The cabin lurches with the swell of the sea. Dingy green light barely illuminates the racks of bunks and the sleeping figures crammed in their shadows. All that he has is with him. A kit bag. Spare fatigues. Pillow. Thin blanket. Shoulder lamp. It's always cold and wet here. He only ever manages to sleep because exhaustion drags him down into unconscious. And that is just from daily duties. They haven’t even reached the frontlines yet.
He thinks of home. Of warm summer evenings, the back yard buzzing with bugs, the smell of pollen on the air, the sun dipping below the horizon, cold lemonade in tall glasses. Surrounded by family and friends. Barbecued meats on the grill. Anxious chatter with pretty people.
He thinks about where they are going. A country he has never seen. A people he has never met. And cold, wet, terrified, he is expected to jump off this monstrosity of a battleship and go kill them.
He pulls the blanket closer. Dreams of breaking through the porthole glass, swimming into the deep, and emerging home, on the other side of the world.
Paddy Dobson
24th November 2022