Divine Protection: The Silent Enemy

By Guinevere Calder

This is the story of Friedrich ‘Freddie’ Wilhelm Harrison and his mysterious journeys into the past, present and future.

Freddie is a bomb technician or more accurately, he is an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialist. Together with his ‘bomb squad’ he disarms unexploded bombs.

Initially a shy and socially invisible young boy, Freddie was remarkably influenced by Mrs Rachel Clementine, his junior high science teacher. She taught him to stand up and do it well’. In fact, on one occasion, he did it so well that he blew up her science lab with an experiment gone seriously wrong!

On a mission to Laos, the per capita most heavily bombed country in the world, Freddie joins the Canadian explosives team and meets the local Lao explosives expert, Ulani, who has a mysterious link to Mrs Clementine. He also meets Emily, Mrs Clementine’s niece. Emily is there to help with the rehabilitation of the land once it is cleared of bombs. She seems to love everyone and everybody loves her. So when it comes to romance, poor Freddie doesn’t stand a chance! However, Emily does agree to tell Freddie her Auntie Rachel’s life story. Only she can’t just start with Rachel, she has to go right back to Rachel’s mother, Madeline, the Red Cross nurse who is haunted in her dreams by the clandestine unnamed soldier who rescued her - the one with the tattoo of a cross on his upper arm...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guinevere Calder
• Release date: Feb 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005236953

Book preview

Preface

Some of the places and events I describe in this book are loosely based on real places and events in Laos, but the story and characters are fictitious.

For a large part of the twentieth century, Laos was engaged in bitter warfare as a result of internal conflicts and entanglement in the First Indochina War from 1946 to 1954 and the Second Indochina War from 1964 to 1975. Despite Laos wanting to remain neutral of external warfare, it sadly became the per capita most heavily bombed country in the world. It makes one wonder if true neutrality really exists.

My intention is to highlight the plight not only in Laos but all over the world, where the dreaded enemy – Unexploded Explosive Ordnance (UXO) – still lurks mostly below ground so many decades after wars have ended. UXOs are military explosives that did not explode or function as intended. This enemy is blind and attacks anybody without provocation. Some sources suggest that it will take two centuries before Laos is completely free of unexploded ordnance. My admiration goes to the men and women of the many teams that take the risk of disarming and destroying this enemy.

PART ONE

Freddie …

The First Indochina War took place from 1946 to 1954, and

the Second Indochina War from 1964 to 1975.

Decades later, the war is still being fought –

only now it is a war against the unexploded weapons.

Prologue

… sometime in the future …

I could just see the outline of a person standing over me.

Freddie, what is your name? The outline was asking me a question.

Then another outline appeared next to him and spoke. Don’t be ridiculous, George, you just said his name.

Okay, okay, we’re all a little shocked here, you two, another voice came from somewhere. I tried to turn my head, but it felt as heavy as lead.

Freddie, it’s me, Harry. Do you know where you are? Can you hear me?

I groaned, My name is Freddie.

The voice that was Harry sighed. Yes, wise guy, I just told you that. Do you know where you are?

Then my junior high schoolteacher appeared. What was she doing here?

Mrs Clementine?

The second outline spoke. Who’s Mrs Clementine?

Back to Harry. Who knows. Freddie, do you know where you are?

Back to Mrs Clementine. Freddie, I want your full names for the class register.

My name is Friedrich Wilhelm Harrison.

Harry stood up. Okay, guys, call the medics.

Chapter One

The year is 2012.

My name is Freddie, and I am an explosives technician. Well actually, the title is Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialist. And in the army, I am a tactical and technical explosives expert. So, in short, I disarm unexploded bombs.

I still remember my first day in the army, as a newbie standing in front of a very tall officer, my eyes blinded by all the medals on his uniform. He barked, Men, when you are done here, you will be properly trained warriors … you will be equipped to attack and defeat unexploded weapons of war … weapons of mass destruction.

