The Longest Acquaintance

By Jacobus Rawley

First published in 2020 by:
(Titania Publishing)

© Copyright 2020
(Titania Publishing)

The right of Jacobus Rawley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved

No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

[Kindle ISBN: 9781999619039]

Printed and bound in Great Britain by:

Book Printing UK, Remus House, Coltsfoot Drive, Woodston, Peterborough PE2 9BF

Foreword by the Author

The Longest Acquaintance serves as both prequel and sequel to A Fraternal Attraction, in that it deals with the history and events leading up to Rob’s confession of love to his older brother (Book I) and then picks up the story at the point where the previous book concludes (Book II) Although both books can be enjoyed as standalone novels, readers wishing to read both are advised to read A Fraternal Attraction first.

In view of the controversial subject matter this book is bound to create waves in certain circles, but you have to remember it is set in a period well before gender fluidity and political correctness. I wanted to write an unusual love story which was also about the nature of hero worship - the kind that everyone knows about, where a boy or young man looks up to another who is stronger and bigger, in this case his older brother – and how this evolves into a fully-fledged infatuation. My overall intention in writing the book was to send out a positive message, so this is not some tragic tale about a doomed romance: it’s about the sheer exuberance and joy of living, the fun the brothers had growing up together as kids. I also wanted to explore how their shared childhood experiences could have influenced the direction their relationship takes.

Both books are available in paperback and eBook format and can be purchased from the Publisher’s website at:

www.unique-books.co.uk

Book I

(1965 - 1967)

Chapter One – 1965

With infantry manoeuvres intensifying, Luke’s platoon were assigned as garrison defence for Howard Fire Support Base, and they were picked up by a UH-1 Huey troop lift bird. One of the grunts had placed his helmet between his legs, and was being razzed by the others.

“Hey, look at Tucker. He’s shit scared of having his nuts blown to pieces.”

“I might be a Daddy one day” said Tucker, cradling his crotch protectively. They were all aware that shrapnel could penetrate the floor of a helicopter, which was vulnerable to anti-aircraft artillery, but whichever of the 2-man crew was assigned to the bullet-catcher seat next to the pilot was more likely to catch it than the human cargo in the back: there was a current legend doing the rounds that door-gunners had a life expectancy of five minutes, but that was in a hot zone.

“You’re such a delight to be with, Tucker” said Malone. “You don’t like being in the air, you don’t like having your ass transported in an APC or tank. Don’t you ever think positive, man?”

“Yeah, well I signed up as infantry. I like being on the ground. Sooner we can get off this damn chopper the better. They could bring us down with an RPG.” The portable shoulder-launched rocket propelled grenade launcher was the weapon of choice for VC/NVA enemy forces. Luke decided it was time to put an end to this little discussion which was giving some of them the heebie jeebies, and leaned across to Tucker.

“Here’s the thing: you get your head blown off and I can guarantee you won’t be doing anything with your dick. Now put your helmet on your head and keep it on until further notice unless you want to be busted back down a stripe to buck private. That’s an order.”

“Yessir.”

“Who supplies their weapons, anyhow?” asked Tucker. “I thought these people were meant to be poor.”

“The Reds” supplied Blackburn. “Russkies and Chinks. The North Vietnamese are wired to the Chi-Coms through their belly buttons: that’s who they take their orders from. They’re like robots, man.

Ain’t no reasoning with ‘em.”

The men unconsciously employed humour as a means of lessening the tension of combat, and tended to joke about everything. On long range recce patrols in the jungle they were plagued by leeches, and burning them off each other with lighted cigarettes had become something of a bonding ritual most evenings. On one occasion Carver had talked Malone into frying a bloodsucker which had bored a quarter of an inch into his backside.

“Hey, fellas, you gotta see this” chortled Malone, his zippo lighter poised over Tucker’s exposed white ass.

“Shut the fuck up and just get on with it!” roared Carver in outrage at the indignity. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you, you sadistic bastard?”

“You think? No way do I wanna go anywhere near your hairy ass” retorted Malone, as the leech popped and sizzled in the flame. “I oughtta get a medal for this. When was the last time you had a bath, you hairy ape?”

“Same as you. Thirty days ago.”

Howard FSB was Luke’s first posting with an entirely new platoon - eight men in total - all of whom reported to him. He had just begun to get close to the men in his charge over the previous six months, becoming familiar with their individual personalities and quirks, when he was rotated to a new command and had to start all over again. The six month rotation policy was predicated on the assumption that Vietnam would be a short war. But he’d already been “in country” for twelve months, and the expectation was that he would complete another twelve month tour of duty. Most officers disliked the personnel rotation policy on the grounds that it undermined group morale and made it difficult to establish a sense of identity and camaraderie. Luke was reassured therefore to see how close bonds were forged in the space of weeks – days even – when they were thrown into each others’ company 24 hours a day seven days a week, and he now felt as comfortable with the new guys as he had with his old outfit. They seemed to like him as well, which helped.

The FSB provided a base for field artillery, and the compound had a battery of six 155mm howitzers positioned over defensive 4 feet earth berms, guard towers, a tactical operations centre (TOC), a medical aid facility, munitions storage bunkers, a comms bunker, and shitter huts, which had been hastily erected with little regard for privacy. The base was still under construction, and they were soon put to work pounding in stakes for gun emplacements, laying down pierced steel planking to improve the runway, and tasked with more sandbagging - filling ammo boxes and barrels with dirt to place around the base of Fire Direction Control and Guard towers to protect against mortar blasts.

As well as providing protection as perimeter guards, they were dragooned into providing the muscle and labour for shoring up existing structures. The Base Commander wanted another 3 foot berm built around the TOC, and 2 foot walls of sandbags around the canvas tent accommodation. The work was relatively easy, and apart from the searing heat it was a relief to be shirtless: in the jungle they had slept in their sweat-soaked uniforms with no opportunity to bathe for weeks at a time. Their new posting also brought them into close contact with an entirely different class of infantry, comprising gunners and cannon cockers, with the occasional civilian irregular defence groups (CIDGs) thrown into the mix. With the arrival of each new batch, often on temporary assignment, the regular artillery crew saw fresh opportunities for hazing. A fresh-faced youngster who looked younger than his eighteen years was dispatched on various wild goose chases by the pranksters. He came back half an hour later, empty-handed and shame-faced:

“I can’t find any rotor wash. I looked everywhere. Maybe they’re just clean out.”

“Whaddya mean, you can’t find any? We use the stuff every day. Keep looking and don’t come back until you’ve got some grade-2 rotor wash. If we’re out of the grade-2 then I guess we can use the grade-1.”

“Uh, what does it look like?”

“Jesus fucking Christ. It comes in gallon tanks and it’s labelled ROTOR WASH. You can’t miss it.” Luke knew exactly what was going on but didn’t intervene. The new recruit would find out soon enough. They tended to pick on CIDGs who were new on the ground. Those who had been in country or who’d just returned from search and destroy missions in the jungle like Luke’s outfit were left alone. Most of them took the ribbing pretty well, and would be doing the exact same thing to others later on down the line. The charade continued to play out for about an hour whilst their victim dashed back and forth across the compound, diving into ammo storage bunkers and looking increasingly hot and flustered, whilst the men chuckled and winked at each other.

Finally someone said “How about giving the kid a break? He’s gonna lose it any minute or start bawling for his momma. Hey, kid. Your CO wants to speak to you.” Convinced he was going to be reprimanded for failing to carry out basic orders in a timely fashion, he jogged across to Luke and stood to attention nervously.

“See that?” Luke pointed to a hovering Ch-47 Chinook carrying fresh ammunition and artillery pieces. Most firebases were accessible by road but the remote FSBs relied on helicopters, both for defensive fire support and re-supply. They stood by and watched it land. “Rotor wash is the air turbulence you get when a chopper is flying at low levels. What’s your name, soldier?”

“Timmy Clark, sir. Private Clark.” Luke beckoned him closer so that they were out of earshot of the other men.

“Alright. Now these guys have been out here some time, and it just so happens you’re the prime entertainment. They’re going to be busting your balls having you run around looking for a left-handed monkey wrench or whatever... but it’s not personal.

They’re just riding you ‘cos they got nothing better to do.” Timmy nodded in understanding. “Let ‘em have their entertainment: don’t let ‘em rile you up, and they’ll soon be your best buddies.” Clark saluted him smartly.

“Thank you, sir.”

About half an hour later another fanoogie wandered onto the compound looking lost, and got the same treatment.

“You reported to the Aid Station yet?” The new recruit looked up in surprise.

“Why? I already had my medical.”

“That was Stateside, blondie. You’re out in the boonies now. You have to get your shots and your piccolo pecker checked out. Then they got to check for lice, so they place your ball sac in this little clamping device called a scrote cruncher.” The target of their attentions began to look increasingly uneasy. His eyes flickered over towards the Aid Station and back to Malone, who was completely deadpan.

“There was this one time the doc got called away on an emergency and forgot to release the clamp” continued Malone. He shook his head sadly. “Poor bastard ended up with one instead of two. Gonad soup.” Luke suppressed a smile, and went to inspect the FSB defences, which were pretty formidable: the Howitzer Battery formed a star pattern with the number 6 piece in the centre to fire illumination rounds during night attacks. The star formation of the 155mm Howitzers was standard, providing better coverage in an impact area. The five guns on the points of the star had a 360 degree capacity for defensive fires. Ringing the berm were two II Field Force "dusters" - M42 tanks with two 40mm fully automatic cannons mounted to fire in tandem. The amount of ammunition these weapons could shoot at the enemy was staggering. Roughly half the men, including Luke, were trained in firing an M42 duster so that they could take over in the event of casualties or fatalities amongst cannon cockers. In addition, berms and trenches encircled the big guns, furnishing defensive positions for infantry and off duty artillerymen during an attack. The guns could also fire "Killer Junior" missions in support of neighbouring fire bases: a Killer Junior mission consisted of guns firing high explosive rounds at a range of two hundred to one thousand meters, providing a shield of shrapnel all around the perimeter.

The sandbagged huts or hootches which constituted their new living quarters seemed luxurious after months of living like animals in the jungle. In monsoon rains they would wrap themselves up in poncho liners at night and still end up thoroughly soaked. Each man was required to dig a shallow trench for his cot, and then use the excavated earth to fill sandbags, providing separate walls around each cot to give them protection from mortar blasts and shrapnel. Some of tank crews on the berm had built their bunkers into the earthen walls of the perimeter. Tucker had balked at digging a trench when he was handed a shovel by the Staff Sergeant.

“Whassa matter with you? Can’t take a little digging - what kind of girl scout camp you all from?” Luke walked in at this point as the Staff Sergeant took him aside.

“Some of your guys may have an attitude problem, Turnbull.”

“How about you take care of your men, and I’ll take care of mine, Sergeant.” They eyeballed each other for a few seconds, before the Staff Sergeant turned on his heel and exited the hut.

“It’s like we’re digging our own graves, sir. It creeps me out” said Tucker. “Might as well crawl into a coffin every night. I’m telling you, I don’t like it.” Malone grinned at Luke as if to say What can you do with this guy? Tucker had a morbid cast of mind, and was the perfect foil for a joker like Malone, who delighted in his lugubrious pronouncements and never passed up an opportunity to have a dig. They were polar opposites, temperamentally speaking. Despite this, or perhaps because they complemented each so perfectly they were best buddies, always bouncing off each other. In his spare time Malone would flick through Archie and Veronica comic books or Playboy magazine, a wad of chewing gum stuck in his jaw, whilst Tucker tended to prefer serious science fiction writers like Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein or Arthur C. Clarke.

Tucker had been deeply disturbed by a story he’d just finished reading called The Swimmer and was relating the plot to a largely uninterested audience: the principal character decides to swim all the way home - a distance of eight miles - by availing himself of the pools belonging to his affluent suburban neighbours. The fact that no-one questions the swimmer’s appearance as he gate-crashes their parties and splashes about in their pools, and his vagueness when they quiz him about his whereabouts for the past year seems a little odd. When he first sets out, the sun is shining with clear blue skies overhead, but as the afternoon progresses it gets steadily chillier with approaching thunderclouds, and the people he meets seem less friendly and interested in what he has to say. Eventually they don’t even notice him and appear quite oblivious to his presence. He starts to look older and more haggard, as if time is accelerating and catching up with him. On his final lap, the weather becomes increasingly wintry with freezing rain. When he eventually reaches his home the boarded-up house is abandoned and up for sale, and he pounds on the front door to be let in but no-one hears him. The allegorical and surreal nature of the story - the underlying suggestion that the swimmer’s progress from pool to pool was meant to represent his entire life in flashback, and that he was actually a ghost haunting his own past – had unnerved Tucker.

“What if we’re really dead, sir, and don’t know it?” he asked Luke. “What if, you know, we bought it in the jungle and we’re trapped here as ghosts - how do we know if we’re still alive?”

“Would you like me to give you a demonstration that you’re still alive?” Luke countered. “Be warned, though, it might involve a considerable amount of pain.”

“Get digging” he now ordered Tucker. “Believe me, it’s a whole lot safer here than in the jungle.” The only defences they had in the jungle against an invisible enemy had been trip-wire explosives and plastic toe-poppers set at intervals around the perimeter of their camp. “The trenches are for your protection. You’ll be snug as a bug in there once you get used to it.” Most of them adjusted quickly to whatever circumstances they found themselves in, and Tucker was no exception. Before nightfall, all the men had made cosy little billets for themselves, arranging their meagre possessions around them. When Luke went to check on them later, Malone was leaning over Tucker’s crib.

“Aw, you want me to sing you a lullaby?” and started crooning Rock-a-bye baby, a couple of the others chiming in with a Doo-wop background chorus:

Rock-a-bye baby on the tree-top (Doo-wop doo-wop)

When the wind blows the cradle will rock. (Doo-wop doo-wop)
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall (Doo-wop doo-wop)
And down will come Baby, cradle and all

Tucker swatted Malone away with a rolled-up comic. “What the fuck kind of song is that to sing to a little baby? No wonder babies cry all the time if they gotta listen to that shit…” Some of the men were reading letters from home, either from their sweethearts or their mothers or sisters. Their brothers and fathers rarely wrote – not because they didn’t care, but they found it difficult to express themselves on paper. Luke’s brother was different in that wrote regularly: his letters were short and sweet, strewn with spelling mistakes. That morning Luke had picked up his mail which had arrived on a chopper. They had been incommunicado for several months, so letters from home were seized upon eagerly. There were two blue airmail forms, one from his mother and the other from Rob. He read his brother’s letter with a mixture of amusement and affection:

Dear Luke,

I’m writing this in study hall – I’m supposed to be doing a social studies asinement about the civil rights of negros. They opened up a dairy queen in the vacant lot out back of the elementry school and a bunch of moms got together and held up pickets outside.

They were mad as hell and marched off to the court house. Anyhow I like hot fudge sundays so I think its cool. Josh Ballard’s been sent to reform school for shooting his baby brother in the eye with a BB gun. I mean, it was an acident I think, he was tore up about it but Cody’s gone blind in one eye and has to wear a black patch. We did some fizz ed this morning….”

Fizz head? Luke was puzzled. Was he referring to some kind of new drug? He didn’t like to think of his little brother experimenting with stuff like LSD and resolved to phone when he next had the chance. He’d been able to phone home twice whilst he underwent Basic Combat training before being shipped out, and Rob had sounded very young and childlike over the line.

“Wow, I don’t know how you can stick it, Luke.”

“You get used to it” replied Luke. “Sometimes I think of you sleeping like a baby when we’re out running at 5am. Reveille is at 4:30am.”

“What’s Reveille?”

“Wake-up call. The DI practically kicks down the door and starts bawling Rise and shine. Haul your butts out of those fartsacks, and get moving.” He was deliberately trying to lighten the atmosphere for his brother’s benefit. Rob started to giggle. “Then after you shave it’s Physical Training before you get any breakfast. Lights out at nine.”

“What else do you do in boot camp?”

“We’re into the final phase, starting tomorrow. Bivouac and FTX - field training exercises.”

“Camping out, you mean?”

“That’s right, little brother. I was on fire guard last night.”

“Why – don’t they have fire alarms and such?” asked Rob.

“You just patrol the barracks with another guy, watch out for recruits attempting to slip out of the barracks.”

“You ever caught anyone trying to sneak out?”

“Yep.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Not up to me to administer discipline. The drill sergeant gives ‘em a good spanking.” Rob giggled again.

“He does not.”

“OK, a kick up the ass then.” A pause, and then “I gotta go now. Other guys want to use the phone, so I’ll speak to you again when-”

“Luke, are you there? Luke, I love-” The connection was cut. His time was up.

It had taken Luke a while to get used to sleeping in barracks in such close proximity to other men, listening to their snores and strangled cries as they slept. For the first time in his life he was also exposed to the existence of homosexual behaviour. Although it had been the subject of ribald jokes in high school locker rooms or joshing in the cafeteria, no one he had known prior to enlisting had actually engaged in it, as far as he was aware. Throughout his teens, and more recently, Luke had come to accept that a certain type of male was attracted to him. It had never really bothered him and he had never felt that his masculinity was under threat, since he recognised that it was probably his masculinity that tended to attract this kind of attention. He had never responded to or encouraged such overtures. In the military, where young men were lumped together in close proximity far from home and under extreme stress, it was inevitable that some of them would crave an outlet for their pent-up feelings. For a man to fixate on another man was not all that uncommon. During his basic training one soldier had tried to engage him in conversation.

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff that goes on in here.” They were the only two in the latrine block. Luke was leaning up against the urinal, taking a leak, and wasn’t especially interested in whatever sexual shenanigans he might be referring to. That it was sexual in nature, he didn’t doubt. After casually mentioning that he’d once seen a soldier giving another a blowjob, the other man gave Luke a sidelong glance to gauge his reaction. Luke coolly buttoned up his flies. He’d heard about the things that went on in public conveniences, how some guys would stick their cocks through a “glory-hole” in the stall partition wall, propositioning the one in the next stall for anonymous sex. And the favour might be returned if the other guy was up for it.

“Ah well. If you’re that hard up….” Luke turned to go, thinking this was an end to the conversation, when the man suddenly lunged at him, clamping a wet mouth against his. Luke threw him clear across the room so that he landed heavily against one of the walls. “You ever try a stunt like that again you’ll be very sorry.” He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand.

“I’m already sorry” muttered the man shakily, realising the implications of what he’d just done: he’d made a pass at a straight man who – with one word – could ruin his career, his reputation, his entire life. He fought a desperate rear-guard action, trying to salvage the situation. “Hey, I was just kidding around. Had too much to drink is all…” Luke wasn’t fooled. The man looked perfectly sober to him. And two seconds ago, he’d been standing right beside Luke with his flies undone, pretending to take a piss when he’d been stroking his erection, something Luke had chosen to ignore.

Afterwards Luke told himself he probably should have seen it coming: he had noticed the man staring at him once or twice in the mess hall and rec room, but had concluded he was just homesick and wanted someone to talk to. The incident had taken him by surprise, and he’d reacted instinctively. It probably didn’t mean anything much. They were all young men and took sex where and when they could find it: with a hooker if they were off base, with another soldier if they were confined to barracks. It wasn’t the sex thing that had bothered him, it was that the man had tried to kiss him, as if he wanted a relationship with Luke. A straight guy wouldn’t have done that, he’d have just exposed himself casually, and if the other fellow didn’t take the bait he would simply find another likely target.

“Hey, don’t shit your pants. This won’t go any further” Luke told him. “But in future, take it elsewhere.”

In the first week they started off with CLS Combat Life Saver training and basic first aid - most of which Luke was already familiar with, having been a life guard for two summers at the public swimming pool. This was followed by hand-to-hand combat and ground fighting techniques, then basic rifle marksmanship. After he’d completed basic training, which lasted ten weeks, it was followed by advanced individual training (AIT) where they were tested for weapons proficiency and given extensive practice in field-stripping their standard-issue weapons, which included grenade launchers and machine guns. They were then shipped out to Da Nang Air Base – a Vietnam Airforce facility used by the U.S as a major air force support base – where they had spent a couple of days acclimatising and taking advantage of the amenities before being picked up by a Huey and flown further south.

Chapter Two - 1965

In the weeks after his brother had shipped out, Rob wandered the town like a ghost, haunting the places he used to go with his brother when they were kids. They would shoot across the busy intersection between Highway 23 North and Archer Street to use the air hose at the gas station on the corner to pump up their bike tyres. It was much faster than using a hand pump, but the air was high-pressure and if you didn’t remove the nozzle fast enough from the valve you could blow out a tyre. Luke would wait for an opening in the traffic before they shot across the busy road. The attendants never charged them anything but the owner objected strongly to their use of the air hose, and would come running out.

“Hey, that’s for automobiles only. I’m gonna start charging you kids.”

“It’s just air, mister.” Luke told him. “Don’t cost you a damn thing.” They would linger long enough to purchase a couple of Coca-colas from the vending machine outside, whilst the owner watched in impotent fury.

“Go on now, git.” He’d try to shoo them off as if they were stray cats, whilst Luke stuck their bottles under the bottle opener slot, levering the caps off, before handing one to Rob and taking a leisurely swig.

“Don’t pay no mind to that old skinflint” he’d say to Rob, before turning back to the enraged owner. “With an attitude like that, mister, it’s a wonder you’re still in business.” Old Mrs. Waverley, a widow who owned two fierce bulldogs, frequently hailed them from her front veranda, no matter how fast they pedalled when they approached her house. She was always in her rocking chair come rain or shine, watching the goings-on of townsfolk going about their business. Their mother had said she was just lonely, and that they should be polite to her.

“Yeah?” said Luke, braking reluctantly, before recollecting his manners. “Yes Ma’am, what can I do for you?” They were reluctant to stop for two reasons: the bulldogs were apt to go crazy at the sight of anyone approaching her front yard (Rob thought they looked demonic with their red eyes and slavering jaws) The other reason was they were afraid she might want them to run an errand for her as her hip was bad and she couldn’t get around that much (in this they were usually right) She beckoned to Rob instead, who trotted up her front path and stood before her expectantly.

“Land’s sake, child, you must be so hot and thirsty running around fit to bust. Now why don’t you boys go on down to Kroger’s and get yourselves a quart of ripple fudge ice-cream.” She pressed two dollar bills into Rob’s hand.

“A whole quart?”

“Anything you want, sweet pea. I can’t eat ice-cream because of my teeth; it makes my mouth shrivel. Go on now.”

They would often cycle further out beyond the city limits, past the poorer districts with their flyblown tarpaper shacks and front yards littered with rotting tires and the wrecks of automobile carcasses long blighted by rust. Chained up bluetick hounds ran around in circles yelping hysterically because they couldn’t go anywhere.

One hot Sunday afternoon they took a route out to the fairground beyond Sandbrook Senior High. They had spent their pocket money and had hit on a plan to get some free rides. On the way over they had picked up scores of used tickets strewn across the ground from the night before, before scotch-taping them together.

“Your dog chewed all the tickets into two halves?” enquired the machine operator left to guard the empty site, with a sceptical grin. He was lean and wiry, his hair slicked back in a quiff, and evidently an Elvis fan. The music was so loud they could hardly hear each other speak:

You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog

Cryin’ all the time

Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit

And you ain’t no friend of mine

When they said you was high class

Well, that was just a lie…..

You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog

“No rough edges” he commented. “The dog use a razor or somethin’?”

“Uh…” began Robbie, realising the futility of their quest. The man suddenly smiled at them.

“Hell, I ain’t got nothin’ to do. Might as well give you boys a few rides. Boss is on a lunch-break and left me in charge. Got himself a companion at the Shady Creek Motel. Won’t be back for some time, if you get my meaning.” He winked complicitly at Luke, who evidently did get his meaning (Rob didn’t)

“What you want – the Scrambler? The Ferris wheel, Funhouse? You got the place all to yourselves.” They rode the Scrambler, the Tilt-A-Whirl, the Helter Skelter, the rollercoaster twice. They rode the bumper cars three times, bashing their cars into each other and yelling with laugher, to the loud thumping accompaniment of Blue Suede Shoes, Heartbreak Hotel, All Shook Up, and Hound Dog.

Before they left, the man took Luke aside and showed him a pack of grimy well-thumbed cards. Rob couldn’t understand why the man kept snickering until he caught a glimpse of the naked women, arranged in a variety of poses.

When he wasn’t wandering around the town aimlessly, Rob was sprawled on the living room couch with his father watching Rawhide, Gunsmoke, and Bonanza or Westerns like Fort Apache starring John Wayne. Eventually Joe had given him a stern talking to.

“We all miss Luke, but he’s going to be just fine. I don’t want to see you moping around the house. The best thing you can do right now is keep busy. Now, I know they could use an extra golf caddy up at the club weekends, and if you turn up there tomorrow morning, looking sharp and keen, they’re going to offer you a job. I’ve heard the tips can be pretty good too” he added. Rob frowned.

“I don’t know much about golf, Dad.”

“You don’t need to, son. Eighteen holes in a standard golf course. They’re just looking for a boy to run after the balls, carry their bags, and so on.” Rob shrugged. The job sounded a cinch, and was no worse than mowing lawns, raking leaves or cleaning out backyard pools. Miss Radcliffe, the Head Librarian at the municipal library, had a soft spot for him and was always asking him if he wanted to earn some cash doing yard work. Whilst he was pushing the lawn-mower across her lawn she’d call out to him from her rocker on the front porch, where the cutest little calico kitten was generally sunning itself and licking its dainty white paws.

“Honeybunch, could you just bring me that pitcher of lemonade in the Frigidaire?” (she always called the refrigerator a “Frigidaire”) About half-way through the job she would bring out a tray of home-baked snickerdoodle cookies or white divinity fudge, and a frosted can of the root beer she knew was his favourite beverage.

“When I was a youngster I used to drink that all the time, only we called it Sasparilla.”

*****

Rob had followed his father’s advice, and showed up bright and early at the Harperville Country Club. “Well, you seem pretty keen and fit” said the manager at the desk. “Joe’s boy, huh? You can start tomorrow - what do you say to that, young fella?”

“Thank you, sir” replied Rob. The job was monotonous, running after old-timers, carrying their golf club bags, rounding up their stray balls, and listening to their various gripes – most of them to do with old age: “Now, in my day we used to…. I guess I’m not as fit as I used to be…” (straightening up to rub their aching backs) They got him to do other things as well, running errands to the parking lot: “I forgot my pipe tobacco” (tossing him the keys) or “Boy, I could do with a nice cold beer right now” (at which point Rob would be handed a five dollar bill and dispatched to the bar) “Keep the change, Sonny, and get yourself a soda.” They all treated him as though he were a sixth-grader instead of in his senior year at Sandbrook Senior High, patting him on the head and asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up. But most of them tipped generously so he was able to put some money aside to fund after school activities.

“How come you don’t ever ask girls out?” Bruce asked Rob. They were sitting on the bleachers overlooking the football stadium, where he used to come to watch Luke - the team’s strongest and fastest line-backer - when he played at after school matches. As they warmed up for the game, the cheerleaders would lead the pep rallies in their bright maroon letter sweaters and white majorette boots, breath fogging in the misty air as they went through their complex dance routines. When the players jogged onto the field and took up their positions, the high school crowd would go absolutely crazy and Rob would jump up and down, yelling with the rest of them. But it had actually been his brother he was cheering on, not the team, as he watched Luke rush the quarterbacks and fight his way past the linemen.

The commentator would fuel the crowd’s frenzy, bellowing “SENSATIONAL!!” following a particularly skilful block or tackle which routed the opposing team. Rob had only been about twelve, and was so proud of Luke he felt his heart would burst. At the end of the ball game, when the players - breathing hard from their exertion and a little dazed at their triumphant win - were mobbed by their fans, Rob had wanted to rush up and fling his arms around his brother to congratulate him on his game, but had hung back self-consciously. He was dimly aware that he was too old to behave like this now, and was relegated to the side-lines whilst the cheerleaders fawned over their heroes. But it had not stopped him from experiencing a powerful twinge of jealousy as he saw Cindy Foster, Luke’s steady, hanging around his neck. All that seemed a lifetime ago.

“What?” said Rob, scarcely listening to Bruce who was always bugging him about something.

“It’s like talking to a zombie sometimes. You never listen to a thing anyone says. Donna’s crazy about you, you know.”

“So?”

“Ah, don’t waste your time” said Duane, who was a couple of years older than them. “She’s frigid.”

“I thought you said she was an easy lay last week” grinned Bruce. “How can a girl be a slut and frigid at the same time? Make up your mind.” Duane scowled, and Rob smiled, glad that the focus was off him. Duane was a typical loser, the type who slagged off girls who spurned his advances. His pick-up lines were terrible.

He’d shamble over to some girl who’d caught his eye and mumble “You wanna come out with me or what?” If the answer was negative he’d retaliate swiftly with “You didn’t think I was serious, did you? I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last girl on the planet.” This would be met with titters from the group of “cool” girls who always stuck together, whispering amongst themselves and grading the boys who walked past in terms of their dateability: “He’s not bad. A minus. C plus. No, wait I give him a B. Hmmm, a possibility, I guess. Jeepers creepers, not that creep. F minus….” (Rob always merited an A plus, and Duane somewhere around the C minus to D plus range) He’d heard about their Pyjama Parties where they sat around drinking cocoa, telling each other ghost stories and swapping incidents of incest with cousins or siblings.

During Recess they’d stand in a bunched knot against the chain-link fence, combing their hair and grabbing each other’s breasts, chanting:

Bobby-sox, knee-socks, nylon hose

Sorry, boys, that’s as far as it goes

This drove him nuts. He had no idea how to respond to such behaviour and just didn’t get them at all. If they liked you, they tormented you. Once, one of them had called Rob over.

“Say these letters of the alphabet: URAQT.”

“URAQT” Rob responded automatically.

“I didn’t know you cared.” She pelted him with M&Ms in the hope of provoking him enough to give chase, but he just caught them in his mouth and ate them.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about” continued Bruce, turning back to Rob. “No girl is going to turn you down. If I had your looks I’d zip through every chick in the school like a knife through hot butter.”

“I’m not worried” replied Rob. “You’re the one who’s worried since you never shut up about it.” The only time he had come close to hinting about his feelings with his parents, who had also tentatively suggested he “date some nice girl” instead of watching endless Westerns on TV, he had been met with incomprehension.

“But they’re always calling you up. Now that’s a sure sign a girl would like to get to know you better.” In a flash of anger, Rob had turned on his father.

“Just because they’re attracted to me doesn’t mean I’m attracted to them. Don’t you get it, Dad?” None of them got it. And there was no-one he could talk to about it. He missed having Luke around and friends his own age were no substitute. Whilst they pawed the centrefolds of top shelf magazines like Playboy or Penthouse, Rob would take out photos of his brother that he’d taken with his Polaroid Instant just before Luke left for Vietnam.

“Hey, why do you keep taking pictures of me?” Luke had asked.

“To remember you by” Rob had replied gravely, peeling off the sticky film and waving it in the air to dry it.

“You’d forget me that easily without a snapshot?” Bruce frequently got impatient with the way Rob hero-worshipped Luke, and would frequently goad him by making disparaging remarks about guys who enlisted. He was equally baffled by Luke’s protectiveness towards Rob: he had never been the type of older brother who treated his younger sibling like a piece of crud on the sole of his shoe, telling him to “Beat it, squirt” or “Go pick your snotbox.” Bruce didn’t understand their relationship at all, or possibly he was just jealous of their closeness. He now stated “I’m going to college so I don’t get drafted. If you ask me, most soldiers are just plain dumb. They go to war so they can kill people without going to jail for it.” Rob glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Bruce was always coming out with snide remarks like that. Once, when some jock on the football team had pinned him against a locker, Bruce had managed to talk his way out of a beating.

“Hey, what’s the deal? You know I’m a pacifist, man.”

“That’s because you’re a seven-stone weakling. All weeds are pacifists. They can’t fight.” It was a pretty mean thing to say, but Rob thought there was some truth in it. The football jocks like his brother tended to be tall and well built: the game could get pretty rough when they were slamming into each other each other at speeds of over 20mph. Bruce was hopeless at any type of ballgame. If you pitched him a fastball he couldn’t catch it for the life of him. Bruce’s dad had attached a basketball hoop to a backboard on the front of their house to try and encourage his son to take an interest in sport, and for a while they all practised shooting hoops in Bruce’s front yard. It was downright comical. Rob pitched him an alley-oop which Bruce missed by a mile, and Duane slam dunked the ball through the net seconds later (not because he was the world’s greatest player but probably because he was a few inches taller than Bruce)

“Can’t you try a little harder, son?” sighed Bruce’s father before disappearing indoors. Bruce made up for being one of the little guys by being a smartass, always quick with the wisecracks. In third period Historical Studies they were covering Evolution and the History of Man, and their teacher had posed the question “Who can tell me about Homo Habilis? Anyone?” As no-one answered, he continued “Well, we call Homo Habilis “Handy Man” because…”

“It’s when they learned to give each other hand jobs” Bruce hissed in Rob’s ear.

“…because this is when man first learned to use tools. For the first time he could build things and make things with his hands, using primitive tools. Now before man evolved into the species Homo Sapiens we are all so familiar with today, Mankind took another great leap forward when he first learned how to make fire. What else can you tell me about Pithecanthropus Erectus otherwise known as Homo Erectus?” The class started to snicker.

“A fag with a hard-on” supplied Bruce in a loud whisper as everyone had cracked up.

“Well, I sure as hell won’t be going to college” said Duane, taking a drag on a Marlboro. “I’m not brainy enough.” Neither of them disagreed with this. Duane spent his summers pumping gas at a service station, and would probably end up or packing meat at some factory or stacking two by fours in a lumber yard, but he didn’t seem unduly bothered by this prospect.

Ah well, Rob thought to himself later, if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em. He decided he might as well make an effort to try and be like all the other boys who talked of nothing else but making out with the opposite sex. Maybe it would make his life less complicated and get people off his back. And what if he was truly missing out on something? After all, he’d never really know unless he tried it. Donna Brownlow was the obvious choice. Not only was she pretty, she wasn’t loud or overbearing. He instinctively shied away from the showy, brash types, who wore far too much makeup.

