moustache was very black against his white teeth.
âRespect,â he said. âNo fun killing blokes if you donât respect them.â
Johnson rode on ahead. He said it was to scout for Turks. And so he wouldnât have to listen to Otton humming.
Otton rode close to me and Daisy.
âI know why youâre doing this, Frank,â he said. âYouâre doing it to impress that paramour of yours back home.â
I gave him a look. To remind him about Dad.
âThere are more important reasons for killing Turks,â I said.
âSorry,â said Otton.
âAnyway,â I said. âI wouldnât call her a paramour. Unless thatâs a technical word for someone who doesnât answer letters.â
Otton sighed.
âHow many times do I have to reiterate?â he said. âYouâre being too impatient. The mail takes months each way.â
âIâve been writing for a year and a half,â I said. âIâve had one letter from her, and that was back in Sydney.â
Otton thought about this.
âYou sure she can read?â he said. âI knew a sheila once, worked for a doctor, couldnât read or write a word. Had to draw pictures of malfunctioning body parts on the file cards.â
Before I could remind him that Joan had a scholarship, Daisy stiffened.
I wasnât sure why at first. Then I felt a breeze. And heard a rumbling in the distance.
Otton and I looked at each other.
Big guns?
Large numbers of Turkish troops in motor lorries?
Daisy stopped and sniffed the air.
There was something about the way she was trembling that made my guts tighten.
Then we saw what it was. Daisy was right.
This was worse than guns or troops.
Me and Dad had copped a few sandstorms out west in New South Wales. Bit of dust in the face and the odd airborne lizard.
This one was a hundred times worse.
As it howled towards us, the moonlight began to disappear. Soon I couldnât even see Daisy, and I was on her back.
âGet down flat,â I yelled at Otton through the howling sand. He was only a few feet away, but I didnât have a clue if he could hear me.
I stripped the gear off Daisy and tried to make her lie down. Wasnât easy. She was furious. Wanted to give that sandstorm a serious kicking.
I finally got her down and wrapped a blanket round her head. Dropped down next to her with the saddlecloth round mine and used the saddle as a windbreak.
Thought I got a glimpse of Otton doing the same.
I hoped so.
We were there for a long time.
I had plenty to do. Digging the sand away from us mostly, stopping it building up over our faces. And making sure we both got water when we needed it. Just small swigs from my canteen.
Did Otton have water? And Johnson?
Too late if they didnât.
I got close to Daisyâs ear and tried to keep her spirits up. Told her a few things she might not know about our family. How upset Dad was when he had to sell her daughter. How he needed the money for Mumâs funeral. How grateful we were to Daisy that Mum had a proper grave.
It was true, but it wasnât very cheery, so I sang Daisy a few songs. Not a total success. My mouth kept filling up with sand.
As the wind finally calmed down a bit, the swirling darkness lifted.
It was dawn.
I looked around for Otton. Couldnât see him or his horse.
The whole landscape had changed. Dunes the size of our troop ship, completely shifted.
And still shifting. Big gusts of wind flinging sand around like shrapnel.
I still couldnât see Otton. Until a small dune erupted and Ottonâs horse stood up and shook herself. Daisy went over and they nuzzled each other.
Then Ottonâs horse hosed on a pile of sand, which swore loudly. Otton staggered to his feet, coughing and spitting.
âYou alright?â I said.
âThat was the worst experience of my life,â croaked Otton. âAnd Iâve had diphtheria.â
âQuiet,â
âRespect,â he said. âNo fun killing blokes if you donât respect them.â
Johnson rode on ahead. He said it was to scout for Turks. And so he wouldnât have to listen to Otton humming.
Otton rode close to me and Daisy.
âI know why youâre doing this, Frank,â he said. âYouâre doing it to impress that paramour of yours back home.â
I gave him a look. To remind him about Dad.
âThere are more important reasons for killing Turks,â I said.
âSorry,â said Otton.
âAnyway,â I said. âI wouldnât call her a paramour. Unless thatâs a technical word for someone who doesnât answer letters.â
Otton sighed.
âHow many times do I have to reiterate?â he said. âYouâre being too impatient. The mail takes months each way.â
âIâve been writing for a year and a half,â I said. âIâve had one letter from her, and that was back in Sydney.â
Otton thought about this.
âYou sure she can read?â he said. âI knew a sheila once, worked for a doctor, couldnât read or write a word. Had to draw pictures of malfunctioning body parts on the file cards.â
Before I could remind him that Joan had a scholarship, Daisy stiffened.
I wasnât sure why at first. Then I felt a breeze. And heard a rumbling in the distance.
Otton and I looked at each other.
Big guns?
Large numbers of Turkish troops in motor lorries?
Daisy stopped and sniffed the air.
There was something about the way she was trembling that made my guts tighten.
Then we saw what it was. Daisy was right.
This was worse than guns or troops.
Me and Dad had copped a few sandstorms out west in New South Wales. Bit of dust in the face and the odd airborne lizard.
This one was a hundred times worse.
As it howled towards us, the moonlight began to disappear. Soon I couldnât even see Daisy, and I was on her back.
âGet down flat,â I yelled at Otton through the howling sand. He was only a few feet away, but I didnât have a clue if he could hear me.
I stripped the gear off Daisy and tried to make her lie down. Wasnât easy. She was furious. Wanted to give that sandstorm a serious kicking.
I finally got her down and wrapped a blanket round her head. Dropped down next to her with the saddlecloth round mine and used the saddle as a windbreak.
Thought I got a glimpse of Otton doing the same.
I hoped so.
We were there for a long time.
I had plenty to do. Digging the sand away from us mostly, stopping it building up over our faces. And making sure we both got water when we needed it. Just small swigs from my canteen.
Did Otton have water? And Johnson?
Too late if they didnât.
I got close to Daisyâs ear and tried to keep her spirits up. Told her a few things she might not know about our family. How upset Dad was when he had to sell her daughter. How he needed the money for Mumâs funeral. How grateful we were to Daisy that Mum had a proper grave.
It was true, but it wasnât very cheery, so I sang Daisy a few songs. Not a total success. My mouth kept filling up with sand.
As the wind finally calmed down a bit, the swirling darkness lifted.
It was dawn.
I looked around for Otton. Couldnât see him or his horse.
The whole landscape had changed. Dunes the size of our troop ship, completely shifted.
And still shifting. Big gusts of wind flinging sand around like shrapnel.
I still couldnât see Otton. Until a small dune erupted and Ottonâs horse stood up and shook herself. Daisy went over and they nuzzled each other.
Then Ottonâs horse hosed on a pile of sand, which swore loudly. Otton staggered to his feet, coughing and spitting.
âYou alright?â I said.
âThat was the worst experience of my life,â croaked Otton. âAnd Iâve had diphtheria.â
âQuiet,â
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