The Bunker
Henry Brockman
The Bunker
This Christmas I got a metal detector. I was immediately excited because I had always dreamed of metal detecting World War 2 battlefields. I live in Fraiture, Belgium, a small town just outside the Ardennes Forest. So, I only found it fitting that the first place that I explore would be the Ardennes. If you didn’t know, the Ardennes Forest is where the Battle of the Bulge took place, a battle that is notorious for being Adolf Hitler’s last major offensive against the Allied Forces.
Once I had a plan for my expedition, I set off with my new metal detector, a large bottle of water, my notebook, a shovel, and a few other things in my backpack. The forest was about 2 kilometres away, so I got on my bike and started to ride. It only took about 6 minutes to get there. I got off my bike and tied it to a tree just out of view from the road. I grabbed my backpack off of the back of the bike and started my journey deeper into the forest.
It was a thickly wooded forest with dense trees. I looked up and I felt overwhelmed. The trees towered over me almost as though I should be compelled to stop and bow down to them. As I swung my metal detector over the path, I wondered how a place of such beauty could also be the land on which tens of thousands of men had been taken from this earth. I continued to ponder this when I heard the distinct “beep,” of my metal detector picking up a signal. I bent over and looked closer at the ground. “I hope it’s something good,” I thought.
I gripped the lower neck of the detector to have more control of the device and gently moved it back over the ground in front of me. “Beep,” I heard again. I started to move the dirt around and moved the detector over it again. However, before I could, I saw the slight shine of metal in the sunlight. With my fingers, I brushed the dirt away from the metal. “It's a coin,” I said out loud. “It's American,” I thought. I knew that some American veterans would come to the battlefields that they fought in and leave coins as a sign of respect to their fallen friends. I brushed the dirt off of the back of the coin to check if my suspicions were correct, and they were. The date on the coin read 1984, a modern coin. I realized that I couldn't keep the coin for myself. It was left here on purpose, to honor soldiers who lost their lives in this very forest. I carefully put the coin back where I found it, grabbed my gear, and continued deeper into the beauty that was the Ardennes forest.
As I walked I waved my metal detector back and forth in front of me so as to not miss anything. After a long while of finding nothing, I came across an indent in the ground. “It must be a foxhole,” I thought. I knew that foxholes can be goldmines for things like MG34 bullet casings. I climbed into the ditch and immediately started getting signals from my detector, strong signals. I knew that a bullet casing wouldn’t give that kind of signal so it had to be something better. I put down the metal detector and took out my shovel. I plunged the blade deep into the soft dirt. From that first second, I knew that something was wrong. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the soil shifting around me, and then it happened. I was swept off of my feet and I closed my eyes in terror, not knowing what had happened. It felt like time had slowed down as I fell. I felt my heartbeat in my chest and the little specks of dirt sprinkle all around me, but in a second it was over. I hit the ground hard, not more dirt but something else, something hard and cold.
I didn’t dare open my eyes, partly because of the shock, and partly because I didn’t want to see what had happened, what I had gotten myself into. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see anything but the distant tips of the trees, and the opening of the hole that I had fallen through. “I must have fallen at least 40 metres,” I thought, before sitting up to assess the physical damage to my body. When I did though, I couldn’t believe my eyes, I was in some kind of underground bunker, but the most shocking thing was the small pool of blood I was sitting in. I had landed on my shovel and it cut straight through my leg. There was a huge gash around the side of my thigh and it was bleeding fast. I must have been too adrenaline high to feel it but my senses were coming back fast. I quickly took off my jacket and tied it as tightly around my leg as possible to act as a sort of tourniquet until I could find something better. I then rummaged through my backpack, hoping that I had packed something that could be used like gauze to slow the bleeding even more. Thankfully I found a small first aid kit that my mother had packed without me knowing. I unwound the roll of gauze over my wound and put everything back in my bag. I knew that I had to find a way out if I had any chance to make it home alive. So I pushed myself up, using the blood covered shovel to take the pressure off of my leg and looked at the hole. There was no way I could climb that high, especially with my injured leg. I had to find a different way out. I turned towards the seemingly endless dark tunnel that is the bunker. I remembered that I packed a small hand-crank flashlight in my bag, so I grabbed it, and all of my stuff and started limping into the newly illuminated tunnel. Far ahead of me were the deep eerie sounds of dripping water, and I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of treasure I could find here. But first I had to find some kind of infirmary.
