Never Forget

AWOL

Clive Campbell

Ducking in and out of the tents and diving for cover, I peer around the taut canvas wall continuing my search. It is now three days after Christmas and following the pre-Christmas false alarm the Pioneers have finally received official orders that we will be pulling up stumps the next day.

Like a sausage rolling off the barbie, I throw myself under a truck as some MP sashes appear. Dignity is not my forte as I log-roll to the other side.

"Flame'n hell," I mutter as I raise my head, banging it on the vehicle's undercarriage.

It wasn't too many years ago, that I had employed similar moves in the purple Patterson cursed paddocks surrounding our house when I played cowboys and Indians with my brothers- Come on Geronimo where are you? My hat is drawn low over my eyes and this attempt to avoid eye contact is limiting my peripheral vision. From all the diving and darting I can feel my pulse pounding around my ears. Ironically the adrenaline I am experiencing is from avoiding capture from my own side.

The tents that line Camp Kilo are similar Julius; however, they lack the Pioneer's subtle reminders of home, signs inscribed with familiar names, such as Kings Cross and St Kilda. From a distance, between the rows of tents I easily identify the casual hand on the hip and one leg slightly bent Campbell stance. It is character trait that has been passed onto us Campbell children marking us like a branding iron. George lifts his head as my whistle greets his ears.

George Campbell

Hearing a high pitched whistle, I turn to catch a vision of Clive's face just before it disappears behind the canvas. I blink, wondering if the apparition is my mind playing tricks on me. What would Clive be doing at Kilo? The figure doesn't reappear and shrugging, I feel heart plummet to the pit of my stomach with disappointment.

"For the love of God, what the flame'n hell are you doing here?" are the first words I use to greet my brother. I know from the way Clive is darting around like a willy wag tail that he is AWOL. I wonder what is up and my heart is racing at the thought that there is some sort trouble at home. It takes a few seconds to calm myself and see the ridiculousness of this given that it is me and Clive that are living in a war zone.

Taking a closer look at Clive, I begin to relax as another Campbell trait that appears. Clive's face holds a tight lipped grin. It is a smile that us- Campbells unwittingly default to when we are confronted with a situation that holds a small element of guilty naughtiness. It is meant to be a face of repentance; however, it is often mistaken for infuriating defiance and on many occasions has resulted in one of us boys sitting outside the headmaster's office. In grade two, I accidently tripped a younger student. I remember fighting back the tears as the headmaster scolded me for being a 'cruel individual with a heart that lacked compassion and empathy'. Despite the lecture of a string of unfamiliar words that confused me, I had felt awful about what had happened and had tried to say how sorry I was. However, all the headmaster saw was my unintentional maddening look of guilty amusement. This exasperated the situation and for the rest of the lunch period I was made to stand facing the white washed wall with my arms raised to either side. Callously, on each hand I was made to balance a glass of water and despite a list of instructions, containing more vocabulary that I did not understand I knew that there would be hell to be paid if even one drop of water was on the floor at the end of the lunch period.

Like naughty school boys about to smoke a pack of cigarettes behind the school toilets Clive grabs my arm and drags me behind a tent.

"Mate, I've just come to say goodbye. Apparently, we are push'n on shortly," Clive says.

"Awe, it is great to see you mate but is going AWOL a good idea?" I caution annoyingly falling into the role of big brother.

"To bugger with them," laughs Clive, "It's only a couple of hours and what they gonna do, send me home? Anyways, there's been talk about Tobruk, now that it's been taken by the 6th but who knows where we will end up... and me, well I just wanted to see my big brother before I go."

I'm usually pretty good at controlling my emotions and find it a tad uncomfortable when the water starts pin pricking at my eyes. I wrap my arm loosely around Clive's shoulder and mess his hair.

"Hooroo," says Clive as he pulls away.

"Hooroo," I choke struggling to suppress dark thoughts that this may be the last time that I will see my brother.

NOTES

The only evidence that I have had that this may slightly have occurred was the fact that Clive's service record shows that  was AWOL at this time. I would like to think that it was to see his bother.