The Flight Lieutenant

Excerpt

Chapter One

The Hell that was Stalag Luft III remained with Flight Lieutenant Virgil Verney, surfacing with an unmerciful clarity, especially during the long, restless nights. When his dreams weren’t filled with harrowing images from that POW camp, they were swamped with horrific memories of his ten days in a Gestapo interrogation prison. The Gestapo had arrived at the conclusion that he was a spy, and so used every possible means of torture to get him to admit it. Perhaps it had been Virgil's bad fortune, after his Spitfire got shot down, to meet up with a member of the Maquis, for within the hour, both of them had been located by the Germans. Xavier cracked under torture at the Gestapo prison and readily confessed to being one of the Maquis in the area responsible for destroying vital bridges and blowing up railway box cars filled with German soldiers.

Virgil sighed. Why the Hell couldn't he have met up with a pretty French girl, or a member of the Resistance? Why did bad luck always dog him?

"Oh, for the love of God, stop thinking about the bloody place," he muttered, burying his face in the pillow, hoping the softness of the hospital bed could lull him back to sleep, but no such luck. His harrowing memories still tortured him.

He vividly recalled being dragged outside with Xavier, just minutes after the Frenchman had confessed to being a member of the Maquis. Both of them naked, their bodies liberally covered with wounds they had received during the awful interrogations. The Germans shouted threats as they chained them up to a red brick wall at the back of the courtyard. They called them spies, and accused them of killing their German friends who had been travelling in the boxcars that the Maquis had blown up.

Lying on his bed, Virgil winced at the memory of those deafening shots but Xavier suffered no earache. He could still see Xavier's body, slumped down against the wall, peppered with big, ugly holes. Virgil knew he was next, and he felt gut wrenching terror, for in the next minute he would be dead, too.

He yelled back at the soldiers, telling them yet again that he was not a spy and had nothing to do with the Maquis! But it changed nothing. Half a dozen rifles remained aimed at this heart.

He remembered his thoughts only too clearly. Think of something pleasant. It's going to be your last thought on this earth. What's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?

Fiddie's face flashed into his mind. Beautiful, elegant Fiddie. The nurse who sewed up his backside after he came off his motorbike. Fiddie, the woman he had fantasised about for so long, but she made no secret that she despised him for his drinking and womanizing. No matter, she was the loveliest looking thing, and he would take her image to his grave.

His heart began to thud and his breathing grew ragged. "Fiddie!" he gasped, suddenly sitting up in bed. "Oh, God," he groaned, holding his head.

"Virgil, I'm here."

He heard her footsteps, and the next second Fiddie had her arms around him. "Oh God, I still see it all so clearly."

"They’re just memories, Virgil."

He nodded,. "I know, but they won't go away."

"Yes, they will," she assured him as she stroked his head. "Those terrible memories will gradually fade."

"You don't know that, Fiddie." Virgil shuddered. "I faced death. A man died next to me—I can still hear the thud of those bullets tearing him apart, feel the rough brick scraping my skin."

"Just try to relax, I'm going to get you something to help you sleep," she said, pressing him down to the bed.

He grabbed her hand. "Awake or asleep, the memories won’t leave me alone.." Virgil sat back up, shoved the blankets aside, and swung his legs over the edge.

"What are you doing?"

"Going for a walk. Care to join me?"

"Virgil, don't be daft. It's three-o-clock in the morning and I'm on duty!"

He glanced around the dimly lit ward. "How many other patients do you have here?"

"None. Things have been very quiet."

"Right, so there’s no reason for you not to stroll around the base with me."

"But, it's freezing outside!"

"Then put your coat on." He kept his tone reasonable with an effort.

She sighed. "You're determined to have your way, aren't you?"

He clenched his hands in agitation. "Fiddie, I've been here for three weeks, and I have to get out of this place or I'll go stark raving mad."