I couldn’t help but admire this daunting-looking man. He was clearly much older than the row of motley-looking characters standing in line in front of him. He must have known more than I did, because at that moment I certainly couldn’t ever see myself as a properly trained warrior. He must have some sort of supernatural faith, I thought, and smiled.

Then I heard him bark again: Harrison, something funny?

No.

No, who?

No, sir, and I stood a little straighter.

And just then my junior high teacher, Mrs Clementine, came to mind. I could almost see her looking at me over the shoulder of the commanding officer.

My father was English, and my mother was German. I lost them when I was five, and subsequently grew up with my German grandparents. I was brought up in a very strict, disciplined German home. I know that my grandparents loved me, but they weren’t the sort to praise and cuddle. I can only imagine that this was the way they themselves had been brought up. I suppose I always felt a little inferior. I learnt to slouch from an early age, and generally went about walking with slumped shoulders, staring at the ground. I avoided eye contact with people at any cost. I managed to stay rather invisible throughout junior school, with few friends and average grades. I certainly didn’t excel at anything or stand out in any way. And I told myself that I liked it that way.

My sudden turning point came on my first day at junior high in Mrs Clementine’s science class. I actually got lost on my way to class and by the time I eventually found it, everyone was already seated. I snuck in, shuffling my feet, eyes to the ground. I found an empty seat and flopped down. I was pretty sure nobody even noticed my presence. I was dead wrong.

Thank you for joining us, sir. Please may I have your name.

I managed to lift my head just high enough to realise that she was actually addressing me.

Me?

Yes, you.

Freddie.

Freddie, I want your full names for the class register. Now stand up … and do it well.

As I stood up, she kept motioning in an upwards direction with her hand until I was standing as straight as an arrow. My shoulders were quite unused to being so far back. It actually felt quite comfortable. And, with that, I looked her straight in the eye.

My name is Friedrich …

Friedrich, she repeated, wrote it down and looked up.

Wilhelm …

Wilhelm, she repeated, wrote it down and looked up.

Harrison.

Harrison, she repeated, wrote it down and looked up.

This back-and-forth was quite humorous and the next minute the whole class broke out in laughter. The chap seated to my right gave me a slap on the shoulder and the one to the left shook my hand. They were obviously quite impressed by me and, all of a sudden, I just loved the attention.

Mrs Clementine smiled at me.

Welcome to my class, Mr Friedrich Wilhelm Harrison. I am so very pleased to meet you.

And with that Mrs Clementine gave me the opportunity to create a ‘new me’. In the years that had passed since then, I often wondered if she knew how that one small act of kindness had changed my life. After that, whenever I was tempted to slump my shoulders or walk stooped and eyes to the ground, I could literally hear Mrs Clementine’s words – Stand up … and do it well.

Chapter two

And here I stood staring at Sergeant Major Craig, with Mrs Clementine peering over his shoulder, and I was trying not to smile. The bloke to my right was not helping. From the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth quivering as he tried to keep a straight face. He was a tall, slender guy with an absolutely animated face. I don’t think he even needed to talk to make people laugh; he was certainly to become the ‘class’ comedian. When we were finally discharged from the parade ground the lot of us collapsed in laughter. And I actually saw Sergeant Major Craig smile as he walked off.

The ice was broken. Mr Comedian turned out to be Horatio Grace – Harry for short. Apparently, his name meant ‘punctual’ in Latin, and he was … punctual I mean. But then he was also funny. Looking back, I realise that in our profession we were often seen as the jokers, but perhaps that is how we coped with the many horrors we saw in a day’s work. We knew that our work was serious and extremely dangerous. We knew that people could get hurt, but we also knew that we were in it to save lives.

Our little squad became quite a close-knit group. We had to be – we had to be able to trust and rely on one another. Then most of us were also ‘unattached’. Not that I had never had a girlfriend, but they tend not to want to get too involved if they find out that in your occupation you might get blown up. Also, in all honesty, my profession takes me all over the world at a moment’s notice and not many ladies like to be abandoned three times in a row just when the entrée is over.