When he first approached Donna in the school corridor, she was standing beside her locker hugging her books to her chest. He walked on by, then paused before turning around and walking back up to her again.

“Hi Donna.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “Oh hi, Robbie.”

“I was wondering whether you’re allowed to go out with boys. I heard your Dad’s pretty strict.”

“If he had his way he’d chain me to the porch railings so I couldn’t go anywhere. He wants me to stay at home and bake fudge brownies for him and my uncle while they watch the ball game.”

“He sounds like a slob.” She giggled.

“But don’t let that put you off. I’m sixteen and he’d better get used to the fact I’m not his little princess any more. He always chases boys off when they come to the house – I’m just so sick of it.”

“Well, would you like to come out with me on Saturday? We could hang out outside the Dairy Queen or something.” This was where a lot of the teenagers hung out on a Friday or Saturday night unless there was something worth watching at the drive-in movie, which he was determined to avoid at all costs. Making out in the back seat was definitely not what he had in mind. Her eyes widened.

“I’d love to. Wait…” He was about to walk off, when she called him back. “Don’t you want my phone number?” She wrote her number across the back of his hand with a ballpoint pen.

*****

Donna’s pudgy little sister Bunny was on the front porch fiddling around with the knobs of an Etch-a-Sketch when he arrived to pick her up.

“You’re early” said Bunny.

“I thought those had been banned” said Rob, trying to make conversation. “Because of the lead in them.”

“Nah, that’s Ouija boards.”

“Ouija boards don’t have lead in them.”

“Yeah, but they got evil spirits in ‘em. Do you like my bracelet?” She had fashioned a bracelet by threading a shoe-lace through a bunch of cherry-flavoured Life-Savers and tied it around her wrist.

“Sure. That looks pretty neat” said Rob.

“Would you like a Moon Pie?” She held up the half-empty packet. “Uh, no thanks.”

When Donna eventually appeared, he couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed. She was heavily made up with black eye-liner and had plastered her fresh young face with some gooey orange stuff girls called Pan Stick, which was thicker than theatrical greasepaint. She’d also curled her hair so that the ends flipped up like shiny brown sausages bouncing on her shoulders. He didn’t care for the effect at all (he liked girls to look natural) but she’d evidently gone to a lot of trouble for him. Rob took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Hi. You ready to go?” She patted her curls into place, and smiled at him, waiting by the car door. At the last minute, Rob remembered he was supposed to open the car door for her, like he’d seen men do in the movies.

There was the usual crowd congregated outside the Dairy Queen, lounging on the rooftops of their cars and making up outrageous stories about other people in the town. A fat boy called Foley, his excess flesh wobbling like Jell-O, was holding a dog down and forcing it to drink a milkshake through a straw.

“Hey, Roly-Poly!” someone shouted.

“What?”

“You’re occupying too much space. In the year 2000 fatsos will be sent to Mars on a one-way ticket.” Since eighth grade, Foley had ballooned in size. His parents had packed him off to summer camp in the hope he’d join in with the outdoor activities and lose some weight. One of the camp leaders had discovered a stash of Butterfingers and Reese Cups stuffed into a pillowcase at the bottom his sleeping bag: he’d been sent on a five mile hike during which he had pretended to collapse with exhaustion so that his parents were forced to drive over a hundred miles to collect him.

When he wasn’t hoovering up double whoppers and French fries, he was slurping milkshakes and hot fudge sundaes at the Dairy Queen. Then he’d go home and pork out on his momma’s home cooking: fried chicken and mash potatoes, hot biscuits and gravy, followed by Brown Betty and whipped cream.

As far as Rob could tell the date with Donna had gone pretty well, apart from an awkward moment when he said “You know, you don’t need to wear all that makeup. I think you look much better without it.” Donna looked stricken as though she were about to burst into tears at any moment.

“Do you really mean that?”

“I….sorry. I just meant you’re really pretty and all. Anyway, I probably don’t know what I’m talking about so just forget it.”

“Oh, Robbie, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me..”

Rob was astounded. Somehow he’d managed to say the right thing.

“Why do you wear it then?”

“I thought all boys expected girls to wear makeup. That’s what Young Miss says but I just HATE it. It took me ages to put on, and when I looked in the mirror I looked so awful I felt like cancelling the date.”

“Who’s young miss? Why do you allow her to boss you about?” This date was getting weirder by the minute. But he couldn’t help warming to her. He had never come across a girl so honest, who came out and said what was on her mind.

“Oh, it’s not a person, Young Miss is this dumb magazine Mom got me a subscription to. It comes through the mail every month. You won’t have heard of it because it’s for teenage girls.” Donna glanced at him covertly. She thought he was an absolute dream. She couldn’t help contrasting Rob’s polite respectful behaviour with that of her last date with a boy, who’d brought along a six-pack. She wasn’t used to alcohol, and after consuming a greasy cheeseburger and fries washed down by several beers, he’d started groping her and she’d upchucked the contents of her stomach all over the brand-new upholstery of his Pontiac Firebird. After driving her home in stony silence, he’s screeched to a halt outside her house, then reached over and flung over the passenger door. As she stumbled onto the sidewalk, attempting to apologise (though he was the one who’d forced the beers down her throat) he’d shot off without another word. Rob was so considerate of her feelings, unlike that other jerk. He hadn’t even made a pass at her, or tried to force her to do anything she hadn’t wanted to do, which showed that he respected her.

As Rob pulled up by the kerb in front of her house, they turned to face each other. Rob knew he was expected to say something like he hoped she’d had a good a time, followed up by a suggestion that maybe they could do this again some time. At which point the girl would respond in a soft voice “I’d like that.” He’d seen enough movies to know what he was supposed to do.

“So, uh, maybe we could do this again some time?” said Rob, right on cue.

“I’d love that” she replied without any hesitation. Well, that was easy, thought Rob, mentally congratulating himself on his ability to pass himself off as a regular guy.

“OK. I’ll call you.” She looked into his eyes. He knew that at this point he was supposed to kiss her. It was up to him to make a move. He was the boy and she was the girl. He leaned over and did the deed. It was a fairly quick kiss so they were both startled by a sharp rapping on the driver’s windowpane. Rob was actually quite relieved by this providential intervention, and looked up.

“Oh God, that’s my Dad. I’m so mortified I could nearly die.” Donna got out the car before Rob could go around and open the passenger door for her.

“Daddy, you’re embarrassing me!” The front door was wide open and Mr. Brownlow stood at the bottom of the porch steps, glaring at him.

“I’ll thank you to get in here right now, young lady.”

“Evening, Mr. Brownlow. I think we were two minutes late getting back.” Rob glanced down at his watch. “No, I tell a lie. One minute. I think that’s pretty good timing.” He heard Donna giggle as she scooted past her father into the entry way.

“Don’t get fresh with me, son. Donna May, go inside right now. Your mother wants a word with you.” Mr. Brownlow turned his attention back to Rob. “I don’t much care for your attitude.”

“I don’t much care for yours either” replied Rob, who was becoming annoyed. He didn’t see what he’d done wrong. He’d returned Donna at the hour appointed by her father, and he hadn’t laid a finger on her apart from a goodnight kiss. And he wouldn’t even have done that if she hadn’t lifted up her face to his expectantly.

“You want to play hardball with me, I’ll knock you from here right into next Sunday.”

“You just try it, mister.” Rob stood his ground. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Daddy!” came Donna’s horrified shriek from behind the screen door. “Stop it! He’s been as nice as pie, and he didn’t do anything…” Mr. Brownlow came out of the shadows and took a few steps closer. He was tall and powerfully-built, like Luke, and somewhere in his forties. Rob thought he bore a faint resemblance to the big guy who played the Marshall Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke. He had bullish shoulders like twin wrecking balls, and Rob wondered whether he was an ex-boxer or worked down the mines. He suddenly smiled, his mouth lifting crookedly at one corner.

“You got spunk, kid. I like that. Sass I don’t like. There’s a difference. If you were some sassy young punk you’d never get a foot past this door. But I don’t want no daughter of mine hitched to some boy with no gumption neither.” Hitched? Rob backed off a little. He had no such designs on Donna. Going steady - or worse, getting hitched - was the very last thing on his mind. Dating the opposite sex was meant to be nothing more than a welcome distraction, something to keep him from dwelling on what might be happening to his brother in a war zone.

The following Monday Donna came up to him in the school corridor, and looked at him with big reproachful eyes. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t think your Dad would appreciate it much. He doesn’t like me.” She looked hurt.

“Daddy doesn’t like me seeing any boys. He drives them all off. I’ve been grounded for two weeks” she added.

“Why? You didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t understand. Daddy can be awful fierce.”

“You ask me, he’s nuts” remarked Rob. Donna giggled.

“I know it. Momma knows it, but that’s just the way he is.” She was clutching a Tupperware box underneath her arm, which she saw Rob eyeing. “Oh, I made these in Home Ec. They’re peanut butter brownies.” She offered him one. “I figured you’d like them because we both like Reese cups…”At that point, Donna’s best friend Marsha sidled up to them. Rob didn’t care for her much: she could be quite catty in an unobtrusive backhanded way, saying one thing to your face and another behind your back, though she generally reserved her best shots for other girls rather than boys. Duane was keen on her because she was top-heavy and he had a fixation about big jugs. He claimed he’d done stuff with Marsha in the backseat of his Ford Mustang, but he could have been making it up.

“So, are you two going to elope or something?” Rob snorted. Marsha had a habit of over-dramatising every situation and, in his opinion, she was too loud and talked too much. When Donna’s friends started referring to him as her “boyfriend”, Rob considered the charade had gone far enough and started distancing himself from her. Once he saw her outside the girls’ restroom – standing in a huddle with a bunch of other girls – her face streaked with mascara from where she’d been crying.

“Hi, Donna. You OK?” Her friend Marsha had glared at him as if he were some kind of criminal.

“Why don’t you just drop dead, Robbie Turnbull?”

“Why don’t you go swat some flies? I wasn’t talking to you. Donna, what’s the matter?” She shook her head.

“Nothing.” She turned to Marsha and began to speak to her in low, urgent tones. “Go away! You’re not helping. You’re just making things worse!”

“Well, pardon me for breathing.” Marsha stomped off in a huff. Donna refused to tell him why she was so upset, but he had an idea it was to do with him. He possessed enough self-knowledge to understand that it was cruel to lead her on when he wasn’t that interested: she was a nice girl and deserved better than him. He resolved then and there to have nothing further to do with girls, and the whole complicated business of dating.

Chapter Three - 1965

Luke climbed up to one of the guard towers situated on the north east corner of the base, relieving one of the night watch. The other soldier left on patrol looked surprised at his appearance, but was friendly enough. Night patrol was one of the more onerous duties, taken in strict rotation. Mostly it was just a matter of marking time, checking in with an hourly radio report and fighting fatigue. They kept themselves alert with cups of strong coffee sweetened with condensed milk – brought up to them at periodic intervals by fellow soldiers - and desultory small talk. His companion for the night was a junior commissioned second lieutenant called Jessop.

“How’d you get to be Platoon Leader at your age?” asked Jessop curiously. Luke gave a self-deprecatory shrug.

“I just followed the handbook: Know What You Do Not Know And Do Something About It.” Jessop gave him a sceptical sidelong glance, as if to say Come on, there must have been more to it than that. “OK. On my first tour the Platoon Sarge screwed up a mission, and I had to take over” admitted Luke. “The other golden rule is Always Fire First” he added, with a smile. Jessop smiled back.

“Yeah, that’s always a good one.” Jessop gave him an appraising look, and decided the big strong guy standing beside him must have the moxie. If you proved yourself out in the field and earned the trust and respect of the other grunts, anything was possible in army, especially when there was a shortage of officers. His next question was predictable. “So how did the first guy screw up?”

“He and a couple of the men were passing around a big-ass Bong Son Bomber in his bunker. Guess he thought it might help him sleep. When we came under assault later that night he was out for the count and not much use to anyone.” Jessop gave a low whistle. The officer in question had been summarily relieved of his command, and the one they sent out to replace him was an untested shavetail. The head honchos had decided to place Luke in charge since he had proved himself in combat, and promoted him to Platoon Leader in a very short space of time.

“I’m going for a piss” announced Jessop. “Be back in five.” Luke scanned the perimeter with his night vision goggles for any signs of movement or anything out of the ordinary. Guards were equipped with a mounted machine gun and starlight scope sniper rifles. The tree-line was 75 to 200 metres distance from the barbed wire, depending upon where you were positioned in the camp. The next three hours proved to be fairly uneventful with no “Gook in the wire” alarms. If they managed to make it past the perimeter barbed wire placed 20 metres beyond the 4 foot earth berms, and the post-mounted claymore mines and trip flares, they then faced a scramble over the berm wall. It didn’t happen too often, but had been known to occur. Mostly they fired mortars into the compound trying to kill the soldiers inside, or if they got lucky they might strike the munition storage bunker – something Luke was determined to avoid.

In accordance with his motto Know What You Do Not Know And Do Something About It Luke used his time at the Forward Support Base to thoroughly familiarise himself with radio operating procedures, spending some time every day in the Comms bunker studying maps and codes. As platoon leader and ground commander he had operational control over identifying enemy targets – a task which was difficult if not impossible for pilots, when obscured by jungle and mountainous terrain – as well as marking their own position so as to avoid the ever present danger of friendly fire. Apart from the RTO he was the only one of them who knew how to operate the portable combat-net radio transceiver AN/PRC-25, referred to by the men as the “PRICK-25” due to its unreliability in the humid jungle climate, which not only corroded rifle chambers but vital radio apparatus connectors.

They had been promised an upgraded version with the capability of encrypted transmissions, but that hadn’t happened yet. “I’ll believe that when I see it” Luke had commented when he’d received an army circular to this effect. He would rapidly scan the latest official communiqué for anything of importance from HQ before crumpling it up and setting fire to it with his zippo lighter, an action which greatly amused 2nd lieutenant Sergeant Drummond. Luke considered himself to be a man of action and had no patience with bureaucracy or the endless reams of paperwork and red tape it entailed. He shrugged and smiled. “What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve.”

“Uncle Sam has eyes everywhere” replied Drummond. “Try not to annoy the backroom boys too much. Twenty bucks says they’re busy cooking up some crackerjack raid guaranteed to get us all killed.” Drummond was not far off in his prediction and that day had eventually come. Luke handed over a crumpled Military Payment Certificate to the value of twenty dollars to his sergeant, before hand-picking and assembling a 6-man detail for what he felt in his gut was going to be their most dangerous LRRP mission so far.

Most of them preferred search and destroy missions to long range recon patrols deep in enemy territory, where they were required to provide combat intelligence. They were all used to rough soldiering and uncomfortable jungle bivouacs, but gathering intelligence was a slow painstaking process, which involved noting land features and frequent pauses to take bearings rather than directly engaging the enemy. Once they had determined target locations, they triangulated their bearings to pinpoint the location of VC guerrilla forces more precisely. The map coordinates would then be relayed to command. That was the theory. Accuracy wasn’t always possible in the absence of clearly defined landmarks from which to take their bearings, and dense jungle foliage significantly reduced the range of radio transmission, which was why they were making for higher ground.

“Onwards and upwards” muttered Blackburn sarcastically. Luke had set a punishing pace and been pushing them hard for the last hour up a steep 1 in 4 gradient through tangled brush and jungle growth, which was starting to thin out as they gained height. They were all breathing hard and perspiring freely, starting to flag under the heat and the weight they were carrying. “You know, the higher we get the more visible we are to Charlie.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know” responded Luke. Greater visibility of the enemy was precisely what their superiors wanted and they were the bait, luring them from their foxholes. Their radio operator was bent forward at the hips, hands planted on his thighs as he caught his breath. From a tactical communications standpoint the RTO was the most crucial element in their team - especially for this type of mission - but he was also a walking target with a 10 foot flexible antenna protruding from his left shoulder: it was like having a bullseye painted on his back. “Floyd, swap the long whip for the short 3 foot until we need to transmit.”

Luke permitted them a four minute break, while they unclipped water canteens from their webbing belts and drank deeply as Luke went over the day codes. As the platoon commander, he carried the signal operating instructions which contained the frequencies and call-signs of any units in the area. To frustrate enemy monitoring of their signals they used a radio shorthand called SHACKLES, which were code words employing a 10 letter word with a different letter for each number 0 through 9, in order to read out map coordinates on their radio frequencies. Most of the time the system worked OK, but the system depended on two things: the reliability of the equipment, and the guy who operated it.

“We shouldn’t be out here” growled Blackburn, who had a talent for stating the obvious. “This is fucking dangerous. There’s only eight of us. We’re outnumbered…” Luke told him to zip it, and concentrate on the task at hand, which was to locate the enemy position. The Forward Air Controller responsible for directing air strikes and artillery fire from the air had requested a fix on enemy mortar. Nobody liked giving a negative sit-rep but so far there hadn’t been much to report. The previous evening, Luke had been forced to order a recon by fire, a “mad minute” to draw out enemy locations and dispositions. It was not something he wanted to do at this stage, as it left them highly exposed, but the mission would prove fruitless unless they acquired reliable intelligence data. As well as machine gun fire they had used AT-4 shoulder-fired missiles loaded with tracer ammunition. Used at night it drew enemy fire - which was the point - but also meant they had to high-tail it at top speed before they were surrounded. It had been a mad scramble for survival, amidst tracers and exploding mortar, but by 4am they had reached a spot of relative safety, where they rested up for a couple of hours before heading off again.

“Someone shut down that damn squawk box” muttered Blackburn, looking nervously over his shoulder. Every now and then the radio emitted a burst of static, but the RTO was reluctant to switch it off because it could take fifteen minutes to warm up, and in an emergency those fifteen minutes could mean the difference between life and death.

“What was that, Blackburn?” asked Luke. “You wanted me to shut you down?”

“Charlie can hear us coming a mile off, sir.”

“The enemy already KNOWS we’re here” Luke told him. “That squawk box is gonna end up saving our lives.” Floyd looked up, his normal self-possession gone.

“Uh, I can’t get a signal, sir. I’ve tried three times and-” Luke caught a sudden movement in the undergrowth to Floyd’s rear at seven o’clock and opened fire with his M-16. The VC scout who had been crawling up behind him thudded to the ground. Floyd looked somewhat shaken as Carver went over and put a bullet in his head just to make sure.

“You greased him good, sir” said Carver to Luke. “One down, about 200 more to go. Think we’ll get out of here alive?” He was trying to inject some humour into their situation, but it fell a little flat. Their retreat was cut off, and they were in imminent danger of being overrun. They were all looking at Luke for direction. He was very much aware that their lives depended on the decisions he took within the next few minutes. If he fouled things up now, they were dead men walking. And if they couldn’t get the “Prick” working soon, they were pretty much screwed. Luke knelt down beside Floyd, and put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Stay calm. The equipment is unlikely to be defective because we used it last night, right? So don’t start messing with the controls or the knobs.” (which was what Floyd was doing in his panic) There were a limited number of components in a field radio: 3 antenna connectors, an antenna spring which functioned as a shock absorber, the audio connector to attach the handset to the radio, the ON/OFF power switches, a push-to-talk button plus a number of dials for volume, tuning to the desired frequency, and making other adjustments.

“You’ve tried a spare battery?” Floyd nodded. He was a trained radio operator and knew his stuff. He was quite capable of taking the dammed thing apart and reassembling it, but there was no time for that and it would probably be pointless. “OK, then it’s likely to be humidity.” The high level of humidity caused condensation to form on caps, and the connectors, cable and plugs – all of which needed to be kept dry to prevent malfunctioning. “Find something clean - I don’t care what so long as it’s dry.” Floyd was already rummaging through his steel ammo can where he kept dry rags. “I want you to take out and clean every single connector, then switch back to the long antenna.” No sooner had Luke issued these instructions than the shit really hit the fan.

“Gimme that blooper.” As Carver grabbed hold of an M79 grenade launcher, Luke positioned the other one onto his shoulder and started firing while Blackburn slammed a clip of cartridges into his M16. For the next fifteen minutes, they were all kept busy defending their position whilst Floyd hunched over the radio, one of the others standing guard over him.

“We’re gonna run out of ammo soon” said Blackburn in a matter-of-fact tone during a temporary lull. They all turned and looked intently at Floyd, who was fully focussed on his task. Seconds later he looked up in triumph. “I think we’re back in business, sir.” He tuned to the desired frequency and spoke into the handset briefly. “Just got through to the lead pilot-”

“-Good job.” Luke grabbed the handset and put in an urgent broken arrow request for aerial assistance, identifying himself as the platoon leader:

“Hellcat, This is Sidewinder 6. Over.” The FAC pilot’s voice came through loud and clear.

“Go head, Sidewinder. Over.” Luke gave the authentication code and the emergency flag:

“Flash. We are under fire. Condition red. Request fire mission. Over and out.”

“Say again, what is your status, over.”

“Condition red. Request fire mission. Over and out.”

“Roger. What is your current position, over.

“Hellcat, This is Sidewinder 6. Stand by for a shackle, over.”

“Go head, Sidewinder. Over.” Luke relayed their map coordinates, and those of enemy targets - which were uncomfortably close - then asked for verification that the message had been received and was being treated as a priority. The pilot affirmed that they were on their way

“Copy that. Priority confirmed. On my way. Over and out.”

There had been no opportunity to conduct an aerial reconnaissance, and Luke knew the response would be swift and deadly. Their guys didn’t hover, they were coming in at speeds of 250mph, probably from Da Nang Air Base. There was a small margin for error and a limited window in which to get accurate data to the command aircraft. The AH-1 Cobra was primarily an attack helicopter used a lot by USMC marine corps - designed more along the lines of a jet fighter than a helicopter, and manned by machine gunners just itching to shoot. They were supposed to only initiate fire against clearly-identified insurgents but sometimes they were so wired up and spooked by incoming mortar rounds and incendiary shells they didn’t bother with the pipper sight. Luke had once been on an extraction hop where the starboard door-gunner was leaning out the door like a maniac. “Zoom zoom. Ba-boom ba-boom!” Gunners operating M60s seldom paused to take stock or check whether they were aiming at unarmed non-combatants.

When the barrel got too hot during rapid bursts of machine gun fire it was swapped for a spare barrel, and radio transmissions coming through on their headset were drowned out in the competing noise of ear-splitting salvos and exploding mortar. There was a very real danger they could be hit by their own side in the course of suppressing hostile ground fire.

Luke handed the handset back to Floyd, who had regained his confidence after a temporary wobble, and began reading out the coordinates for the intended bombing targets. “Tell them we’re moving out now” said Luke “and will advise our location ASAP.”

“Breaking station, over and out.”

As Floyd relayed the message Blackburn was squinting up at the sky: “The sky troopers have just showed up.” A pair of Cobra gunships were circling overhead like prehistoric pterodactyls.

Mostly they operated as a Hunter-Killer team, with the Hunter circling just above the canopy with the Killer at a higher altitude waiting to drop its 750 pound loads from their rocket pods. They struck fear into the enemy but also struck fear into GIs on the ground, who could be inadvertently caught up in the crossfire.

When the Hunter shot out of the Killer’s line of fire, you knew what was coming next. As their enemy was undoubtedly thinking along the same lines, the panicked rout gave them a clear run before the fun started. This was one party they didn’t want to gate-crash. By the same token, the hunters were equally resolved not to be cheated out of their prey.

As they ran for cover, Luke saw the lower of the two Cobra gunships manoeuvre to make room for the Killer: the command ship was hovering safely above the fray at an altitude of about 3000 feet. As the first blast shook the ground beneath their feet, Luke snatched the handset cord looped under Floyd’s right arm and yelled:

“Hellcat, This is Sidewinder 6. Cease fire! CEASE FIRE! Over.” The aerial pounding paused momentarily, whilst the FAC command pilot requested a fix on their location. “Gimme some purple haze, guys.” Blackburn did the honours and dropped a couple of purple smoke canisters as a position marker.

“This is Sidewinder 6. Popping smoke, over.” The pilot confirmed he had a fix on their location.

“I identify purple, over.”

“Affirmative. Over and out.” As Luke confirmed the colour of their smoke marker the bombardment in their immediate vicinity diminished in volume and intensity and the gunners shifted their deadly force elsewhere. The men clapped each other on the back, and Malone shook his head, grinning “I don’t know how much longer my nerves can stand the strain, fellas.” Carver pointed at Luke. “Give that man a cigar!” Luke clapped Floyd on the shoulder.

“Let that be a lesson to you, boys: always make sure your PRICK is in good working order.”

“La vida loca” commented Malone amidst the resulting laughter, shaking a triumphant fist in the air.

Chapter Four - 1966

It had been a fairly typical morning at the bakery, with Sheriff Wheeler and his deputy dropping by for their usual sugary breakfast fare. The bakery’s womb-like interior gave off an enticing warm glow, especially when it was dark or foggy outside, and acted as a magnet for men who were up and about at an early hour – which included long-haul truckers, shift workers, and coal miners on their way to Water Gap via Bull Creek. The Sheriff had a sweet tooth and favoured frosted doughnuts oozing with strawberry jam or hot cinnamon rolls with his morning coffee. Wheeler’s paunch strained against his gun belt, which he was in the habit of hitching up every minute, his deputy being hollow-cheeked and lean by way of comparison. The latter was a nondescript individual whose name nobody could remember, and was generally known as “Shadow Man” since he followed his boss’s example in all things.

There was very little crime in Harperville, and consequently Wheeler and his deputy spent most of their time investigating domestic incidents and harassing teenagers who were making out in parked cars. Harmless drunks were dangerous “perps who needed to be locked up to keep the townsfolk safe” and those who chose to settle their differences privately with their fists were “criminal vigilantes taking the law into their own hands.” The last noteworthy crime to have occurred in Harperville was over five years ago when the Fire Chief had been shot to death by his old buddy. The latter had appeared on his back doorstep with a gun: ‘Goddammit, Cyrus, I’ve come to kill you’ and had done precisely that in the presence of his victim’s wife and infant children. The perpetrator was known to have a mean disposition while under the influence of alcohol, so the shooting had not come as a surprise to the townsfolk. On a former occasion he had beaten up the mayor whom he referred to as “that bow-legged bald eagle who got what was coming to him.” Despite being mortally wounded and on his knees, the Fire Chief had drawn a pistol on his assailant, fatally wounding him. The double homicide had created as much high drama as the Shootout at the OK Corral, and Wheeler had been in his element.

Loubelle wiped down the counter, still digesting the news brought to her that morning by Tammi Lynn: the Principal of Harperville Junior High had been caught with his pants down in a downtown Louisville hotel. A maid who’d let herself in with a key for routine housekeeping had startled them whilst he was “performing a lewd act” with a bell-hop, who’d figured out a way to supplement his meagre earnings by propositioning lonely businessmen. You’ve really gone and done it now, mister, thought Loubelle. Fortunately the boy had just turned eighteen, or else Anderson would be facing statutory rape charges. But in the eyes of the law this was still a serious offence. Given that sodomy – even between consenting male adults – was a crime, he might be facing years in prison. And what must his wife and two kids be thinking? Jesus wept. Why couldn’t they keep it in their pants? And what was it with men - did they all have these perverted impulses?

Tammi Lynn was still blubbing about the latest indignity visited on her by her insensitive prick of a husband. “You know what he said to me? He said…” She gulped. Loubelle patted her on the back.

“Spit it out, girl.”

“He said ‘Don’t think you mean anything to me, bitch. You ain’t nothing but a scratching post.’ You know, like he’s some stud bull and I’m just there so he can scratch an itch?”

“Yeah, I know what a scratch post is, honey” sighed Loubelle wearily. “Did I or did I NOT tell you that man is as mean as a rattlesnake? And you still went ahead and married him.” She popped the cap on a bottle of Sprite and took a swig. The last she’d heard Duane was working as a mechanic over at Todd’s garage, but the beat-up Plymouth Dodge which stood in his front yard on cinder blocks didn’t look like it was going anywhere soon. “Ain’t he tuned that engine yet?” drawled Loubelle. “He must have been working on it for three weeks now. Beats me how he got hired in the first place. No wonder there’s so many automobile accidents around here.”

“Oh, that job was just temporary” sniffed Tammi dismissively. “He don’t work there no more. That big goober was downright jealous of my husband, and they had some kind of bust-up.” Loubelle concluded that Todd must have sacked Duane, with good reason. “So Duane went out and got himself another job with a road construction crew…” Loubelle could feel a big BUT coming up “…but now he spends all his time at Steve’s Roadhouse. I hardly ever see him no more. And you don’t get any respectable women going there” declared Tammi, wrinkling her nose. “Just cheap hookers touting for business.”

Steve and Rhoda hailed from Abilene, Texas and had taken over the premises of the old roadhouse a few years ago, seeing an opportunity to try out some Mexican dishes on hungry loggers who piled in after work to grab a few beers. Rhoda knew all the tricks of the trade: she put out complimentary dishes of salty bar snacks to encourage the consumption of cold beer, and the bowls of hot spicy chili con carne went down a treat in the winter months. They had arrived at a time when the Forestry Service was desperately trying to contain a fire which was raging out of control in the Southern Appalachians, started by a freak lightning strike, with smoke jumpers battling the blaze from the air, assisted by a ground crew of professional fire-fighters and local volunteers. The roadhouse had proved to be a magnet for thirsty, exhausted men and business was booming, much to the annoyance of wives or girlfriends who had a hot dinner waiting at home for their menfolk but couldn’t compete with the rowdy male company. It was also conveniently situated a couple of miles from the Shady Creek Motel, more commonly known as the Shady Motel for its shady goings-on and the fact that it was patronised by women of loose morals.

“You know what started it all off?” Tammi blew her nose on the paper napkin Loubelle handed her.

“I have an idea you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”

“I just asked if we could get one of those new Hoover Keymatics. Everybody else in this town has got one ‘cept for poor folks who have to go to the laundromat. What’s the point of him earning good money, if we can’t get us some kitchen ‘pliances…” Sometimes Loubelle wondered why men and women got married at all. The women who went into the beauty salon once a week to get their hair professionally styled were forever griping about the “slobs” they were married to, who sat around slurping beer and hogging the TV. And the men who came into the bakery were forever bitching about their wives, who wanted to spend “every last dime” they earned and nagging them to do all manner of jobs around the house when they were trying to relax. She couldn’t help noticing that a lot of men, and just as many women, showed a definite preference for the company of their own sex when it came to socialising. Which made it something of a miracle that the two sexes came together often enough to perpetuate the species.

Her thoughts returned to Anderson who was facing trial whilst living in a motel: the word was his wife wasn’t speaking to him, and was intent on a divorce. She was milking the situation for all it was worth, and cut a tragic figure drifting around town in a headscarf and pair of dark glasses, like Jackie Kennedy: a woman wronged. She was probably receiving expert legal advice from Darlington, the attorney who would be handling her divorce and shooting for a generous settlement, including custody of their children and alimony. Loubelle wondered what would happen to Anderson, whether – even if he was acquitted by a sympathetic judge – he was doomed to spend the rest of his life frequenting the type of seedy bars where men hunted down other men.

“Speak of the devil” muttered Tammi Lynn, who had just noticed her husband – Mr. Mean Rattlesnake himself - swaggering down Main Street. She moved back from the plate glass window so Duane couldn’t see her. “And there goes Candace Sloane. Just watch that sonofabitch sniffing around that hussy like he’s never seen a female before.” Candace Sloane was legal secretary to Darlington, and supplemented her salary by providing extracurricular services for her boss, a masochist who enjoyed being whipped by a dominatrix in high heels. Not that anyone knew about this private arrangement apart from Loubelle and the two parties involved. Loubelle had gone to school with both Tammi Lynn and Candace, both of whom considered the other to be a prize bitch. Whilst heartily despising each other, they vied for Loubelle’s attention, valuing her friendship for some unfathomable reason.

“Shoot, I don’t know what I done to deserve this” continued Tammi Lynn. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my life. It’s mortifying, what that man puts me through.” Tammi Lynn was impervious to the facts of life and to anything which challenged her fixed notions about men and women. In her view all men were “goofballs” but you might as well “goof around with them while you could before they balled you up.” Duane had always had a roving eye, but Tammi Lynn had deluded herself that if she married him he would eventually settle down and behave like a responsible husband and father. She was expecting their first baby and was five months gone. In this she had badly miscalculated. Her husband did not appear to share her social ambitions. Far from settling down, Duane had become worse, spending most evenings away from home, either at the pool hall or drinking at Steve’s Roadhouse.

“Say, you got one of those Nehi soda pops?” Loubelle reached for a bottle from the fridge and plonked it in front of her. Despite, or perhaps because, they lived in an unprepossessing little bungalow in one of the poorer districts, Tammi harboured unrealistic social aspirations in which Duane would eventually earn enough to enable them to move into one of the big Colonial-style houses on Laurel Drive, and have a daily come in to clean for her. She turned up her nose at anything which smacked of poverty or anyone who engaged in “unrespectable” conduct.

“I don’t see what difference it makes whether they’re respectable or not” Loubelle had commented. “If a married man can’t keep his hands off other women, the marriage is in big trouble.”

“Thanks a bundle” Tammi snapped. “Why don’t you set up as a marriage counsellor?”

“I’d hate to tip anyone over the edge with my advice” replied Loubelle equably. She considered herself as compassionate (or not) as the next person when confronted with genuine injustice, but didn’t believe in wasting sympathy on human folly. Tammi Lynn was the type of woman who always blamed other women for her troubles, rather than her poor choice in men. No matter how despicable his conduct a man was rarely to blame for infidelity because a man “just can’t help himself. They’re just like little kids with candy. If you offer it to them on a plate what they gonna do?” They watched as Duane caught up with Candace, who was looking pretty hot in a pink little number cinched at the waist with a shiny patent leather belt. There was an expanse of at least eight inches of exposed tanned flesh between the hem of her dress and her knees.

