The Fighter by Paul Warren

Author:Paul Warren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2015-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WORST DAY OF MY LIFE

Coming out of that lengthy surgery, the first of fourteen operations, which involved surgeons cutting away at my leg methodically, removing layers of dead flesh and damaged bone, was terrible, but something far worse was ahead of me. I never want to experience that level of emotional pain again. Even thinking about what happened to Ben, some years down the line, still brings tears to my eyes. It will haunt me forever.

I slowly regained consciousness and tried to look around the room. A few of us had been experiencing really lucid dreams since arriving in-country, which I think was because of the Doxine tablets we took to prevent malaria. This felt just like one of those dreams. I gradually started to regain my senses and my first thought was that I’d look around and see Benny in a nearby bed, smiling that wide grin of his, telling me it was all OK, even though the events on the ground when the IED exploded told me that he was gone. But mine was the only bed in the room. Doc Challen was nearby, with an army chaplain, the padre.

‘Where’s Ben?’ I asked them as soon as I could speak. ‘Why won’t anyone tell me? What’s happened?’

They explained to me that he was gone.

Fuck. Even though they’d broken the news to me with compassion, it was as though someone had just reached down my throat and pulled out my guts. I’d felt some loss in my life, but nothing compared with this. At that moment, I honestly didn’t give a fuck about my leg. I would have willingly sacrificed the other to be told that my mate was still alive.

I can’t recall exactly what I said in response; I just knew I wanted to be left the fuck alone. I didn’t cry, but I was devastated, absolutely gutted. And of course I couldn’t walk away and deal with this in private, which is what I would have preferred to do. I was stuck in this damned hospital bed, with people looking at me, feeling an emptiness like I’d never felt before. And I knew that everyone was monitoring my response to the news, to see what my reaction would be. It was a horrible moment.

An overwhelming sense of guilt descended on me. Why was this young bloke, my mate Ben, dead, and not me? He was only 22; I was 30. Eight years didn’t seem like much, but there was a world of difference between us. I’d lived a fair bit already, but Benny was just starting out, his whole life ahead of him. He’d been looking forward to proposing to his girlfriend back in Oz. Now he was gone.

At that moment, I wished I could have traded places with Ben. I tried to console myself by accepting that he went out like a man, like a warrior, the soldier he always wanted to be. A million thoughts like this were bouncing around my head, as I lay there, damaged.

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