What War May Bring: A Novel

By Eva Fischer-Dixon

Anders van Niekerk and Danie de Villiers were inseparable friends growing up outside Pretoria, South Africa. They did everything together, so nobody was surprised when both decided to join the British Royal Marines. There was a secret kept between the friends: one of them had a violent temper that the other had covered up, until an event in Kabul, Afghanistan, during their third tour of duty. When an Afghan family was brutally raped and murdered, the friend with the even temper confronted the violent one and denounced his actions. During a patrol, due to a questionable IED explosion, one friend watched the other one die, and after that event, his life was never the same again. After being treated in London for PTSD, he was allowed to return to South Africa, where he was supposed to continue his treatment. During his stay at the clinic, he immediately fell in love with his young psychiatrist, Dr. Gerda van Heerden. She also develops feelings for the young man in her care. Gerda investigates his background and draws a shocking conclusion that affects her not only personally but professionally as well. What happened in Afghanistan? Who truly died in Afghanistan? When the truth is revealed during a storytelling session, it becomes clear that the problem with her patient is not only PTSD. His deep and disturbing secret, which surfaced during the sessions, might destroy not only the young doctor but also everyone around her. Would she be able to use deadly force to prevent other atrocities? Dr. Gerda van Heerden has a tough choice to make and only minutes to decide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514474181

Eva Fischer-Dixon

I came into this troubled world during the early morning hours of June 17, 1950, in the city of Budapest, Hungary. I was the first and last child of my 41-year-old mother and my father who was 45 years old at the time of my birth. As I did not know any better, I could not possibly understand that we were living in poverty, as I was growing up with loving parents and there was always a bite to eat. My childhood was poor and saddened with tragedies. As a six-year-old child I witnessed the bloody 1956 revolution and received the first taste of true prejudice by those of whom I thought liked us, yet turned against my family. That tragedy did not match the untimely death of my beloved father when I was not yet seven years old, on February 14, 1957. My mother remarried in 1959 and our financial situation was upgraded from poverty to poor. After finishing elementary school I made a decision to earn money as soon as possible to ease our financial situation and I enrolled in a two-year business college (high school diploma was not required). I received my Associate Degree in 1966 and I began to work as a 16-year-old certified secretary/bookkeeper. During the same period I began my high-school education, which I completed while working full-time and attending night school. I discovered my love for writing when I was 11 years old after a movie that my childhood friend and I saw in the movie theater. We were not pleased with the ending and Steven suggested that I should write a different ending that we both liked. Voila, a writer was born. With my family’s encouragement, I entered a writing contest given by a youth oriented magazine and to my genuine surprise, I won second price. My desire to live in a free country and to improve my life was so great, that in 1972, leaving everything, including my aging parents behind, I managed to escape from Hungary during a tour to Austria, (then) Yugoslavia and Italy. I spent almost nine long months in a rat infested refugee camp, located Capua, Italy, while I waited for official permission to immigrate to the country of my dreams, to the USA. In 1975 I met and married a wonderful man, my husband Guy. Thanks to his everlasting patience, he assisted me in my task of learning the English language. He is truly my partner for life and I remain forever grateful to him for standing by me in some tough times. It is difficult for me to describe my love for writing. I cannot think of a bigger emotional joy for an author than to see a published novel in somebody’s hand and to see a story come alive on the screen. I yearn to experience that joy.

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Copyright © 2016 by Eva Fischer-Dixon.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5144-7419-8

                eBook             978-1-5144-7418-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 03/29/2016

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

PROLOGUE

D ARKNESS IS NOT for everyone, but I like it, she thought as she sat in the virtually dark room on a chair that was strategically placed so it would face the door. If it were not for the full moon that shone through the uncovered window, the room would have been a resemblance to a basement without lights.

She was calm, calmer than she had ever been. The events of the past couple of weeks flashed through her mind and the sheer idea that things could escalate to that particular level never would occur to her. But it happened, and now she was going to deal with it and end another sad story. She couldn't see the clock on the wall and could not make out the time on her small watch; she guessed that it was almost midnight, the witching hour, as some author's would say.

What happened was almost out of a bedtime story or novel, and that thought saddened her to deeper depths. She blamed herself and no one else for what happened, but now the time had come to correct her mistake and misjudgment, although she feared that it would be too late. She heard a slight, almost undetectable noise outside the door and although only barely, yet she could see as the doorknob turned and the door opened very slowly.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. As he stood there motionless for a few moments, the moonlight shone on his handsome face that she once loved, a teardrop rolled down her face. Her eyes dropped at his hand that was by his side and it was not only a knife in his hand; it was a bloody knife that he held onto tightly. He came so he could finish her off.

What have you done? She asked with fear.

Well, all I can say is that nobody is standing between us any longer, he remarked quietly, yet not sarcastically. It was the fact that she asked for and he gave it to her.

Did you kill him? She asked again.

Yes, he replied without hesitation. Interestingly enough, he never begged for his life, but he begged me not to harm you.

Do you want to kill me now? She inquired calmly.