“Bitch has kept her figure” observed Tammi enviously. “That’s easy if you’re not married and don’t have to wear some damn maternity smock and slave over a stove cooking macaroni cheese for some slob who doesn’t… Quick, open the door” hissed Tammi Lynn “So I can hear what they’re saying.” Loubelle obligingly opened the door a crack as the pair strolled by on the sidewalk a few feet away.

“Candy, Candy” pleaded Duane in the wheedling voice he used when trying to pick up some woman who wasn’t interested in his dubious charms. “Baby, you make my balls ache, you really do.” Tammi Lynn was white-faced with fury, her mouth a tight closed line. Candace was twirling a pair of sunglasses distractedly.

“Sorry to hear that, honey. Try not to sprain your dick on my account.”

“Oh c’mon, kewpie doll, don’t be like that. Candy, Candy you’re breaking my heart. I can’t take it no more.”

“Duane, the day when I have the slightest inclination to warm your bed will be the day Hell freezes over. Now why don’t you run on home to that clingy little wife of yours. I hear she’s got a bun in the oven, about ready to pop out any day now…” As they drifted out of earshot, Tammi turned to Loubelle with an expression of outrage.

“Clingy? He’s my goddam husband. That marriage wrecker should be run out of town. It’s downright indecent. She should-”

“-Now hold on” interrupted Loubelle. “I didn’t see any signs of her giving him any encouragement.. what’s she supposed to do if he keeps on her tail? Just calm down, honey.” Tammi Lynn had reared up like a diamondback ready to strike. Loubelle couldn’t help thinking she and Duane were actually quite well-suited.

“I hate him. I just hate him.” She wiped away a tear. “That sonofabitch used to court me like that before I got knocked up.”

“You call that courting? Bird-dogging, more like. That knuckle-dragging Neanderthal isn’t worth fighting over and Candy’s no marriage wrecker. I don’t know why y’all can’t just make up and be friends.” Tammi Lynn grabbed her patent leather pocket book, and slid off the counter stool. “I wouldn’t run after him if I were you, girl…” advised Loubelle after her retreating back. Tammi had caught up with Duane, her nails dug into his wrist as she attempted to drag him forcibly along the sidewalk. Loubelle could hear Duane protesting audibly, the very picture of wounded innocence.

“Great day in the morning. A man can’t even take a walk down the street without his wife sneaking up on him…” Loubelle turned back to the TV set to see what she had missed on Peyton Place. A teenage boy was in conflict with his parents over some girl he was seeing.

“We’re going to keep better tabs on you from here on out” sternly admonished his father.

“Mom, Dad, you are not going to run my life any more” announced their wayward son, standing squarely in front of them. “Isn’t it about time you faced facts?”

“So help me, God!” screamed his mother. “We didn’t send you to college so you could throw your life away and insult your own parents.”

“What did you send me there for?” countered the son, in a maddeningly matter-of-fact tone. “Mother, sit down. It’s not the end of the world. I’m going to marry Alison now that’s she’s going to have a baby. And that’s all there is to it.”

“Going to have a baby?” Both parents exchanged horror-stricken looks. With this earth-shattering announcement the episode ended; the next instalment would be shown tomorrow.

Chapter Five - 1966

Luke’s platoon had been flown to a rearward luxury base about twenty miles north of Saigon for a few days of R&R before being rotated elsewhere. A world unto itself, Long Binh Post was enormous and like a microcosm of America: its amenities included a P.X. which stocked everything a GI could possibly want, several swimming pools, a library, movie amphitheatres for films and regular live entertainment, weight rooms and recreational sports such as basketball, softball, volleyball, football, tennis, even golf (though most of them considered that an old man’s game) There was even a steam room/massage parlour which served as an unofficial brothel where you could get a “steam & cream” and the girls “took real good care of you.”

The men looked around them in dazed wonderment. The vast facility had been constructed and expanded over the course of the war to accommodate the large number of army support personnel stationed there on a permanent basis - referred to as “rear echelon motherfuckers who never saw action” (REMFs) by men returning from active combat service. The luxurious quarters with TV and air conditioning were not lost on the new arrivals, who couldn’t help noticing (and resenting) the stark contrast between their own rough and ready living conditions and that of those who were living in relative comfort and safety. Whilst they risked their lives in the jungle with the ever-present threat of being blown up by mines or enemy gunfire, of being bitten by poisonous snakes or falling into punji pits, the army support staff lounged around by the pool, enjoying the type of rich mess-hall fare none of them had tasted since being shipped out: hamburgers, Pepperoni Pizza and milkshakes.

For the first couple of days they simply kicked back and relaxed, taking advantage of what was on offer: goofing off by the poolside in the afternoons and swigging ice-cold beers in the bars by night. The movie theatres were popular, with GIs sprawled out full-length on their chairs chain-smoking - some of them practically catatonic with combat fatigue - as they sat through hours of mindless entertainment: GI Blues, Girl Happy, Fun in Acapulco, Girls, girls, girls! Blue Hawaii featuring Elvis surrounded by a bevy of beautiful girls with a big goofy grin on his face.

“Guy’s such a cheese ball” commented Tucker. “His movies are all the same.”

“Shoulda seem him in King Creole” returned Malone, in Presley’s defence. “He’s a damn fine actor, but that sleazebag Colonel Parker’s got him stitched up.” According to the latest issue of Movie Maker Presley wanted to be taken seriously as an actor but his creepy manager had tied him into a series of mediocre films with more or less identical corny storylines.

They also sat through the latest spy movies such as You Only Live Twice featuring Sean Connery as James Bond, comedies like The Pink Panther starring Peter Sellers, or Westerns such as A Fistful of Dollars and Gunfight at the OK Corral - the audience whooping with laughter or making sarcastic observations about the leading actors.

“You could light up an airstrip at night with those chompers” observed someone as they watched Vengeance Valley starring Burt Lancaster. “They actually glow in the dark. He was much better in Unforgiven.” The screening for One million Years B.C. was packed out, Raquel Welch in her revealing fur bikini being the main draw. The disclaimer in the opening credits stated Any references to names, characters or facts is purely fictional.

“No fooling?” commented Tucker. “Dinosaurs went extinct 65 million years ago, not one million years ago.”

“Hey, get a load of those bazookas..” said Malone.

“Would you guys just shut up for one minute. We’re trying to watch the goddam movie …”

Luke was bored by most of the films and spent the afternoon swimming laps in the pool or passing the time of day with other soldiers or officers. There were a quite a number of air force people stationed at Long Binh Post or just passing through on rotation.

Some of the pilots had been involved in Operation Arc Light where B-52F strategic bombers had been deployed from Andersen Air Force Base in Guam for strikes at enemy bases and supply routes along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The bombing runs were known as “arc lights” and most Arc-Light Strike missions included three B-52s dropping 750 and 1000 pound bombs to attack VC strongholds.

“Beaucoup barbecue, man. Shoulda seen it” said one of the pilots, who’d introduced himself as Flight Lieutenant Beaumont. He told Luke he preferred being a dustoff pilot–flying medevac helicopters for wounded personnel in the field – than flying strike missions.

Luke remembered a recent occasion when he’d had to request a field evacuation for a soldier who’d suddenly keeled over from severe heatstroke. They had moved him to some shade and attempted to lower his core body temperature - the men offering up their water canteens - when he had a seizure and started to exhibit signs of brain inflammation. Luke had located a temporary Landing Zone for the medevac chopper, which would be under heavy mortar fire from the enemy as soon as it appeared, making it extremely dangerous to land. The RTO had patched him through to the pilot, with whom they were in radio communication.

“The LZ’s pretty hot, but if you can get to the RV we’ll cover your ass.”

“On my way. I’m a shit hot pilot” came the confident reply. “They call me Sweet Pete. Y’all might have heard of me? What I’m capable of.” Twenty-five minutes later a Bell UH-1 Iroquois or "Huey" came into view overhead, banking for the descent. They had laid down a barrage of suppressive gun fire to hold off hostile ground fire, whilst the pilot prepared for a low-level extraction, hovering at an altitude of ten feet. He was so close Luke could see the young pilot in the cockpit, who couldn’t have been more than about twenty-two. He was wearing chicken-plated body armour against shoulder-fired missiles, and fully focussed on his task amidst a continuous burst of machine gun fire. A hit to the tail rotor drive shaft would be fatal. The evacuation crew were all targets, and they had a window of a few minutes to load the casualty before the chopper took off again. The critical approach phase was matched by the take-off, where “Sweet Pete” once again demonstrated his skill, taking a different route to the approach route in order to evade the enemy.

“You ever come across a pilot called Sweet Pete?” enquired Luke idly. Beaumont smiled.

“You bet. He’s right here on the base. Like to meet him?”

“I’d like to shake his hand. About the sweetest landing I’ve ever seen. Came close to getting his ass shot off, but he did a great job. The casualty he picked up that day is doing fine, so they tell me.”

“Man, you had some heavy duty ordnance going down there, but I’m a shit hot pilot. That’s why they call me Sweet Pete.”

“Son of a gun. Thought you looked familiar.” Luke clapped him on the back, laughing as they shook hands. Beaumont beckoned to a poolside waitress. “A hamburger, fries and slaw.”

“How’d you like your burger, sir?”

“The works, hon.” Luke ordered a steak, keeping a wary eye on a war correspondent who had edged closer to them so he could eavesdrop on their conversation. Journalists were deeply unpopular with all three branches of the armed forces – army, air force, and navy - and nobody could understand why any of them were allowed access to the base.

“Base commander thinks it’s good PR” Tucker had surmised.

“All this public relations crap just gives us a bad name” muttered Beaumont. “They’ve already made up their minds what they’re going to write. My mother asked me in a letter if I was bombing innocent civilians, my own mother for Chrissake. Said she was praying for my soul and for the end of the war. Amen to that.” The journalist, who had risen from his deckchair, now advanced towards them with a big insincere smile plastered across his face, holding out his hand.

“Howdy, fellas. I’m Dick Freeman, Washington Post. I’m doing a feature on the war, and would really appreciate some first-hand impressions and eye-witness accounts from men who’ve just returned from the field of combat-”

“-Beat it” said Beaumont, ignoring the proffered hand, as did Luke. He narrowed his eyes as Freeman beat a hasty retreat.

“Look, we used to be friendly to these douchebags before we realised what they were writing about us” he told Luke. “Most of them have got their heads so far up their asses you can see the forked tongue protruding from the other end.” Luke shook with laughter.

*****

“Of course, you realise he’s just going to trash our reputation all the more now” observed Tucker later that night in one of the bars. “They’ve got egos the size of the Empire State Building, and they don’t like being ignored.” Most of the GIs had closed ranks, and Freeman had approached a knot of REMFs, hoping they might be more forthcoming.

“Like that lot know anything about the war” said Carver. After the first couple of days on the base when the men had wandered around wide-eyed at all the amenities and entertainment on offer, the honeymoon period had worn off and the divisions between combat troops and support troops was widening. The former, especially those who had just returned from jungle missions were easily recognisable – fit and muscled with sombre, determined expression on their faces - whereas the latter, who lived on the base and hadn’t seen action were starting to develop slight paunches with all the soft living. Although the base personnel made no secret of their admiration for the grunts, this was not reciprocated so they tended to keep out of their way or deferred to them, sensing that if they spoke out of turn or got uppity they might get their lights punched out.

Not having gleaned any fresh news from the REMFs Freeman had sidled up to Carver hopefully. “The folks back home would really like to know what it’s like to be in the thick of it. Why not take the opportunity to give us your side of the story?”

“Yeah? How about this?” Carver gave him a gruesome account of how one of the men had fallen into a punji pit, the sharpened stakes having been smeared with faeces so as to increase the victim’s chance of internal infection and dying a lingering death, omitting none of the gory details. They had hoisted him out with a hastily improvised rope harness, whilst he screamed in agony. Freeman wrote it all down eagerly.

“You gonna print that?” continued Carver “Or is it just gonna be the same old shit about what we’re supposed to have done to those poor innocent little Viet Cong bastards?” They had all heard about a CBS cameraman who handed a GI a knife with which to sever the ear of a VC corpse so that he could film it for TV viewers at home, who were told about the “atrocities” being committed by American troops. The soldier had been court-martialled, and the reporter and his cameraman had fled the country, fearing retaliation from furious American soldiers. “The Commies don’t just rape the females, you know, they poke out their eyes and chop ‘em into pieces with machetes. They pour scalding hot water over old people in their 70s to make ‘em talk when they don’t know diddly squat. How come you never print any of that stuff?”

“Can you tell me a little about the B52 bombing runs?” asked Freeman, who was clearly pumping him for any information he could send back as bulletins hot off the press and straight from the “war zone.” The B-52F Stratofortress strike missions had come under heavy criticism in a recent newspaper editorial, which described them as “swatting flies with a sledgehammer.”

“I’m not a fucking pilot! They get the job done. We do our stuff, they do theirs.”

“Why do your people refer to them as BUFFs?”

“You mean those Big Ugly Fat Fuckers dropping their payload?” responded Carver “As opposed to LUFFs, little ugly flying fuckwits like you.” At this point Freeman was sent flying across the bar, landing on his backside. Luke strode across the room rapidly and picked him off the floor, before escorting him from the premises.

“Hey, let go, I have a press permit which licences me to conduct interviews on the base” protested Freeman outside. A few curious onlookers stopped to gawk. “And take your hands off me.” Luke was gripping him tightly by the arm.

“I don’t want you bothering soldiers with questions they are not always qualified to answer. Any questions you have should be directed to the officers in charge and not the rank and file.”

“The officers won’t speak to me.”

“I guess that’s their prerogative. You’re a piece of work. I’ve been watching you. You deliberately approached a soldier who’d had too much to drink and started asking him about strategic air force operations.”

“How many innocent non-combatants have been killed as a result of U.S. bombing strikes? It’s a legitimate question.”

“Do you seriously think you know more about the war than we do? The civilian population knows to keep away from major supply routes targeted by bombing missions. Unarmed non-combatants are perfectly aware of the danger zones, and are warned to keep clear of them. You’d know that if you took the trouble to check your facts. I don’t want to see your face around here again. My advice is you hightail it back to Washington. Have fun writing your little party piece. I’m sure your mother will enjoy reading it.”

“I will be submitting a formal complaint to your superiors” replied Freeman coldly.

“You do that.”

“I want your name and rank.”

“Turnbull. Infantry Platoon Commander Turnbull.”

The following morning the Base Commander had Freeman’s ass slung off the base on the first flight out, having realised that the adverse publicity generated by complaints about “unprovoked assaults” on investigative journalists was not worth any political leverage to be gained from their continued presence. He also took the opportunity to quiz Luke over what had occurred, waving a piece of paper in his face.

“I have a letter of complaint here from a Mr. Freeman from The Washington Post alleging he was assaulted by your men in one of the bars last night. The complaint has not been formally lodged at this point in time.”

“May I read it?” Luke glanced over the typewritten sheet, raising his eyebrows. Freeman claimed he had been assaulted by a “hulking brute” and that he was subjected to further “intimidation and bullying” by another brute called “Commander Turnbull.” The letter concluded: “If this is how our military leaders conduct themselves during the course of a routine newspaper interview – actively condoning violence against reputable war correspondents - you have to ask yourself what they are capable of when their behaviour and deeds go unwitnessed in a foreign theatre-of-war, their actions unaccountable to the American public.” Luke suspected that what he was reading would probably constitute the chief substance of the article Freeman would produce once he was safely ensconced in his office back home. He had depicted them all as cartoon villains in a pantomime, the fracas in the bar merely reinforcing his preconceptions about military belligerence.

“He probably reads a lot of Marvel comics” concluded Luke, with a wry smile. The Base Commander’s lips twitched. “Of The Incredible Hulk variety.” They both smiled.

“So what really happened, Turnbull?”

“He sneaks up one of my men drinking at the bar, and starts pumping him about Arc-Light. He gets shoved across the room, a little forcefully maybe. I picked him up and took him outside, advised him it was in his best interests to go home.”

“Sound advice. You know, I thought Freeman would be trouble from the get-go. He kicked up one helluva fuss when he arrived on the base and his tape recorder was confiscated. This is a military installation, for Chrissake. Makes you wonder whose side they’re on.”

“Not ours, that’s for sure” responded Luke, looking him in the eye.

“I will be reviewing our current policy on press access to this base. This is not the first time we’ve had incidents of this nature” went on the Base Commander. He paused. “It is my considered opinion that news reporters are a major security risk. So far as this matter is concerned” He tapped the letter. “There is no case to answer, apart from wounded feelings. And these newspaper fellas tend to be overly sensitive.”

“Delicate plants” agreed Luke, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands behind his head. “They don’t get out much.”

“One more thing I’d like your opinion on: the military does not discriminate against anyone on grounds of race or religion, yet we have fist-fights here on an almost daily basis. It’s either the Hispanics against the blacks, or whites against the blacks. What’s your take on that?” Luke shrugged.

“If you try to impose a policy of integration from above when the men don’t want it, you’re asking for trouble.” The bars were segregated along racial lines with the blacks congregating together in one or two bars and the whites sticking to their own bars. White soldiers resented the presence of black soldiers in what they regarded as “their” mess clubs and bars, whilst black soldiers had no desire to socialise where they were not wanted, and made a point of chasing out any whites who ventured into their bars. The segregation was self-imposed, and despite any number of directives from on high actively encouraging integration between the races, the men continued to ignore official policy, choosing to mingle with their own kind. “From my own observation, given the choice most of the men prefer to drink in segregated bars.”

“But we’re all in this war together, on the same side. The men have to fight together, so why can’t they get along?” The Base Commander sighed, as though this were an insurmountable problem he hadn’t yet found the solution to, and he expected Luke to come up with the answer.

“I don’t know what to tell you, sir. In a combat situation every single man understands that, and the problem disappears. But when they’re on R&R they need to relax and let off steam. If you try and force them to socialise with guys they don’t feel comfortable with, it adds to the tension and stress they’re under, and that’s when fights break out. You want my advice? Leave the men alone to unwind as they see fit. They don’t need some officer on their case all the time, telling them how to spend their time and who they should be talking to.”

“A hands-off policy is what you recommend?”

“That’s my view. Let every man choose for himself how to conduct himself when he’s off duty. So long as he doesn’t break the law, it’s none of our concern.”

Over the next few weeks various articles appeared in the American press about the “brutality” of U.S. soldiers as they prosecuted an increasingly unpopular war. Freeman had taken his revenge in print, just as Tucker had predicted. Meanwhile, the simmering resentment over “rear echelon motherfuckers” who spent the war lounging beside a pool while their counterparts were risking their lives and “getting our asses shot off” had reached boiling point, and some of the confrontations got ugly. Luke’s men were issued with Military Payment Certificates which could be exchanged for cash to spend in the numerous mess clubs and bars, and whilst some of them were queuing up for this purpose someone let slip that REMFs got the same combat pay as soldiers out in the field. This piece of information was greeted by a deadly silence.

Later that evening, as the two groups mingled in the bars, Carver made a comment about someone’s shiny new boots, which had obviously never seen service.

“Do much walking in those, soldier boy? I don’t see any scuff marks.” As the other man - who toiled somewhere in the administrative bowels of the facility - tried to push past him he was forcibly detained. “So what exactly do you do around here?”

“I uh, send out dispatches, I process recommendations for medals, and I make sure you guys in the front line get all the hardware and provisions you need in a timely manner-”

“Gee whiz, you take my breath away. You really stick it to the enemy with your typewriter, huh?” He smacked his fist into his palm by way of illustration. “What’s your name?”

“Eugene. Listen, I don’t want any trouble, pal.” He smiled at Carver. “Believe me, we all appreciate what you guys are up against-” A second later he was slammed up against a wall.

“Eu-gene. Me Tarzan.” This raised quite a few guffaws. “You got the kind of pouty lips that tell me you suck cock. You know why you’re known as a rear-enders? Because you’re assholes.” More grins from his comrades. Eugene stiffened.

“Now wait just a goddam minute. I could be called up any time, I’m prepared to fight for my country, and I don’t care much for your attitude.” Carver had been a hair trigger away from an outbreak of violence, but this last remark struck him as hilarious, and he started to laugh. This broke the tension and they were all soon roaring with laughter. When Luke’s unit was rotated back to the bush two days later, Eugene actually came out to the airfield to wave them off.

“Good luck, fellas.”

“Yeah, you too, sugar” returned Carver bitterly. “Make sure you don’t get lost on the way to the P.X.”

“And don’t forget to slap on that Coppertone, y’hear?” added Malone.

Chapter Six - 1966

Rob was frowning over a test paper consisting of multiple choice questions and answers. As the end of the last semester approached, the Seniors had been faced with a barrage of Aptitude Tests which tested their numerical and diagrammatic reasoning, their verbal and logical reasoning, and their inductive and abstract reasoning (he had no idea what “inductive” meant) Rob thought he had performed best on the diagrammatic test where he was presented with a series of shapes and symbols and had to select the correct answer: as for the other tests he was not very hopeful of scraping through with a pass mark: he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything at school, and thought about his brother 95% of the time. He read the question a second time, forcing himself to concentrate:

Campers are trying to start a fire using only the sunlight and a magnifying glass. When they are holding the magnifying glass 15 inches away from the wood, it starts to smoke. How close to the wood should they hold the magnifying glass in order to create a fire?

1. ten inches away

2. thirty inches away

3. Remain at 15 inches

4. It is impossible to start a fire using this method

Rob sighed. He definitely didn’t think the answer could be a) because how could a fire start at ten inches away BEFORE the campers had even got it to smoke? And b) just sounded stupid. If you held the magnifying glass another 15 inches away from the wood when you’d already got it smoking that would just kill any chance of a fire. The answer couldn’t be d) because he was sure it would be possible to start a fire by this method: after all, forest fires started all the time when the sun hit an empty bottle or a pair of glasses which had been left lying on the ground (maybe because there had been a fight and some guy had decked another guy and knocked the glasses off his nose) Rob glanced around him and noticed there were only three students in the room wearing glasses, two of them boys and one of them a girl. The phrase Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses floated unbidden into his head. Rob sighed again. He needed to stop his mind from skittering all over the place and concentrate on the test or he’d never get it finished in the time allotted, which was thirty minutes. He looked up at the clock on the wall (ten minutes to go) and selected c) filling in the little circle with his pencil. When the bell rang they all gathered up their books and hurtled down the hall to their next class.

As their Geography teacher Mr. Harvey launched into a coma-inducing lecture on conservation and the deleterious effects of soil erosion caused by the over-cultivation of arable land and over-zealous tree-felling, Rob yawned ostentatiously, drumming a tattoo on the desk with his fingers. Were they supposed to be taking notes on this stuff, or would the teacher show them a film? If he showed them a film the blinds would be lowered and most of them could drift off into a daydream.

“Yes, you kids might well find this stuff boring, but your generation needs to think of the future of the planet. You, Rob Turnbull! You expect to have kids one day, right?”

“Nope. I have far too much respect for the planet” replied Rob. Everyone laughed.

“Oh, class, we’ve got a smartass in our midst…”

“Only wiseass around here is you” muttered Rob, who didn’t think there was there anything wrong with his answer: only last week Harvey had been droning on about overpopulation.

“OK, that’s it. You can go see the Principal right now.” He paused to scribble a note on a piece of paper, and handed it to Rob. “Give him this, and don’t even think about screwing it up because I’ll be talking to him after fifth period.”

The Principal was on the phone and looked distracted. Rob looked at him curiously. He had rarely seen the Principal in the flesh, as the latter’s communications with the student body were confined to his brief morning address over the P.A. system, which was always preceded by a crackling noise as he cleared his throat like an airline pilot prior to making an announcement to the passengers and crew. The Principal would then read out his chosen Thought for the Day, followed by a pregnant pause: “Let us all take a moment for silent meditation.” Everyone bowed their heads and there was complete silence for a moment, after which they rose from their seats and placed their right hand over their hearts to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

Rob had sometimes wondered whether the school Principal was merely a disembodied voice like the Wizard of Oz - using smoke and mirrors to make himself seem great and powerful: Pay No Attention to that Man Behind the Curtain. The Principal sometimes forgot the pupils were in high school and not grade school. Earlier that morning he had sent them all on a paper-chase around the playground as part of his campaign to “Keep America Beautiful.” Afterwards he’d gone on a tour of inspection, handing out Don’t Be a Litterbug badges, then made them salute the flag. He now handed Rob a detention slip, barely looking up or pausing in his telephone conversation.

It was because he’d been kept back in Detention after school that he was late getting home and missed Luke’s call. He arrived home an hour after Luke had spoken to his parents and was so disappointed at having missed a rare opportunity to speak to his brother, he almost burst into tears. Although Rob wrote frequently Luke was unable to respond to most of his letters, being on active combat duty and stationed out in the boonies. Seeing his crestfallen face, his mother quickly added “He said he was really sorry to have missed you, but he was going to try and call again tomorrow morning so he could speak to you.”

“Did he say what time?”

“He said they could use the phone between six and eight in the evening their time. Let’s see, Vietnam is about eleven hours ahead of us…” (she did a rapid calculation in her head) “…so I’m thinking he’ll call again anywhere between seven and nine tomorrow morning. There’s always a long queue of GIs waiting, honey, so he can’t be precise about the time and you can’t talk for more than a few minutes.” Rob was up early the following morning, leaning up against the Formica kitchen counter beneath the wall-mounted phone, and spooning Frosties into his mouth when the phone rang at 7:30am.

“Luke!” gasped Rob, knocking his cereal bowl to the floor in his rush to grab the receiver.

“Wearing my clothes again?” enquired Luke.

“How did you know?” returned Rob in astonishment, glancing down at the leather sleeve of Luke’s letterman jacket, sporting the maroon and mustard colours of Sandbrook Senior High. Luke laughed.

“I know you pretty well, little brother. Which is it, my sweatshirt or my varsity jacket?”

“Sorry” murmured Rob. “I, I just….” He’d gotten into the habit of wearing some of his brother’s clothes during his absence, deriving some comfort from the faint aroma which still lingered in the fabric, especially his outdoor jackets and sweatshirts which hadn’t been laundered by his mother.

“That’s quite alright” said Luke. He was cool about that sort of thing. Before he’d left he’d handed Rob the keys to his Chevy convertible: “Drive it whenever you like, kiddo.”

“I’ll look after it, Luke, I promise.”

“Look after yourself” Luke had responded. “Don’t drive like a maniac. I want to see my little brother in one piece when I get back.” Rob had recently taken up drag-racing on a dirt strip on the outskirts of town, an illegal activity which had already placed two of the participants in the ER ward of the county hospital. Rob wrote about all his exploits to Luke, who knew better than to react in a manner that would encourage him. Red-flagging bulls and riding tigers – all the headlong risks his younger brother took - were all an unconscious bid for Luke’s attention, of which he was all too aware.

“So, you been behaving yourself?” asked Luke. “Sheriff Wheeler still on your tail?”

“Yeah, he’s been even worse while you were away. Me and Bruce were riding around town Saturday night, doing nothing much and lardass shows up: Unless you boys want to end up at the Buttfuck Correction Facility in Loserville, you better listen up and listen good!” Luke roared with laughter.

“Come on, you must have been doing something.”

“I was fighting with Rudy Nelson” admitted Rob. “He’s such a jerk.”

“That wasn’t too smart” commented Luke. “Rudy may be a coupla smokes short of a pack, but he has about 60 pounds on you.”

“I’ve seen you do it” pointed out Rob. “And you’ve never lost a fight yet.”

“I hate to point out the obvious, but I’m bigger and stronger than you” replied Luke. “Winning a fight is not always a question of physical strength” he added. “It’s about keeping your cool as much as anything else.” Rob thought about it, and had to concede that Luke rarely lost his cool. “Anyone who’s been to war will tell you that hotheads don’t last long. They get shipped home in body bags, and their relatives get to fight each over their medals.” There was a silence as Rob digested this, and Luke realised he had probably said the wrong thing. “Hey, I was sorry to hear about Cody being shot in the eye” he said, Rob’s most recent letter fresh in his mind. “And listen, Robbie, I don’t want you doing drugs, OK? That shit really messes with your head.”

“I’m not, Luke. Honest. What do you mean?”

“What was that in your letter about doing something called Fizz Head? Whatever it is, stay the hell away from it.” Luke read out the relevant sentence, and heard Rob giggling.

“Phys Ed. You know, jumping jacks and push-ups.” Rob mimicked Coach Ferguson: “You guys better shape up or ship out.” Luke chuckled. A good proportion of High School Coaches were ex-army Drill Instructors who’d served their time and were looking for an easy billet bossing kids about.

“Had me worried there. Your spelling is something else, little brother. Maybe you better pay more attention in English class. And what’s this about some guy called Anderson and a lood act?” He grinned at Rob’s atrocious spelling.

“Oh yeah. Remember Mr. Anderson?” Luke racked his brain, trying to think. “The Principal of the Junior High” went on Rob. “He was caught performing a lewd act with a bell-hop in a Louisville hotel. He’s been fired and he may even have to go to jail. It’s all over town.” Luke laughed.

“A bell-hop, huh? I can see why the parents would go apeshit if the board allowed him to stay on, but a jail sentence…was the bell-hop a kid or something?”

“He was my age. And I think Anderson gave him money. But what d’you think they were doing? The paper just said it was a lewd act.”

“Ah, I can’t really comment on that, little brother. Apart from the fact that lewd is not spelt with two Os. Could be any number of things.” Rob wondered whether their phone calls were being listened in on.

“Where are you?” he asked, before remembering his brother could not be specific about his whereabouts.

“Actually, I’m about 10 metres from a swimming pool. Hear all that splashing in the background?” Luke opened the door of the phone booth and held the receiver up. “It’s about 8:30pm but you can use the pool up until midnight. We’ve got a couple more days in paradise before we’re redeployed to provide combat intelligence.” He omitted to mention that they had come within a hair’s breadth of being overrun by enemy forces on their last mission.

“Oh.” Luke must be on a proper military base if they had access to a pool. “What’s combat intelligence?”

“We have to ascertain the numerical strength of the resistance and their location, amongst other things.”

“But if they’re mostly hidden in the jungle how do you know how many there are?”

“Good question. I’ll refer that one back up the chain of command. Through counter-insurgency actions and body counts” Luke added mysteriously. “That’s all you need to know.” Rob’s heart sank. If his brother’s platoon were tasked with providing combat intelligence, that meant they would soon be re-entering the danger zone. Luke must have heard the anxiety in his tone because he said “I’ve got something to say to you. Hear that?” He held up the receiver again so that Rob could hear the Beach Boys playing over the loudspeaker.

Don't worry, baby

Don't worry, baby

Everything will turn out alright

“Well, take it easy, little brother….”

“Luke, don’t go just yet. When will you be coming home?”

“Soon, I hope. In a matter of months maybe. Sending you a big hug down the phone line – can you feel it?”

“You’ll have to do it harder.”

“I’m squeezing the life out of you right now – don’t tell me you can’t feel that?”

“I think I can now.” He shut his eyes, imagining Luke’s strong arms around him, holding him tight. “I love you, Luke.”

“Love you too. Until next time. Bye now.” Luke replaced the receiver thoughtfully. He was thinking back to the night before he left for Vietnam, when Rob had cried in his arms, pleading with him not to go.

“I have to, Robbie. I’ve already signed up” Luke had told him.

“But why do you want to leave me?” As Rob had wept like a child being abandoned by a parent, the enormity of his decision – taken without much thought for the consequences or the effect it might have on those left behind - had been brought home to Luke.

“I don’t want to leave you.” He’d tried to comfort his brother. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he had enlisted: he must have had his reasons but they were unclear, even to himself. He was mad at Cindy, for sure, for getting married to that loser Harlan just to spite him because he wasn’t ready to get hitched himself. But that wasn’t the primary reason. Maybe a military calling ran in families. Joe had also been in the army, fighting the Japs in the Pacific, but he didn’t think that was the reason either. Maybe he’d just got itchy feet, and wanted to carve out an independent existence, see something of the world before settling down into the kind of life his father had lined up for him. But once he’d signed those papers there was no going back. He hadn’t known until then just how much Rob depended on him emotionally. At twenty-two he’d been pretty thoughtless. Rob’s tears came easily, just as he showed affection easily. But Luke was a man, not a child. He took the bitter with the sweet and saw no point in crying over anything. Which wasn’t to say his heart was hard as stone. On the Greyhound bus, heading out for Fort Jackson, he hadn’t been able to get his brother out of his mind: I’m so sorry, so sorry I made you cry like that and he had vowed to himself that he’d somehow make it up to Rob when he got back.

*****

Ironically, in light of recent accusations levelled at them in the media, Luke’s platoon were tasked with a humanitarian mission, which involved the evacuation of outlying South Vietnamese villages before the advancing Communist PAVN forces. The inhabitants mostly comprised very young children and the frail elderly who had been left behind when younger more able-bodied family members had either been conscripted into the ARVN or found employment in the cities. Luke’s orders were to get them to a place of safety as a matter of urgency.

“Where might that be?” enquired Blackburn sarcastically.

“Across the river, wiseass.” They were standing on the bank of a river which would have been hazardous to cross for small children and the infirm – all of whom were barefoot - but was perfectly navigable by fit soldiers, who could wade across at waist-high level in their combat boots. On the other side of the river were four waiting trucks, flanked by V-100 armoured cars used in convoy escort. Luke leaned forward to allow an elderly woman with skinny brown arms and legs to climb onto his back. He tucked a child under each arm and started across.

“Where are the river rats when you need them?” muttered Carver. The River Rats or “brown water navy” were largely deployed in preventing the North Vietnamese from using the South Vietnamese coastal areas and rivers to resupply the Viet Cong military, as well as providing medical support for the allied operation. “Come on, Mama and Papa San. Who’s going first?” A huddle of tiny children gazed up at him wonderingly. “Jeez, it just kills me when they look at you with those big eyes...they’re just about the cutest little things.”