As I limped and applied pressure to my leg I couldn’t help but wince. In my hand, I carried the very shovel that just moments ago was slicing through my leg, still covered in my blood. I tried to take my mind off of the pain but I couldn’t. It was almost as if the shovel was constantly cutting through my leg, and it was beginning harder and harder to walk. My hands were beginning to cramp from the flashlight, and then I saw a door. I grabbed the door handle and pulled but it was locked. So then I took the blade of the shovel and jammed it into the side of the door. After a few minutes of pulling, it finally broke open and I saw what was inside. The room looked like an office, a chair at a desk sitting in the middle of the room with an old typewriter on top. However, the most interesting thing of all was the dead body (well what was left of a body, a skeleton) laying on the ground with a swastika on his arm.. At any other moment I would have been scared out of my mind, but not today. The dead man that I saw in front of me reminded me of how important it is that I find a way out. I looked down at my leg, which started to bleed through the gauze and looked back up at the body. I had thought of taking the typewriter, but couldn’t bring myself to disrespect the body like that. I quickly closed the door and limped away as fast as I could down the tunnel. All I could think about was getting to safety. I had almost forgotten about the pain in my leg and could only try to move faster as I thought back of the body. Only a couple minutes away from the first room were 3 more, except they were for different uses. The first one had a long row of bunk beds, the second one was just one, bigger bed (most likely the executive quarters used to house any high ranking officers who showed up to the bunker.), and the last one was what I had been looking for the whole time.
The infirmary didn’t have much, it was most likely emptied by the troops when they left the bunker, but I did find some things. I was able to find some old morphine syrettes and a little bit of extra gauze. Even though there were no extra tourniquets, my jacket was holding up. I sat down on the ground and reapplied my gauze, I could see it was already getting infected and I knew that I had to hurry. I injected myself with the morphine, got my stuff and kept on walking. My new mission was to find a way out. With the morphine in my system and my leg feeling just a little bit better, I started to notice how I’ve been shivering the whole time. I felt the cold air around me and just wished that I was home and with my family again. For just a second I thought about going back to the hole that I fell through and screaming for help, but that deep down I knew wouldn’t do anything. The Ardennes forest is extremely vast, and there is no guarantee that there is another person even in the forest, let alone within earshot. My only hope was to keep exploring the bunker in search of a way out. I heard the sound of my footsteps echo off the walls and dissipate down into the darkness. “How long have I been walking?” I thought. The bunker must stretch on for miles.
In front of me, I saw a turn. “This is the way out,” I thought. And I was right. As I turned the corner I immediately saw a set of stairs leading to a steel door. I felt the joy rush through my body, and I could only think about seeing my family again. It was difficult to climb the stairs with my bad leg but I did it anyway. About halfway up the set of stairs I noticed my wound start to bleed faster and stain the gauze. I took one of the extra syrettes out of my bag and injected the morphine. I used the last bit of strength I had left and arrived at the top of the stairs. I took a couple of minutes to breathe and then tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. At first, I thought it might be locked, but it wasn’t. I noticed how the door opened outwards and realized what was happening. The door wouldn’t open because it was buried in the dirt, I am basically snowed in. There was no hope. I looked down at my leg which was almost gushing blood. I started to feel light-headed and had to sit down. I quickly and carefully reapplied the gauze and tied my makeshift tourniquet tighter. It slowed down the bleeding for a while, but I had already lost too much blood and didn’t have the energy to get up.
That is when I took my old notebook out of my bag and started writing this. I don’t think I am going to make it out of here. Whoever is reading this please tell my family that I love them. My name is Levi Bakker. At this moment, my bandages aren’t holding up and I am losing even more blood. If someone doesn’t come, and nobody will, I will die here. Please tell my mother (Mila Bakker) that I was thinking about her and Father every one of my last seconds on this earth, and goodbye.” I read off of the old blood-stained notebook.
“Give me that!” yelled one of my coworkers.
“Hey man, show some respect, the kid is dead. That’s the least you could do.” I proclaimed.
“Hey, you two, what’s going on here? Get back to work, we have a huge excavation to do..” announced our boss, as he barged through the door to the bunker. I stepped aside to give him a clear view. His eyes widened and a look of shock came over him. “Oh my, call the authorities,” he ordered, still in shock.
“Already on it,” said the same coworker that tried to take the notebook, now dialing 112.
To this day, almost 2 years later, I haven’t had a day where I didn’t think of that poor boy and the looks on his parents' faces when I told them that their son would never come home. He would never come home from the bunker.
