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It was a night like any other. Which meant it was filled with artillery fire and screams. Bert stood at the edge of the trench, looking out over no-man's-land, at the flashes of lights from the canons on the German side.
The stars were out, he noticed. It would have been pretty, had it not been for the dying men around him.
Then something exploded near him and he fell back into the trench, but instead of hitting the mud two metres below, he was suddenly submerged in water, dark and thick with blood, and he sank, sank deep into the Aegean sea off the coast of Gallipoli, or maybe it was the night sky? When he opened his mouth to scream, the blood filled his throat and suffocated him, all of him, while he sank deeper and deeper and -
Bert woke with a start and a choked scream and he bent over to throw up water - but nothing came out. He retched, then fell back into his hammock, exhausted.
It took him a moment to recognise his surroundings. A large room full of hammocks, all of them occupied. An oil lantern dangling from the ceiling, moving with the rocking of the ship. Ah. Yes. The ship. The ship that was taking them home.
It had left London a bit over six weeks ago. Unfavourable winds had prolonged the journey and the diggers were getting impatient. The result were fights, both verbal and physical, though no one had been seriously injured yet. But both the soldiers and the crew of the steamer were about done with this bloody journey.
Bert, though he had started working on Victoria Dock at age 15, had never particularly liked ships. After this journey, he thought he had about enough of them, anyway. He had assumed he would be returning to work at the docks, but he was starting to reconsider. Besides, it would feel strange, returning like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't been through four years of hell.
Bert pushed his legs out of the hammock and sat up. Although he knew that he had screamed, none of the men around him stirred. In a room full of soldiers, there were always screams at night.
He slipped his naked feet into his boots and grabbed for the pouch he always stowed beneath his pillow, a pouch containing the most valuable commodity there was - cigarettes. Bert moved, as quietly as possible in his heavy-duty army boots, to the door. He couldn't sleep any more, and he needed air.
He went towards the bow, away from most of the workers that were still up and who regarded him with careful suspicion, and leaned against the railing before lighting a precious cigarette. He was almost out. Would be, if he didn't find anything to trade soon. Though he had nothing left to trade but his boots.
The night was clear and warm and the stars were out, reflecting off the water below. The sight made him sick, reminding him of his nightmare. Stars and bloody water. Like he hadn't seen enough of both.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the Pacific air. It was stupid, but he was almost sure that the air of the Pacific was different from the Atlantic or Mediterranean air. Maybe because he had grown up so close to the Pacific, and it smelled like home.
Home. They had to be close now. Though he wasn't sure anymore if that was true. If it was still home.
Bert had tried to remember what Melbourne looked like, but he couldn't. Hadn't been able to since the day he had first stepped onto the beach of Gallipoli. Like the war had just erased all good memories he'd ever had. Sometimes he was sure that Melbourne was just a faint dream, and that there was nothing there when he got back. Not any more. Not for the man he had become, nor the boy he had lost.
Heavy steps of boots just like his own approached over the deck, dragging him out of his head. Bert groaned and attempted to hide his cigarette. Even in the middle of the night, there always seemed to be cadgers.
But when he looked around, he saw the only person he didn't mind sharing with. Mainly because he rarely ever asked. He didn't now. Cec put his elbows on the railing and rested his head on his hands, looking out onto the sea. Bert followed his gaze. He smoked his cigarette. Cec looked out. They were silent for a long time. They usually were. Cec never talked much anyway, and Bert, who tended to talk a lot, felt like he could shut up and appreciate this comfortable silence around Cec.
Still, it was Cec who spoke eventually, when the cigarette had almost burned down to a butt.
"Nightmare?", he asked.
"Yair," Bert replied. He reluctantly flicked the cigarette butt into the ocean before it could burn his fingers. His eyes followed the small glimmer of light down and watched it, in a heartbeat, extinguish.
"Same," Cec said.
Bert turned his back to the railing and closed his eyes, almost as if to dare the nightmares to come at him again. "Ya reckon they ever gonna stop?", he asked.
"Probably not."
"Probably not," Bert agreed. Then he took out another cigarette. It was his last. Better make it count, then, he thought and lit it.
When he offered it to Cec, his friend accepted, inhaled deeply - before dropping it. Horrified, Bert watched it disappear into the dark below.
"What in - that was my last one, idiot! Why did you-"
He shut up when Cec grabbed him by the shoulder and pointed at the horizon. "Look!"
Bert squinted. And saw them.
What he at first thought were stars turned out to be lights. Lots of them. Too many for them to come from ships.
There was land on the horizon. And not just any land.
"Australia," Bert whispered.
"Home," added Cec. His hand was still on Bert's shoulder and now he let it slid down and interlaced his fingers with Bert's, who didn't withdraw. So they stood, staring at the miraculous sight before them, a sight that just a few months ago, none of them had thought they would ever see again.
Home. Whatever that meant now - at least they weren't going to face it alone.
And maybe, just maybe, they could even build it anew.