Luke was struck once again by the contradictory behaviour exhibited by hard cases like Carver, who had a fearsome reputation and lived up to his name. Luke had once seen him dispatch an NVA regular by slicing his throat from ear to ear with his combat knife, coming up behind him quickly and silently. There were unexpected glimpses of tenderness from the men who were capable of extreme violence when facing down an enemy, fully prepared to kill and maim, but who could also be amazingly gentle when they encountered children and other innocents. This type of sentimentality was something the Viet Cong found mystifying and incomprehensible, regarding it as a character weakness they could exploit. American GIs always collected their dead if it were humanly possible, and had been known to sob over fallen comrades, whereas their opposite numbers rarely bothered to retrieve corpses and showed no emotion when their brothers-in-arms were blown up before their eyes.

“How’d you like to go for a ride, Baby San?” said Blackburn, picking up a tiny girl, who pawed at his shirt. “Is that your brother? He can come along too.” As Luke returned from his first crossing he noticed an old man standing by the side of the river uncertainly. As Luke beckoned to him to climb onto his shoulders, the old man shook his head slowly.

“Come on now. Nothing to be afraid of, Papa San.” The man placed a bare foot in the swirling brown water hesitantly. He had stick-thin legs like all the others, and looked so feeble he was in danger of being swept away by the current. Luke held out a hand encouragingly, and the man shook his head again, more determinedly this time. Luke suddenly realised he wanted to make it across on his own, without their help. This was the ultimate humiliation for him, having to depend on foreign soldiers to protect his family, a blow against his manhood and just one of many indignities visited against the innocent victims of war. It could have been his grandfather standing there, stubbornly refusing to give in to the pulmonary disease which had eventually struck him down. “Alright” said Luke, understanding perfectly. He waited patiently as the man waded in another step, tottering and trying to keep his balance against the force of the water. He slipped and Luke caught him from going under.

“Leave him be” said Luke, as Blackburn offered to take him across. The stand-off continued for a further few minutes with the old man becoming increasingly distressed, but refusing to be carried across like a child. Eventually, Luke stuck out a rigid arm for him to grasp hold of. “What say we compromise, buddy? You walk across holding onto my arm.” Although he didn’t speak English the man seemed to understand that he was being offered a way to save face, and took hold of Luke’s strong arm. He made it across the river safely, and nodded his head to Luke to signify his thanks. The other villagers were being loaded into the back of trucks, the soldiers passing them up like parcels. Oh no, here we go again thought Luke. Is the old guy going to object to this too? Then he remembered how he used to hoist his younger brother up over high walls by making a stirrup with his locked hands, and resorted to the same expedient now. Papa San placed his right foot into the stirrup at the same time as he placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder, and Luke boosted him into the back of the truck.

As the convoy set off, rumbling over the dusty road Tucker started in with his gloomy prognostications. “I hate being in these damn things. I like to know what I’m stepping on. A tank is a just a mobile mine magnet.”

“You’re not in a tank” pointed out Malone. They were leading the convoy in an armoured V-100 with the other men distributed between two M151armoured jeeps bringing up the rear. “Whassa matter with you? Try to relax for once.”

“Same fucking difference” returned Tucker. “We go over a mine and we could all get blown up. Of course that’s not something that would occur to you.”

“Say again? I got a brain. I notice things too.” Tucker permitted himself a small grin, as Malone popped a stick of cinnamon-flavoured Dentyne in his mouth.

“Yeah, sure Malone. You might notice if planet earth was hit by a meteor. But I doubt it. While we were on the base I saw you watch The Flintstones on TV – what does that say about your level of maturity? Yabba Dabba Doo!” He and Luke started to laugh.

“I was waiting for the ballgame to start, Brainiac. Think you’re so fucking smart.” He turned to address Luke, since there was no other audience travelling in the lead vehicle. “How about this, sir? Tucker snuck into the movie theatre one night so he could watch The Thing From Another World. I kid you not.”

“Keep your eyes peeled, fellas” responded Luke with a half-smile, scanning the bush and scrubland to either side of them. He and Tucker were manning the front-mounted M60 machine guns, with Malone manning the rear gun. “The Thing From Another World could be a lot closer than you think. But if it sets your mind at rest, Tucker, this road was swept for mines this morning.”

They eventually reached the Forward Support Base without any mishaps apart from a rear axle failure in one of the jeeps, where Luke handed over their human cargo to the Post Commander responsible for overseeing the evacuation program.

Chapter Seven - 1967

“You oughtta at least charge for it” said Spencer, one of the mechanics at the auto repair and body shop Todd had inherited from his uncle. “Even hookers got the sense to do that.” Todd looked up, his eyes darkening, and Spence backed off. Todd was famous for his “hillbilly handshakes.” The teenage boys who showed up in the garage forecourt – always alone - didn’t seem to mind when Todd’s hand found its way down the front of their pants in the back office where he did the accounts. It was a compulsion which had its roots in the relationships he had formed in the orphanage to which he’d been sent when his parents had been killed in a road accident when he was five. Todd’s father Jed was a booze hound and liked a drink or two after he’d finished his shift at the paper mill. His wife had gone looking for him where she knew he’d be, and hauled him out of the Roadhouse. On the way home, Jed hit the bend too fast and they went over the ridge at Brushy Fork, tumbling into the gully. The car barrel-rolled a few times and they might have survived the crash, had Todd’s mother not been knocked unconscious and Jed too drunk to pull them both from the wreckage before it went up in flames.

One day a lovely little dark-haired boy called Davey appeared at the orphanage. He was only seven and Todd was a couple of years older and much bigger. On the first night Davey had cried with loneliness and bewilderment at his new orphaned status, and Todd had taken him into his bed to cuddle him. Davey was a beautiful child - affectionate, charming and sweet-natured (everything Todd wasn’t) and for a while Todd was deliriously happy to have found a friend, someone who looked up to him and lavished affection on him. In turn Davey was grateful to have found a protector, someone who was not scared of the bullies. When they tormented Todd about his harelip, telling him his mother must have been cursed by the devil and that it was plain bad luck to be in the same room with him, he just punched them in the nose, generating a self-fulfilling prophesy. “You were right about the bad luck. Now who’s got a split lip?” This delighted Davey, who made Todd feel like he was a hero who could take on the villains of the universe.

Todd had come to love Davey with an intensity of passion he had never felt before or since for anyone else. They spent hours in each other’s company dreaming about what they would do when they grew up. They would live in a tree-house accessed by a secret rope ladder, and sneak into peoples’ houses when they were asleep to help themselves to food. They would try to keep on the good side of the law to avoid going to jail, but if folks left clothes hanging out on a line then they might have to occasionally avail themselves of whatever they needed – a clean shirt, a pair of socks or a sweater.

When the nights got cold they would wrap themselves in extra blankets and Todd would rig up a tarpaulin to keep out the rain. Todd had it all figured out.

None of the hopeful would-be parents who turned up at the orphanage on “open days” ever glanced in Todd’s direction. He was oversized for his age and had a harelip (not an insurmountable defect, but a deformity nonetheless) He was also sullen, and refused to smile or make himself agreeable as he was urged to do by the staff: “If they don’t think you’re nice and well-behaved, you’ll never be adopted” he was told. Todd already knew he would never be adopted no matter how much he smiled or grimaced like a performing monkey: he knew he wasn’t cute or appealing, he didn’t have any winning ways; he just wasn’t the type of boy anyone would want to adopt, and he’d slowly come to accept that after four years of being overlooked and rejected. So he continued to scowl and stand apart from the other children on the days when adult strangers - who always arrived in pairs - stuffed their faces with ice-cream and cake, making small talk with the staff whilst circling around the children – always assessing, judging, as if Todd and the others were animals in a zoo. It wasn’t long before a couple looking to adopt had shown up and taken an interest in Davey. They spent half an hour in the exercise yard, listening to Davey’s innocent chatter, and decided that this was the little boy they were looking for. After three further visits and a mere month later they had taken him away, and Todd was left totally bereft. The night before Davey was due to depart with his new family, he’d clung to Todd with tears in his eyes.

“I’ll write you. And you can come and play with me in my new home.” Todd very much doubted Davey’s new parents would be OK with that, but he nodded nonetheless, pretending to believe the fiction, so as to make Davey feel better. “Someone will adopt you soon, too” Davey had added (he sincerely believed this) and Todd had just hugged him hard, before turning away. He knew that would never happen. No-one really wanted him; no-one had ever shown him any affection – not since his mother had died on that fateful night - and he was pretty sure this was how it was going to be for the rest of his life. He never saw his little darling again.

Davey’s new parents must have arrived very early the following morning before breakfast, and taken Davey away. When he’d asked for Davey’s new address so he could send him a birthday card, he was told it was “not allowed.” When he got up the courage to ask if Davey was doing alright in his new school, the Director had looked at him with what seemed like pity before informing him that Davey’s new family had moved to another state.

Todd was careful never to get close to anyone after that, but by the time he hit puberty he had discovered a secret way of making friends. Starved of affection and trying desperately to assuage an unassuageable ache, the little band of lost boys sought consolation with each other. Todd was always happy to oblige and even achieved a certain degree of notoriety amongst those who were thrilled by the furtive assignations in closets or under the bedclothes at night. It gave him the illusion of popularity and made him feel all-powerful, even if it was just for a few minutes before they ran off and ignored him again. Until the next time they were beset by inexplicable urges.

One afternoon Todd’s uncle Curtis had unexpectedly shown up, demanding to see him. He had soon become maudlin and started blubbing. “I’m sorry I didn’t come get you earlier, boy. But it’s bin so hard, you know.” Todd just stared at him. The man standing before him was a virtual stranger: the last time he’d seen him he’d been five. He vaguely recollected that his uncle kept a jar of lollipops in the cubbyhole known as “the office” at the rear of the garage, and would hand one to Todd solemnly whenever he visited with his parents. “I bin thinkin’ a lot about Jed lately, and I knowed he wouldna wanted me to have left his boy all alone in the world. I bin meanin’ to come by earlier and see how you was doin’ an all, but…Hell, I ain’t got much but the least I can do for my brother’s boy is provide a home for him. My place is pretty small, but I got this trailer out back, and I fixed it up real nice for you..” At first Todd couldn’t believe his ears. Someone actually wanted him. His uncle was offering a home.

Curtis had passed away last month, leaving his nephew all his worldly possessions, which included his dilapidated house. One day Todd had walked into his uncle’s living room to find him doubled over with pain. “I got it bad, boy. Guess you’d better drive me to the hospital.” Todd sat by grimly while the doctors told him the X-rays revealed shadows on his lungs. Curtis had advanced lung cancer which was starting to spread. They thought he had about a month to live, maybe more maybe less.

“Can I take him home now?”

“I’m afraid he won’t be going home. Your uncle is very sick and can’t be cared for properly at home. He’s in a lot of pain and the morphine needs to be administered by a properly qualified nurse. Your uncle wants you to keep on with your job at the garage, and we can make him a lot more comfortable here. You can visit him any time you want.” Todd found Curtis in a ward in the Oncology Department sitting in a chair beside a bed, with a resigned look on his face. He sighed heavily.

“I knew it was comin’ and I’m leaving everything to you. You’re a good boy. I can rest easy now knowin’ I done right by my brother’s boy.” Todd leaned down to hug him, noticing how frail his uncle had become. He was only forty-eight.

“I’ll be in to see you every day after I finish up at the garage.”

“Only if you want to, son. I’ll be fine in here. The nurses are nice as pie. I got TV, reg’lar hot meals. I’ll be just fine.”

“I want to” insisted Todd. “You’re all I’ve got.” It was true. His uncle had turned his life around. He now had a steady job and a home, thanks to this man who’d never asked for anything in return and who had stoically resigned himself his fate. He seemed at peace, as if he’d come to terms with death – stared it in the north face – and it no longer frightened him. Todd was as good as his word, and showed up every evening at the hospital. Mostly he just listened to Curtis as he rambled on about his boyhood. When Todd next visited the hospital Curtis was on a morphine drip, and slept through most of the allotted time - occasionally waking and squinting up at Todd through one half-opened eye.

“You still there, boy? I ain’t much company for you. When I’m gone you oughtta get yourself a wife. Why, you’ll be a catch for any young filly. You’re young and strong, you got your own house, you got your own business (you’ll be the boss, just think of that) Any woman would be happy to have you.”

“I don’t think I’m the marrying kind, uncle. And I can look after myself without some woman nagging me to take out the trash …” Curtis started to laugh, more like a wheeze, which turned into a hacking cough which racked his feeble body. Todd held him up against the pillow and gave him some water.

“I used to think the same. Maybe if I’d had a woman to nag me some I wouldn’t be lying here in this hospital bed. Well, it weren’t for lack of trying. I’d sure of taken a wife if I coulda found a woman who’d put up with me.” Todd understood what he was saying. Few women would have tolerated the squalor in which Curtis lived, but if he’d been married the house would have been kept up nice, he would have had proper home cooking instead of hastily snatched meals out of cans, and maybe he wouldn’t have drank and smoked himself into an early grave. His uncle’s skin had taken on a yellowish tinge like he had jaundice, and his eyes were sunken. He looked terrible.

“Thanks for everything you done for me. I appreciate it.” Those were the last words he got to say to his uncle, who fell into a morphine-induced asleep that night from which he didn’t wake up. When he went in the following day his uncle’s bed was empty. The nurses had bundled up his possessions – a wallet containing twenty dollars, a snapshot of Todd’s parents on their wedding day, a tarnished silver watch, and the clothing he’d worn when he was admitted. Todd returned home with a heavy heart, and sat in the gloom for a number of hours brooding over his past life and what the future might hold for him. At first he had been reluctant to move into his uncle’s house: the interior was dark and oppressive, and he preferred to remain in the familiar cramped surroundings of the trailer where he had been living for the past ten years. He had made it cosy and homely. In the orphanage they had all been taught that “cleanliness is next to godliness.” There were strict rules about making up their beds each morning and keeping their meagre possessions lined up in neat orderly fashion on the allotted shelves and drawers.

When he threw open the blinds to let in the light he saw that the house was filthy, every room cluttered with the accumulated junk of a lifetime. Curtis hadn’t put much effort into housework or keeping the place tidy. His uncle had been a booze hound, just like his brother Jed, and there were empty bottles of whiskey strewn across the house. It stank and Todd found dead rodents behind moth-eaten chairs. He had continued living in his trailer for two weeks after the funeral, before forcing himself to clear out his uncle’s house. He spring-cleaned it from top to bottom, dumping the stained lumpy mattress out into the yard, along with most of the sagging furniture. The few pots and pans were blackened and burnt, so he tossed those too. Once he’d cleared out the house completely, he ripped up the cracked linoleum, vacuumed up dust kitties and cobwebs, fixed leaky faucets and broken window sashes, scrubbed the grimy walls and surfaces with hot soapy water, and gave the place a thorough paint job. It took him a good month to get the place to rights, putting in a couple of hours each day after work.

Many people in the town thought he was simple-minded, possibly because he had a slight speech impediment due to the harelip, or maybe it was because he didn’t speak much to people he didn’t know. Before his uncle showed up his life had been a hard-scrabble existence; no-one had given him any breaks and he had learned to be self-reliant. His uncle had shown him how he did the accounts for tax purposes, saying “You can do ‘rithmetic, can’t you? You can read and write, can’t you?” Todd nodded. All the children at the orphanage had received a sound, if basic, education and he agreed with Curtis that employing an accountant to help with tax returns was money down the drain.

“Those fellas are downright slippery; they’ll charge you for sneezing just like a lawyer does, and there ain’t nothin’ to it but adding up figures in columns. I got three separate books – this red one for purchases (of parts and suchlike), this blue one for income (what folks pay to get their cars fixed) This big book here is for the Accounts which has entries for overheads (that’s reg’lar bills you gotta pay like electricity, wages), entries for your expenses or outgoings (that’s your purchases in the red book), entries for your sales income (the blue book) All you gotta do is take the totals from these other books and enter them in the big Accounts book.” Once Curtis was satisfied that Todd had got the hang of it, he allowed him to do the accounts, and gradually started handing over the business as he grew weaker with the disease gnawing away at his innards.

Despite his uncle’s opinion Todd did not think he was a “catch” as far as the opposite sex was concerned. No female had ever shown an interest in him, and the only kind of intimacy he had ever experienced was with boys at the orphanage. He did not need or want a wife. Women puzzled him: they giggled and whispered behind his back, but were happy enough for him to repair their automobiles when they broke down. The married ones sent their husbands to the garage, and the single ones kept a wary distance, hoping they weren’t being fleeced. They needn’t have worried as Todd was scrupulously honest when it came to business practices. He wondered whether it might be possible for him to become a father without taking a wife, by adopting some little boy who’d lost his parents. He longed to have someone to care for and cherish, someone to share his life with. If he had a son, he would teach him everything he knew, he would take him to the fairground and the circus when they came to town, he’d take him fishing down by the creeks, he’d take him trick or treating at Halloween, he’d celebrate his birthday every year with a big cake and candles, he’d buy him shiny new toys at Christmas. He’d ensure his son had all the love and attention he’d missed out on, and he’d make damn sure nothing bad ever happened to that kid. He thought he would make an ideal father.

Fired with enthusiasm for his new mission in life, Todd drove out to the orphanage the following morning, and asked to speak to Mr. Murdoch, the Director, who seemed somewhat surprised to see him.

“Why, Todd, it’s been a while. How’s business?”

“Good. Real good. I’m the boss now” Todd told him.

“I’m pleased to hear that, Todd.” Murdoch looked at him expectantly.

“I got my own house now too” Todd added. “My uncle got real sick and passed away, and with me being his only kinfolk and all…” Murdoch nodded.

“Well, well. I’m sorry to hear about your uncle. But it sure looks like you’re moving up in the world. Next thing you’re going to tell me you’re getting hitched to a nice young lady” he joked. Todd looked him straight in the eye.

“No, but I’d like to become a Daddy to one of these boys, sir. So I’m here to fill out the papers just as soon as…”

“Now, hold on a minute.” Murdoch became serious. “Todd, there are strict rules around adoption. I’ve got to be honest here. I just don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

“Why not? Ain’t that the whole point of an orphanage? You take care of ‘em until someone like me comes along and wants to adopt. I got a roof over my head with a good sized yard the kid can play in, I’ve got a good job and money coming in so he won’t go without. I’d make sure he finished grade school and high school. I’m clean living – I don’t drink or gamble.” This was true enough. With first-hand experience of how alcoholism had ravaged the lives of his parents and his only other living relative, Todd had the occasional beer but never touched hard liquor.

“Even so, Todd. We have to face facts. You’re a single man. Kids need a mother who will look after them while you’re out at work, who will feed them and wash their clothes…”

“But he’d be at school during the day” objected Todd. “No, no, that can’t be right. What about kids whose mothers have died or run off? They live with their daddies and get along just fine...” As Murdoch patiently explained the regulations surrounding adoption, Todd became increasingly angry.

“So what you’re telling me is if a guy spends everything he earns boozing and whoring, and ain’t fit to take care of a kid, and his wife’s no better, no-one gives a damn how he raises his kids because he’s the natural father?”

“I’m afraid so. That is the law. Of course where a parent is violent or the child is in danger the courts have the right to remove that child and hand over custody to the adoption agencies..” Todd didn’t want to hear any more, and walked out of the office.

“Todd” Murdoch called after him. “My best advice is get married, then come back to me and we’ll see what can be done.”

Back at home, Todd brooded over what he considered to be a fine injustice. If he wanted to be a father his options were pretty limited. He could go with a hooker and get her pregnant, then pay her a sum to take the baby off her hands when it was born. But no, that probably wouldn’t work. For one thing, women of loose morals such as hookers generally took precautions to ensure they didn’t get knocked up in the first place. And if she did slip up she’d likely put it up for adoption unless he made it worth her while to let him take care of it. If anyone found out he’d come to a private financial arrangement with a hooker, the courts would take the baby off him before you could say Jack Robinson.

This was the juncture he had reached in his life when Rob Turnbull first wandered into the garage. The boy was so beautiful Todd had not been able to take his eyes off him. Rob reminded him of Davey: he had the same wavy dark hair, the same clear complexion and lovely blue eyes, the same air of wounded vulnerability; he was what he imagined Davey would look like now. He couldn’t believe it when Rob allowed him to take him into the back room and fondle him. But when Todd started to fumble with his flies again the third time he'd showed up, Rob pushed him away.

“Whattsa matter? I thought that’s what you wanted. I won’t do it no more if you don’t want me to…” He realised the boy was struggling to keep back tears.

“I’m just scared” Rob finally admitted, wiping away a tear. “My big brother’s out in Vietnam and I’m scared something bad will happen to him, I’m scared he might not come back. I can’t sleep at night.”

“Hey, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. I’m here. You come to me whenever you want, hear?” Rob allowed Todd to stroke his hair and cuddle him. Todd hadn’t felt this good since Davey. The boy needed him and wanted him. He was sweet and shy, and he clung to Todd as if he were a solid bulwark against any looming menace that fate might have in store for him. He came back a few times after that, just to talk, or to allow Todd to hold him in his arms.

Rob sure loved that brother of his, and without wishing to supplant Luke in his affections, Todd secretly wished he were the object of that fierce devotion. He hoped he might be one day. In his head he started to make plans: he would invite Rob back to his uncle’s house (he still thought of it as his uncle’s house although the was now the legal owner) where they could hang out. Todd would get some cheeseburgers from the Dairy Queen, and they’d maybe watch TV or play some games like Twister or Checkers. Rob could even stay over and spend the night if he wanted. They would be special friends, just about as close as you can be. Todd would no longer be alone, and neither would Rob. Rob began to assume an enormous importance in his fantasy life, to the extent that he hardly noticed the other boys, who continued to thrust their hot sticky members into the palm of his hand, thrashing and moaning like baited fish on the end of a hook. He was fully focused on Robbie Turnbull. And then the visits had started to tail off. He learned that Luke was back in town, now home for good.

Chapter Eight– 1967

On the trip back from picking Luke up from the airport, Rob’s parents decided to find a motel somewhere on the Interstate. This would give Luke a chance to rest up for a few hours after his long-haul flight, and then the family would drive into downtown Louisville later that evening. Connie had thought it might be nice to stop overnight so they could dine at a popular eatery by the river in Louisville, which she’d heard about at the Country Club.

“Couldn’t we just stop at a drive-in and get hamburgers instead?” suggested Rob, who had hated formal dining since he was a small child. It meant the boys had to be on their best behaviour at the table.

“This is a special occasion” his mother reminded him. “It’s in honour of Luke’s homecoming. Your brother has been living on army rations and it will make a nice change, won’t it, darling?” She looked over her shoulder at Luke, who shrugged and smiled.

“Hey, you know I’m easy. Don’t go to any extra trouble on my behalf. I’ll eat anything anywhere any time. Fried bat wings, tiger testicles…” Rob started to giggle, as Luke took hold of him. “Even my baby brother is looking pretty tasty from where I’m standing.”

Joe and Connie checked into one of the motel rooms, leaving Luke and Rob to settle into the adjoining one. In contrast to the outside heat the room felt cool with the air conditioning on full blast. There was a complimentary dish of Hershey kisses on the little shelf beside the bed.

“Here, you can have these little pointy chocolate things.” Luke tossed a handful to Rob. “You know what they used to send us out in ‘Nam? Boxes of crackerjacks – same damn thing Dad and the other lonesome GIs used to get in their parcels back in the 40s.

Peanut brittle, too. Anything that didn’t melt in the sun like chocolate. The guys used to gripe about it, but once we’d been out in the jungle for a few weeks, they were fighting over those crackerjacks.” Luke removed his shirt and pulled off his boots, then stretched out full-length on one of the king-sized beds, his arms folded behind his head. Rob looked at the ridged muscles of his chest and torso outlined beneath his white undershirt. His brother was in great shape, physically. He had always been physically strong, but being in the army had made him even stronger.

“Hey, get a load of this, Luke.” Luke opened one eye warily, as Rob put a dime in the slot by the bedside and the bed started to vibrate.

“What the hell?”

“It’s the latest thing. There’s two speeds, slo…ow or fa…ast.” Luke had half sat up and taken hold of his shoulders and was shaking him, adding to the vibrato effect. “It’s su……sup…posed to m..ma…ake y…ooou sl…slee-eeep…”

“Bet the folks next door think you’re getting laid. How do you like those vibrations, sugar?” Luke stopped bouncing and shaking his giggling brother, and started squeezing him instead. Rob hugged him back tightly, a full body embrace until Luke finally let him go.

“Thanks for those letters you wrote me when I was out there.” Luke looked him in the eye. “They meant a lot to me.” Rob blushed. He had never written to his brother before he’d shipped out to Vietnam; they had never been apart before and the occasion had never arisen. Most of his letters had been filled with stuff he had been doing at school or his activities out of school hours (he’d stopped asking questions when he realised Luke was unable to reply due to military censorship) At the end of his second letter he had daringly added a row of little Xs, then almost died of embarrassment after the airmail form had disappeared into the mailbox, picturing to himself how Luke would react to the kisses. But Luke had not appeared to think them anything out of the ordinary, or at any rate he had not commented during his brief, occasional calls home. “The guys were convinced I had a girl back home called Roberta or Robyn” added Luke, with a smile. So he had noticed then. “C’mere.” He was caught up in a huge bear-hug, and squeezed again until he was breathless.

“Now that the introductions are over, do you mind if I crash out for an hour or so, kiddo? Wake me up later and we’ll go for a swim in the pool, OK?”

“OK” murmured Rob, slightly disappointed. His parents had warned him not to disturb his brother and to let him catch up on his sleep. Luke had probably been travelling for the best part of two days, including lengthy stop-overs.

“He’s bound to be exhausted, and you mustn’t bombard him with questions on the first day.” Luke had slept deeply and solidly for three hours whilst Rob remained awake, gazing at his brother’s sleeping form.

*****

Cunningham’s restaurant at 5th and Breckinridge had a number of small enclosed dining booths with saloon doors: it was rather like being in a train compartment. It offered complete privacy from other diners and was popular with families and other groups. As everyone else ordered seafood, Rob asked for a cheeseburger and fries. Rob was sitting opposite his parents, as close to Luke as he dared: he couldn’t quite believe his brother was really here at last, right beside him in the flesh, and kept staring at him. Eventually Luke swung around and smiled at him.

“Have I got two heads or something?” Rob smiled back and didn’t say anything. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, Luke’s close proximity after a two-year absence was making him feel jittery – almost like butterflies in his stomach. Luke turned back to his father, who was quizzing him about Operation Masher - a search & destroy mission in the central coastal plain of Binh Dinh Province.

“Yeah, that’s a Commie stronghold” replied Luke. “Our forces teamed up with the ARVN and ROK against the PAVN...”

“Oh, honestly” interrupted Connie “You men. This is why I thought we agreed we wouldn’t talk about the war, especially on Luke’s first night back. This is meant to be a family occasion.” She glanced at her husband reproachfully. Luke was obliged to explain to his mother that the ARVN was the Army of the Republic of Vietnam and the ROK meant the Army of the Republic of Korea.

“I don’t know how you can remember which is which. What was the other one beginning with P?”

“I know what it is! The PAVN is the Peoples Army of Vietnam” cried Rob triumphantly. He’d been reading articles in Life magazine, and attempting to understand the conflict so he could keep up with his brother when he came back. He found most of the military jargon and acronyms incomprehensible, soon forgotten, but this one had stuck in his mind.

“You got it in one” said Luke, squeezing his shoulder. “The PAVN is made up of North Vietnamese regulars and Viet Cong guerrillas. Operation Masher was changed to Operation White Wing by LBJ. Probably thought Masher sounded too bloodthirsty.”

“What kind of a Pollyanna name is that?” snorted Joe. “War is war.” Joe had participated in the recapture of the Philippines and Manila from Japan in the Central Pacific during World War II, which involved landing in New Guinea to the north of Australia. In the westward drive across the Pacific, the chief strategy was to seize Formosa and thereby control the Formosa Strait, which would serve as a springboard against Japan. Their father was fond of telling them that when General MacArthur was warned of the hazards of proceeding beyond the front line, where the Japs were hiding out, he had replied “If you can’t see ‘em you can’t fight ‘em” and had ordered his men to carry on.

“The soldiers respected MacArthur” continued Joe “Because he got the point.”

“The point?” queried Connie, looking somewhat bemused.

“The point of warfare. To defeat the enemy! Not because soldiers glory in bloodshed or slaughter (no-one longs for peace more than a soldier who’s in the thick of it) but because he is fighting to defend his homeland or that of other peoples from being overrun by aggressors, whether it was the Nazis in Europe or the Japs in the Pacific. The men led by General MacArthur were honourable men, brave men, and don’t ever let anyone tell you different. What the Japanese army left behind them – well, it was wholesale butchery – the little bastards…”

“Joe..” Connie placed a hand on his arm.

“I think Operation Masher is much better” agreed Rob. “Mash the enemy’s balls into mincemeat.” Luke laughed, and ruffled his hair. As Luke and his father discussed Operation White Wing’s complementary mission Operation Double Eagle, carried out by the U.S. and South Vietnamese Marine force in the adjacent Quang Ngai Province, Rob got up to examine the song selections showcased by the miniature wall-mounted Select-o-Matic jukebox.

“Something nice and soothing, please” said Connie. “How about All I Have to Do is Dream? I love that song.” Rob inserted a dime into the slot and the room filled with the melodious harmonies of the Everly Brothers.

I need you so

That I could die

I love you so

And that is why

Whenever I want you, all I have to do is

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream…

When I feel blue in the night

And I need you to hold me tight

Whenever I want you, all I have to do is

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam

I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine

Anytime night or day

Only trouble is, gee whiz

I'm dreamin' my life away

The Everly Brothers were interrupted as their orders arrived. Rob declined the pan-fried oysters, making a face. As he watched his brother tuck into a platter of lobster and shrimp, he became distracted by Luke’s military field wrist-watch: its multiple functions included a 24-hour rotating dial, a date-time calendar and alarm, and the capability to track multiple time zones. In addition to being water-proof and shock-proof, it possessed a built-in compass allowing the soldier to orient himself if lost in the jungle. Seeing Rob’s fascination, Luke pointed to a tiny button.

“See that? Punch that little sucker and it fires off a miniature poison dart like a needle to incapacitate the enemy if you’re captured.” Rob’s eyes widened.

“Can it kill someone?”

“You bet” replied Luke, utterly deadpan. “The poison is deadlier than a rattler’s venom.”

“But what if you pressed it by mistake, say, when you were asleep and….” Rob suddenly realised Luke was teasing him, up to his usual tricks. His parents were smiling indulgently, amused at the gullibility of the “baby” of the family. Rob thumped Luke’s shoulder playfully.

As they swung into the Gondola Motel parking lot about three hours later, Rob looked up. In front, suspended from a pole about 30 feet off the ground, was a huge sign of a painted Venetian gondola which was now lit up. When he was a small boy of about five he thought it was real. One night they were travelling back from a visit to Mammoth Cave in Edmonson county, and Rob’s attention had been caught by the winking lights of a golden gondola, pitched high against the night sky like a carnival swing boat. The wires attaching it to the post were invisible in the darkness, and the slightest breeze set it swaying and rocking. He had pointed to it, crying excitedly to his father, who was driving.

“Daddy, I want to ride the swing in the sky.” He had thought he could climb up a tall ladder and climb into the gondola, and be flying amongst the stars, high above the freeway traffic.

“Luke, don’t let your little brother get too close to the window” said Connie. Rob had wound down the rear passenger window, and was leaning out to get a closer look. Luke’s arm shot out and clamped his arm firmly around his brother’s waist as Rob struggled to free himself.

“It’s not real, Robbie.” His mother tried to explain that it was just another lit up neon sign, like those gaudy roadside hoardings advertising Schweppes and Coca-Cola.

“Yes it is! I can see it. Look, Mama, up there in the sky!”

“It’s two-dimensional” Luke told him. Rob didn’t know what he meant.

“Two dimes? I’ve got two dimes and a nickel.” He couldn’t understand why his father did not stop the car but kept on going, speeding past the magical swing in the sky as if it were nothing. He started pounding his father’s shoulder. “Daddy, why don’t you stop?”

At that age, Rob had struggled to make sense of the world around him and to comprehend what he was seeing. The family had just been to see Mammoth Cave, the longest cave system in the world, and had taken the Echo River boat tour, their voices reverberating off the limestone walls.

“Native American Indians actually lived in these caves 4000 years ago” the guide informed them. Rob couldn’t picture a time that was 4000 years ago: even 100 years seemed unimaginably long.

“Who lives here now?” he wanted to know.

“Vampire bats who suck your blood” Luke had told him. “And bears with sharp claws. One could come rushing out of that dark hole over there any minute.” All the small children in earshot were listening avidly. They found Luke’s irreverent and embellished commentary considerably more interesting than the tour guide’s flat monotone description of the various species of bat, salamander and blind cave shrimp which inhabited the cave. When they disembarked from the boat, Rob had ridden on his father’s shoulders as the cave’s notable features were pointed out by their guide:

“Over there is the Frozen Niagara.” This meant nothing to Rob as he didn’t know who Niagara was. Probably some Indian chief. He observed to his mother that if Niagara had worn a scarf and mittens maybe he wouldn’t have frozen. “And that’s the staircase tower.” As it was a staircase he couldn’t climb, Rob soon lost interest.

When they got to the Bottomless Pit, Luke had looked pointedly at his brother.

“Lots of little boys have fallen down there, never to be seen again.”

“Why can’t we get them out?” Rob had asked, distressed at the thought of little boys no older than himself stuck down a deep dark hole, crying for their parents to come and get them.

“Your brother is just telling fibs” his mother told him. “No little boys have fallen down there.”

“With over 364 miles of tunnel networks and passageways, you are only seeing a very small portion of the cave” continued their guide, as they penetrated deeper into the labyrinth of limestones caves and complex galleries. “We are now approaching a very narrow passageway called The Fat Man’s Misery…”

“Guess you’ll have to turn back now, Mister” said Luke to a fat man just behind them, causing Rob to giggle and his mother to shoot him a reproving look. Joe lowered Rob to the ground as the adults had to stoop and duck under low ceilings. The space at the bottom where they placed their feet was very restricted, widening at waist level, and required a lot of twisting and bending with the fat man huffing and puffing right behind them. It took them about fifteen minutes for them all to shuffle through the passageway, before they emerged from the other end. Rob must have fallen asleep on his father’s shoulder and couldn’t remember much more after that apart from waking up in a huge echoing space called the Snowball Cafeteria, reached via the Grand Avenue after a 4 mile walk. A little girl was licking a lime snow cone, and Rob wanted a raspberry one.

