But something amongst this mass of junk, flesh and flame caught Konrad’s eye – a distinct hexagonal shape.
Konrad’s eyes narrowed as he peered again, hoping, even praying, that his initial assessment was correct. Hidden between the remains of a parabolic communication dish was a single food container. It swung forlornly from the structure like a forgotten piece of fruit, all the while creaking mournfully in the hope of being plucked from its uncomfortable branch.
‘Herr Mesler!’ Konrad cried. ‘I’ve found a container.’ He directed the officer towards the overturned dish.
In response, Mesler hurriedly unpacked a pair of binoculars and swept the debris field in the direction Konrad excitedly pointed. Mesler’s eyes widened with delight when he too spotted the precious container.
‘Wunderbar!’ he exclaimed.
After what seemed an age, the two men with their tired limbs and smoke-stained faces eventually reached the dish. Deep, exhausting gasps filled the stillness as they rested a few minutes before attempting their final assault upon the container which they could see hung several metres above them.
‘Who gets to go up there and actually retrieve the box?’ Konrad breathlessly enquired.
‘It should really be me, but…’
‘What’s the matter?’ Konrad asked.
‘Would you believe me if I told you I was scared of heights,’ Mesler replied with a guilty smile.
Konrad rolled his eyes and stood up. ‘I just knew you were going to say that. I’ll go, shall I?’ he said sarcastically before looping the torch around his wrist and pulling himself up over the dish’s lip.
A pile of dirt, the result of the dish ploughing into the ground, filled the bottom of the voluminous bowl, but instead of being a hindrance to Konrad the churned up soil would, in fact, aid his ascent to the central antennae and its prize. The antenna was housed upon a twisted tripod, the bottom leg of which hung preciously above the two men.
Konrad scrambled up the curved floor of the dish and mounted the bottom strut which squeaked and groaned loudly in protest. He cautiously tested its integrity by swinging from it. Much to his relief, the strut remained quite sturdy, and so Konrad climbed up and straddled the horizontal support, which he then shimmied along towards the cylindrical antenna and the box. From his vantage point he could see a panel attached to the dented and pock-marked yellow container. The stencilled writing upon the panel indicated that the box contained two thousand freeze-dried meals. But as Konrad neared, like a moment in a tragic comedy, his weight upon the tripod caused the container to tip away. An angry creak warned Konrad to halt.
He slowly turned to look over his shoulder. ‘What do I do now?’ he shouted down to Mesler. ‘If I move any closer the container will drop!’
‘Good,’ Mesler waved him on. ‘The quicker it’s down here the better.’
Konrad continued, but he was clearly unhappy. ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your arse hanging up here like some demented cuckoo,’ he muttered to himself.
Again the food container winced at his approach, but Konrad carefully closed in until his grubby hands eventually rested upon the brightly coloured box. Konrad pulled at the coffin-sized box, but it remained stubbornly wedged in the antenna. It appeared that this last part of the recovery was going to be the most difficult.
Konrad turned down to Mesler. ‘I don’t think it’ll move…’
As the last word left his mouth, the container abruptly slipped and dropped. To save his hands from being torn from his wrists, Konrad pulled them back and held onto the rocking support for dear life. The container, meanwhile, slammed into the ground below, narrowly missing Mesler. It rolled to a rest amidst a cloud of soil and rubbish.
One by one, Konrad pried his frozen fingers from the strut, climbed down from the tripod and slid back down the dome to the safety of the ground below. By now, Mesler had scrambled after the container and disappeared out of sight. Konrad picked himself up off the ground and staggered after them both.
Konrad found Mesler on top of the yellow box, the torch in one hand, a small pry-bar in the other, which he was attempting to use to open the container’s lid. However, this proved to be totally fruitless as the box’s lid remained stubbornly in place. In the end, the officer resorted to more brutal methods. He clubbed the lid like some crazed native attacking a helpless animal. At the same time, Konrad skipped around the container, avoiding the swinging metal bar, and pulled at the lid too.
Eventually the pair’s comical efforts paid off, and with a welcoming pop, the container cracked open. A host of plastic packages flooded onto the ground.
Mesler dropped to his knees and pawed his way through the glistening envelopes. ‘Hurry, come this side,’ he instructed. ‘Shine your light over here!’
Konrad obeyed and scurried behind the stooping officer. His light exposed the packages in Mesler’s hands and his heart instantly sank.
Inside each plastic envelope, instead of the hoped for food, were medals – thousands of medals. Iron Crosses attached to red, black and white ribbons, decorative cuff-bands, neatly folded swastika arm-bands and gold Nazi Party pin-badges. No meat, no vegetables, no fruit, just worthless Nazi trinkets and decorations. Mesler shook his head in disbelief as he desperately raked his hands through the pile of useless objects.
‘This can’t be true,’ he cried as he delved deeper into the container. ‘There has to be some food in here. The container said so. The container said so!’
Konrad fingered the container’s misleading label which appeared to smile mockingly at them. He then stooped down himself and picked up a packet which contained a gold Nazi badge. These particular badges were normally reversed for the elite of the Party, and were destined to have been awarded to the Odin’s crew and the future colonists. They were now simply useless pieces of junk. Konrad was about to drop the badge back into the pile when he hesitated. He fingered the plastic bag and the harsh swastika within and decided to keep the ornate badge. It was an unconscious decision, not motivated by any selfish need to keep the trinket, all he could say if asked was perhaps it was motivated by some traces of his previous life at the prison camp to steal any valuables that weren’t nailed down.
Whatever his reasons, he pocketed the bag and watched as Mesler pounced up from the ground to kick and punch the container. Again and again he hit the scarred surface, his screams of frustration mixing with the dull thuds of his blows. Blood soon smeared his knuckles, the red rivulets running down his hands, their scarlet drops spattering the useless medals.
‘Fuck the Party! Fuck the SS! Fuck the Astrokorp! Fuck Germany! Fuck the Reich! Fuck all of them!’ Mesler screamed at the top of his voice. His anguish added a terrible note to his cries as he dropped to the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks. The tears mixed with the blood on the useless packages.
Suddenly the container imploded before them as if hit by an invisible fist.
The two men staggered backwards away from the crumpled box unsure as to what had just happened.
Another blow exploded in front of them, this time sending a great shower of dirt and metal in all directions. The force of this blow catapulted both Konrad and Mesler into the surrounding wreckage. Stunned, Konrad rolled onto his side and pawed at his ringing ears. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that his ears were perforated by the explosive concussion. He felt the warm trickle of blood between his fingers and saw it mix with the dirt and grime that had impregnated every pore. The red blood shone brightly in the gloom and seemed to hypnotise the prisoner. Another shower of dirt landed on Konrad and seemed to draw him from his state of contemplation. He looked up and saw Mesler crawling toward him. He appeared to word something, but the persistent ringing in his ears transformed the officer’s screams into dull and muffled gibberish.