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The Package

The package must be Delivered

By Lee KaranjaPublished 3 months ago 5 min read
1

Führer’s Package

The muddy trench fills up as the torrential rain falls persistently, the lieutenant shouts and they all aim at the enemy on the other side, he orders them to fire and the German Karabiner rifles go off in sync. The enemy retaliates with the same valor and the bullets fly just inches above their green helmets of which they’re accustomed to. The battle ensues that morning while the general in the bunker orders for the young private to be called in. The private salutes and the general ushers him to the metal chair, on the table rests a small package wrapped in a weatherproof cloth that’s been securely tied with a string. The general asks the young soldier to guard the package with his life and make sure it’s delivered before six hundred hours the following morning. He’s given a coded map to the delivery location and salutes walking out the bunker with his mind and heart racing so fast he leans on the beam by the entrance to catch breath, it’s a damned mission ahead, he safely tucks away the package into the inner pocket of his green jacket. Two other privates escort him through the muddy trenches to the back, out of range from the enemy fire but that’s as far as they go.

The full moon that evening’s illuminates torn down buildings and blown up trucks cast all over as bombardments miles away light up the sky. He creeps from one building to the other with full of paranoia as each shadowy figure resembles an enemy aiming to shoot him. He has to get across a street intersection to the other side where the buildings lead out of the shopping center, making way to the residential buildings and finally exit out of the run down enemy occupied territory. He pats his pocket to make sure the package is secure, takes another look at the windows across the street watching for snipers and makes a run for it. He’s midway across when first shot grazes his helmet and he tucks his head and the other shot barely misses his shoulder making a hole through his jacket, by now the commotion awakens the Bren gun from the British allied forces that tears up everything on its path and he comes to a complete stop dropping his rifle and raising his hands up in surrender. With hands bound together at the back he’s escorted in one of the run down building which seem to be the enemy’s command post and a barrage of blows follow suit. He’s sat on the floor with a torch to his face, an officer with bad breath stinking of stale whisky asks all sorts of question, but doesn’t grasp a word that he’s saying and just prays they don’t strip search him lest they find the package and unfold the secret mission.

He’s about to get his teeth knocked out but the fist stops in mid air as the night bombardment gets closer by the minute. There’s an order shouted and they all scatter in confusion grabbing anything they can get hold of and he gets a lucky break in the commotion and storms out of the building hands bound at the back and all, he goes to the back entrance of the building as the unyielding gunfire infamous with the Russian PPSh 41 rips through the street behind. He runs like mad with bullets ricocheting right by him and trips, rolling off into a pond, his hands now feel like pack of ice and while getting up he notices the knot tying him has broken loose from the fall, he takes a look at the coded map and realizes that he’s actually in the right direction just miles up ahead with the ETA but slightly running late and sets about trotting. It’s around four in the morning and he can barely walk, his mouth is dry and feels like an old dusty rug. He can make out what seems to be a building close to a mile and pulls out a white soggy cloth from his back pocket and waives it in the air walking sluggishly towards the building.

The sound of a military jeep is like music to his ears as he can barely stand, with his right hand still in the air waving the white cloth, the military men put him the jeep and give him a bottle of water whereby one of them asks with a stern voice, “do you have the package?” he nods in acknowledgment patting his jacket pocket. He’s escorted into the building which is guarded like a fortress, he steals a look in the sky before getting inside and squeezes the package in his pocket in victory coz he’s made the time. He stands outside the huge mahogany door and fixes his hair and the drenched uniform, knocks on the door and a woman answers ushering him in and closes the door behind her as she walks out, standing opposite the table is none other but the Führer himself. He salutes the führer but the führer just extends his hand and asks for the package. He scrambles unbuttoning the jacket and pulls out the Package handing it to the Führer.

The führer unwraps the package and gestures him out the room, the young officer salutes with vigor and walks out. The military men outside nod with consent and salute the young officer for a job well done but before he can step out, the führer steps out of the room mad as hell holding a toothbrush and yells, “IT’S THE WRONG COLOR”!

The END.

Nonfiction
1

About the Creator

Lee Karanja

Curator of stories & articles that transport you to extraordinary places.

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