“This restaurant is nearly 270 feet underground” his father told him. Most people around them were eating hamburgers and French fries.

“Why?” asked Rob, who couldn’t understand why they were having dinner underground. Normally when they were travelling in the car his father stopped at a roadside drive-in.

“Look at the snowballs on the ceiling, Rob” said Luke. Rob gazed up in wonder at the vaulted rock dome; it was covered with gypsum crystals which did indeed resemble glittering snowballs (he learned much later that these were formed from calcium carbonate deposits)

“How did they get there?” he wanted to know.

“The Native Indians who lived down here used to have snowball fights” replied Luke casually. “And they just stuck to the ceiling.” This explanation sounded no more incredible than anything else Rob had heard or seen that day, so he accepted it without question. As a woman at a nearby table rummaged in her handbag, producing a gold lipstick tube, Rob stared in fascination as she began to rub it along her mouth.

“What’s that lady eating? Can I have one too?”

“I’m just fixing my makeup, honey” replied the woman, overhearing. “This is called a lipstick and I’m sure your mama has one in her pocketbook.” Connie did have one, and showed it to Rob, who was still puzzled. “It’s like a crayon” she told him. Rob was still puzzled. He had a set of crayons at home, which he used for his colouring books.

“Where’s your lipstick, Daddy?” asked Rob suddenly, turning to his father. Everyone had laughed, including his father, though Rob hadn’t known what they all found so funny.

Luke now removed his military wrist-watch and presented it to Rob. “It’s yours.” Rob accepted it with a shy smile.

“Thanks. Do you think I’ve changed much?” Luke rolled over to look at him. Rob’s head was on the pillow, and he lay gazing up at his brother. Luke passed his hand over Rob’s head in a downward sweep from his forehead to his nose, and Rob’s eyelids shut automatically in response. He passed his hand back over his closed eyes in an upwards sweep, and Rob’s eyes blinked open. Luke made a few more passes – Rob’s eyes opening and closing each time in response – and Luke suddenly laughed. They had played that little game when Rob was a toddler. Luke had thought it was cute then, and he still did.

“No, you haven’t changed much at all.” He traced the outline of Rob’s smooth cheek in the darkness. “There is something a little different about you” went on Luke. “Can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“What’s different about me?” Rob now challenged him.

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out sooner or later” Luke told him. “But I bet you’re just as ticklish as ever.” Rob looked straight ahead of him as if he hadn’t heard, but a little dimple appeared in his cheek. On these occasions Luke found him wholly irresistible. Seconds later, Rob was curled up into a self-protective foetal ball, giggling helplessly as Luke zeroed in on his ribs, and beneath his armpits.

At 2am Rob was still awake, mesmerised by swords of light duelling and criss-crossing the walls as headlights from the Interstate traffic briefly illuminated the room through the slats of the closed blinds. The steady thrum of the air conditioning was starting to lull him to sleep when Luke suddenly shouted out “Down! Get down!” startling him.

“I must have been dreaming” muttered Luke. “I thought there was a chopper overhead.” He glanced up at the ceiling fan, which whirred like the blades of a helicopter. “Can we turn that damn thing off?” He located the AC control and flipped a switch. Silence reigned in the room once more.

“Maybe we should go for a midnight swim” suggested Rob. The motel pool was deserted at this hour, and they would have it to themselves.

“Sounds good to me” agreed Luke, who was fully awake and feeling refreshed. The pool was surrounded by a mesh fence and the gate was locked for the night, so they had to climb over. Luke was tall enough to step over the fence, hoisting Rob up over his shoulder. They stripped down to their shorts and cannonballed into the deep end, cavorting and leaping in the water like a pair of dolphins. Rob swam between Luke’s legs as he’d done so many times when they were boys, and Luke seized hold of him when he emerged from the other side, lifting him above his head like a cup trophy before dropping him back in the pool. Rob dived beneath the surface behind Luke, shot underneath his legs again and was boosted into the air, before plunging down again to repeat the cycle. When they were kids they could keep the momentum and the acrobatics going indefinitely. They called it the “Ferris Wheel” for the benefit of poolside spectators, and soon most of the other kids at the public pool were emulating their performance, much to the annoyance of those trying to swim laps.

“Well, that was fun” said Luke finally, as they paused by the edge of the pool, treading water. “You know what I used to dream about when I was in the jungle? Swimming pools. Every damned night. While some guys dreamed of T-bone steaks and ice-cream, I used to dream I was still a lifeguard and that everyone in the pool was drowning.” One recurring nightmare he’d had was that a drain at the bottom had become unplugged, acting like a sink-hole, and was sucking swimmers into a dark swirling vortex. As lifeguard his job was to rescue as many people as he could, but every time he managed to pull someone to safety another was swallowed up by the deep black hole: he was fighting a losing battle and the bodies were piling up. At the time he had recognised that the dream was probably symbolic of the enormous responsibilities placed on his shoulders, and a subconscious anxiety that he might not be able to fulfil those expectations. As Luke related this to Rob, his younger brother smiled at him.

“Anybody else but you would have dreamed they were being sucked into the hole instead of pulling people out. You were a great lifeguard, and I bet you kept the guys in your platoon safe.”

“I certainly tried. Thanks for the vote of confidence, little brother. Not all the dreams were nightmares though. Sometimes I dreamed I was swimming laps in an enormous outdoor pool – more like a lake - with you waving to me from the other end.”

Rob had a sudden vivid memory of his brother patrolling the poolside in his trunks, or leaning his muscled bulk against the refreshment stand eating a hotdog. Most of the time he sat in a raised chair, like a king on his throne surveying his kingdom, ready to spring into action if any of the kids got into difficulty. One of the perks of the job was that he got as many free hamburgers and soft drinks as he wanted, and Luke would frequently order two burgers and two Cokes so his brother could have a free lunch.

“I remember when you called home from this American base, and you said there was a swimming pool there. I could hear the Beach Boys playing in the background” said Rob.

“Yeah, that’s right. We were stationed at Long Binh Post for a few days for some R&R” Luke recalled. “It was just after a mission where we nearly got fried by friendly fire. We were outnumbered and had wired for aerial assistance. Our guys in the sky had a fix on the enemy position so we had minutes to get the hell out of there and relay our new location so the bombs would miss us.” Rob chewed his bottom lip. He’d known his brother had been in some very dangerous situations, but he’d never let on when he was out in the field, confining his communications home to bland assurances that he was “doing just fine.”

“What was it like being in the jungle?” asked Rob. He regarded his brother’s “other life” – the one he had led as a Platoon Leader - with a mixture of awe and incomprehension. Luke’s time in Vietnam represented a potential future redolent with terrifying possibilities. His brother had witnessed and experienced the horrors and realities of war – realities that were, as yet, mere abstractions to Rob – things that might happen to him personally, but which probably wouldn’t. The draft was not yet compulsory. College undergraduates were exempt, as were emergency workers, and his parents had said that special concessions were made by the authorities for those who were not “temperamentally suited” for warfare, whatever that meant. Rob had felt insulted by the implied slight. “I AM temperamentally suited” he had told them defiantly. “If Luke can fight, so can I.” His parents had exchanged glances and dropped the subject.

“The thing about being in the jungle” said Luke, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully “is that you lose track of time. Just before an op we’d synchronise our watches so we knew up here what time it was” (he tapped his forehead) “but our bodies didn’t know. Once we were out on this recce patrol and we all thought we’d been there for weeks when it was only five days. Time doesn’t have any meaning, not like it does in a town or city. Or maybe it’s just to do with being in a war zone.”

“Like the Twilight Zone, you mean?” asked Rob. He started humming the eerie theme music.

“Yeah, kind of like that. It’s hard to explain.” The peculiar sense of dislocation and unreality was difficult to convey to someone who hadn’t experienced it first-hand. In the kind of normal landscape in which he’d grown up there were identifiable landmarks against which you could orient yourself and get your bearings: it could be a hogback or saddleback ridge in the distance, or a line of swallows strung out on top of a telegraph wire and silhouetted against the skyline. But in the jungle they’d had to hack their way through impenetrable rainforest, there being few well-trodden trails. There was the physical dimension of the jungle: the density and humidity, the insects, the noise of innumerable unseen creatures swarming underfoot and in the dense overhead canopy.

And then there was the psychic dimension, where the outside world ceased to exist altogether, and there was only one reality - what the men referred to as “Jungle Time” - an ever-present and viscous green opacity into which everything flowed and coalesced.

*****

Luke was gnawing his way through an entire salami sausage, although it was two inches in diameter and a foot long. It was about a week after he’d been home.

“Mom will go nuts when she sees that” remarked Rob when Luke put it back in the fridge, leaving visible tooth marks. ”I’d advise you to trim it a little so the edges are even.”

“Rob, why can’t you pour some into a glass?” said Connie, walking into the kitchen as Rob swigged direct from a carton of cold milk. “And Luke, honestly” She had just spied the salami. “Didn’t the army teach you any manners?”

“Manners?” He smiled at his mother. “Well, no Ma. The army is the complete opposite of a finishing school.” Since returning home, Luke sometimes felt as though he were still a teenager stuck in a time warp instead of a man who had until recently been in overall charge of an infantry platoon – a position which carried enormous responsibilities, frequently requiring him to make life or death decisions. In the first couple of weeks his parents had been almost deferential, tip-toeing around him, until he had finally said, laughing “Hey, stop being so damn polite. I’m still the same old Luke.” The fridge started to emit a low-pitched whine, rising to a crescendo until it sounded like a plane about to take off on the runway.

“The motor’s probably running down” sighed their mother. “Suppose I’ll have to get somebody out to fix it…if it’s not one thing it’s another.” Luke aimed a kick at its innards and the noise immediately stopped. It was blissfully silent for a moment, then his mother said, smiling “Luke, I’m sure that can’t be doing it any good.”

“It works in the army” replied Luke. “If a guy starts whining, give him a good kicking and he soon shuts up.” Rob smiled at him, a dimple appearing in his cheek. As a concession to their mother, Luke cut off a few slices of the salami and put them on a plate, but once she’d left the room they both reverted to their primitive eating and drinking habits.

“That looks disgusting” said Rob. “It’s like you’re eating a ginormous dick.”

“Maybe you got dicks on the brain. Why don’t you concentrate on something else except me for a change, huh?” After constantly yearning for his brother’s safe return for two long years, Rob could still scarcely believe that his brother was back home for good, and that he could see him, touch him, and speak to him whenever he wanted.

Luke eventually wandered outside, and after a decent interval Rob followed him, unable to help himself. He found his brother relaxing in a hammock he’d slung between two trees, an elbow behind his head and a bottle of beer in his other hand. He was wearing a black crew-necked T-shirt which emphasised every well-defined muscle in his powerful body. Occasionally Luke allowed him to feel his bulging biceps and the hard triceps at the back of his upper arm.

Luke would smile lazily, permitting the intimate exploration of his upper body for a moment or so before shaking him off. “Alright now, that’s enough. You’re acting like a girl.” Why did his brother have to be so damned attractive, thought Rob, resisting an impulse to climb all over him. Rob made a sudden dive for him. Luke managed to stop the beer from spraying all over them by holding it aloft. With their joint weight the hammock swung to one side like a listing ship, nearly toppling them both to the ground.

“Steady” said Luke, resting one heel on the ground.

“Scoot over” said Rob, tucking himself underneath Luke’s shoulder, one hand on his torso where his T-shirt strained tight against his pecs.

“Where can I scoot to?” returned Luke, good-humouredly. “This is a hammock, not a four-poster.”

“You looked so peaceful lying there. You’re hogging all the shade.”

“Yeah, it was kind of peaceful out here until my pesky kid brother landed in my lap” agreed Luke. He wrapped an arm around Rob’s waist, giving him a squeeze. Rob had burrowed into his chest, breathing in his brother’s masculine scent. “You’re nothing but a little baby, you know that?” continued Luke. “Still like being rocked in a cradle, don’t you?”

“What does that make you?” retorted Rob. “Big Mama? Though I’ve never seen a mother with biceps like that.” He gave one of them a poke.

“You’ve never seen a full-grown female gorilla then. They’ve got some mighty fine biceps. Wanna finish that?” He offered the bottle of beer to Rob, who took a couple of swallows and tossed the empty bottle onto the grass. Luke rose from the hammock and tucked Rob under one arm, slinging him over his shoulder.

“Mom, I’m being kidnapped! Don’t let him take me into the woods!” Connie had brought out a tray of sandwiches to the porch for an al fresco lunch, and smiled across at them. Anyone would think they were still both kids instead of two grown men.

Variations of this game – where Luke pretended to be some feral mountain man who abducted children – was something they had enacted since they were very young. Luke was always the monster, chasing his little brother around the house, and Rob was given a five minute head start in which to hide himself – in closets, under beds, or behind curtains. He had loved being chased or “kidnapped” by his big brother, and Luke was happy to indulge him.

However childish it might appear to an outsider she found the sight reassuring because it signalled to her that the war had not really changed her oldest son. So many boys had come back irreparably damaged, hollow haunted strangers their mothers didn’t recognise. But Luke was essentially the same person he had been before he left: clearly he was now a man instead of a boy – but a man who still took pleasure in fun and games, messing about with his kid brother. Her mind drifted back to when they were children, getting ready for school in the mornings. Rob would be glued to the cereal boxes in front of him like they were TV screens. The back of one box said “Kids! FREE! Send away for your Frostie Tiger T-shirt right now. Cut out the coupon below.” Bold lettering on the back of the Rice Krispies box proclaimed a similar promise: “Inside this box, claim your FREE prize!” Luke would have his foot hooked around the lower rung of his brother’s chair, which he jiggled back and forth so Rob’s spoon kept missing his mouth.

“Momma, I can’t eat my breakfast properly because Luke keeps on rocking the chair” complained Rob. Luke merely smiled, as the rocking became more violent. Connie was usually busy frying bacon for the bacon and fried tomato sandwiches her husband and older son were so fond of, and would glance over her shoulder, skillet in hand.

“Luke, your little brother was not put on this earth for you to tease and torment. Leave Robbie in peace to eat his breakfast, please.” Rob by this time would have his hand down inside the box, rummaging for the prize. Losing patience, he would turn the box upside down, the cereal spilling out onto the table: later she had started buying the multiple assorted packs of cereal boxes, which were too small to contain prizes, so as to avoid the inevitable mess at the breakfast table.

“I’ve found the prize!” cried Rob triumphantly. It was usually something like a miniature plastic magnifying glass, which he would hold up against Luke’s nose to see the effect.

“What do you want that for, little baby?” Luke would ask. “It’s not even real.” Rob was a sucker for the “free prizes” advertised by manufacturers, no matter how cheap and ridiculous they were: he fed coins into the slot of bubble-gum machines, waiting for the plastic car, miniature yo-yo or whatever it was to come whizzing out of the chute, and would get excited over Christmas crackers.

Luke was constantly teasing his little brother. When he was about six or seven, Rob had been sitting at the table eating a tub of chocolate ice-cream and Luke had come and sat down beside him, a big smile on his face.

“You know you’re eating frozen Eskimo shit” remarked Luke in a pleasant tone.

“It is not.” Rob eyed his brother uncertainly but continued to spoon ice-cream into his mouth. “It tastes like chocolate ice-cream.”

“Sure it tastes like it, after they’ve added sugar and flavouring. In the Arctic it gets so cold that everything freezes including Eskimo turds. They ship it to the Unites States, and only suckers like you eat it.” Rob had immediately dropped the carton on the kitchen floor, wailing “I don’t want it now!”

Chapter Nine – 1967

“Hey, you folks better head on home now. Radio broadcasters have issued a tornado warning. Rated F4.” Sheriff Wheeler was shoe-horning himself out of the passenger seat of his cruiser. His lanky deputy, who moved at a less sedate pace, had already entered the premises of the drugstore and was shooing people out onto the streets.

“What’s that mean, Sheriff?” asked someone. The Sheriff hitched his gun-belt over his paunch, and surveyed his audience with satisfaction.

“It means pretty damn severe. Wind speeds of 200mph or more. Now git on home, I don’t want to have to tell you people again.” The sky had gone dark with gathering rain clouds.

“Whoopee!” shouted Josh, piling into his pickup truck with two companions in tow. “Let’s go chase this monster down.” Josh, the older of the two notorious Ballard boys, had been sent to Juvenile Detention three years ago for a period of twelve months where he claimed to have met some “cool friends.” The general perception was that he had been sentenced for shooting his younger brother in the eye with a BB gun, but the judge had ruled this an accident (which it was) His less well-known misdemeanours included breaking into three of the wealthier mansions on Laurel Drive and taking a dip in their swimming pools whilst the owners were on vacation, and a drunken assault on the person of the manager of the public swimming pool, who had barred him from entry. His defence had been characteristically eloquent:

“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong, Judge. I warn’t allowed to go swimming in the pool to which I am ENTITLED being a citizen of this town….get your cotton pickin’ hands off me!” (to a prison officer who had just cuffed him) “It was hot so I decided to cool off in some folks’ pool who warn’t EVEN THERE! I coulda stole plenty of stuff if I’d wanted, but I didn’t. Alright, I mighta given that chickenshit a little tap on the head” (He glared at the swimming pool manager) “but he was sure askin’ for it. So I reckon I should be let off, Judge, seein’ as I done nothin’ wrong” he concluded on a note of triumph. The judge had not agreed.

“Hey, what happened to you? You go one on one with a grizzly?” was Josh’s parting shot to his bruised victim as he was led down from the dock, smirking.

“And if any of you crazy kids are even thinking of trying to run this thing down-” shouted Wheeler after Josh, who flipped him the bird before taking off, tires screeching. Wheeler stood on the sidewalk in impotent rage. His customary threat - of dispatching persistent offenders and delinquents to the local “butt-fuck correction facility” - held no terrors for Josh, who had graduated from that institution with flying colours and seemed none the worse for his experience. Henderson, the drugstore owner, had wandered out onto the sidewalk.

“Now you’ve just gone and scared off all my customers, Bill. I been listening to the news reports and this twister’s in the next county over. We got nothing to worry about here in Harperville.”

“You trying to tell me my business?” demanded the Sheriff truculently. “An emergency has been declared in the state of Floyd county. We’ve got an F5 rated twister headed right this way. Now it’s my dooty as a sworn officer of the law to warn folks of impending danger. And I’m telling you to GO HOME.” Luke was listening to this tirade with a faint smile on his face. The rest of them were trying to figure out whether to take Wheeler seriously or not. The Sheriff had a tendency to hyperbole, exaggerating the gravity of any event which upset the normal routine in a bid to inflate his own standing and importance in the town. It was like the boy who cried wolf. In a genuine emergency, people were unsure whether to take heed or laugh. Ginny, who’d been serving up malted milkshakes and root beer floats behind the counter, came running outside.

“Y’all better come inside and listen to this. They’re calling it Satan’s Spinning Top.”

As customers gathered around the small black and white TV set, shaky camera footage from a local news channel showed a cyclonic column sucking up debris in its path like a malevolent vacuum cleaner. Reference was made to the twister which had hit western Kentucky in 1964, with a reported damage path of over 50 miles - affecting Graves county, Hickman county, Hardin county, Fulton County and Jefferson county - which tore through downtown Louisville, ripping asphalt from roads, snapping trees and dumping automobiles into the Ohio river.

“A state of emergency has been declared in Knotts county where the tornado has left a trail of devastation in its path. Power has been knocked out with damaged power lines and uprooted trees … A stock trailer carrying cattle was blown 3 miles, and people are warned to watch out for flying debris…” There were pictures of flattened structures, including trailer homes and two-storey frame houses, and a mangled tractor and several pickup trucks. As the commentator launched into a technical description of the tornado’s formation, describing it as a violently rotating column of air updraft, spinning counter-clockwise, the audience’s attention started to wander: they were more interested in visible evidence of carnage. They could see a huge black cloud hovering menacingly over some fields, with trees tossing violently in the wind. Sporadic cloud-to-ground lightning lit up the eerie scene. As the storm intensified, the cloud suddenly dropped a rope-shaped tornado from its funnel base as it thickened and lengthened. Rob thought it looked like an elephant’s trunk.

“Look, Satan’s got a hard-on” giggled Ginny, pointing to the protruding funnel as its base extended. “That looks just like our stud Midnight when he gets stiff as a hickory pole, about to mount one of the mares.” People started to laugh.

“We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news. The tornado has passed through Knotts county and heading east towards Floyd and Pike counties, the latest to be in the direct path of what people are calling Satan’s Spinning Top. Residents of the following townships are strongly advised to get off the streets and stay indoors: Wheelwright, Wayland, Harperville, Pikeville...” Luke placed a hand on Rob’s shoulder.

“Come on, Robbie, let’s go. We’d better check up on Mom and Dad, and see if they’re OK.” Five minutes after they’d left, Ginny picked up the ringing phone. Connie had placed several calls to various establishments in town, most of whom which went unanswered until she reached Henderson’s Drugstore.

“Oh hello, Ginny. This is Connie Turnbull. You haven’t seen my boys, have you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Turnbull. Luke and Rob were just in here. You just missed them, they left about five minutes ago. On the news they said it’s heading for Harperville so we’re just closing up here..”

“Can you see them on the street, Ginny?” Connie sounded worried. “It’s just that the latest bulletin says it’s not safe to be driving on the roads, and I was going to tell them to find shelter in town and stay right where they are.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Turnbull but they already left. The Chevy’s gone. My Mom and Dad will be worried sick so I have to get home. Of course I just live a block away in town so….yes, I’m coming Mr.

Henderson! It’s Rob’s mother on the phone.”

“Of course, honey, you get on home and stay safe now” replied Connie, turning to her husband.

“They’re not there, Joe. That means they’re out in the open.”

“Now don’t worry, hon” replied Joe soothingly. “Most tornados average about 500 feet across, so you’d have to pretty unlucky to get caught in the middle of one.” He knew they could be a mile wide or more, but didn’t mention this to his wife.

As Luke turned off Main Street, the emergency sirens went off and Rob caught a glimpse of the rear of Sheriff Wheeler’s cruiser as it took off in the opposite direction, the red and blue beacon flashing. He had a bullhorn clamped to his mouth, into which he was bellowing “All citizens to return home with immediate effect or face arrest. Get down to your basements and stay there. I repeat, all citizens must return …” Rob laughed.

“He’s threatening to arrest people in the middle of a tornado? He’s just loving this.” Luke cracked a smile and turned onto the same route Josh and his buddies had taken. Ten minutes later roadblocks were set up, preventing any other vehicle from entry. He learned of this when he switched on the radio to tune into news bulletins.

“Shit” said Luke. “They’ve blocked off all routes to the east, which means it’s coming in behind us.” Rob glanced up at the darkening sky, which had taken on an ominous green tinge.

“We could head for the overpass by Frazer’s Fork and hunker down underneath it” suggested Rob.

“Worst thing we could do” replied Luke. “They act like wind tunnels: the car would flip for sure, and that’s best case scenario.” In the last tornado to hit Kentucky, a man had taken shelter under an overpass constructed of steel reinforced concrete. The narrow passage underneath the bridge had acted like a funnel, accelerating the wind speeds. He’d wrapped his arms around one of the girders, his body suspended four feet off the ground in a horizontal position like a human windsock, feet pointing into the wind, when the pressure had eventually forced him to release his grip and he’d shot out the other end like a cork from a bottle.

“I can see it!” Rob had just spotted the wedge-shaped cone in his rear view mirror at the same time as Luke had. “Luke, it’s following us! Can you go faster?” Luke floored the gas whilst maintaining a top speed which was safe in the deteriorating weather conditions. Sheets of rain were slapping against the windshield and it had started to hail. Last thing they needed was a skid or crash. He calculated the tornado probably had a forward speed of 70mph, as the sinister black funnel was matching their pace. The barometric pressure was so low their ears were popping.

“Trying to outrun a tornado is risky” he muttered to Rob “but I guess we don’t have much choice right now.” Either side of them were flat fields, the nearest crossroads being two miles distant. He considered cutting across a field at an angle and getting out of its direct path - in much the same way as a strong swimmer can sometimes escape the treacherous undertow of a riptide by striking out in a diagonal line towards shore – but if they didn’t clear it in time the open fields offered no shelter. Crashing through the fence barrier might stall the car and they could get bogged down and trapped in mud. They needed cover and fast, preferably a depression in the ground.

An image of trench warfare flashed into his mind and Luke suddenly recollected that the highway authorities had been recently digging ditches on a stretch of the road they were on to improve the drainage. If his memory served, the ditch should be a quarter of a mile up ahead. Rob moved closer to his brother, as it became apparent they had no chance of outrunning the huge black mass which was now looming in their rear windshield. Luke was scanning the road ahead on either side, eyes narrowed in concentration. Another few hundred yards at most, he hoped.

“Luke…” began Rob uneasily. He wanted his brother to wrap him in his arms and hold him tight. If they were going to be sucked into the vortex then he wanted them to be together.

“Rob” Luke had just seen what he was looking for. “When I stop the car I want you to jump out and run for that ditch. I’ll be right behind you.” Luke suddenly slammed on the brakes, flinging an arm out as a rigid barrier to prevent his brother lurching forward into the windshield. Rob was struggling to hold open the passenger door, in the teeth of the terrific wind. Luke leaned across him and applied more force, shoving Rob onto the tarmac without once letting go of him. With his arm clamped tightly around Rob’s waist to keep him from being blown off his feet, Luke had crossed to the verge in two strides and thrown them both down into the ditch. He lay down on top of his brother, covering him completely with his body, so as to allow no gaps for the wind to get a purchase.

Luke clasped his hands behind his head to afford some protection against rocks and other large airborne objects. The noise was terrific and sounded like they were directly beneath the wheels of a freight train or a supersonic jet just before take-off. Here we go, thought Luke, hoping they were sufficiently low to come through unscathed. As he pressed down on his brother, he became aware that Rob was struggling beneath him, kicking out with his legs.

Luke tried to quieten him, then understood what was happening. Pinned down by the weight of Luke’s body and unable to move, Rob was slowly being asphyxiated, his face partially submerged in the shallow rainwater that had collected in the bottom. Luke shifted, raising himself slightly to keep Rob’s head out of the water. He turned his brother’s face to the side, giving him air. The panicked kicking ceased and Rob squeezed his hand to signify he could now breathe freely. Luke returned the pressure of his hand at the same time as he felt something smack against his shoulder.

The turbulence and loud roaring lasted for perhaps 45 seconds as they were engulfed in the maelstrom, but seemed much longer. And then the tremendous pressure and noise abated as the black funnel receded into the distance. Luke slowly sat up, and looked around him. The car had completely vanished and was nowhere to be seen. Rob looked slightly dazed.

“Tell me, mister. Did we just survive a twister?” Luke ruffled his hair, which was damp.

“Unless we woke up in Munchkin land. I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more, Toto. Sorry, I can’t think of anything to rhyme with tornado except Play-doh.” They hugged each other tightly.

“It would make a great headline” said Rob, smiling at him. “Luke Turnbull managed to save his brother from being swallowed alive by Satan’s Corkscrew, but unfortunately he smothered him so he ended up drowned.”

“I guess that would have defeated the point” agreed Luke sheepishly. “You look pretty as a picture. I like that cute little mud face pack” he added, as Rob tried to wipe the mud off his face with his jacket sleeve.

“How come we’re both OK when it can pick up trucks and trailers which are much heavier?” asked Rob, peering down the highway for any signs of their car.

“Same reason a strong wind can take off an entire roof if there are a few loose tiles it can get underneath: it uses the gap between a vehicle chassis and the road surface.”

“I hope Mom and Dad are OK.”

“They should be fine” Luke reassured him. “It’s heading north-east towards Pike county.” He was aware that tornados do not necessarily follow a straight trajectory: their path was unpredictable and they could switch direction at random, but it was highly unlikely it would do a right-hand turn at the cross-roads.

“What if it doubles back?”

“Never heard of a twister that reverses direction.” He had heard of a case where a reckless storm chaser had been hit when a tornado did a U-turn, forcing him into the path of another giant tornado. But there had been more than one “horn” on the prowl, and the guy had been asking for trouble. “Come on, we’ve got some walking to do.” Luke put an arm around him. Their home was about five miles distant, but if they cut through some back routes they could shorten it to three.

When they finally arrived home at about 9:30pm, wet and bedraggled but in high spirits, Rusty shot out the screen door as soon Connie opened it, barking excitedly. He leapt up, paws scrabbling on Rob’s chest, to lick his face.

“Where have you been all this time? We’ve been so worried…”

“Where’s the car?” asked Joe, appearing behind his wife.

“Totalled” replied Luke, as Rusty jumped up to give him the same treatment. “We had to walk back. I’ll tell you all about it if I can get this dog to calm down. Settle down now, boy.”

“I swear to God that dog knows exactly what’s going on” said their mother, ushering them indoors. “Even before the twister hit, he started howling. It was piteous.” Rob could picture it. When Rusty was distressed at something he sat on his haunches with his front paws outstretched like a sphinx, and pointed his muzzle at the sky, howling mournfully. As they all turned to look at him, he assumed a comically innocent expression Who, me? making them laugh. “I’ve got a meal waiting in the oven, but first I think you should get out of those wet things into some hot clothes…”

“Hot clothes?” queried Luke, kissing his flustered mother.

“Oh, you know what I mean. A hot shower and hot meal is what you both need, and then we’ll talk over supper.” She shooed them up the stairs as if they were still kids.

Upstairs in the bathroom Luke stripped off right in front of him, much to Rob’s embarrassment, and stepped inside the shower stall.

“Get in here” said Luke, beckoning him over. “Like I haven’t seen you naked before, little brother.” The next five minutes were kind of like a fantasy dream for Rob – even more so than the recent experience of almost being sucked into the eye of a tornado. He took a deep breath and shucked off his jeans before joining his brother. As he stooped to chase after a slippery bar of Lifebuoy soap that had been dropped in a corner, Luke grabbed hold of him and started soaping him all over.

“Just like steer wrestling or wild boar chasing” commented Luke, who was enjoying himself. At the county rodeo children were allowed to chase and attempt to catch wild pigs which had been greased, an activity in which they had both participated with enthusiasm.

“Gottcha!” Luke caught him from behind and Rob leaned back against his chest, heart beating fast. Luke found himself getting hard, and released Rob before things got out of hand.

*****

“The worst of it just passed right over them” Joe was telling aunt Martha and uncle Jim a few days later. They had been invited over to their homestead in Bell county, which nestled in a hollow just beneath Pine mountain in the Appalachians. The invitation had been outstanding for about a month, and there had been some initial discussion as to whether they should take both vehicles. As Luke had not yet had an opportunity to replace the Chevy they all ended up piling into the pick-up, with their parents sitting up front in the cab and the two brothers stretched out in the flatbed with Rusty.

“Just like old times. What if it rains, Pops?” Rob had enquired.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to get wet” Joe had chuckled. The journey took about five and a half hours, and fortunately it stayed dry, though it was damnably cold.

“C’mere, baby boy” Luke had wrapped him up in a sleeping bag and folded him in his arms, while Rusty examined the passing countryside with interest, ears pinned back in the wind.

“And Luke laid down on top of his little brother, didn’t you?” Connie now said.

“I did the exact same thing back in ‘64 when we had that F4 twister” drawled their uncle. “We were out in the pasture and I threw myself down on top of Martha and she turned around and screamed “Jim, is that all you can think of? At a time like this?” Joe threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter, and Luke started to laugh too.

“Heard that one a thousand times before, Dad” said their cousin Dale. Martha leaned across the table and smacked her husband on his bare arm.

“I did not say any such thing, Jim Turnbull, and you know it! In fact, it was me who pulled us both down into the creek bed. In an emergency it’s we women who know what to do.”

“Isn’t that the truth” murmured Connie soothingly, as she patted Martha’s arm. “I don’t believe half the things these men come out with. Don’t take any notice of them.” Martha slapped her husband again for good measure, and Jim laughed delightedly, winking at Luke and Rob.

“Nothing like a good woman to slap you around and put you in your place. You boys sleep alright last night?”

“Luke can get a little restless at times” replied Rob. He and Dale exchanged smiles. The sleeping arrangements had always been somewhat haphazard when they stayed with their aunt and uncle as the house was only one-storey – being the original homestead of their grandparents - and Jim had never seen the need to extend it or add a separate wing. Their parents generally took over Dale’s bedroom and the cousins found themselves sleeping on the living room floor. When they were young this had been fun as Martha made everything into a game. She would create a den by assembling a wall of furniture around a central sleeping area piled with cushions and pillows, so they could pretend they were under attack from savage Indians circling the covered wagon train. Last night the cousins had slept on the living-room floor in sleeping bags, and Rob could hear Luke thrashing about at the other end of the room.

“What’s up, cuz?” Dale had enquired with mock innocence.

“Damn things are designed for midgets” muttered Luke. “Every time you turn over you get a zipper wedged up your ass crack.” Luke had eventually punched his way out of his sleeping bag, lying on top of it instead, and Rob had spent the night fantasising about Luke lying on top of him.

“Bet you’re glad to be out of it now, son” said Jim to Luke a little later on, as Joe lit up his pipe. The men were talking about the Tet Offensive, and how a Viet Cong platoon managed to get inside the U.S. Embassy in Saigon before they were shot by American soldiers. “It doesn’t look good.” The U.S. marine garrison at Khe Sanh had been besieged by an estimated 20,000 to 40,000 PAVN troops in an attempt to overrun the base. Similar surprise attacks on American garrisons and border outposts had taken place simultaneously in an effort to seize northernmost provinces of South Vietnam.

“Giap was gearing up for this before I shipped out” replied Luke. “We knew something big was going down.” Giap? Connie and Martha looked at each other. Who’s Giap?

