Chapter 2

I had no idea how long I laid there, my body shivering uncontrollably from the cold, death creeping closer to me. I had periods of semi-consciousness, the pain was unbearable.

I could hear an odd sound approaching my way. It wasn’t the rumble of a tank or other engine motor. I heard the clip, clop of hooves on the clay ground, then the snort from a horse.

Grabbing at the ground, I clenched some dirt in my right hand and threw it with what little strength I had remaining towards the road.

A Dutch family, father, mother, and daughter, were returning to their farmhouse in Ugchelen, about twenty kilometres away. It wasn’t uncommon for farmers to trade food items for other necessities instead of using money. They had traded a quarter cut of pork for firewood, three months’ worth.

The family never got used to seeing the death and destruction caused by the war. The father cautioned his wife and daughter as they passed the recent battle. They made the sign of the cross over their chests as they saw the tthree crosses and mound of dirt.

The male horse gave a deep whiny, rearing back slightly left as the dirt hit it and the ground. “Wat is er, Koning, iets heeft je opgeschrikt?”

“What is it, Koning, something has startled you?”

I moaned and groaned, grunting out in a raspy voice, “Help! Help me!” I grabbed another handful of dirt and managed to throw it.

The second clump of dirt hit the side of the wagon.

“Papa, stop de wagen. Ik zie een man in de sloot!”

“Papa, stop the wagon. I see a man in the ditch!”

He brought the horses to a stop, and the girl quickly climbed from the wagon.

“Raak hem niet aan! Van de Duitsers is bekend dat ze een granaat onder een lijk plaatsen.”

“Don’t touch him! The Germans are known to place a grenade under a dead body.”

The girl knelt next to me, her facial expression changing to the sight of my wounds. She could see I was shivering from the cold, and trying to grasp another clump of dirst.

“Papa, hij is een levende!”

“Papa, he’s a live!”

The father came to her side, knelt on one knee, shaking me slightly and I moaned.

“Hij is een Canadese soldaat!”

“He a Canadian soldier!”

“Kijk hem rillend aan. Hij moet erg koud zijn, hier achtergelaten om te sterven.”

“Look at him shivering. He must be very cold, left here to die,” the girl said.

“Veel Canadezen zijn gestorven, om thij Nederland van de Duitsers. We kunnen hem hier gewoon niet achterlaten!”

“Many Canadians have died, to liberate the Netherlands from the Germans. We just can’t leave him here!” The woman said, looking at her husband.

The father looked both ways on the empty road.

“Alsjeblieft, Papa, we moeten hem helpen!”