He took a step forward. Oh, no, I could never kill you. I have loved you from the moment you stepped into my life, he assured her and began to walk toward her. She got up and pointed a gun at him. You couldn't kill me either because you love me, too. He said and smiled.

You are the perfect example of what war may bring, she said to him and with bleeding heart, she aimed. You are wrong about one thing. I no longer love you, but I always loved my father. She said and pulled the trigger, hitting him between his eyes.

There was a surprise expression on his face as he first sank to his knees and fell sideways to the floor. She bent down to check his pulse to make certain that he was dead. Acknowledging that her shot was deadly, she sat back down into the chair and checked the gun, there were still seven bullets left in the barrel. She only needed one more, so lifted the gun to her temple.

CHAPTER ONE

T HE TWENTY-THREE YEAR old British Royal Marine Corporal stared at the doorway and quietly mumbled. Come on, come on. It took another twenty minutes before the door opened and Marine Captain and Psychologist, Dr. Singh walked into the office without knocking. He smiled as he reached his hand out for a shake and which the Marine Corporal hesitantly accepted.

How are you feeling today? He asked the annoying question.

Why do doctors always ask that? He wondered each and every time. If I was well, I wouldn't be here; you should know that by now? He thought but said nothing out loud.

Dr. Singh, despite the fact that many individuals serving in the British Royal Marines disrespectfully called him a rag head, he was neither a Sunni nor Shiite Muslim, rather, he was a Sikh who gave up a long time ago explaining his religion to anyone who was genuinely interested, or was plainly and simply ignorant.

How was your sleeping? Did the pills help? He asked after making some notes in Anders' file.

I don't sleep well, he said briefly. When he looked up at the doctor he was still staring at him as he was expecting to answer both of his questions. The pills didn't help, he finally informed him.

Do you still have nightmares? Dr. Singh asked in a voice that actually began to relax Anders. You know that you can tell me about them, that is why I am here. He reminded him.

Anders nodded that he knew. I still have them. He replied curtly.

The same ones? Dr. Singh inquired again.

The same ones, Anders confirmed and his eyes became fixated on the Singh's turban. He followed each twist and turn and he became intrigued how neatly it was tucked in. Dr. Singh knew what the Corporal was doing but ignored it, it was a daily thing with most of the Marines and soldiers he treated at the military hospital's Mental Care Unit after the injured or ill military individuals were pulled from active duty.

Do you want to talk about it? He asked. Anders shook his head as a no.

Dr. Singh gave him a good look and then closed Anders' file. Corporal van Niekerk, he addressed him after a few moments of silence. You have been coming here for over a month now and I have all the patience in the world to wait for you to open up. I cannot treat you accordingly of your needs because you won't talk to me. What is that you want? He asked.

I want to go home, Anders van Niekerk said without a second of hesitation.

I cannot release you until I at least diagnose you correctly and started up some sort of treatment. If you don't talk there won't be any release, it is relatively that simple. I know that you are missing your family and I want nothing more than to reunite you with them. Now, as we stand, you could be in danger for yourself and perhaps even to your family.

Anders stared right back at the Dr. Singh. I am a South African citizen who served your Great Britain in a bloody and senseless war. I served three tours of duty and lost my childhood friend along with my comrades, he said without blinking an eye. Do I need to hire an attorney so I can go back to my country? He asked.

Dr. Singh shook his head. You treat this situation as if we were your enemy. As a Marine, I know what you must have gone through.

Do you really know? Have you ever been in theater? Anders asked in a challenging tone of voice.

As a matter of fact, I just returned from Afghanistan two months ago. I was there and I have witnessed a lot of disturbing scenes and atrocities. You, Corporal van Niekerk; you have to think outside the box. At this moment, you think that you are all alone in this world and that nobody could possibly understand what you are feeling. It is far from the truth, Dr. Singh said and sat back in his chair. He said as much as he could to encourage the young South African to open up to him. From his service record, and the friend Anders mentioned that he lost, Danie de Villiers' record, Singh already profiled van Niekerk and was also very well aware of what happened. He could not put the words into van Niekerk's mouth, the young Corporal needed to talk it out loud; he needed to face the demons that kept him awake all night, every night.

Have you lost anyone close to you? Anders asked his doctor.

Yes, a fellow psychologist, Dr. Singh replied and he realized that he might just have found the key to open the door to the Corporal's troubles. He was not only a fellow doctor; he was also my friend from school. He asked my Commanding Officer if he could accompany me on a patrol that I was scheduled to go on as an observer. He got permission to join me and he got killed that very night. As you know, the night patrols were the most dangerous, not seeing well in unlit areas in the countryside, it was easy to become an unsuspecting target. There was a suspicious vehicle on the side of the road and our patrol stopped. We were ordered to remain in our vehicles and I followed that order, but my friend, Captain Bridges, did not. He was yelled at but he just kept on walking. As he walked around the vehicle, he stepped on an improvised explosive device (IED). I don't have to tell you what happened after that.

