cradled in his arms, mouth open in a shout that was swallowed by the gun’s violence. He twisted right as the fighter flew overhead, then fell on his side.
I can’t die,
he’d told me a few days before.
I know something. I know the future of someone, so I can’t die.
“Davey!” I shouted. I scrambled across to him, glancing up to check what the Japanese fighter was doing. It was climbing and turning sharply, coming in for another run. I reached my mate, and the look on his face when he’d told me he couldn’t die was already haunting me.
He rolled over and grinned up at me. “Another magazine!” he said. “I think I dinged the bastard that time.” Davey lifted the Bren and snapped out the empty magazine, reloading just as the fighter swooped in and opened fire again.
“Stay low!” I shouted, but I don’t think Davey heard me. He glanced over my shoulder at the column of trucks carrying injured soldiers and bloodied nurses. His face fell. Then he stood and shouldered the machine gun, legs splayed, and opened fire.
The road exploded, dust and metal and bodies jerking in a chaotic dance as the heavy-calibre shells made a stew of things. I hit the dirt behind Davey, wishing we had more than one Bren. Other men were sheltering, and glancing back, I could see the look in their eyes as they watched Davey stand his ground against the Zero: a mixture of respect and disbelief.
“Davey!” I shouted.
I can’t die,
he’d said.
I know something
. . .
Davey was lifted from his feet and thrown back over my head. His boots struck my helmet, and I felt blood spatter down across my back and shoulders. For a second, it looked as though he had taken off in pursuit of the Zero, but then he hit the mud behind me, and the fighter twisted away, heading back across the fields.
“Davey,” I said, “you can’t die.” But he was dead already; I could see that. No way a man could survive those injuries. No way.
I went to him first anyway, because he was my friend and he’d have done the same for me. While other men were climbing from their trenches to help out on the road, I knelt at Davey’s side and reached for his dog tags.
His hand closed around my wrist. He shouldn’t have been able to talk, not with his head damaged like that, but his tongue lolled in his mouth and his remaining eye was a stark white against the blood. It turned and fixed on me.
“Jungle,” he said, “saw him in the jungle. Snake in his eye. I knew; I heard and I knew. Terrible things, Jack. Too bad to remember, so I wrote them all down. Can’t let the Japs have it. Can’t let them know! Find it. Have to find it. One piece of paper . . . but it could change the world. That’s what the jungle told me. The trees, the vines, the sound of rain and the song it sang. Change the world.”
“Davey, keep still and try not—”
“I’m dead, Jack. The paper. Buried with Mad Meloy.”
“Meloy?”
“Jack . . .” His hand tightened, fingers pressing into my skin, but already the look in his eye had changed. He was gone.
Maybe he was dead when I reached him,
I thought.
Maybe I imagined all that?
“Jack?” someone shouted. I looked up to see Sergeant Snelling standing on the road, blood dripping from both hands.
“He’s dead,” I said.
Snelling glanced down at the ruined body before me. “’Course he is. There’re some up here that aren’t, so get off your arse.”
I spared one final glace back at my dead friend before climbing up onto the road.
He can’t have spoken to me,
I thought.
His head is almost gone.
The road was a scene of chaos and pain. One of the hospital trucks had caught fire, though everyone in its open back already appeared to be dead. It had tipped nose first into the roadside ditch. Some bodies had fallen into the dust, and those still on the truck were adding fuel to the flames.
Several more vehicles had been hit by the cannon fire. People were fleeing their vehicles now that the attack was over, helping
I can’t die,
he’d told me a few days before.
I know something. I know the future of someone, so I can’t die.
“Davey!” I shouted. I scrambled across to him, glancing up to check what the Japanese fighter was doing. It was climbing and turning sharply, coming in for another run. I reached my mate, and the look on his face when he’d told me he couldn’t die was already haunting me.
He rolled over and grinned up at me. “Another magazine!” he said. “I think I dinged the bastard that time.” Davey lifted the Bren and snapped out the empty magazine, reloading just as the fighter swooped in and opened fire again.
“Stay low!” I shouted, but I don’t think Davey heard me. He glanced over my shoulder at the column of trucks carrying injured soldiers and bloodied nurses. His face fell. Then he stood and shouldered the machine gun, legs splayed, and opened fire.
The road exploded, dust and metal and bodies jerking in a chaotic dance as the heavy-calibre shells made a stew of things. I hit the dirt behind Davey, wishing we had more than one Bren. Other men were sheltering, and glancing back, I could see the look in their eyes as they watched Davey stand his ground against the Zero: a mixture of respect and disbelief.
“Davey!” I shouted.
I can’t die,
he’d said.
I know something
. . .
Davey was lifted from his feet and thrown back over my head. His boots struck my helmet, and I felt blood spatter down across my back and shoulders. For a second, it looked as though he had taken off in pursuit of the Zero, but then he hit the mud behind me, and the fighter twisted away, heading back across the fields.
“Davey,” I said, “you can’t die.” But he was dead already; I could see that. No way a man could survive those injuries. No way.
I went to him first anyway, because he was my friend and he’d have done the same for me. While other men were climbing from their trenches to help out on the road, I knelt at Davey’s side and reached for his dog tags.
His hand closed around my wrist. He shouldn’t have been able to talk, not with his head damaged like that, but his tongue lolled in his mouth and his remaining eye was a stark white against the blood. It turned and fixed on me.
“Jungle,” he said, “saw him in the jungle. Snake in his eye. I knew; I heard and I knew. Terrible things, Jack. Too bad to remember, so I wrote them all down. Can’t let the Japs have it. Can’t let them know! Find it. Have to find it. One piece of paper . . . but it could change the world. That’s what the jungle told me. The trees, the vines, the sound of rain and the song it sang. Change the world.”
“Davey, keep still and try not—”
“I’m dead, Jack. The paper. Buried with Mad Meloy.”
“Meloy?”
“Jack . . .” His hand tightened, fingers pressing into my skin, but already the look in his eye had changed. He was gone.
Maybe he was dead when I reached him,
I thought.
Maybe I imagined all that?
“Jack?” someone shouted. I looked up to see Sergeant Snelling standing on the road, blood dripping from both hands.
“He’s dead,” I said.
Snelling glanced down at the ruined body before me. “’Course he is. There’re some up here that aren’t, so get off your arse.”
I spared one final glace back at my dead friend before climbing up onto the road.
He can’t have spoken to me,
I thought.
His head is almost gone.
The road was a scene of chaos and pain. One of the hospital trucks had caught fire, though everyone in its open back already appeared to be dead. It had tipped nose first into the roadside ditch. Some bodies had fallen into the dust, and those still on the truck were adding fuel to the flames.
Several more vehicles had been hit by the cannon fire. People were fleeing their vehicles now that the attack was over, helping
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