As he does the music switches from classical to dance. The exercises begin to syncopate into a choreographed dance.
SCENE TWO — FLASHBACK
The physio dance routine is suddenly interrupted by a massive blast. A cloud of dust blows in from offstage. All the patients and physios collapse to the floor. The stage darkens. Torch beams sweep the scene as two soldiers in full combat gear, Darren and Marc, enter from the direction of the blast. They are panicked by what they see.
Darren Oh Jesus. Fuck, fuck! They’re locals!
Marc They said it was empty!
Darren Well, it obviously fucking wasn’t, was it?
Darren begins checking for signs of life.
Marc But we saw them leaving! We saw them fucking leaving!
Daniel enters
Daniel Jesus Christ! What the fuck is this, Sobey?
Darren We didn’t know, sir!
Daniel Any survivors?
Darren No sir.
Marc We saw them leave! We saw them fucking leaving!
Daniel Zero two zero alpha. Civilian casualties. Wait out. Move on through. Sobey? Clear?
Darren moves to check their exit.
Darren Clear.
Daniel Anderson. For fuck’s sake, Anderson!
Darren and Marc exit. Daniel remains, looking at the bodies about him. A faint musical score begins towards the end of his speech.
Daniel OPTAG prepares you for most things. But there’s no training for this. Seeing it, smelling it. Which is why when some of us come back from Afghan, Afghan stays with us. Or us with it. You walk these corridors at night and, believe me, you’ll hear a bit of Afghan behind every door. Sangin … Kajaki …
He begins to move upstage, picking his way through the bodies.
Musa Qala … Nad Ali … Gereshk … Lashkar Gah … Garmsir … FOB Gibraltar … FOB Jackson … FOB Inkerman …
SCENE THREE — SLEEP
Daniel exits. The bodies remain motionless for a moment before beginning to shift and turn. As the musical score gets louder they become syncopated, repeating a sequence of movements of discomfort.
Women
It’s not re-living it. It’s living it. You’re in it. You’re there, doing it.
All
Worse at night, always worse at night. Worse at night, always worse at night.
Men
Scared. Scared to close my eyes. Scared to put my head on the pillow.
Scared. Scared to close my eyes. Scared to put my head on the pillow.
All
It’s not re-living it. It’s living it. You’re in it. You’re there, doing it.
Worse at night, always worse at night. Worse at night, always worse at night.
Richard For two years I couldn’t sleep. Every fucking night. Just images, flicking through. Being blown up. Yanks on fire running into walls. Prodding through dead bodies in some fucking IED factory. Just all sorts of crazy shit, flicking, bouncing from one to the other. I’d be banging my head against the wall, just to take my mind off it, then … then I’m like, yeah, that fucking hurts.
John It’s not re-living it. It’s living it. You’re in it. You’re there, doing it.
All
Worse at night, always worse at night. Worse at night, always worse at night.
Roger I had to stay up. I forced myself not to go to sleep. As soon as you close your eyes you see them again. All sorts of situations. Rounds going past your head. Mortars landing metres away. Bodies of kids floating downstream. And you think to yourself, why am I fucking here? Why aren’t I dead? Who’s looking after us?
Angus Scared, scared to close my eyes. Scared to put my head on the pillow.
Women
It’s not re-living it, it’s living it. You’re in it, you’re there, doing it.
Leroy Mine has its own timetable. It’ll come and go. It’s like, really awkward. It’s space that brings it on. If I sleep in a double bed, then I dream I’m on patrol again. But in my sleep I can control where we go. I still get blown up, though. Every time. Sometimes I’m in my wheelchair, but no one says anything, like, ‘Why’s Leroy in a fucking wheelchair?’ But, yeah, if I sleep in a corner, up against a wall, holding my stumps, that makes it go away.
Charlie For my missus I’m the nightmare. Sweating, reaching for my weapon, taking cover across the carpet. She has to sleep in the corner of the bed. Or I just stay awake, listening to the night. Sometimes I hit myself in the face. To take my mind off it. Or you drink. Hopefully between finishing drinking and falling asleep you don’t have too much time to think. Hopefully.
Richard If you do you’re fucked –
Chris Fucked –
Roger Fucked –
All Fucked.
Lauren He was drinking so much he’d just collapse into bed and then, God! The snoring! All night.
Michelle He thrashes around. And the sweating. The sweating’s the worst. One night he was shouting, ‘Contact!’ ‘Contact!’ So I touched him, to wake him, and … and he punched me in the face.
Sarah For months he didn’t sleep. We’d just read until morning. Or talk. He doesn’t like the silence, it gives him time to think.
Lauren One night, I feel bad saying this, but one night I leant over and whispered into his ear, ‘Gas, gas, gas!’ Like I said, I felt bad, but I did get some sleep.
Sarah I have it too. It was five in the morning when they came to tell me. And now I wake every morning at five. That knock on the door, it’s in my head, in my body clock, forever.
Women
It’s not re-living it, it’s living it. You’re in it, you’re there, doing it.
All
Worse at night, always worse at night. Worse at night, always worse at night.
Men
Scared, scared to close my eyes. Scared to put my head on the pillow.
Scared, scared to close my eyes. Scared to put my head on the pillow.
Women
It’s not re-living it, it’s living it. You’re in it, you’re there, doing it.
All
Worse at night, always worse at night. Worse at night, always worse at night.
Richard It’s the pain that triggers it. It’s always there, bubbling away, but worse at night. Always worse at night.
Chris Sometimes I just cry, because of the pain, the things it makes me think about.
Leroy It won’t go away. It makes me want to smash something. I can’t do anything to stop it. Like nails under the skin.
Roger It’s all down the left side of my neck, in my brain, down my shoulder and into my back. I try to put it in on a shelf, over there. I use distractions too — reading poetry, stripping my weapons, a shitload of drugs. But then sometimes it just takes over and that’s when I have to ring the kids’ mum and say, ‘I can’t have them this weekend.’ And that’s terrible, because its my kids that keep me going.
Becky As the nerves in my leg began to die I developed neuropathic pain. For three months I lay on the floor holding my leg, screaming as 10,000 volts went through my body. Whenever it wanted, for as long as it wanted. I put my fist through a computer screen. I hit people. You can’t focus on anything but the pain. You take the meds and they make you live in a fog. So I asked them to cut my leg off, but now I have phantom pain. Those 10,000 volts still going through a leg I don’t have. Nails being driven into my heel. A lit match stuck under my toenail and left to burn for days.