There were seven of us in our little squad when we graduated. There was me and Harry, of course. Harry always assumed the leadership position in our group. And, of course, we let him, because he was sort of the responsible one among all the rest of us, who would joke around at the best of times.

And then there was George, who was as absent-minded as any absent-minded professor could be. He was extremely clever and could remember every button, wire and switch listed in our seven-hundred-and-fifty-page manual. But he somehow always managed to appear as if he was staring into nothingness. Harry often said George was visiting his planet when he went into one of those vacant stares. I thought it was slightly disturbing. But I wouldn’t be without him in an emergency situation. He always managed to beam off of that planet of his and appear temporarily present when we were in crisis mode.

Seamus was the Irish bloke. And he could sing any Irish folk song from Londonderry to Cork, which was basically one end of Ireland to the other. He was also one of those, like Harry, who could be funny without even trying. He actually did a couple of magic tricks, so we always mocked him about the leprechauns, which he took in stride. He was obviously not easily offended.

Ivan was a huge six-footer with huge hands and size thirteen feet. Apparently, he had been a great asset to his high school football team. He was as strong as an ox, but he had the gentlest of spirits. He was the only one with a steady girlfriend. He and Jade had grown up together and just stayed together it seemed. She was a tiny little blonde thing, and it was just something to see this huge bloke melt when she walked through the door. But she certainly wasn’t timid; she was a policewoman and as they say … dynamite comes in small packages. She didn’t let anyone walk over her. But Ivan … he just adored her. And when they were together you could see the feeling was mutual.

Jermain Jones was a Jamaican athlete. We called him the ‘Jay-man’ given his initials and the fact that he was from Jamaica. But, to tell the truth, the ‘Jay-man’ tag was actually meant to award him some sort of superhero status because he could run so fast.

And, lastly, there was Christopher. Everyone called him Chris, that is everyone except his mother. To his mother he would always be Christopher. We loved his mother because she always baked biscuits for the team. The Dicksons, his family, were the proud owners of the local bakery, and we were always well supplied with all sorts of goodies. Christopher had a large family, two sisters and three brothers. He fitted somewhere in the middle. Having grown up as an only child, I was always slightly envious of their large easy-going family. And there always seemed to be laughter in their house.

I remember the very first time I went to their house, Mrs ‘D’ was lecturing two of the older brothers for having given their severely hyperactive younger brother Jake an energy drink. They were lined up in front of her and she was giving them a real talking-to. Have you any idea what an energy drink does to an ADHD child? He is going to be bouncing off the walls for who knows how long! Naturally, the two being reprimanded couldn’t keep a straight face between them, because they were probably picturing their younger brother bouncing off the walls.

I learnt later that Mrs ‘D’ never stayed mad for long anyway, and I still don’t know for how long an ADHD child bounces off the walls after ingesting an energy drink.

Despite all their own children, Christopher’s parents pretty much adopted all of us too. We were always welcome in their home whether Chris was around or not.

The seven of us made up ‘The Squad’. Mrs ‘D’ refused to let us call it ‘The Bomb Squad’. Too violent, she said. So, we complied. Mr ‘D’ was our father figure. He was a very wise man. He had the ability to draw any pain right out of a person by just listening, nodding and giving some sage advice. It was as if he could look right into a person’s soul. But it wasn’t frightening; it was a great comfort.

Chapter three

Our training for the specialist unit happened as part of our military training. We were soldiers with a special mission, just as Sergeant Major Craig had suggested. The training was extremely rigorous, with early morning calls and late-night operations. The mental and physical exercise regime was strict. In a hundred years I would not have pictured myself here when I was ten years old. Looking back, I could hardly remember that shy slumped little boy with the inferiority complex. Somewhere between here and there, my life was transformed. I had discovered my adventurous side, and I loved every moment of it.

Our lectures were very ‘hands-on’ practical lessons. There were many examples in the lecture hall of unexploded weapons of war that had been made safe over the years. One entire wall of our lecture hall was dedicated to pictures and stories of projects in which these weapons had been made safe. But then there was also the memorial wall just outside with the names of the many men who had been killed while trying to disable the weapons. It was serious business and our lecturers never covered up the risk that accompanied the profession.