“The North Vietnamese military commander” supplied Joe. “I hear Westmoreland wants 200,000 more troops sent out there.”

“Well, they’re not having my boys” said Connie defiantly. “Luke’s done his stint, and Robbie…” She glanced across at her younger son, who was playing with Rusty in the next room. “Robbie is definitely NOT…

“Now, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, Connie” said Joe. “There are calls to scale back U.S. involvement, and I think it’s time we started to think about withdrawing. There’s just no public support for the war. Johnson has said he wants to de-escalate.” Luke looked sceptical.

“I heard military recruiters were canvassing the jails. Inmates are being told they won’t have to do time if they volunteer for military service.”

“That can’t be right” said Martha. “I thought a criminal conviction would automatically disqualify someone from enlisting.”

“Yeah, that’s the official line” said Luke. “Felons are supposed to be ineligible. And the army isn’t obliged to accept them. But on my last tour of duty the discipline problems were getting worse. And I spoke to guys who’d done time in prison.”

“But that’s awful” said Connie. “You could have murderers and rapists rampaging around the countryside armed with machine guns.” The men exchanged glances at the naiveté of their womenfolk when it came to war. Dale was listening gravely to everything that was being said at the table. He was about the same age as Rob, and could be called up if the draft become compulsory.

“I think we should stop talking about calamities like tornados and the war, and join the Boy and his dog” declared Martha. She started to clear the dishes away.

“I’ll take those in for you” offered Luke, rising from his chair.

“Well, I must say the army has done wonders for Luke’s manners” confided Martha to Connie when they were alone in the kitchen. “Does he see anything of that girl he was going steady with when he was in high school– what was her name – Cindy?”

“Oh no, they broke up some time ago, and she got married to someone else. I can’t help feeling sorry for her because her husband ran off, leaving her with two small children, and I know she wanted to marry Luke. She never came out and said as much, but you can tell when a girl has got her heart set on someone. Every time I run into her in town she seems so sad. Such a pretty girl too.”

“What about Luke? What does he feel about it?” Connie shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine. The men in our family never discuss their feelings.” Martha nodded, understanding. Jim and Dale were pretty much the same.

“And Robbie…how is Robbie?” asked Martha somewhat tentatively, not wishing to pry. She was aware Rob had been going through a rough patch ever since his older brother had gone into the army, and Connie had confided in her that he had been referred for psychiatric counselling. She had always had a soft spot for her nephew. “If you’d rather not say…”

“Not at all.” Connie brushed her concerns aside. In fact, she was far closer to Martha than to her older sister Edith, and had got into the habit of confiding in her whenever they met. She considered they had quite a lot in common, having both married into the Turnbull family and produced sons but no daughters. And it was a relief to talk to another woman from time to time, to compare notes and commiserate with each other on the trials and tribulations of being the only female in an exclusively masculine household.

“He’s so much better now that Luke’s home. Joe and I both knew it was going to hit him hard, which is why we got Rusty a couple of months before Luke shipped out. For company, you know. He was totally lost for the first few weeks (he just dotes on his brother) but he and that dog are as close as can be. He still has these episodes from time to time..” Martha looked at her curiously. “We don’t know what causes them” went on Connie “but his doctor - he’s German, very learned, knows all about the human mind – his doctor seems to think it’s just a chemical imbalance. His moods go up and down and he can be a little unpredictable, but as long as he keeps taking his medication-”

“Hey, sweetie” Jim walked into the kitchen, and slapped his wife’s rear affectionately. We’re all just dying for some of your banana cream pie.”

“Coming right up” replied Martha, opening the fridge door. “I remembered it was their favourite. I hope the boys still like it.”

“They love it” Connie assured her. “They haven’t changed much at all over the years. Don’t be surprised if they all head off to the mountains tomorrow to play at cowboys and Indians. Frankly, I don’t think most men ever grow up.”

“Want some coffee with that pie, sweetheart?” Martha asked Rob, who looked up from where he was straddling the porch railing and trying to catch Luke’s eye. They had all retired to the porch despite the falling temperature, where the men were sipping Bourbon and branch in the twilight.

“The boy would probably like some Bourbon, Martha” said Jim. “If you’ve got any Canada Dry I’ll have some bourbon” said Rob. “We’ve got root beer. That was always your favourite, wasn’t it?”

“Root beer and Wild Turkey. That’ll send you insane, little brother” grinned Luke.

“You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble on our behalf” protested Connie, as she always did on these occasions.

“It’s no trouble at all. We just adore having you here” returned Martha. Dale got out an imaginary violin and began to saw away at the air.

“Do you realise how corny you sound, Mom?”

“And we don’t mind letting you in on a little secret” confided Jim. “You all are the only kinfolk we like enough to invite out here: the rest just turn up like bad pennies. You know how I get rid of them? I take my shoes off and let them smell my feet.” Joe started to chuckle. When the boys were small he used to tell them about The Shooting of Dan McGrew, dangerous outlaw and Yukon gold prospector. He would embellish the tale with his own inventions such as “Now, Dan McGrew’s feet stank so bad you could smell him a mile off. Just like your uncle’s” he would add, with a sly glance at his younger brother. This would send the children into fits of laughter.

“Hey, remember that time you were staying with us and you nearly choked to death?” said Dale to Rob, re-emerging from the kitchen with a can of root beer. Over a decade ago, he and his cousin had decided to make some alcoholic ice cubes to consume when their parents were out. Rob couldn’t remember whose idea it was, but he thought it might have been Dale’s. A couple of hours before their parents left, they filched some of Jim’s whiskey and mixed it with Coca-Cola before pouring it into two ice trays right under aunt Martha’s nose.

“We’re making some cola popsicles, Momma” Dale told her innocently.

“What a good idea, honey, when it’s so hot. Now, you boys be good, y’hear?”

Luke had been left in charge, and Rob and Dale kept making frequent trips to the fridge to check if the cubes had frozen yet. When Dale had confessed what they were up to Luke had merely remarked “It works better if you drink it through a straw.” The fun and games started when they removed the frozen ice-trays from the ice-box. As they got progressively drunker, crawling around on all fours, Dale started chucking them at Rob.

“See if you can catch one in your mouth.” Rob tilted his head back like a seal. An ice cube lodged in his windpipe, and he found he couldn’t swallow it.

“Spit it out, Rob” shouted Dale, coming towards him. Rob shook his head to signify he couldn’t. He struggled helplessly, his hands at his throat, trying to either force it down or cough it up.

Panicking, Dale yelled at Luke, who was sitting outside against a tree, strumming his uncle’s guitar.

“Luke! Rob’s choking, he can’t breathe-” Luke glanced up, taking in Dale’s wild-eyed expression, and rushed inside, taking the porch stairs two at a time. He tipped Rob over his knee, and administered several blows with the heel of his hand between Rob’s shoulder blades. On the fourth blow the ice cube shot out and went skittering across the floor. Rob was gasping and coughing as Luke sat him up, turning to Dale.

“Thought you had more sense than that. What would you have done if I hadn’t been here, huh? Allowed my brother to choke to death?” Rob was leaning back against Luke’s chest, breathing easier now.

“I’d have used Mom’s hair dryer ….The hot air would have melted it. Or I could have poured hot water down his throat” added the ten-year-old Dale lamely.

“Good thinking, Batman.” Luke’s sarcasm was lost on his cousin. “So you’d have scalded him into the bargain.” Luke got up and advanced towards him, cuffing him around the head. “And as for you” He turned his attention back to his brother. “You’re nothing but trouble, you know that?” Rob gazed back at him, expecting to be cuffed like Dale. Instead Luke just mussed up his hair affectionately.

“However, seeing as your loving cousin didn’t succeed in murderizing you before you reached eighth grade, I guess I’ll just have to put up with you a little while longer.” Luke left them and a moment later they could hear him strumming uncle Jim’s guitar again, resuming where he’d left off.

“How come he never hits you?” enquired Dale, feeling he’d been rather unjustly blamed for what had just occurred. Rob shrugged.

“I don’t know. He just doesn’t.” Later, Rob wandered up to Luke and placed a hand on his arm.

“I guess you’re not the worst big brother anyone could have.”

“I don’t remember that at all” said Connie as Dale related the incident. “How old were you, darling?”

“You were out visiting with neighbours” Dale said. “We never told you about it. I was about ten.”

“What I do recall” said Jim, leaning back in his chair “is that time one of you boys thought up this wacky game where Rob and Dale were fighting each other on horseback with broomsticks.”

“Horseback?” Connie looked puzzled.

“Rob was Lancelot and Dale was Sir Galahad” continued Jim. “You remember that, Luke?”

“I remember it well” replied Luke with sardonic emphasis. “You and I were the horses. They rode us ragged.” Connie smiled, remembering now. Rob had been inspired by an illustrated book he’d received for his birthday about King Arthur and his knights, and had decided to hold a mediaeval jousting tournament. The younger boys had improvised with metal trash can lids for shields and broomsticks for lances. Their uncle had been cajoled into acting as Dale’s mount and Luke resigned himself to being Rob’s charger. At fourteen Luke had been much bigger than the other boys, the broad reach of his shoulders making him a natural candidate for the larger and heavier type of warhorse known as the destrier.

Joe had wisely declined to participate, taking on the spectator role of King Arthur, with Connie as Queen Guinevere watching from the stands. It was a noisy boisterous game, and the two knights had enjoyed themselves immensely, their “horses” to a much lesser degree. At the sound of the bugle (Marta blowing on a whistle) each knight lowered his lance and charged. Following each challenge their steeds were obliged to gallop back up to the end of the yard and wheel around, ready for the next charge. Rob and Dale would have happily played this game for hours, but the novelty had soon worn off for Jim and Luke. It had been a hot and humid June day, and in the sweltering heat an ice-cold drink seemed more enticing than the traditional prize awarded to the champion: a kiss from the Queen. Drumming his heels against Luke’s chest, Rob had urged his horse to go faster.

“Keep that up, Sir Kickalot, and you’ll end up chewing grass in a minute” warned Luke. As Rob continued to spur on his mount with his heels Luke had bucked him off.

“If Luke hadn’t bucked me, I might have won” Rob had said, throwing his brother a reproachful look.

“Well, you know what they say, son” said Jim. “A horse that don’t buck the first time you put a saddle on him ain’t worth a damn.”

“I think the only reason I won that contest was because Rob’s horse got mightily bored” Dale admitted.

“Mightily thirsty too” agreed Luke. They had finished up the games with a water-melon eating contest. Martha had brought out several huge water melons which had been cooling in a bucket of cold water, then quartered them before blowing the starting whistle.

“On your marks, get set, GO!” At which point they had all grabbed a slice of melon and started gorging themselves. After ten minutes, Connie declared she was swelling up like a balloon with all the water, and was going to burst. Rob and Dale followed suit soon after, leaving Luke, Martha, Joe and Jim. Eventually Joe said to Jim “I feel like I’ve swallowed a lake. Go to it, little brother.” Luke disappeared inside momentarily to relieve his bladder which automatically disqualified him, leaving the husband and wife team to slug it out. Eventually, Martha’s bladder proved stronger than Jim’s and she was declared the winner.

“We’ve had some good times” reflected Martha. “Y’all are staying until Wednesday, aren’t you?” Connie nodded.

“Wild horses wouldn’t drag me away any sooner. We just love it here, Martha. I remember when we used to have those snow vigils.” Jim and Martha were the type of people who liked to sit out on their porch in all weathers – even in the middle of winter. When they were a lot younger they had visited just before a heavy snowfall, and their aunt had brought out eiderdowns and quilts so they could watch the drifting snowflakes whilst cocooned from the cold and sipping hot mulled cider.

Nightfall provided the perfect conditions for a snow vigil as they were allowed to stay up well beyond their bedtime, and in Rob’s eyes it always seemed somehow more magical in the dark. The kids changed into their pyjamas, as they did on the occasions when the family went to a drive-in movie, so they could go straight to bed when they got back home. Rob had shared a rocker with his brother and snuggled underneath a blanket on Luke’s lap, gazing at the unpolluted night skies as the snowflakes whirled around them like fluttering white moths. Sitting on the darkened porch in the warm glow of light from the kitchen produced the illusion of being inside a snow globe. Martha had invented the rules for a snow vigil which involved complete silence whilst the snow fell all around them.

Once it had settled on the ground, normal conversation was resumed. The snow was like a thick insulating layer of cotton wool, muffling all sounds except for the murmur of adults conversing in low tones.

“You guys want to climb up to The Alamo tomorrow?” Dale now asked his cousins.

“Sure, why not?” The Alamo was a huge limestone outcrop pitted with caves and narrow fissures, which had made it ideal as a natural fortress and hideout for their childhood games. The side facing down the mountain was sheer, rising to a height of about thirty feet, and its summit could only be approached obliquely through the thick underbrush from further up the mountain.

“I don’t know where it’s going to end” sighed Martha. “All this strip-mining. When they blasted a turnpike through Pine Mountain it near broke my heart. That land should never have been sold off.”

“You know as well as I do most of the folks around here are poor. The country needs coal for electricity and men need employment” said Jim. “Ben sold his land for $40,000 and thought he got a good deal.” Joe snorted derisively.

“That crazy old coot doesn’t know any better. He was robbed blind. The land on those mountains is worth a fortune - and the federal government bastards got it so cheap it’s hardly made any difference to the lives of people living here. The mining companies are making millions.”

“It’s not the mining I object to” said Martha. “The Appalachian coalfields just keep on producing. But they don’t even dig to get to the seams any more: they dynamite and bull-doze the mountainsides. It’s not mining, it’s plundering. I never saw anything like that when I was a girl.”

“But it’s still beautiful around here” Connie attempted to console her. “Wilderness country. You’ve got to be thankful you live in this corner of paradise.” She could remember many moonlit summer nights where they sat out on the porch, sipping Southern Comfort and listening to the evening serenade of Whippoorwills and bullfrogs at the bottom of the creek which encircled their little homestead.

“The Alamo’s still there, Mom” said Dale. “Where we used to play as kids.”

“Yes, I know, sweetie and we’re fortunate to live where we do. But it’s slowly being destroyed, and when your cousins hike up to the ridge by the rock castle tomorrow they’ll be able to see the damage that’s been done. It’s called mountaintop removal but it’s like raping Mother Nature.”

“Mother Nature will be here long after we’re gone” said Connie. “One day the land will renew itself, and the trees will grow back even if we’re not around to see it.” Luke wasn’t so sure.

“It’s much worse in West Virginia where some of the streams are bright orange from the acidic runoff” commented Jim. “No more fishing in those creeks, that’s for damned sure.” He glanced across at his older brother. “We had it good when we were boys, Joe.”

“Sure did” agreed Joe. Martha sighed again and Jim slung an arm around her. “Now don’t fret about what can’t be changed. Not a damn thing you can do about it, girl.” He looked at the others. “She always gets like this in the gloaming when the sun goes down.

After she’s had a couple of shots.”

“I’ve had two teeny weeny whiskeys” retorted Martha. “I just don’t want to see Pine Mountain turned into Barren Mountain. Hear what happened over in Sassafras, Knott county? A bunch of people lay down in the mud and blocked the bulldozers. They managed to shut down strip mines for hours.”

“Yeah, well don’t you get involved in that monkey business - I don’t want my wife flattened into a pancake. You’ve been like this ever since you read that damn book…I preferred it when you used to dance around barefoot.”

“Night Comes to the Cumberlands by Harry Caudill. Everyone around here ought to read it. And if I hear you quoting that doctor from Kansas who said that “when the wife is barefoot and pregnant there are no divorces” you’ll be the one who’s flattened. With a frying pan” she added meaningfully. Jim grinned.

“Whoa. Got me a wildcat here.” Martha slapped him. “Come on, honey, don’t hit me. You know I’m proud of what you do.” Their aunt was a district nurse and her work involved visiting some of the more remote homesteads. She was very much respected in the community and Jim absolutely doted on her.

*****

As they set out on the trek up the mountain the following morning, Rusty led the way in a zigzag pattern, his tail wagging back and forth. He kept doubling back frequently to check on them, seeing it as his job to “herd” them in single file.

“We’re never going to get there at this rate” laughed Luke, attempting to sidestep Rusty, who kept getting underfoot and criss-crossing the path ahead. “If that blasted dog doesn’t get out of my way, I’m going to pick him up and carry him in a minute.”

“Good boy” said Rob, reaching down to pat his head. “Don’t listen to Luke.”

“He doesn’t” smiled Luke. “He just goes his own sweet way, like someone else I know.”

The unmarked trail to the rock castle was arduous, passing through boulder-choked creeks at the bottom, and rising steeply through thickly forested stands of pine, oak and hickory – home to a variety of mountain-dwelling creatures including skunks, possums, squirrels, racoons and the occasional black bear. Luke had a shotgun with him, just in case, but bears were notoriously shy and tended to shun humans unless their cubs were threatened.

Rusty had sniffed out a baby bobcat further back on the trail and immediately given chase, but his quarry had eluded him, disappearing down a hole beneath a tree root.

“I can see it just up ahead” said Dale, as they scrambled up a steep incline, redolent with the aromatic scent of pine sap. Just below the ridge was a huge boulder, really a rocky overhang with a steep drop-off, which had served as their fortress. During their childhood games Luke had been Colonel Jim Bowie commanding the garrison, with Rob as Davy Crockett in his fur coonskin cap. Their mission was to defend the outpost against the overwhelming Mexican forces commanded by General Santa Anna and his Comancheros. Rob would wedge himself into one of the rock crevices which served as lookout posts, his sharpshooter rifle trained on the invisible enemy. Luke issued commands, rallying his men with shouts of “Never surrender. Victory or death!”

They had started off with basic cap guns which were loaded with perforated red roll caps (50 caps per roll) each cap having a little dot of gunpowder which produced the bang accompanied by a realistic puff of smoke; they had then progressed to a replica 6-shooter which used Greenie stick-m-caps, instead of a cap roll: the Greenie caps were peeled off and stuck to the bottom of the shooting shell. On his eighth birthday, Rob got a new cap gun called a .45 Mattel Shootin’ Shell which had the look and feel of a real gun, being made of zinc alloy with no plastic parts. It came with a revolving cylinder, a loading gate, and a bullet ejector. He’d asked for one just like Luke’s, a Stallion 45 which used individual bullets instead of paper cap rolls: the bullets came in two parts, the percussion cap being placed into the 2-piece bullet which snapped together to form a proper projectile before it was loaded, which could be fired when the hammer was cocked and the trigger squeezed.

Around about the time they discovered the Alamo, they had amassed quite a collection, including a snub-nosed .38 pistol and an automatic firing weapon modelled after a real submachine gun: pulling back the slide tensioned a spring and prepared it for firing a series of up to ten caps. Rob preferred his Johnny Eagle Red River rifle, which he fancied most resembled Davy Crockett’s own trusty flintlock. At puberty they had switched to BB guns, which were in effect pellet rifles they could use for target practice. When they tired of re-enacting the siege of Alamo, they reverted to simple cowboy and Indian games, with Dale representing the entire Cherokee nation in his Indian buckskins and feathers, whooping and brandishing his rubber tomahawk.

“The only good Injun is a dead Injun!” Rob would yell, shots ringing out across the mountainside as he and Luke manned their rock fortress, fending off imaginary attacks. Dale would circle around and try to sneak up on them from behind, threatening to scalp the “Palefaces” and roast them over a hot fire. The battle was usually interrupted around midday when they had their picnic lunch on a flat boulder, shirtless beneath a cloudless blue sky as the sun beat down.

The last time Luke had been up this mountain, which was a part of the Appalachians that extended for miles across south-eastern Kentucky along the border with Virginia and into northern Tennessee, he had been a teenager. Over a decade later they all stood on the same flat rock as young men, surveying the same mist-shrouded peaks and transverse ridges - united on a pilgrimage through the past as they revisited their ancient haunts. As vistas of heavily forested ridges and narrow valleys opened out beneath them, interspersed with flashes of silver from the creeks that meandered through the hollows, he felt that nothing much had changed - his time in Vietnam a distant memory.

In the distance they could see Big Black Mountain towering above the other pinnacles at 4,145 feet, but they could also discern the ceaseless activity of giant yellow cranes - like prehistoric monsters scooping out tons of earth and rock into their rapacious maws. The companies involved were using huge drills six feet in diameter which ripped into the earth to get to the coal seams. Many of the headwater streams had been buried beneath all the rubble and blasted dirt deposited by the cranes, as the hollows and creek bottoms were gradually being filled in. The effect, over time, was a levelling of the rugged mountainous terrain. In Spring and Fall the mountains were a riot of colour with flaming red maples, pink and white flowering dogwoods, lavender redbuds, purple sourwoods, orange sugar maples, yellow tulip poplar and golden hickory, creamy big-leafed magnolias, and black oak and beeches in amongst the ubiquitous pines. Thousands of acres of forest had already been destroyed, and Luke suspected his aunt was right. The damage was permanent, and some of the trees would not grow back in soil which had been stripped of its nutrients and organic matter. Stripping the topsoil also left the valleys below vulnerable to mud slides and flooding.

“Lookie yonder” said Dale, pointing to a white-tail which had suddenly emerged from a stand of trees on the far slope. Sensing it was being watched, the buck lifted its head and sniffed the air, then returned to its grazing. Luke and Rob exchanged smiles. As a kid Dale had been half-wild, exploring the mountains by himself and teaching himself Indian lore. He had a nose like a bird-dog and could track animals and humans. He seldom got lost, no matter how far he strayed from home. Whenever the trail forked or branched ambiguously he would mark their route with a split twig or a red crayon on the bark of a tree. He could shimmy up the smooth trunk of a pine tree just like a South Sea islander scales a palm tree for a coconut. As children they’d all done their fair share of tree climbing, but Dale had a special technique: in the absence of any lower limbs or branches for handholds he used his feet and hands to grip the trunk to propel himself upwards in a series of hops like a frog.

“Alright cuz, let’s see you do your thang” said Luke, imitating his cousin’s Southern cornpone twang. He pointed to a tall pine tree.

“I’m not as good as I used to be” admitted Dale, eyeing the flat surface of the trunk. “But here goes.” He made it a good two-thirds of the way up before dropping back down to the earth with a thud.

“I’m impressed” said Luke. “We could have used you in the jungle as a scout. You’re a natural.”

“Mom and Dad are worried I might get sent out there” said Dale to Luke as they began the downward descent.

“If it comes to that, I think you’d be fine” said Luke quietly. “It’s a whole different ballgame for boys from the city. But it’s easier for us - our childhood was like boot camp.” What he meant was that the way they had grown up – roaming the mountains and messing with guns – had been just one long training exercise for warfare.

“Hellfire, we was brought up on blackstrap molasses and cornbread, brother. Ah done hearkened to the Lord and now ah seen the light. And now ah feels it comin’ …it’s a comin’” He clutched Luke’s shoulder. “Hold on, now, brother.” Luke laughed. Not far from where his cousin lived, a group of Holy Rollers would gather in the woods for their secret meetings, writhing on the ground in ecstasy and speaking in tongues as they claimed to be filled with the Holy Spirit.

“I don’t want you going near those folk” Martha had told her son. “The preachers call themselves Charismatics but they’re just plumb crazy. Someone died from snake bite at a tent revival only this past year.”

“Yes, Momma” replied Dale.

“You heard your mother” added Jim sternly. “Never mind what it says in the Gospel. Most of the handlers have missing fingers.” Such meetings had been officially outlawed due to the danger posed by venomous snakes, but they continued to take place unofficially at secret venues as news of Pentecostal Revivalist meetings travelled like wildfire amongst the local communities.

The three boys had snuck out that same evening to spy on the proceedings from a tree-top perch, fascinated by the wild-eyed testifying, the convulsions of the worshippers, and the snake handling. The Minister had quoted from the Gospel of Mark before the rites commenced, intoning in a deep wavering voice:

And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.

“I worry about him, though” Luke glanced at his younger brother, who was out of earshot further down the trail. “I intend to keep Robbie out of that shitstorm.”

“You mean dodging the draft? I heard some guy talking about slipping across the border into Canada.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. The military will hunt you down eventually and you’d end up facing years in jail. Let’s just say my Dad and I are working on it.” His brother was still receiving psychiatric counselling from a German immigrant called Albert Gottschald who had diagnosed him with a number of conditions, one of which was multiple personality disorder. Gottcha maintained Rob had three separate alter egos: Billy the Kid, Jesse James, and a beautiful seductive boy called “Johnny Angel” who flirted with every male who crossed his path. He had probably arrived at this diagnosis after learning of Rob’s obsession with outlaws and the Wild West. Initially Joe had poured scorn on the doctor’s findings, but he nevertheless encouraged Rob to continue with the sessions as he considered the expenditure to be a worthwhile investment. He was calculating that his younger son’s ongoing therapy sessions would keep him out of the war. Rob suspected nothing, and as Dale wasn’t privy to their private family business Luke didn’t care to elaborate.

“Hey, Luke” Rob came running up to them. “The rope swing you made is still there.” They had emerged onto the bank of a fast-flowing creek. Dangling from a branch was a length of knotted rope Luke had attached years ago so they could swing themselves across the water to the far bank. Rob seized hold of it and was about to swing himself across when Luke caught up with him.

“Whoa.” There was a drop of about ten feet to the creek below, strewn with of boulders which could crack your head wide open if you landed on them. Luke pulled on the rope, testing its strength. He’d fashioned the rope swing when he was thirteen, climbing the tree and looping it over a stout branch.

“Seems sound to me” observed Dale.

“I wasn’t thinking about the rope” replied Luke. Branches could become brittle and snap, and they were all a lot bigger than they were eleven years ago. Dale climbed the tree and straddled the branch, bouncing on it.

“It’s good.” Over the next ten minutes they regressed to childhood, launching themselves from the bank to the opposite one and back again, the hollow resounding with Dale’s trumpeting jungle yells, which he’d perfected from listening to the TV series of Tarzan. He laughed at Rob and Luke’s efforts: Luke sounded like a charging bull elephant, and Rob like a hyena. Rusty ran around in circles, barking excitedly. Whatever they were up to, he decided he wanted a piece of the action: he placed his paws on Rob’s waist and looked at him beseechingly. Take me with you. Luke took hold of Rusty’s collar firmly and led him away.

“Sorry, boy. He can’t hold on to the rope and you at the same time.” As Rob dangled above the creek, Rusty shot down the steep bank and started splashing his way across to the other side. Luke was ready to scramble down after him, but he estimated the water wasn’t deep enough or the current strong enough for him to get into any real trouble, and Rusty emerged on the far bank just in time to greet a laughing Rob. He shook himself vigorously, spraying Rob in the process, then turned around to retrace his journey across the creek, paddling furiously in an attempt to keep up with Rob who was swinging back and forth overhead.

“That dog is sure devoted to you” remarked Luke, smiling. “Wherever you go he goes.”

“We got real close when you were away” said Rob. Rusty had been his constant companion during those first few lonely months during Luke’s absence. He had found Rusty’s undemanding presence comforting, the next best thing to being with his brother.

Dale landed on the ground beside them with a soft thud, letting go of the rope. “Oh man, I haven’t had so much fun in years” he said. “I love it when you guys come by.”

*****

“Come again soon. Don’t be strangers now, y’hear?” called Jim and Martha, as they stood outside and waved them off the following morning. On the homeward journey Luke held Rob in his arms in the back of the pick-up, caressing him absently. They never spoke much about the physical intimacy which had grown up between them over the intervening years, but both were very much aware of it. Or at least Rob was. He was never quite sure what Luke was thinking.

“OK, here’s the deal” said Luke. “We need some wheels. You can have a Ford Mustang, a Plymouth Barracuda or Dodge Charger.”

“A Chevy Corvette Stingray” said Rob promptly. “Or a T-Bird Convertible.”

“Hot damn. I knew you were going to say that. If you think I’m paying over $4000 for an auto you can think again, kiddo. How much have you got saved up?”

“Um, about three hundred dollars. Luke, stop…” Luke had started squeezing his ribcage. “I was kidding. You can buy whatever you want, Mister.”

The very next day they drove out to an auto lot just outside Paintsville and came back with a new Chevy Camaro costing just under $3000.

“I thought you boys were looking for a used car, not a brand new one” said Joe, who had pitched in $750 after Connie had pointed out that the tornado which had wrecked their previous car was not their fault: “It was an act of nature, Joe. These things happen.”

“There weren’t any used Camaros with an SS Super Sport engine” replied Rob, glancing at Luke for confirmation, who shrugged, smiling. “We looked everywhere.”

“Those slick sales fellas can talk the hind leg off a donkey” commented Joe. Connie looked at her older son, knowing full well he could have picked up something a lot cheaper if he’d really wanted, like a Road Runner or Ford Mustang. For some reason, he took pleasure in indulging Rob.

“Prices are up from last year’ said Rob, in a futile attempt to convince his parents they had got a good deal. “what with the cost of gasoline and all. The sales guy told us they’ve had to put in all these new safety features, on account of seat belts will soon be manda, mandatable..”

“Mandatory” said his mother. “And a good thing too. I heard on the news there are over 52,000 road fatalities a year.”

“Wow” said Rob. “That’s a thousand a week. But don’t worry, Mom, we’re both good drivers.”

*****

“Hey, did you hear what happened?” Spencer called out to Todd as he arrived at the garage for work. The latter was messing with a lug wrench, tightening some lug nuts on a wheel, and barely looked up. “The Turnbull boys are dead. They got killed by that twister.

Fucking awful, man. I just can’t believe-”

“-WHAT??” Dumbstruck, Todd dropped the wrench. “What did you just say?” The colour had drained from his face.

“They just found the wreck out by 122 East: their Chevy was caved in like a crushed Coke can. No way they could have survived that. They haven’t found the bodies yet” he added. Todd leaned against the wall for support. Robbie Turnbull dead? It couldn’t be happening. “Fuck, I went to school with Luke” went on Spence, gabbling in his agitation. “He was such a great guy. And he only just got back from Vietnam..” Todd rushed out of the garage, nearly knocking him over.

About a quarter of an hour later, Luke drove into the garage in the new Chevy Camaro, and asked Spence how much it would cost to fit some power-assisted front disc-brakes.

“My kid brother likes to drive it like he stole it” said Luke; he had a mental image of Rob balling the jack at 70mph with the radio on full blast. “And I wouldn’t mind keeping him alive for a little while long…what’s the matter? You OK? Look like you’ve seen a ghost, man.” Spence was gaping at him.

“I thought you were dead! Jesus, Luke, I heard you and Rob were picked up by that twister…”

“Yeah, we got sucked up by Satan’s horn and dumped in a Florida swamp. We barely made it out alive” drawled Luke. “Would eighty bucks cover it?” As Spence looked blank, he added “The dealer wanted to charge us a hundred.”

“For you, buddy, I can do it for seventy-five. Don’t tell Todd. How did you and Rob…Hey, Boss” Todd was advancing on Spence with a face like thunder, having just learned from Sheriff Wheeler that Luke’s mangled car had indeed been found on the highway near Spurlock’s Creek, but that both brothers were alive and well. He yanked Spence off the hood of a coral Buick, where he’d been lounging nonchalantly, and punched him in the gut.

“You’re fired. Get out of here, you piece of shit, and don’t come back.” He turned to Luke anxiously. “How’s your little brother? Is Robbie OK?”

“He’s fine. What’s going on here, fellas?” Spence had assumed an expression of wounded dignity.

“Well, how d’you like that? You’re nuts, man. OK, OK I’m going.” He backed out onto the forecourt. “I’ll be back for my wages tomorrow.” Luke looked from one to the other.

“You guys got some private beef going on?”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on” muttered Spence, when he was out of Todd’s hearing. “That big fuckwit’s got a hard-on for your brother. I told him you’d both been killed – least that’s what I heard – and he flipped out. If I were you, I’d keep Rob the hell away from that perv…”

“-Alright, alright” said Luke, who’d heard enough. “You had that coming to you, man. Do you have to believe every goddam rumour you hear?”

“You’re taking his side?” Spence looked at him incredulously. “I thought you were my buddy.” Luke wondered where he’d got that idea from. “Sonofabitch just fired my ass for no reason…” Spence loped off down the road, probably heading straight for the Pool Hall where he could count on a more sympathetic audience.

Luke went back inside to talk to Todd, who’d calmed down enough to apologise. “I was pretty shook up - I just can’t stand hearing about people being killed on the road.” Luke nodded gravely. He was aware of what had happened to Todd’s parents over twenty years ago.

“That’s alright. Maybe you shouldn’t have sacked him in such a hurry, though. You got anyone else to help out here?” Todd shook his head. “You want me to talk to him?”

“I didn’t ought to have hit him like that. I guess you can tell him he can have his job back. If he don’t want it, I can probably take care of things myself here.” He brightened suddenly. “But I’m real glad to hear you and your brother are alright. You got yourself a nice new car there.” Luke explained what he wanted done, and Todd said it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Tell Robbie I said Hi” he called after Luke. “Tell him I…” Luke looked at him quizzically. “Nothin’. Just tell him I said Hi, that’s all.”

Book II

(Present Day - 1967 - 1968)

Chapter Ten – December 1967

“What’s this all about, Robbie?” Rob had just rushed back from town and needed to talk to Luke urgently about a private matter. Luke looked up from what he had been working on in secret – a bigger and sturdier version of the sled he had made for them both when he was twelve. It was meant to be a surprise Christmas present for Rob, so he hastily threw a tarpaulin over his work-in-progress. The latter was so agitated he didn’t even notice.

“I found this stuck to the windscreen.” Rob handed Luke a crumpled envelope. Inside was a short anonymous note:

I know what you been up to you queer. I can make sure the whole town knows too unless you pay up. I want $100. Meet me at the parking lot out back of Krogers tonite 8 sharp. You better show up with the money if you don’t want the sheriff knocking on your door.”

“Just some kid yanking your chain” commented Luke. The latest craze amongst bored pre-teens was go through the phone book and dial numbers at random: I know who you are and I saw what you did last summer. Since most people had secrets and skeletons in the closet, this normally scared the person at the other end of the line witless. Luke lit up a Marlboro.

