My war won first in the emerging writers section of the Henry Lawson Literary Awards at Gulgong in June 2012

My War

I am warm and comfortable, floating without effort. Sounds are soft and muted. There is an overpowering sense of peace. I can see a blue sky with hazy clouds.

       ‘How are you Mate?’ An unrecognised face appears in my line of view. It is a young face, smeared with mud. The expression is sympathetic and the eyes show a measure of concern.

‘I’m fine.’ I have difficulty making my throat work. A guttural grunt rolls through my head.

The face disappears from my vision. My head is lifted slightly and something soft placed under it. My line of vision now included the branches of a tree somewhere in front of me. They wave in the breeze but they are not clear. They are fuzzy, as if I am looking through a poorly focussed binocular. I blink. The fuzziness remains.

‘Just rest for now!’

 The sun passes slowly above the branches and the light strobes down through the fluttering leaves. The bright, flashing light triggers a memory deep in my subconscious.

            To the right, mortars are firing into the morning sun. The staccato crackle of machine gun fire fills the air. Lines of tracers are visible arcing out into the distance ahead. I am at the front edge of the trench watching the scene across no-man’s-land to the enemy position. The man next to me props his rifle against the earth bank and lights a cigarette. As the smoke rises languidly to the top of the bank, it dissipates in the early morning breeze.

The lieutenant raises his sword. As he brings it down it flashes in the sunlight. He screams ‘Charge!’

There is no time to think. As one, the men of the Company leap over the trench and onto the flat ground. I am running as fast as I can over the muddy, slippery surface.

            My left arm feels numb. It is partly across my body and I can feel the material of my webbing belt around my waist. I move my hand across to the centre where the shiny brass buckle should be. All I can feel is the frayed end of the belt.

‘Don’t move Mate! They’ll be here for you soon.’

With a great effort I turn my head to the left, where the voice had come from. I can vaguely make out his shape, squatting on his heels beside me in the mud. As I move, my body shudders with agony. The excruciating pain is shooting through my right side. My agonised scream comes out as a gurgling screech.

            ‘I’ve got one shot of morphine left. You’d better have it now.’

I feel him gripping my left arm. There is a small sting as the needle enters below my shoulder. The feeling of euphoria sweeps over me again and I feel contented lying in the mud. The pain has gone.

            As the soldier moves back to his squatting position, a flash of sunlight reflects off his belt.

 I keep running, keep firing. Men are falling and screaming all around me. I look left and right. A machine gun off to my right is decimating our troops.

‘C platoon! Form on me!’

 ‘We need to knock out that machine gun!’ the sergeant said as we gather around him in a shell crater.

‘I can traverse across to the right flank and take it out!’ I say with bravado, still on an adrenalin high from the all-out charge across no-man’s-land.

 “How are you feeling, son?’

I recognise the Red Cross symbol on his collar.

‘I feel really good buddy!’ My mind is in much better shape than my voice. A series of grunts and gurgles roll around in my head. Why can’t I speak? I move my right hand up towards my throat. The nerves tell me that my hand is there but I cannot feel anything.

‘Take it easy son!’ I felt my left hand being restrained.

‘We’ll get you onto this stretcher and get you out of here!’

I feel hands around me. I feel a sucking sensation as I am lifted out of the mud. An agonising pain shoots through my right side. I gurgle again as another needle penetrates my left arm.

I reache the right flank of the machine gun post. I watch the team loading new belts of ammunition into the gun. The gunner trains it on our approaching troops. B Company is almost annihilated.

Using the edge of a crater as a rest, I raise my Lee Enfield and with one shot, take out the gunner. There is panic around the gun. I lever another round into the breach and take out a second soldier. I keep loading and firing until there is no more movement in the gun post. I hear an incoming shell, then blackness.

I am lifted onto the stretcher.

I feel the stretcher lurching as I am carried to a waiting helicopter. Through the blur caused by the medication, I can hear voices as I drift in and out of consciousness.

‘Is this one really worth it?’

‘Hey man, every one alive is worth it!’

My right side has been bandaged and strapped. My head is in a brace that keeps it immobile, I am looking straight up.

‘His right side is almost destroyed!’

They are not talking about me are they? There must be others on the helicopter.

‘What about my throat?’ I scream. Nothing comes out. I have no throat. I have no right arm. I have no right leg! Breathing is getting harder.

My mind is still working. Has Sally been told? The baby should be close now. I was home on leave eight months ago. Her first letter gave me the good news. This is my last tour. I’m getting out next year!

            It was a year later that a ceremony was held. Sally and her year old son attended. She was presented with the medal, posthumously awarded to her husband, for meritorious service.