11 November, No Year

by Pil Lee

“It should fit.” “It should fit,” she said.

Hudson took the slack of the tube and tied it to the bottom of the strut. Another blast close by threw him to the side, and mud sprayed along his jacket to the cuffs. He held the bag as upright as he could as the woman worked to give air to the dying man.

He turned around to scan the small valley behind him. There was no-one to be seen, though the earth shook with each new explosion. Suddenly he was aware that he was holding all the weight of the oxygen unit. The woman was stripping off the bandages she had just applied, shaking and stuffing them in her rucksack. The body in front of her rolled to the ground, mud oozing into his ears and mouth.

“He’s dead”, she said to his gaping look.

Hudson dropped the oxygen to one side, as he sought to keep the dead man’s face out of the sludge, clumsy hands cradling his head.

“Let’s go, he’s dead”, she said, grabbing the tubes and mask, bundling them away. She swung into the vehicle beside them. “Are you coming?”

Hudson looked around wildly, searching for his platoon, still holding the dead man up.

“We can’t just leave him,” he yelled at her.

“I’m off,” she said as she gunned the motor.

He leapt up beside her as she skidded away, clinging to the edge as her gear rattled around him. Mud buried the dead man’s face as they sped towards the next rise.