“You’re not taking this shit seriously, are you? Never give in to a blackmailer: they keep coming back like some nasty boll weevil.”

“Foley wrote it. He came right out and asked me if I was a homo.” Luke looked at him gravely.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he KNOWS. He said I’d been seen with Rick that night going into Lennie’s bar.”

“How does he know that unless he was there himself? There’s a saying in the military that information is only as good as its source.”

“He must have followed us the night I met Rick. and seen us pull up at the barn. He wanted to know what I was doing there, and I told him to mind his own business and smacked him in the jaw.

Then he got mad and said it would be all over town-”

“Slow down. So Foley didn’t actually see anything apart from you entering the bar?”

“Luke, what if he tells the sheriff? Will I go to jail like Anderson?”

“Cool it. You’re not going to jail. You’re twenty-one, not a minor any more. So what if you were seen going into some bar? You’re free to go where you want.”

“But you told me it was illegal, you said…”

“You’re getting confused, little brother. I said incest was illegal. That’s a different ballgame altogether and no-one knows about us. Not that there’s anything to know” he added, alluding to the fact that they had not actually had sexual relations. Luke clearly didn’t count the time he’d dry-humped his kid brother on the log by Clearwater Creek, one of their favourite hang outs since childhood.

“Alright” said Luke. “If I know Foley he won’t turn up alone without backup. I’ll come round for you later and we’ll go settle his hash for him.” Rub breathed a sigh of relief. Throughout most of his life, he’d relied on his big brother to get him out of scrapes. It was not that he was in the least bit scared of Foley, but he wasn’t as smart as Luke, who always knew what to do.

As Luke drew into the car park behind Kroger’s he spotted Foley and two others standing in a shadowy corner. One of them he recognised as the younger of two brothers known as the Ballard Boys. Josh, the oldest, had spent time in Juvenile Detention and Cody looked to be going down the same route. He and Rob got out the car and walked over to them.

“You were supposed to come alone” said Foley to Rob. He licked his lips nervously, glancing at Luke. “Hand over the cash and we’ll be out of here.”

“I can kick your fat carcass across the parking lot” said Luke evenly. “Or I can give you a break. Your call, buddy.”

“I got witnesses. Material witnesses.” He’d probably heard that line from some TV cop show. Luke smiled.

“I can make them immaterial. Beat it.” He gestured toward the two other boys dismissively, who backed off. Foley looked nervous, as though it had suddenly dawned on him he was punching well above his weight.

“I know what I saw” he repeated stubbornly.

“So what exactly did you think you saw? Better start talking. I’m thinking of your welfare here.”

“OK. Your brother was seen going into a barn out on route 43 with another guy.” Luke raised his eyebrows.

“And that’s it?”

“I know what type of guys go there” said Foley defensively.

“You know a lot more than most folk. How’d you get to hear about it?”

“People talk.” Foley became increasingly flustered. “Queers go there.” Luke merely looked at him.

“You know that for a fact, do you?” Foley looked straight at Rob, who so far hadn’t said a thing.

“Alright, how come you were there that night?” Rob gave one of his eloquent shrugs.

“Hey, you know what I’m like, man.” Luke put a hand on his brother’s collar.

“You’re asking why my kid brother does the things he does? He’ll do just about anything. For the sheer hell of it. If some dumb-ass dares him to go into a queer joint, what do you think he’s going to do?” Foley was well aware of Rob’s risk-taking behaviour, having put him up to numerous dares in the past, and was starting to look more unsure of himself.

“He went in there for a dare? Well, why didn’t he just say so?” He was sporting a black eye where Rob had punched him earlier.

“Maybe he just doesn’t like little punks who can’t mind their own goddam business” commented Luke. “Right, Robbie?”

“Right” said Rob, taking his cue from Luke. “I don’t have to explain myself to some Pillsbury Doughboy who dribbles when he eats.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t say Rob was a tutti frutti, I just asked him if he was.”

“As it happens, my brother was there too” added Rob. “He showed up later and hauled me out.” Luke cocked an eyebrow in his direction as if to say Don’t overcomplicate things. Was that piece of information really necessary? He turned back to Foley.

“You know, people might start wondering about you” said Luke thoughtfully. “Sounds to me like you spend a lot of time hanging around these joints.”

“I wasn’t hanging out there, I just happened to be driving by.”

“Just happened to be in the neighbourhood, huh? Come on over here.” Foley backed off.

“Why? Leave me alone. I didn’t do nothing.”

“Caught and fried bigger fish than you” said Luke, smiling.

“You think my brother would fight you?” said Rob. “You wouldn’t stand a snowflake’s chance in hell.” In a pie-eating contest, he’d stand a reasonable chance. But if you couldn’t fight you should at least be able to run, and Foley could do neither. He looked over his shoulder uneasily.

“My brothers are just down the road a little ways. If they hear me holler they’ll come running.” Fat chance, thought Rob. Foley’s two older brothers Vance and Travis rarely gave him the time of day.

“Take ‘em off ” said Luke suddenly.

“Huh?” As Foley’s eyes bugged in horror, Rob bit hard down on his lower lip to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“You heard me. Now you put the idea into my head I’m getting hard.” Luke gave him a good-natured smile. “Supposing I got the urge and just couldn’t help myself – you gonna run round town telling people I’m some kind of fag?” Foley swallowed. He’d backed himself into a corner. Any attempt to spread rumours that Luke was homosexual would get him laughed out of town. Nobody would ever take him seriously again.

“I ain’t saying nothin’” said Foley sullenly.

“That’s probably wise” remarked Luke. “Hey, relax. Nobody wants to get into your pants. Blackmail? That’s a loser’s game. Let’s shake on it and we’ll say no more about it.” Luke extended his hand. As Foley unthinkingly grasped it, Luke tightened his grip sufficiently to crush the bones in his hand. “We should do this again some time. It’s been a real blast.” As Foley fled the scene, nursing his crushed fingers, Rob laughed helplessly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other two emerge from behind some dumpsters, where they’d overheard the whole thing. Luke had permitted them to remain in the vicinity because he knew he could count on them to broadcast Foley’s humiliation and put the record straight.

*****

Albert’s phone buzzed. “I’ve got a Mr. Luke Turnbull, sir.” said the receptionist. “He doesn’t have an appointment…” He never does, Albert muttered to himself. He sighed.

“Alright. I can spare him ten minutes or so.” As soon as Rob’s brother walked into the room, he cut straight to the chase.

“You ever heard of the sodomy statutes?”

“Uh, what’s this concerning? My time is money, young man. I’ll let it go this time, but normally I charge for a consultation. And legal matters are beyond my remit. I could refer you to Darlington. He’s an attorney with an office on Main Street.”

“-I know who the little shit is. And I won’t be taking this to him for obvious reasons. This is a strictly confidential matter, and it concerns my brother whom you’re treating.” Albert’s ears pricked up. Had something happened he ought to know about? Had the brothers been discovered in an incestuous relationship, and been threatened with legal consequences? “It’s purely hypothetical” continued Luke. “I can’t get the information from a lawyer or the police without stirring up a hornet’s nest, and I don’t know any professional people in this town I can ask for impartial advice.”

“I’m flattered, but I need to know the circumstances. Are you and your brother contemplating a physical relat-”

“-No, we are not! I’ve never fucked another male in my life and am not about to start in on my kid brother. But people talk, and if things got out – things about my brother - then I need to know what we could be facing. I need to know how to protect him.”

“May I ask what brought this on?” Luke explained briefly about Foley’s failed blackmail attempt.

“The thing about Robbie is that he’s thirteen going on twenty-one. I mean, he’s naïve about a lot of things. Like being seen going into bars that have a certain reputation.”

“If you and your brother are not actually engaging in, er, acts of anal penetration or fellatio then you’re not committing a crime, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s not how it works in the army. All it takes is a rumour and the guy’s career is over. Two soldiers caught with their tongues down each other’s throats is enough to get them kicked out under a Section 8. Used to be a blue ticket, and they faced court martial. I know that much. But what I need to know is what constitutes an illegal act between two men in civilian life. In the eyes of the law, I mean.”

“It’s not something I’m well-versed in. I’m not sure that I can advise you…have you tried the public library?” Luke looked at him as if he were crazy, and Albert realised his mistake. Military men like Luke were not in the habit of frequenting libraries, and moreover the specialist information he sought would probably not be accessible to the general public or the casual researcher.

“This is a mistake” muttered Luke. “I can see I’m wasting my time here..” He turned to go.

“Luke…may I call you Luke?” Luke shrugged as if it made no odds to him. “I hope we can dispense with the formalities. I cannot advise you on the specific legal ramifications but I’ll make some enquiries and let you know what I come up with.”

“Thanks, doc. Appreciate it.” After Rob’s brother had left the room Albert reflected that he had not handled the interview very well. He should have known that Luke would not have asked to see him except as a last resort. He could hardly walk up to Sheriff Wheeler and demand to know where the law stood with respect to homosexual acts without involving Rob. Despite therapist-patient confidentiality the Sheriff was well aware who most of Albert’s clients were, just as he was aware of most things that went on this town. It was like living in a goldfish bowl. And Luke had a valid point: if people were kept in ignorance of the law how could they be expected to know whether they were committing a criminal offence or not? Pleading ignorance of the letter of the law had never saved anyone from a custodial sentence.

The police had recently raided an illicit bar on the outskirts of town and shut it down. The official explanation had been that alcohol was being served on the premises and it was operating without a licence, though most people knew that it was where men of a certain persuasion congregated. Albert had no doubt that another bar would soon pop up elsewhere –possibly in someone’s private basement – until the sheriff got wind of it and closed it down. After things had quietened down another venue would spring up in its stead and the whole cycle would repeat itself. If there was one thing he had learned during the course of his psychiatric career it was that you cannot stamp out human impulses: whether such impulses were viewed as natural or “unnatural” by the rest of society was beside the point. They existed. You can drive them underground but you cannot eradicate them. The sex drive was a defining element of Freudian psychoanalysis and central to most motivational behaviour.

Repression and denial led to the formation of neuroses and all kinds of psychological complications.

Luke had let slip an interesting piece of information, implying that Rob had visited a gay bar of his own volition on at least one occasion. This suggested to Albert that Rob’s insistence that he was not attracted to other males – his brother being the sole exception - was based on a denial of his sexual orientation. This was an issue they could perhaps explore more fully in their next session which was (Albert flicked through his appointments book) next Wednesday. Was Rob experimenting behind his older brother’s back, and had Luke found out? This could have led to some kind of confrontation between the brothers, in which case he could expect Rob to be in an agitated state the next time they met.

Chapter Eleven – January 1968

Rob stood with his father, listening half-heartedly as old Nathan, now retired, patiently explained that once a tree has been felled the limbs were removed: “Once they get to the mill the logs are debarked and bucked…”

“Cut to the required length…” supplied his father, who had sprung a surprise on him that morning. Joe had recently taken the decision to bring his younger son into the family business, acting on Luke’s suggestion, but wanted Rob to become familiar with the milling trade before he started work at the Miller’s Branch. At breakfast, he had railroaded Rob into accompanying him on an educational visit to an historical sawmill at Big Lick Fork. The old sawmill was a museum on certain days - like today - but still fully operational.

“The Becket - that’s what this big hook is called - is attached to a heavy chain and cable to grab the logs on the landing stage. Then the logs were hauled off the truck with the bull-wheel to the head rig for milling. That’s the bull-wheel over there.” Nathan pointed to giant water-wheel which was used to supply the power to haul logs into the mill.

“How long do I have to stay here, Dad?” interrupted Rob, when Nathan had paused for a short coffee break. “I think I’d be better off working alongside Luke. He knows the business inside out and could show me the ropes.”

“You’re not strong enough to do the kind of physical work Luke does” cut in his father, with an exasperated sigh. Logging was heavy, dangerous work, and not really suited to someone like Rob, whose concentration was erratic: he had a low threshold of boredom and Joe still didn’t quite trust him with a chainsaw. Rob had also proved to be a distraction for the other men, always larking about and generally getting in the way. He still didn’t like the idea of his two sons spending too much time in each other’s company where he couldn’t keep an eye on them. Not that they could get up to much at the logging site, where he employed a crew of five men. He increasingly left Luke in charge there whilst he supervised activities at the mill. He considered that Luke’s prodigious physical strength was best put to use felling trees and hauling the lumber to the logging terminus where it was loaded onto trucks.

“Could you try and concentrate for one second on what I’m trying to tell you…” Rob’s eyes were roaming around the lumber yard, sizing up the other three employees, all of whom were probably in their 40s and 50s. None of them were especially handsome and none of them seemed that enamoured with their jobs. Joe pointed to a huge piece of complicated-looking machinery. “You want to come over here and look at this?” Rob wandered over to the big Head-rig which contained the main saws. “Nathan here will tell you a little a bit about the business, and how things used to be done.” Can’t wait, thought Rob, switching his attention back to the old-timer.

“The head saw is used to break the logs into cants – that’s unfinished logs - and flitches – that’s unfinished planks.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Cants and snitches” muttered Rob, sounding like a recalcitrant youngster being told to do his homework before he could watch TV. Nathan had picked up a pike pole with a wooden lever handle and a moveable metal hook at one end for grabbing and turning the logs, which he handed to Rob.

“Flitches” corrected Nathan. “Now this here is called a cant dog because that hook at the end is called a dog.” Rob sighed. This was just like being back at school. It was going to be a long day.

“If you were built like my brother Luke, you could lift and turn them manually. He’s really strong.”

“Those guys were pretty strong too, and so was yours truly back in the day. In the olden days you’d have two men with a whipsaw, one of them down in a sawpit. They used an axe and cross-cut saw….” Rob envisioned two sweaty men either side of a whipsaw, maybe looking like Clint Eastwood in Rawhide. His attention was briefly caught by a man in his late 30s who was stacking lumber with a forklift. He wasn’t bad-looking, but he probably had a wife waiting for him at home.

“Rob, are you paying attention?” Joe’s voice broke into his thoughts, which kept skittering off to his brother. Earlier that morning, Luke had paused by the back door on his way out, eyeing Rob.

“Would you like to come out with me for a drink later?” Rob flushed with pleasure.

“With you? I’d love to.” Luke didn’t finish work until about 6pm and they had arranged to meet at Steve’s Roadhouse at 6:30, conveniently situated a couple of miles from the turnoff to the logging terminus. The clientele was almost exclusively male - consisting of loggers, truckers, and the occasional fire crew who were responsible for clearing swathes of pine forest to make fire breaks - which was the reason Rob favoured it as a meeting place.

“Sure, Pops. But I don’t see why I need to know all this stuff. Working with all this machinery is like being inside a factory. You know I like being outdoors. Can’t I just work with Luke? He can show me what I need to know.”

“We are outdoors” pointed out Joe patiently (they were standing outside in a big lumber yard) “but most of the important work takes place here at the mill. When you mill lumber, you’re cutting out defects and imperfections like knots, cracks, rotten wood. Milling wood makes it flat and square for furniture. We use softwood like spruce, pine and fir to make two by fours, and we use machine-planed hardwood like birch, maple and oak for cabinets.”

“Now, you’re probably wondering what powered these big old saws” said Nathan. Rob wasn’t, but he listened politely. “’Course there was no electricity out at the site then….”

“Steam?” Rob hazarded a guess. “Coal?”

“You’re right, boy. But modern boilers are no longer powered by steam but are fired by diesel. We use good old 2-stroke Jimmy Diesel, yessir. And that don’t come cheap. A lot of it was done manually when I worked the mills here. And modern planers surface all four sides of the lumber at once whereas the older model of planer only surfaced one side at a time. So of course it took a lot longer, but folks weren’t so fussy about smooth finishes in their homes. When wood is cut with a circular saw it is rough sawn which is cheaper than planed wood. Rough sawn cedar is used for roof shingles. Most folk around here got cedar roof shingles.” Rob nodded again.

“Now on the head rig you got a 60 inch bottom saw and a 44 inch top saw.” Rob listened as Nathan demonstrated how the giant overlapping sawblades were capable of milling lumber 54 inches wide. “So you got Tom Sawyer over here…”

“Or Huckleberry Finn” interpolated Rob with a grin.

“…standing behind the logs and controlling the levers that move the log carriage back and forth, and the big bull-wheel I told you about which pulls logs into the mill and turns them onto the log-carriage. The block setter rides on the log carriage…that’s quite a tricky job. He squares up the first two edges of the log and decides where the milling cuts go: different cuts needed for different thicknesses of lumber; this guy’s gotta think ahead so that the cracks in the logs are aligned in the best vertical position for the final cut to avoid wastage…”

“It sounds like pretty skilled work, and dangerous too” Rob commented as a concession to his father, who was clearly taking great pains to educate him in the historical operation of sawmills. “Did any of those guys get caught up in the machinery?”

“Sure. I could tell you some tales that would make your hair stand on end” began Nathan. “One guy fell onto one of the main feed rollers and…” Joe gave him a look. “But that was years ago before the bosses took safety seriously.”

“The slabs of wood that are cut away by the sawblades are handled by the off-bearer” continued his father, taking over from Nathan “who decides whether the resulting slab is a finished piece of lumber or whether it needs to be passed to the edger. The edger man decides what widths he wants and sets the distance between the 4 sawblades accordingly: the blades can slide crosswise on the edger’s main shaft and are moved by mechanical control arms.” Seeing his son’s confusion, he patted him on the shoulder. “Watch how it’s done on the film. It’s a lot easier to demonstrate something than try to explain it.” In a few moments, he promised, they would be shown an old black and white film of the mill in operation back in the 40s.

In the office Nathan got out a dusty old movie projector and set it up. As he started up the projector they all gazed at the grainy picture, which was accompanied by loud crackling noises as a number of men moved purposefully about in the background, going about their various tasks. “Sorry about the static. This film’s pretty ancient. Where’d we get to? The off-bearer grabs the multiple widths of lumber as it exits the edger and transfers them back to the main mill rolls to be trimmed to length.” Rob’s head was starting to spin by the time they’d got to the “trim-saw man’s” job, but at least they weren’t going to test him on this stuff, he consoled himself, glancing at the clock. Another fifteen minutes or so and the lesson would be over, and they could go home.

“The trim-saw man and his assistants throw scrap wood into the conveyor, and push the trimmed lumber out the end of the mill. They look at the freshly sawn lumber on the mill’s main feed rollers and decide what length to cut it for the final up-grading process: a 16 foot piece of lumber can remain at full length if it has no defects, or it can be trimmed to 14, 12, 10, 8 foot depending on where the flaws are. The finished rough-sawn lumber goes out the mill to the yard crew for sorting, stacking, and selling to farmers, ranchers and construction industry.” The film projector finished rolling and both men looked at him expectantly.

“Pretty neat” commented Rob, resolving to have nothing to do with his father’s sawmill at Miller’s Branch. What previous generations of men had achieved was pretty impressive, but he wanted to be out in the open, working alongside his brother in the forest clearings where he could smell the fresh pine sap. And if his father didn’t think he was made of the right stuff to be a lumberjack, then he would stick to casual labour and odd jobs: mowing lawns and raking leaves, pool cleaning services, whatever – the kind of paid chores he’d done during summer vacs throughout his teens. The idea of being trapped in some lumber yard breathing in sawdust doing the same old stuff year in year out filled him with horror.

After they left the old historical sawmill Rob thought they were headed for home, but Joe had other plans.

“I thought we’d spend the rest of the afternoon at Miller’s Branch, and I’ll introduce you to Ben and Avery. Maybe even get you started on a couple of jobs to break you in.” Rob figured he’d have just enough time to get home and get showered and changed before heading off for his date with Luke.

An hour later they were standing inside the stuffy little office. Joe didn’t allow any alcohol to be consumed on the job, so the cooler was packed with soft drinks – Seven-ups, Fanta, Sprite, and cold water. Pinned to the wall were framed relics of the sawmill’s past (not unlike the one they had just visited) alongside peeling advertisements for Pepto-Bismol and Vitalis hair tonic left by travelling salesmen who thought their products might be of interest to the male workforce. The hair tonic he could understand (the older men still slicked their hair back with Vitalis) but the pink bottles of Pepto-Bismo had been a harder sell. Rob had actually been there when the salesman had got out of his Lincoln Continental carrying his bag of free samples. His father had brushed him aside impatiently.

“If not for you, sir, think of the little lady at home. Women like to take good care of their families and Pepto-Bismol is every housewife’s dream.” Even Joe had been amused by his sales pitch.

“I think you underestimate my wife. She’s no dreamer, but if she was I think she’d be dreaming of bigger and better things than this pink stuff.” Eventually Joe was persuaded to accept a “FREE NO STRINGS ATTACHED” sample if he agreed to tack up a poster on his office wall.

“I’ve just offered you the bargain of a century as I’m sure you’ll agree, sir.”

“If I disagree, I’m sure you’ll still be standing here chewing my ear off for the next hour or so” Joe conceded wearily. “Tack it up there by the window, and I promise to look at it at least once a day.”

His first day on the job was not a total success, with Rob yawning ostentatiously as Joe took him through the lumberyard, pointing out the equipment and machinery. Once logs had been unloaded at the mill, they were washed down with a high-pressure fire hose to remove mud and debris, and his father had allowed him to take over this relatively easy task. When Joe came over to check on him Rob hung up the hose.

“Anyhow, Dad, thanks for showing me around. It was really cool. But I guess I’d better go now because I promised Mom I’d clean the upstairs windows. You know she doesn’t like being up a ladder.” Joe glanced at his watch. It was barely four thirty.

“And that’s going to take all afternoon, is it?” he enquired sceptically.

“I’ve got other stuff to do. And besides, I’m meeting Luke when he finishes work. You took the pick-up, so he has to get home somehow.” Actually Luke had said he’d catch a ride with some of the other crew, who always stopped by the roadhouse. “See you later.” Joe sighed as his wayward younger son popped the top on the convertible and roared off down the road with the radio blaring You Really Got A Hold on Me. Listening to John Lennon on the lead vocal, Rob thought the Beatles’ cover version was even better than the original by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles.

*****

Luke looked up, his eyes widening, as Rob slipped into the bar, sporting an old-fashioned double-breasted waistcoat, which appeared to be made of some rich brocaded fabric shot through with gold and cream.

“Is this the latest thing in strait-jackets?” he enquired teasingly. “Haven’t you seen the new Rolling Stones album Beggars

Banquet?” returned Rob. “They’re all wearing stuff like this. It’s the fashion.”

“If you say so, little brother” replied Luke, smiling. He felt the fabric between his thumb and forefinger as his younger brother came up close to him. No-one knew about their relationship apart from two people: Loubelle, who owned the bakery-cum-coffee shop and their father Joe, who had discovered them making out the night of Rob’s twenty-first birthday party.

“Just so long as you don’t start pointing your toes like a ballerina, and wearing ribbons in your hair.” Rob threw him a reproachful look.

“Guys who used to dress like this in olden times weren’t Nancy-boys” Rob informed him gravely. “They fought duels to the death, and went into battle.”

“Must have been quite a sight for the enemy” observed Luke.

“Of course they didn’t wear their fancy clothes on the battlefield!” began Rob, until he saw his brother’s smiling eyes.

“Hey, you got any more of them tasty little crackers I can put in my chili?” a man asked Rhoda. “The little round button ones. I just love ‘em.”

“Why sure, hon. Compliments of the house.” Rhoda sprinkled some biscuits which she bought in bulk from the dog food aisle of A&P into his bowl. Steve had feigned horror when he discovered his wife was actually feeding the men dog biscuits, but she had assured him they were fortified with all kinds of vitamins and that the hungry men who wolfed down the spicy chili wouldn’t be any the wiser. “What folks don’t know won’t harm them” Rhoda had told him, and Steve didn’t argue. He was happy to let his wife look after the profits, whilst he served up drinks and jawed with the patrons.

“Where’d you get that fancy vest from?” snorted Duane, referring to Rob’s outlandish garb.

“Wanda’s Boutique” replied Rob coolly. A woman called Wanda had recently opened a clothing store boasting all the latest fashions and trends. She had purchased some stock in Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco, but the bulk of her stock comprised used items sourced from musty attics - some of them dating from the previous century – and discarded theatrical props from the local theatre and community college. These were advertised in the window as ‘Vintage garments. As worn by the Beautiful People in Carnaby Street, London.’ Why she thought she could sell these clothes to the conservative residents of Harperville, Kentucky was anybody’s guess, but much to everyone’s surprise the younger generation was flocking to her store, and teenage girls were seen floating around town dressed in satin and silk, floppy hats, and fur coats. So far, none of the masculine population had succumbed.

The only reason Rob had poked his nose into Wanda’s new boutique was because he was studiously avoiding the Levi store where Rick worked. Loubelle had initially introduced Rob to Rick, the only gay man in town he knew, with the object of arousing Luke’s jealousy. She had set up a date at some illicit meeting place in a barn set back from the roadside away from the prying eyes of Sheriff Wheeler, which had ended in disaster when Luke had showed up and knocked him to the ground.

“Really nice guy, your big brother” Rick had observed to Rob the other week, with a touch of sarcasm. “He never flattens anyone without first giving them a choice. You can do what he tells you, or you can get hammered into the ground. He always gives them a choice. Heck of a nice guy, your brother.” This remark had annoyed Rob. Anyone who showed any disrespect for his brother was dropped like a hot stone, and Rick was no exception.

“Must have set you back a few dollars” Luke now commented.

“She let me have the jeans for free” said Rob offhandedly. “She thinks if I wear them around town it will bring in custom.” Luke thought she could be right. His brother was one good-looking kid. Compared with the other men drinking at the bar in their jeans and plaid flannel shirts Rob stood out like rare orchid in a field of turnips. Luke couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“You think any of the guys around here are gonna wear that psychedelic stuff?” said Duane, who was helping himself to some Pretzel loops at the bar. “Makes you look like a goddam pansy.”

“How would you know what a pansy wears?” retorted Rob. “Anyhow, it’s not psychedelic. Wanda said it was Regency. You wanna feel it?” He flashed his blue eyes at Duane, who looked momentarily disconcerted. Uh oh, thought Luke. Johnny Angel’s back with a vengeance. Nothing Rob did surprised him any more, but he couldn’t help being intrigued by his brother’s multifaceted character.

“Yeah? What would she know?” muttered Duane, ignoring Rob’s invitation to feel what he was wearing. “That hippie chick’s a pothead. Smokes weed all day long.”

“So, how did things go with Dad today?” Luke addressed his brother, changing the subject.

“It was OK I guess. Dad took me out to the old sawmill at Big Lick Fork to show me how the old-timers worked the mill.” Rob rolled his eyes. “Like it was some big treat. Give the kid a lollipop and drag him round some dusty old museum.” They moved down to the far corner of the bar, next to the jukebox, where they could converse without being overheard.

“Do these jeans look OK on me?” Rob had complemented the waistcoat with a tight-fitting pair of green velvet jeans which had once been worn by Mick Jagger, Wanda had informed him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Quite how she had managed to obtain a pair of the rock star’s cast-offs was a mystery known only to herself. Luke’s eyes travelled over him.

“They look fine, if you’re fishing. Not for me, though.”

“No” agreed Rob, with a disarming smile. “You’re a regular guy. But I’m different.” You can say that again, thought Luke. Damned if they didn’t suit him, though. That Wanda was one smart cookie, and evidently had a good business head on her shoulders.

“If you start going into town dressed like that I might have to come along too, to defend your honour.”

“But Luke, there’s only one flaw in that argument.” Luke looked at him questioningly. “Who’s going to defend my honour against YOU?”

“Not you, that’s for sure” grinned Luke. Rob have him a playful shove.

“You think I’m easy, don’t you?” Luke shrugged and smiled. “For your information, I’m not. Others have tried, but you’re the only man I’ve ever allowed to touch me.”

“Oh? What about Todd?”

“He doesn’t count.”

“I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that. Tell me about Todd” said Luke, narrowing his eyes through a haze of cigarette smoke. “Why’d you let him horn in on you?” Rob blushed under his brother’s frank gaze.

“I don’t know. It was when you were in Vietnam. Some of the guys at school had been joking about him – that he gives free hand jobs - and I just wanted to know what it felt like. To be touched by a man.”

“Todd’s a big guy, you know” continued Luke thoughtfully. “I mean, if he got you out alone in his trailer, he could have done anything he wanted.” Todd was mild-mannered and harmless most of the time, but could occasionally be unpredictable, subject to spells of brooding and simmering rage. Rob was aware that Todd could have over-powered him at any point, if he’d been that way inclined: in fact it was his height and shoulder breadth that had initially drawn Rob to him. Glimpsed from the rear, Rob was reminded of his brother, who was pushing 6 foot five. Sometimes, when Todd had been fondling him he had fantasised that it was Luke doing those things to him though in reality he looked nothing like Luke.

“I haven’t been anywhere near him since then” said Rob defensively. “And I only went to the garage twice.” Rob was not being strictly truthful when he told his brother he had only shown up twice. The third time he was not looking for a hillbilly handshake but a different kind of comfort, as Todd held him against his shoulder. A classmate had been pulled out of school when his brother had been shipped home from Vietnam in a body bag, and Rob had panicked. Suddenly Luke hadn’t seem so invulnerable and invincible. How could flesh and blood withstand bullets, bombs and mines? Literally anything could happen out there and it had dawned on him there was a very real possibility he might never see his brother alive again.

“Twice? You obviously liked it then if you went back for more.”

“It was just sex” muttered Rob, looking away. He was still embarrassed by his little sessions in the back office with Todd, and wished Luke had never found out about it. But you couldn’t keep anything secret in this jerkwater town.

“Anyway, you can’t talk. The way you act.”

“How do I act?” Rob thought for a moment then looked his brother in the eye.

“Like a fornicator.” Luke laughed, then leaned over him. “Now what makes you say that?”

“Because I know what you are” replied Rob, refusing to be drawn any further.

“You flatter me. Whatever you imagine I get up to, it’s not nearly as often as I’d like. Women aren’t that easy.” Rob couldn’t imagine any woman turning Luke down.

“I know you go and see Barb in her trailer” retorted Rob, accusingly. Luke looked amused.

“And that bothers you, does it?” Rob looked mutinous.

“I don’t see why you have to.” Luke looked at him. His younger brother was so sensitive about stuff he himself never thought twice about. “Hell, Robbie. Barb and I’ve had this little arrangement since I was, I don’t know, sixteen or so. We used to play around in the woods. Just a bit of fun.”

“Yeah, I guess” murmured Rob, looking away. He wished he’d never brought up the subject. “We just have different ideas of fun, that’s all.” Luke ruffled his hair.

“We can’t keep playing at cowboys and Indians forever. I’m not a kid any more, and neither are you.” He paused. “Sometimes you make me feel like a…” Luke didn’t finish the sentence.

“What?” prompted Rob, wanting to know what he really thought.

“Like a husband who’s cheating on his wife” said Luke. There, he’d said it. Rob stared at him, and coloured deeply. Luke had hit the nail on the head. To cover his emotions, he suddenly leapt on top of Luke and started pounding him.

“A WIFE? You big-headed bastard. I don’t give a damn about you.” Luke held him off, laughing. He picked up a Pretzel loop from a bowl of snacks on the bar counter and slipped it onto Rob’s finger, jokingly. “With this Pretzel I thee wed.”

There was a collective whoop from the bar, followed by a volley of catcalls. Steve had installed a wall-mounted TV last winter, and the men’s attention had been caught by a news clip of a rock concert. The camera had zoomed in a bare-breasted female with flowers threaded through her long hair, riding the shoulders of her equally long-haired boyfriend. They both looked stoned.

“Hey, would you look at that?” chortled Duane. “Swing those titties.” An older man in his 50s looked on disapprovingly.

“One of them bra-burning women’s libbers. All these females and coloureds raising Cain and hollerin’ about their rights. Ain’t seen nothin’ like it in all my born days.”

“I don’t know what they’s all protesting about” said Duane. “I ain’t never raised a hand to a woman yet. But I can always raise a flagpole.” He grabbed his crotch suggestively, which produced fewer guffaws than he expected since most of them had heard this one before. The camera panned to a stage where a crowd of young girls aged about thirteen started to scream when a band called Herman’s Hermits showed up. The news commentator was discussing “the British Pop Invasion.”

“Is that a girl or a boy?” asked Duane in disbelief, as the leader of the group – a slightly-built young man with longish hair – stepped up to the mike and began to sing in a soft, wavery whisper:

Woke up this mornin' feelin' fine

There's somethin' special on my mind

Last night I met a new girl in the neighbourhood whoa yeah

Somethin' tells me I'm into something good….

This was too much for the male regulars of Steve’s Roadhouse, who fell about laughing. Luke left Rob’s side momentarily to get some more beers, and Duane leaned towards Rob with a leer. “Know something? If I had a kid brother as pretty as you I might keep you on a tight leash too.” He raised his bottle in the air in some kind of mock salute. “BOHICA, baby.”

“Hey, Robbie” said someone in passing. “Where’ve you been? My little sister is pining for your body. Sandy tells me you managed to stay on that bull for longer than Harlan, who ended up with a busted tailbone. Poor bastard can’t even ball chicks until it heals up. Well, I guess he could but it probably hurts like hell.” Rob’s 21st birthday party had been held in the bowling alley, where the owner had installed a mechanical bull for the patrons. Rob had beat the record and been crowned rodeo champion of the evening. “How’d you stay on that damn thing for so long?”

“He got in plenty of practice when he was a little kid” said Luke. “We couldn’t prise him off that rocking horse outside the A&P.” Whilst their mother shopped for groceries, Rob would rush to the coin-operated Kiddie Rides, clambering onto the saddle of his favourite horse. There was also a mechanical rocket ship called Star Blaster but Rob preferred Trigger. When the ride came to an end Rob would refuse to get off, pressing his sneakers further down into the leather stirrups stubbornly. When Luke eventually managed to prise him off Rob would be kicking in furious protest, like those cartoon character who step off a precipice and frantically pedal mid-air before they suddenly realise they’re dangling over an abyss and plummet to the ground.

