After a night of guard duty, Fusilier George Simpling was weary with itching eyes, tired legs, and aching feet. His rifle hung heavily on its shoulder strap. He'd had two hours of looking into the darkness of the Iron Curtain, listening for noises out of the ordinary. The mesmerizing sweep of the searchlight had prowled like a Cyclopean eye looking for prey, but it broke the monotony of the treeless landscape on the eastern side.
Nineteen year old Simpling was not a soldier of any significance, just doing the required two years of conscripted service for his country. He had no opinion whatever of things international.
He didn't understand why the iron curtain was constructed in the first place, two barbed wire fences separated by thirty metres of ploughed earth, ploughed to make running difficult. His philosophy was 'live and let live.'
He had attended the briefing classes and seen the movies, 'Why We Are Here' and 'Protecting our way of life for Future Generations' plus the ones on being careful about whom you spoke to and the horrors of venereal disease. They meant little to him and had hardly registered. He knew the other side was trigger happy though, any sort of movement on the 'Curtain' and they shot first and asked questions later. That had registered. He kept his head down. He had never fired his rifle in anger and hoped he never would.
All he wanted was to complete his tour of duty and then go home to his family and his girlfriend Emily. Thinking of Emily, he realized she hadn't been writing as often lately. He'd seen the other guys get their 'Dear Johns.' He hoped he wasn't next.
As usual it was cold just before dawn and although the sun was rising, it gave no promise of heat. The wind had abated overnight and only the occasional groan of tree boughs behind him plus the shiver of their leaves, told of its waning presence. The dew on the barbed wire fences looked like pearls around a ghastly neck.
He saw one of the border guards on the other side moving, freeing a dog from its thirty meter leash. It was strange to hear such a seemingly vicious animal whimpering like a pup recognizing its handler and anticipating a morning romp and breakfast. George now thought about the 'other side.' Surely they must have their homes and their Emily's too. Did they get 'Dear Johns'? Did they have movies about 'Why we are here'? or were they told they were 'Protecting their way of life for their Future Generations'?
He drew out his binoculars and focussed on the guard. He looked to be about George's age. He was chucking the dog under its neck and roughing the coat, very much the same way George did back home with his dog Rocky. The dog pranced on hind legs in canine delight. Looking up, the guard saw George's binoculars trained on him. He smiled, and waved.
George, disarmed, waved back.