Anders nodded. I know, and I am sorry for your loss, too. He said and became quiet. Dr. Singh almost gave up hearing him speak again when Corporal van Niekerk buried his face in the palm of his hands and began to talk. "It all began when my friend, Danie de Villiers stopped by my parents' dairy farm to ask me if I wanted to join him for a movie. Since I seldom got out, I helped my parents' business a lot; they encouraged me to go, so we drove to Pretoria for a movie, he wanted to see The Hurt Locker. After the movie, we ended up having a couple of beers; he drank more than I did so I had to drive. My parents' place was about an hour and half drive from the city. All the way home, Danie spoke about the movie, the excitement in it, and he asked me how I felt about joining up. I thought that the beer was talking but he brought up the subject a few days later when he came over for supper. I could tell that my parents were not happy about the suggestion that I join the military, but they told me that if that is what I wanted to do, they would not stop me. Danie began to talk about England, the fun we would have if we planned to go a couple of weeks before signing up. I must admit, the farm life was becoming dull, but I kept thinking that it would not be fair to my parents; they would have to hire more hands to help. Eventually it came down to my father who used to be in the South African army and he loved the military life. He gave me the final go-ahead to join not the South African, but the British Marines. My mother cried, my little sister cried and told Danie how much she hated him for talking me into leaving. As we were heading to the airport, she yelled at Danie that she hoped that he dies. Danie was stunned but he laughed it off."

How upset were your parents about your intention of joining the military? Dr. Singh asked.

Well, they were upset, especially my mother, but seeing how calm my father was, she finally gave in and just asked me to return home safely after I served my duty tours, Anders explained. So we arrived in London and acted like tourists until our money was getting low. We finally joined the Royal Marines and went for basic training a few days later. Danie and I were together, in the same unit all the way, by some luck, we even did our three tours together, well, until that day when he died.

Anders stopped and looked at Dr. Singh. Is that alright if we stop for today? The psychologist smiled and agreed that they would meet again the following day.

CHAPTER TWO

A NDERS WAS SURPRISED when he woke up and had difficulty believing that he actually slept through the night. Yes, he did take some sleeping pills that Dr. Singh prescribed, but he took the pills before and was unable to sleep then. Maybe talking was helping after all, he thought.

Dr. Singh, calm as always, shook hands with Anders and after asking the usual questions, he asked Anders if he was ready to continue talking about his experience in Afghanistan, about the day when he lost his childhood friend, Danie de Villiers. Corporal Anders van Niekerk took a deep breath and began to talk.

It was the day after the shooting, he began. Dr. Singh raised his hand.

What shooting? He asked, not knowing what particular incident the Corporal was referring. Dr. Singh noticed the immediate change in Anders' composure. His shoulders slouch forward as if someone hit him on his back. He did not look at Singh as he talked.

When those four civilians were killed in one of the houses, nearby our base, Anders replied, and when he did not hear any further questions, he continued. Dr. Singh made a note to himself to look into what happened during that shooting and if there was anybody held responsible for it. It was late afternoon, we were in the third jeep of our four-jeep patrol when a man, standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms, halted us. It was too dangerous to go around him because sometimes it was a trick to guide the patrol on the top of IEDs, or make them a target for rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) on either side of him. So we stopped and Danie and I from the third Humvee, as well as two other guys from the second Humvee, along with the Afghan interpreter from the first vehicle got out. We approached the Afghan man carefully and motioned to him to lift up his shirt and lower his pants to see if any explosive devises were attached to his person. There wasn't any so our translator and all four of us approached him. He told us that his car ran into a ditch about 15 yards from where we stood, and that his pregnant wife was still in the vehicle. We told him to come with us and we very carefully approached his car. Half way there, two of the guys from the second Humvee stopped and remained there to cover any possible activities. Indeed, there was a vehicle in the ditch, and while Danie, the Afghan, the translator and myself lowered ourselves down to the car, I noticed that the person in the backseat was not moving. Even worse, I realized with great concern that it was not even a real person but like a mannequin, and that there was a backpack on the seat, next to it. Van Niekerk stopped and asked Singh for a glass of water. Thank you, he told him, Singh nodded.

Anders drank the water fast and after he rubbed his hands together as if they were cold. I yelled at Danie to get back and I looked at the Afghan man's face as he stood behind Danie, blocking his way from moving. The Afghan was talking to our translator and they appeared to be smiling and then they both began to run. I aimed with my weapon and shot them several times. They died instantly. Danie smiled and shook his head. I went around the car to take a better look at the driver's side when the IED went off. I was thrown several feet from the car, which became nothing more than burning wreckage; Danie's shattered body was everywhere. The two guys who were covering us came running, and while they did that, they called for help on their headphones. Anders stopped and swallowed hard before he continued. "I tried to move but for some reason I could not move my legs or my arms, there were cuts and bruises and some mild shrapnel damage to my shoulder. Later one of the doctors at the field hospital told me that perhaps I suffered temporary shock paralyses, as later that evening I was able to move all my limbs. Anyway, when I was lying there near the destroyed car, waiting for the medics to arrive, I turned my head and I saw Danie lying not far from me.