating you?”

“I can't complain. Just enjoying
breakfast while you're working...” I grinned.

“Thanks. Some of us have been at it
since five am. You've seen the latest?” his face tried to retain
its grin but I could see he was bothered by it all.

“Yes. Look Jeff I'm calling on behalf
of a friend of mine. His son is out there and he wants to make sure
he's alright.” Jeff nodded and held his hands up.

“No problem mate. What unit is he in?”
he said.

“He's not a soldier. He's a
missionary. His name is David St. John.”

“I'll take a look for you.” Jeff
turned away from the screen and ran his fingers over a touch screen
tablet embedded in his desk. “St. John, David. Departed lunar
colony in June last year. Arrived at Zion group two months later.
Took transport to Sidon the following week. He's still there as far
as our records are concerned though I don't envy him.”

“Why's that?” I said.

“Can't say over vid-link but it's
getting worse out there. We have very limited communications since
ARC moved near so I can't even reach David for you.”

“Thanks Jeff I appreciate
it.”