Oblivion

Spiderwebs cling to Kholak’s rifle. They’re sticky with ash from the headland bushfires. He’s smeared with grey. He marches, halfway dead, pale under the sweat and warpaint. The company commander calls a halt. Officers gather around maps.

Kholak’s head drops to his chest. He sleeps on his feet. 

Tauki presses a gun barrel into his shoulder. 

“Marching again.”

“Where now?”

“Headlands.” A Corporal says. He chirps.

“Why?”

“Captain says so.”

Tauki steps backward and explodes. Kholak wonders if he’s dreaming.

Medics stuff bandages into the gaping hole in his leg. He asks them what day it is. 

They don’t answer.