Operation Overdue

I gathered some jerseys, some warm jerseys that I had, and said goodbye to my children.

The jet would have dwarfed the terminal, now all that remained was a cigarette smudge on the side of that stark white mountain.

Once the sea ice broke the Hercules wouldn’t be able to land, wouldn’t be able to take the bodies back.

Red flags marked lurking crevasse; green, body.

We built a snow toilet. Found some perfume from the aircraft, very effective.

Bodies were frozen solid. Whatever grotesque shape they landed in, that’s how they froze.

Our gloves became full of grease, human grease. Because the bodies were burned. We ate wearing the same gloves.

Sea birds, they never shut up. They squawked the whole time, circling the site. They got to the bodies before we did. They tormented me.

Of course, you always remember the last one, she was perfectly preserved.

We found champagne from the galley, intact. And drank it with our backs to the site, utterly spent.

Each of those families who lost someone grieved for that person. I grieved for the whole lot.

We didn’t have a debrief after I got back to New Zealand, and it seemed we just sort of faded away.

Smells remind me, the ferry terminal. I smell diesel and I’m back there.

There are triggers. Hands, I look at older ladies as I pass them in the street. I see their rings, and their painted finger nails and I’m on the mountain.