Comrades (standard:horror, 1704 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Sep 13 2007	Views/Reads: 3463/2198	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
How will his old friend be after so many years apart? Some severed friendships are best not rekindled.

The bus came to a halt and Bob Clement stepped off, nodded an
acknowledgment to the driver who drove away, leaving him in a light 
breeze under the bright sun and cloudless sky. He was in unfamiliar 
territory, so he had no idea where to go first, and thought he would 
find a local pub or caf¨¦, as the locals there might know where to find 
who he was looking for. 

After around ten minutes, he was sat outside a caf¨¦, drinking tea, in
the village of Mosshey, eight miles north of Arbroath, Scotland, near 
the North sea coast. He took from his inside pocket, a letter that had 
brought him here. He¡¯d already read it many times, and had virtually 
memorised every word. He read it again, not really knowing why, perhaps 
to confirm he was in the right place, or a simple desire to read his 
old friend¡¯s words again. 

Dear Bob, I was saddened to hear I was being posted to another division
up in Arnhem to help repel the German advance, effectively meaning I 
would never see you again. I never struck up a similar friendship as I 
did with you in Normandy, and as you know, the war ended four months 
later, when we all went our separate ways. I would like to know what 
happened to you. It would be good to see you again, catch up on old 
times. I came up to a village in Scotland. Mosshay, overlooking the 
North sea. I do hope to find a wife and start a family. It¡¯s nice and 
quiet here, a far cry from the frontline. So if you¡¯re ever up this 
way, please call in, we could have a drink, which of course, I will pay 
for. Anyway. I hope your keeping well, and I look forward to seeing you 
again. My kindest regards. 

Thomas Roberts.  07/02/1946. 

When he had first received the letter, all those years ago, Bob having
returned home to Plymouth, he had told himself he¡¯d make a special 
journey up there. However, circumstance meant that he had never found 
the time to make the trip. A marriage and a career meant that gradually 
he had not so much forgotten his old comrade, but accepted that he 
would probably never make the excursion. As the years went by, he 
harboured doubts about simply turning up and expecting to be greeted 
with open arms. He guessed he probably would be, but it did not alter 
the fact that he would be a virtual stranger to him. He certainly would 
be now, after 59 years. It was a pensioner¡¯s golf tournament that had 
brought him to this part of the country, near to where his old friend 
lived. He knew it was a good opportunity to visit Thomas again, and he 
certainly could not pass it up, being only eight miles from Mosshay. He 
had lost the golf game, so therefore travelled north to find his old 
comrade. 

He folded up the letter and put it back, wondering how on earth he was
going to find Thomas without a proper address. He finished his drink 
and decided that the best thing to do was simply ask around. He asked 
in the caf¨¦, in a charity shop, even a boy riding past on a bike. ¡®Do 
you know a Thomas Roberts?¡¯ was met with shakes of the head and 
shrugs. ¡®Sorry, but you could try¡­.¡¯.  was a trail that he followed 
that eventually led him to a tavern, or pub, overlooking the sea. At 
the entrance to a footpath that led down to the rocky coast, Bob looked 
out towards the horizon, the breeze stronger, ruffling the sparse hair 
he had left. After three hours, he wondered if this place might be the 
last chance saloon. He turned and walked across to the entrance. Inside 
it was dark and gloomy, the bar itself obviously well lit. There were 
not many people in there. An elderly man by the window wearing a flat 
cap was reading a newspaper, a cigar jammed between his teeth, curling 
blue/grey smoke in the light from the window behind. Another man, early 
fifties, was in the darkest recess, doing nothing but drink from his 
pint. At the bar, another man, late forties, was chatting to a portly, 
bald barman, also late forties. He thought that if this turned up 
nothing, then he would probably have a drink, then give up and go back 
to Arbroath, to his golfing colleagues. ¡°Excuse me,¡± he said, to both 
of them. ¡°Do either of you happen to know a Thomas Roberts?¡± Both men 
smiled, but there was no humour there. The man sitting at the bar 
nodded. ¡°Ah, Tommy. Daft old fool. You shouldn¡¯t bother going to see 
him¡±. ¡°You know him?¡± said Bob, smiling. ¡°Yes, we know ¡®im,¡± said 
the barman. ¡°¡¯E lives just up the road ¡®ere¡±. He pointed in the 
general direction. ¡°¡¯bout a mile up the road. First ¡®ouse you see on 
the right. That¡¯s ¡®im. You shouldn¡¯t bother. E¡¯s a bit, you know¡±. 
He twirled his finger at the side of his head. ¡°What was that thing 
you called ¡®im recently,¡± he said to the other man. ¡°Erm, a paranoid 


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