The horrors of weapons of war certainly didn’t stop when the wars ended. All the unexploded weapons scattered over vast terrains were now invisible timebombs just waiting for a slight shift in the soil or water levels, or the deterioration of the detonator and main charge, or worse still for someone to step on them and cause them to explode. I remember being horrified when I first heard that seventy-eight countries had been contaminated by unexploded weapons. A staggering fifteen- to twenty-thousand people were killed every year when they came into contact with these horrifying objects. Many people, the majority of them children, who were lucky enough not to be killed, were maimed by the explosions. And on our wall the pictures were displayed; there was just no sugar coating anything about these buried terrors.

Our training was not limited to the actual makeup and wiring of the weapons, but also dealt with the impact that the chemicals from age-old weapons had on the environment. It was not uncommon for chemicals to have seeped into the ground and contaminated the groundwater over the years. This made for rather a toxic combination. If you weren’t in danger from an unanticipated explosion, the toxic surroundings might get you.

And then there were the psychological evaluations we had to undergo during our course. Assigned to our division was a psychologist by the name of Dr Joshua Grant. He was in his forties, but, being part of the army regiment, he was always outdoors and exercising with the rest of the troops. I learnt later that he preferred being outdoors. According to him, this was to ‘keep fit’, but the behind-the-scenes story was that he could observe his ‘charges’, as he liked to call us. Whatever the reason was, he was very popular with us and among the soldiers in general. He was easy to chat to, and he was profoundly wise. His favourite question was: Why do you do what you do? And he asked that often. In hindsight, I don’t suppose he actually wanted any specific answer; he just wanted us to think about it. When he first asked me that question, it was right at the beginning of my training as an explosives technician, and the question was phrased more like: Why do you want to be an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialist?

I stared at him for a while and tried to think of an appropriate answer.

He looked me straight in the eye and said, Don’t try to give me an answer you think I would like.

And he smiled.

At that moment I was quite convinced he could read my mind.

And I laughed. Well, I wanted to say, the adventure, I confessed. But then I wondered if that sounded a little like I didn’t care about the destruction.

Dr Grant looked at me again with those penetrating eyes. So, what’s wrong with adventure?

I came out of that first session knowing that this was what I wanted to do. Dr Grant made me realise that, although this was serious business, risky at the best of times, it would ultimately be the sense of adventure and the camaraderie of the team that would help me cope.

I nodded my head. So, what’s wrong with adventure?

Chapter four

I would have liked to think that I was Mrs Clementine’s favourite student at junior high. Only, she treated everyone with kindness. But she did also bail me out of a fair amount of mischief that I had gotten myself into. The ‘new me’ appeared to have developed quite a propensity for taking risks. And Mrs Clementine always seemed to appear from nowhere whenever I had gotten myself into trouble. And every time she just looked at me with those piercing emerald-green eyes that could look right into your soul, pointed her finger at me and said, Mr Harrison, you owe me one. And I would smile and say, Yes, ma’am.

I certainly had my fair share of detention. But it was actually quite nice doing detention when Mrs Clementine was in charge of it. She never believed in children sitting for an hour staring at a wall. She started a vegetable garden outside the science class and detention students had to spend time working there. Out loud we groaned at the idea, but secretly we loved it. And I might add that I was probably the student who spent the most hours in that veggie patch. This was mostly because halfway through junior high I blew up her science lab. Actually, ‘blew up’ sounds a little harsh, but then the blast did wipe out the entire first three rows of desks and there was a hole the size of a large dustbin in the ceiling. Very fortunately for me, I was blown clear of the blast by the life-size human skeleton that had been standing to one side, and I managed to escape with a lot of bruises and singed eyebrows. My friend Roger was standing at the back of the classroom videotaping my ‘experiment’, and he called it divine protection, because he could not figure out how the skeleton had flown from the side of his view and blocked me