“My brother’s just jealous” said Rob, moving closer and brushing up against Luke’s sleeve. “Only thing that big klutz can ride is a stationary log. He does that well.” Luke smiled and chucked him under the chin, Touché, little brother. Rob had a sudden image of Luke straddling him on a fallen log by the swimming hole at Clearwater Creek.

“What’s BOHICA mean?” Rob asked him.

“Bend Over Here It Comes Again. Locker room stuff. Why?”

“No reason.” At that point Duane’s wife Tammi Lynn burst through the door, and stood there on the threshold unsteadily until she spied her husband at the bar.

“Hey, baby doll, what are you doin’ here?” Duane looked up just in time to catch a right hook on his jaw.

“What am I doing here? If you weren’t so everlastin’ doggone mean you wouldn’t have to ask. What kind of husband leaves his wife at home night after night whilst he drinks away every cent he earns…”

“Yeah, that’s right, I earned that paycheck! So I guess I can spend it how I like.” Duane had recovered his composure and risen from his seat. “Looks like you been doing some drinking yourself, sugar. I don’t want no wife of mine making a spectacle of herself so you just git on home – how’d you git here anyway?” Tammi had draped an arm around the neck of a trucker, who had followed her in and now stood by the door looking sheepish. He looked at Duane.

“I picked her up by the gas station on 23. Said she had an emergency and had to get somewhere in a hurry..”

“I’m going home with this guy” announced Tammi to the room at large. “He’s real nice.” The trucker looked dumbfounded at this news, and subtly tried to disentangle himself from her drunken embrace. She glared at Duane defiantly. “Just how does that grab you, Lover?” Duane advanced on his wife and picked her up by the heels, tipping her upside down and walking her across the floor like a wheelbarrow. Some of the men laughed into their beers.

“You ain’t goin’ home with nobody, bitch…” began Duane before Luke and another man stepped in.

“Hey, take it easy. That’s no way to treat a woman.” Duane released his wife, realising he’d overstepped the mark. He didn’t relish the prospect of Luke taking him outside to see how high he could bounce.

“I guess you’d better take her home” mumbled the trucker to Duane.

“Least I had the sense to be wearing jeans” said Tammi, patting herself down. Her jeans were so tight it looked as though she’d sewn herself into them. “Did y’all enjoy the show?” Rob had the impression she was revelling in all the male attention. Tammi suddenly wound her arms around Luke’s neck imploringly.

“I’m not going anywhere with that no account stump jumper. I hate him. I hate everything about him. I hope he gits run over by a truck or eaten alive by a hog.” Duane pulled her off Luke and dragged her into a corner, where they began to argue in low furious tones.

“You’re trying to make a fool out of me in front of my drinking buddies..”

“You’ve done made a fool out of me plenty of times! Carrying on with that two-bit whore Candace Sloane. You could catch something nasty and we’ve got two little innocent babies at home..”

“Yeah, and who’s minding them babies I’d like to know?” cut in Duane.

“-My Momma is. Don’t try and make out you’re the caring Daddy in front of these folks when I bet you don’t even remember their names! I’m the one who washes ‘em, feeds ‘em…” Rhoda had emerged from the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about and nudged her husband, who’d been watching open-mouthed.

“Steve!” Prompted by his wife’s elbow in his ribs, Steve made his way over to Duane and Sherry reluctantly.

“Alright, now everybody just calm down.” He looked at Duane. “Time to skedaddle, folks. You’re creating a public disturbance, and I just can’t afford to lose my licence.” In fact there was nothing Steve liked better than public disturbances. Brawls between the men and loud marital disputes like this one drew in the crowds, and was one of the reasons the Roadhouse was so popular.

“Come on, baby, we’re leaving.” Duane grabbed hold of his wife. As the couple exited - Tammi with a triumphant smile on her face – Duane turned back to them when she was out of earshot. “Ain’t she somethin’? She’s a reg’lar firecracker.” He was grinning from ear to ear, as if this somehow redounded to his credit.

Once the ruckus had died down, Luke said “Well, I guess this beats the Drive-in for entertainment value. What’s a stump jumper for crying out loud?” The older man at the bar smiled wryly.

“Duane’s pa was the first generation in his family to come down off the mountain. They got a short family tree on account of the inbreeding” he added. “Did you never hear tell about the time the Guthridge boy was caught in the barn with his baby sister?” The Guthridge family lived in a remote homestead halfway up the mountain. According to the local legend, the boy’s father Gabe had bent him over a barrel and whaled the hide off him with his leather belt: ‘That’ll learn you.’ He hooted with laughter. “I heard Gabe was caught with his pants down tryin’ to do the same damn thing with the older girl about a month later, and Ma Guthridge had to hold him off with a pitchfork.” Shortly after this Gabe had vanished, and it had been rumoured that Ma Guthridge had shot her husband with a 12-gauge and disposed of the body down an abandoned strip mine.

“Yeah, I heard about it” replied Luke. The whole town had heard this tale, but there was no knowing whether there was any truth in the rumours. In Luke’s experience most of the stuff people talked about in town was hearsay, pure scuttlebutt. If you kept yourself to yourself and didn’t mingle with the community they made up things just to spite you. The fastest way to sprout a pair of horns and hooves was to ignore your neighbours, like the Guthridges did, and tell them to mind their own business. Rob was gazing at him, biting his lower lip.

“Wherefore art thou Luke?” he murmured. “Wherefore? I’m right here.”

“It’s from Romeo and Juliet. Our English teacher said what that line really means is that Juliet is asking why Romeo has to be a Montague because she’s a Capulet and their families have been feuding forever. Like the Hatfields and the McCoys.”

“Your point is?”

“They can’t really be together. It’s kind of like us...” Luke raised his eyebrows.

“I think we’re a long way off from being like Romeo and Juliet. Seeing as we’re brothers.”

“But that’s what I meant. Why did we have to be related? Wherefore art thou Luke?” Rob placed his palm against Luke’s, threading his fingers through Luke’s. Luke laughed, and untangled his fingers.

“Hey, cut that out. I sincerely hope you’re not expecting me to climb up to your window at night and whisper sweet nothings into your ear. Not my style. Much as I’d like to continue this fascinating conversation” continued Luke “I think we should go elsewhere before we start attracting the wrong kind of attention.” He took hold of Rob’s shoulder and steered him out of the bar.

“You can be downright audacious at times” said Luke, bundling him into the passenger seat. Rob widened his eyes innocently.

“What? What have I done?”

“Not here” said Luke, starting up the car. “Let’s go someplace first.” About three miles down the road he took the turnoff to Miller’s Branch which led to the logging camp he had left over an hour ago. They abandoned the car, and walked towards a clearing, stepping over the deadfall. Luke suddenly stopped walking and took hold of his shoulders.

“Robbie, you’d better understand something. You cannot play these games in public.” Luke had him backed him up against a tree, which was a typical Luke tactic. He always made sure you were boxed in whenever he wanted to make a point.

“What games?”

“You know what games.” Lost for words, Rob stared straight at Luke’s chest. “You know damn well the only reason I ever got into this thing in the first place was because of you.” This thing being the homosexual undercurrents between them. There had always been a special connection between them, but it had remained tacit and unacknowledged until fairly recently.

“Because of me?” Rob dipped his gaze momentarily, then looked up again.

“You know what I mean, dammit. Because of that little love-note you left under my pillow.” There had been nothing overtly homosexual in their relationship when they were younger, and his brother’s hero worship was something Luke took in his stride and accepted as a matter of course. It wasn’t something they talked about much, and it might never have been dragged into the light of day, were it not for Rob’s candid confession. Rob had finally got up the courage to confess to his crush last summer, leaving a scribbled note under Luke’s pillow.

“I thought it was something you should know.”

“Due to the aforementioned incident, Dad nearly blew his stack and you’re still acting like everything’s fine, hunky-dory.”

“Maybe I should just tell Dad you’re completely straight and had nothing to do with it. That it was all my fault….”

“Hey, come on.” Luke touched his cheek. “What’s done is done. You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.”

“But now I’ve messed things up between you and Dad, and you would never have even thought of kissing me-”

“-Who kissed whom?” interrupted Luke. “We have to keep a lid on it is all I’m saying. Dad’s not blind.” Rob bit down on his lip, and blinked. Luke was sure he was about to burst into tears any minute: he knew the warning signs. “Alright, alright. Just not in public, OK?” His voice softened. “You’re the loveliest thing in my life right now. Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” Rob was momentarily confused.

“On my birthday, when Dad found us behind the bowling alley?”

“That was the first proper one. But think back a few years. We were down at the lake, and I needed someone to practise on.”

“Oh” said Rob, suddenly remembering that sunlit afternoon. Luke was sixteen and had just landed a summer job as lifeguard at the public swimming pool, and was looking for some volunteers on which to practise mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Their cousin Dale was staying with them for a week’s vacation and sometimes they all went swimming at the lake instead of the municipal pool. The lake was fringed by dense pine woods on the far side from the shore. Apart from being a lot bigger than the pool it was scarier, with underwater creatures like eels and black water snakes.

“Yuk, I’m not going to allow any boy to give me the kiss of life” declared Dale. “Use Rob instead.”

“I guess you can practise on me” said Rob, with a show of reluctance. Actually he didn’t mind in the least.

“Lie down on the ground and play dead” Luke instructed. He tilted Rob’s head back, checking his airway, before pinching his nostrils shut. Rob had started to giggle as his brother leaned over him and clamped his mouth to his.

“What are you doing?” said Luke a moment later. “You’re not supposed to suck my tongue like it’s a Popsicle.”

“But Dale said that was French kissing.”

“It’s not meant to be a kiss” Luke had explained patiently. “Mouth to mouth is when you blow air into someone’s mouth. A drowning person needs oxygen.” As Dale looked on, Luke had started doing chest compressions on him which he called CPR, pressing down quite hard on his ribcage.

“Ow, that hurts” protested Rob. “Luke, don’t.” Dale had wandered off and was performing backflips in the water, having lost interest in the proceedings, which was when Luke had taken the opportunity to show him what a French kiss was. Luke had then got up unconcernedly and joined his cousin in the water. Rod had only been twelve and had thought there must be something wrong with him for liking the warm fuzzy feeling he got when Luke had captured Rob’s mouth with over his.

“You remember now?” Rob nodded. “You were about the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted” murmured Luke. Rob was quite speechless. It was the first time Luke had admitted to the attraction between them, even at that early age. Luke traced a finger over the warm pulsating hollow of his brother’s throat as he pulled him in for a lingering kiss. How did we get to this point? But it didn’t matter any more, the whys and wherefores. They were both where they wanted to be at this point in time.

“Do you ever take your dates anywhere apart from the Drive-in movie or into the woods?” teased Rob, when he’d got his breath back.

“I’ve been known to try a few other venues.” Luke’s unimaginative choice of meeting places was a standing joke between them; neither of them went in for fancy restaurants, and they couldn’t be seen out in public together unless they acted like normal brothers. They had tried the diner and the Pool Hall - which hadn’t been a great success as acquaintances of Luke’s kept barging in on their private conversation, expecting them to join their party. Last Saturday at the Wild Horses Drive-in he and Luke had indulged in a prolonged necking session in the back seat, Luke covering him completely with his body so that no-one could identify them should someone come up to the passenger window. The following morning his mother had peered closely at him over the breakfast table.

“Are you coming out in a rash, Robbie?” Rob had rubbed his slightly reddened jaw where Luke’s rough stubble had chafed his skin, mumbling something about an aftershave which must have burned him. Connie looked puzzled, since both her sons detested aftershave cologne: any Christmas gifts of that nature from well-meaning aunts or girlfriends were usually tossed straight in the trash can.

“But you hardly need to shave, darling. I don’t know what chemicals they put into things these days” his mother had continued, tracing a finger along her son’s smooth, normally unblemished skin. “I’ve a mind to take it right back to the store – where did you get it?”

“Uh, I borrowed some of Luke’s he never uses.” Rob had risen abruptly from the table to avoid any more questioning.

Luke undid his flies and drilled the soft earth with a strong jet of urine, his back to Rob and his feet solidly planted apart as Rob stood a little off to the side. Luke had once told him that when they were taking a piss in the jungle, it was every guy’s nightmare that the stream might hit a snake, which would rear up in retaliation and sink its fangs into his scrotum. Rob winced at the thought as Luke zipped himself up and moved off, glancing over his shoulder: “You coming?” He put out a hand to pull Rob across a fallen widow-maker, and they re-traced their steps back down the trail to the logging terminus.

“That hippie girl Wanda said the Cherokees used to hunt this land and that there’s a dark cloud hanging over some places” said Rob, as they drove down Highway 23. “She says that if you desecrate Indian burial ground by making out there or pissing on it something bad will happen.”

“Is that right?” returned Luke. “I’m sure the Cherokees and Shawnee used to piss all over the place. Not as if they had flushing commodes in the caves or tepees they lived in. Next you’re going to tell me all about the Native Indian spirits that haunt the Sandy River Fork where the school bus crash happened in ’58.”

Sometimes, when they were younger, he and Luke would ride their bicycles up to the bend at Sandy Fork, where a school bus packed with nearly fifty schoolchildren collided with a truck and plunged down a steep embankment into the Big Sandy River in 1958. The river had been in full spate due to flooding and the bus was submerged and swept downstream. Twenty-two of the kids managed to get to shore safely but all the rest, including the driver, had drowned. People said the place where it happened was haunted, and some claimed they could hear the frantic cries of drowning children. Rob would dismount and listen to the wind in the trees; he couldn’t hear any wailing children, but the place had an eerie feel to it; it was too quiet and he fancied there was a lingering sadness in the air, and he never hung around for very long.

Miss Radcliffe, who was something of a history buff as well as chief librarian, had told him that it was also the site of two bloody Civil War battles - the Battle of Ivy Mountain which led to the withdrawal of Confederate forces from Pikeville in 1861 and the Battle of Middle Creek in 1862 where native Kentuckians on opposing sides (blue against grey) had fought each other. She had shown him a faded and spotted daguerreotype of some unidentified soldiers taken in 1861, in the centre of which was a fearsome-looking character with a big black moustache who stared sombrely into the camera. Rob liked to think that this man could have been one of his forebears whom he was told had fought and died in the war, now captured for posterity in the library archives. The same folks who claimed to hear the frantic cries of drowning children at Sandy Fork said they could hear the yells and shouts of soldiers, the faint sounds of cannon and gun shots echoing across the mouth of Middle Creek and Big Sandy Valley.

“And Todd’s parents were killed in a car crash there” added Rob “in the exact same place the bus went over the embankment and all those kids were drowned.”

“Superstitious, little brother? I promise won’t take you to route 23 on our next date, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“I’m not a scaredy-cat.” Rob landed a thump on his shoulder. “But don’t you think there might be some evil spirit hanging about that causes tragic things to happen there?”

“No, I think they just ought to put up a better guardrail” replied Luke.

Chapter Twelve – February 1968

Joe and Connie were watching some steamy Southern drama called Night of the Iguana with Richard Burton and Deborah Kerr. According to Times Magazine, Tennessee Williams was “the American Chekhov” and CBS were doing a run of his plays on consecutive Saturday nights. His parents had already sat through The Cherry Orchard, Uncle Vanya and Three Sisters. Rob hadn’t understood a word of what the characters were saying to each other as they lounged about their sprawling Russian estates, doing an awful lot sighing as if they were either suffering from unrequited love or dying from some disease like cancer - but he gathered it was all meant to be very philosophical and deep. And now, much to Rob’s annoyance, they were glued to yet another interminable drama with a lot of talking and no action, which meant he had missed one of his favourite Westerns on another channel.

His father was keen on Ava Gardener and his mother liked Burton, whose self-absorbed ramblings had soon bored Rob. Deborah Kerr was attempting to offer spiritual consolation to the disgraced priest played by Burton, who’d been exiled to some Mexican backwater for a misdemeanour involving a teenage girl. Rob didn’t know why she bothered. Deborah Kerr was playing pretty much the same role as in Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison, when she starred opposite Robert Mitchum as a nun stranded on a Pacific island during WWII. Mitchum never laid a finger on her in the movie, but in real life Rob would bet any red-blooded U.S Marine would have tried to take a pop at her when they were hiding out from the Japs in a mountain cave.

“That Welsh bastard must think he’s Hamlet” Joe remarked wryly. “Don’t know why she doesn’t throw a frying pan at his head.” Rob suspected the reason his father disliked Burton was because his wife admired him.

“He’s a very accomplished actor, Joe” his mother had returned. “And he didn’t make up the dialogue, he’s just saying lines Tennessee Williams wrote. He writes about the human condition. And Burton is so perfect in the role.”

“He’s a walking brewery. People who’ve met him say his pores are oozing alcohol. Liz Taylor’s started drinking too. She should never have married him. She’s started to lose her figure.”

“She’s had to put on weight for The Taming of The Shrew. That shows how dedicated she is to her career. Now please, Joe, I’m missing all the dialogue….”

Rob wandered off through the kitchen and spotted Luke outside. His brother sat in a loose-limbed easy sprawl, legs splayed out in front of him, both arms resting on the back of the porch swing. He had been invited to be best man at the wedding of some high school buddy of his who’d been on the Senior varsity team, but had returned home relatively early in the evening. There was an open bottle of Jim Beam beside him. He was wearing dark trousers and white dress shirt – shirt open at the collar, tie loosened – black jacket carelessly flung over the railing. This was only the second time Rob had seen him in formal attire; the first time had been years go when he’d taken Cindy to the Senior Prom. He looked up as Rob opened the back screen door.

“Hey, come over here.” He was slightly drunk, thought Rob. Unusual for Luke, but he found it rather attractive. “Come on, sweet thing, I won’t eat you.” Luke smiled indulgently, waving him over.

“How was the wedding?” Luke shrugged.

“One wedding’s the same as another. Two more suckers got hitched, and I consider I’ve done my duty. Produced the ring and did my thing.”

“I wanted to watch The Big Country” said Rob, edging closer to Luke.

“Aw, you missed Gregory Peck, huh? You can ride my saddle horn instead, cowboy.” As Rob ventured closer Luke made a sudden grab for him, and pulled Rob onto his lap. Rob could smell the faint fumes of whisky on his warm breath. Rob glanced over his shoulder. Luke never took risks like this unless they were completely alone. As Rob tried to wriggle free Luke held him fast. His cock was getting hard. Rob could feel it pressing up against his butt. “You know, if you didn’t have your clothes on” he murmured in Rob’s ear “this would feel even better.”

“I don’t want to end up skewered on your dick like a human kebab, Mister.” Luke laughed.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard. I wasn’t looking for a date with Vlad the Impaler.”

“I think you’re a little prick tease” returned Luke.

“I’m not. You’ve got me so I can’t move. It’s your fault.”

“Yeah, it’s always my fault, little brother. Never mind the fact you keep tempting me.”

“Luke, don’t….” The screen door swung open, and Joe appeared silhouetted in the doorway. “What’s going on out here?” Luke released Rob, who dropped to the ground lightly.

“Just demonstrating some moves in case this kid ever ends up in the Vietnamese jungle” replied Luke. “Though I recommend a bayonet for a skewering operation, if you encounter the enemy.”

“Luke, you’re drunk. Rob, come inside. It’s late.” Joe put a hand on Rob’s shoulder, propelling him backwards towards the door. Luke stood there for a moment, eyeing his father.

“Yeah, I’ve had a few, so what? What’s the big deal? How many medicinal nightcaps have you had?”

“Don’t start with me, Luke. Go and sleep it off.” He shut the door firmly in Luke’s face, and turned to Rob. “Stay away from your brother when he’s like that, you hear me? I don’t know what’s got into him lately.” Rob gazed after Luke, who was moving off towards the bunkhouse rather unsteadily, muttering to himself. He suddenly turned around and shouted to Rob.

“Sweet dreams, angel face. Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.” This was the code they used when Rob would sneak out late at night for a clandestine assignation with his brother when their parents were fast asleep.

Back in his cabin, Luke brooded. Things hadn’t been easy between him and his father of late. When Joe had caught them in a passionate embrace behind the bowling alley on Rob’s 21st there had been an almighty showdown. After the initial shock had passed, they had reached an uneasy truce. It riled his old man some, sure, but he didn’t have the full picture. His father had been understandably shaken by what he had seen, and blamed Luke. The unspoken assumption was that, because he was older and the more sexually experienced of the two, Luke had somehow seduced Rob when it was actually the other way around.

*****

After his parents had retired for the night, Rob let himself out the back door. As he approached the open window of the kitchen in Luke’s cabin, he could hear his brother talking aloud to himself:

“I think therefore I drink. When a man drinks he frequently stinks…No, when a man drinks he frequently SINKS…” Rob mounted the porch steps to his brother’s cabin and knocked on the door.

“Excuse me, Mister, but does Luke Turnbull live here?”

“Who wants to know?”

“His biggest fan” replied Rob. Luke chuckled, before pulling him into his arms.

“For a slight consideration, I might consider the inconsiderable” Luke said.

“What does that mean?” Luke occasionally talked in riddles, challenging him to tease out his meaning.

“Give me a kiss and I’ll think about it. The small consideration I was after.” He cupped Rob’s ass tightly in his hands, and pulled him into the shadows behind the bunkhouse where they couldn’t be seen, his breath warm against Rob’s lips.

“You’re somethin’ else, you’re my baby” murmured Luke. “You’re mine, all mine.” He leaned down to kiss him, exploring Rob’s mouth with his tongue. He knew what they were doing was wrong, but it was the sweetest kind of wrong he’d ever experienced.

“I like this” breathed Luke, each word punctuated by a kiss. “And this.” He ran his hands down Rob’s hips. “And this.” Luke was in a very strange mood tonight, Rob reflected, as Luke stroked his hair. He had rarely seen his brother drunk, but it was exciting: it was like he’d let his guard down, revealing a side to his character he normally kept in check.

“What were you saying?” asked Rob, before his knees buckled beneath him. “You were talking to yourself just now.”

“Was I? Oh yeah, I was just trying to compose some poetry. Like that little rhyme you wrote me on Valentine’s Day.” After checking his spelling with the aid of a dictionary, Rob had written:

I know this sounds kind of perverse

but you are the centre of my universe

“My rhymes aren’t as good as yours” continued Luke “But how’s this?”

Roses are red,

your eyes are blue.

When I get horny,

I think of you.

“Terrible” replied Rob. “You’ve got to be the world’s worst poet.”

“I hate to admit it but I think you’re right. Like a drink? I mean a soda.” Rob nodded. Luke rummaged around in his little fridge and pulled out a can of cold root beer. “Would you believe me if I said I hardly drank a drop when I was on active combat duty?” Rob believed him. He had only seen Luke drunk on one or two occasions. “I can take it or leave it, but mostly I left it alone. Seen what it can do to soldiers. Men do stuff they would never think of doing if they were sober. Bad stuff.” He didn’t elaborate. He had sobered up somewhat, but was still talking – or rhyming - to himself.

“When a man drinks he sinks and then he….he blinks. A man has a little fun, he reaches for his gun.” Luke reached for an imaginary gun and pointed it at some unknown foe. “Man blinks, and then it’s gone. All over.”

“What’s all over?” asked Rob, taking hold of his hand.

“Life. He thinks, he drinks, he sinks, blinks…gone in the blink of an eye. Forget it. Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I can be a total asshole at times.”

“That’s okay. I love you no matter what you do.”

“Yeah, you’re sweet like that. I don’t know what you see in me. I’m a lousy dancer, a randy bastard, and not much good at poetry….”

“You’re good at tons of other things” said Rob. “A good fighter and soldier.” And probably good in bed, he thought. Why did he keep having these inappropriate thoughts? There was definitely something perverse in the way he thought about his brother. “You know it says in the Bible that men who lay with men are an abomination…” Rob began.

“-The only abomination is that people are dumb enough to swallow whatever they’re told. Those hellfire preachers you see on TV are just Carpetbaggers selling dreams like all the rest of ‘em.”

“You don’t believe in God?” Rob wasn’t sure that he did either, but he hadn’t heard anyone come out and say it with such conviction.

“Do you still believe in the Tooth Fairy? There is no God. Just men with guns and tanks. If you’d been to war you’d know that. And I stopped believing in Santa when he stubbed his toe in the dark and sounded a whole lot like Dad cussing.”

*****

The following morning Rob walked right into the middle of an argument between his father and brother just outside Luke’s cabin.

“He wasn’t in his room last night” his father was accusing Luke. “Do you think I climbed up into his bedroom and abducted him?”

“I went over to talk to him” offered Rob, addressing his father. “Luke didn’t tell me to.” Joe ignored him, intently focussed on his oldest son.

“Your brother doesn’t need to be over here at night. He needs his sleep..”

“-You think he’s still five years old or something? He’s twenty-one for Chrissake. No wonder the kid has problems. No wonder he’s seeing a shrink…”

“Alright, that’s enough. Rob, go home. Luke, you made me a promise and I’m going to hold you to it.” Rob stared at them both. What promise? What was his father talking about? Joe looked at Luke meaningfully, the latter’s words still fresh in his mind: What I can promise you is that we’ll keep it under my roof, and that I will never harm him. Luke lowered his voice, and took a step towards his father.

“Just what do you think I’m going to do to him?” Although the banter between Rob and himself often took on sexual overtones when they were alone – like last night when they were on the porch – they were just messing about, and Luke had no intention of taking it any further. It was just a little game they played, like pretending to be Frank and Jesse James, and Luke was annoyed at having his motives misconstrued. Did his father seriously think he was about to fuck his kid brother, and that it wasn’t safe for Rob to be alone with him?

Rob tried to interpose himself between his father and his brother. “Why are you always fighting? You don’t have to fight over me” said Rob miserably. “I’ll go back now if you want.” He slipped out the door quietly and disappeared. This action appeared to bring Joe and Luke to their senses, as they stood facing each other.

“What exactly are we fighting about?” said Luke finally. “He’ll always be your son, he’ll always be my brother.”

Luke looked moody and preoccupied when Rob approached him hesitantly about half an hour later. “Are you mad at me?” Luke looked up in answer to his question.

“Not with you, baby.” He got into the Chevy, adjusting the seat to accommodate his height. Normally he and Joe rode out to the logging site together in the Ford pick-up but it was clear Luke wanted to avoid his father this morning. He held out a hand to Rob, pulling him up against the window. “Hey, I’ve been thinking. You and I need to get away for a while. What about that camping trip?”

“When?”

“Soon as I can straighten things out here” replied Luke. “Work should ease off once we get Mack’s order offloaded.” Mack Construction had placed a huge order for lumber, and the logging crew were working flat out on 10 hour shifts. “Coupla weeks maybe.” Rob leaned across the window.

“Man thinks, therefore he drinks. He sinks, and before you know it he bli-”

“He winks” said Luke, giving him a wink, before driving off.

Chapter Thirteen – March 1968

“Have you decided where you’ll be camping yet?” asked Connie, as Luke hauled out a 2-man canvas pup tent onto the front yard to check its condition.

“The New River Gorge” replied Luke. He’d chosen to camp out of state because Rob was keen to do some white water rafting. An old army buddy of his who had originally hailed from West Virginia was now a river outfitter who had started up a private rafting company; he had started off using army surplus rafts before launching a commercial venture with custom-made rubber rafts.

Sergeant Moreland had been his second in command during his first rotation in Vietnam, and was one of the most reliable men he had come across. Luke had full confidence in his abilities as well as his trustworthiness. There were a number of rogue operators who were more interested in profiting from the growing popularity of this new recreational sport by pandering to young thrill seekers than taking responsibility for their safety.

When they were kids he and Rob had often surfed the local creeks on the inner tubes of truck tires, to which Luke had tied rope handles to hang on to. They’d had a lot of fun, borne along by the current at speeds of 25mph, but going over a few rock ledges was not the same as shooting rapids. Even in full spate the relatively shallow creeks were nothing compared to the New River, which had sliced a canyon through the Appalachians over 1600 feet at its maximum depth. Much of its course was lined with steep sandstone cliffs and vertical rock with numerous rapids, eddies and waterfalls, and if they were going white water rafting he wanted to do it with someone he could trust. Having grown up in the area, Scott was thoroughly familiar with the stretches of the river from which he operated his business and had recommended the New River Gorge to Luke, enthusiastically describing it as the Grand Canyon of the East. Since his discharge last year, they had kept in touch sporadically, and had met up on one occasion at Steve’s Roadhouse for a few beers when Scott had been passing through eastern Kentucky.

“Some idiots think it’s OK to go off rafting on their own or as a couple, without even taking the trouble to familiarise themselves with the terrain” he had remarked. “If you fall into a hole then the raft is going to flip and you’ll be tossed out, and you may need more than one person to haul you back in again. Don’t get me wrong, those early European pioneers were hardy souls, and I salute their courage. They didn’t have life vests and a lot of them probably drowned.” Rob had come along with them, and had been listening to their conversation.

“When can we go, Luke?” Luke had smiled.

“Let me introduce you to my flaky little brother. Can you believe this kid?”

“Ah.” Moreland tapped his forehead. “So this is the one who use to write you all the time about his latest death-defying stunts.

Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

*****

Luke took route 23 heading north to West Virginia and then got onto the Interstate 64 East, by which time it was nearing three o’clock. They had travelled about 180 miles or so with a few detours and rest stops. As they passed some campgrounds located off the U.S. 19 Expressway, Rob said “Can we camp somewhere on our own away from other people?”

“Sure thing” replied Luke, who’d been thinking along the same lines. “We can catch up with Scott in the morning.” Moreland had set up his base camp in Thurmond, between the lower and upper sections of the river where he had built a number of rustic cabins and a shower block for those guests who preferred a little luxury. “But you realise there will be a few others in the raft tomorrow?”

“Oh” said Rob, slightly disappointed. He had envisaged careering down the wild river in a canoe or small raft with his brother. “I thought it would be just you and me.”

“That’s not how it works. When you and I used to surf the creeks on tubes the most you’ve got to worry about is getting an ass cheek bitten by a water moccasin if you’re sitting too low. Scott will crew and there may be five or six other guys in the raft. But that’s only while we’re on the river. After tomorrow - if you’ve had enough of big water - we can drive on up to the Monongahela National Forest, if you like. Do some hiking and please ourselves.”

“Sounds terrific, Mister.” Scott had understood Luke and Rob valued their privacy and did not necessarily want to be camping on the same site as the usual rafting crowd - for the most part high-school or college kids on their summer vacation. He had given Luke directions to a secluded spot off the beaten track near a trailhead. By the time they turned off onto the rutted track that led to a narrow strip of shore fringed by oak and scrub pine, it was four o’clock. They spent a few minutes deciding on the most level spot to pitch their tent.

“Nothing I hate more than sleeping on a slope” commented Luke.

“Unless it’s having a zipper wedged up your ass” Rob reminded him playfully.

Luke pulled out the tent equipment from the pick-up and piled it on the ground. Rusty looked on, wagging his tail. Rob had persuaded Luke to take Rusty along for the trip, determined that Rusty shouldn’t miss out on their adventure. Luke had at first objected, pointing out that they couldn’t take the dog on the river. “I don’t want to leave him tied up in the cab. He wouldn’t like that at all.” The problem was solved when Scott said his girlfriend wouldn’t be accompanying them on the water (they lived in a cabin onsite) but would be happy to have the dog for a few hours, and they could pick him up later in the day.

“Go fetch” said Luke, pointing to the tent poles. Rusty scampered off obligingly and returned with a pole between his jaws, thinking it was a new game he could play. They stretched the canvas over the poles, and hammered in the stakes before attaching the guy ropes, managing to get it pitched in five minutes flat.

“If this is a two-person tent they must have had kewpie dolls in mind” observed Luke, eyeing the limited dimensions. “It’s gonna be a tight fit but it oughtta be pretty cosy in here, wouldn’t you say?” He tossed a couple of rolled-up down sleeping bags through the flap.

“Most people aren’t six foot five” murmured Rob. “It could be worse. James Arness is six foot seven. He has to stand in a trench when they film Gunsmoke so he doesn’t dwarf his co-stars.”

“That’s pretty mean, considering the guy can’t help it. They should make the others stand on a box. I reckon I can shave off a half inch maybe once I take my boots off” replied Luke, smiling. “Think that’ll help?”

“Early man was a lot shorter. Before Homo Sapiens there was Homo Habilis, Handy Man, and after him there was Homo Erectus” Rob informed him gravely.

“I see. Thanks for the history lesson. Were they all homos?” Rob thumped him, and Luke started to laugh. “Hey, you started this conversation. Tell me more about the last one” he teased.

“He could stand upright and had a bigger…” Luke raised an eyebrow. “A bigger brain! And was called Pithe, pithecant…I can’t remember what exactly but our teacher said it was Latin for erect ape man. Of course I immediately thought of you.” Rob leaned back against the truck casually and flashed his blue eyes in Luke’s direction. Luke eyed him for a second, before tumbling him to the ground. Rob didn’t put up any resistance whatsoever as Luke wrenched down his jeans, then straddled him. He unbuckled his belt and seconds later, Rob felt Luke’s hard erect cock up pushing up underneath his scrotum, heading off on one of its seek-and-penetrate missions. Luke lifted his butt right off the ground, then seemed to come to his senses.

“I’m sorry.” Luke stopped what he was doing, and got up. Oh God, Luke, don’t leave me hanging like this.

By the time Rob had fastened his flies – trying to evade Rusty who was poking his inquisitive nose into his crotch as usual - Luke had finished smoking a cigarette.

“We need some firewood” he said, picking up an axe from the truck flatbed. “You coming?” Almost, Rob was tempted to reply as he followed his brother into the woods, where they collected armfuls of twigs and dried bark for kindling. Luke scouted for fallen logs, settling on an eight foot length. He lopped off its branches, then sawed it into more manageable sections.

“I can fitch them for you” offered Rob, taking out his knife. “You can what?”

“Dad showed me at the sawmill. When you strip off the branches.”

“That’s debarking. A flitch is a section of timber that’s been sawn from a log, flat on two sides with natural edges.” Luke smiled at him. “I can see you paid close attention.” Luke showed him how to strip off the twigs and limbs swiftly and efficiently without cutting himself.

“Let’s try and collect as much as we can” said Luke on their third trip into the woods. “And not just dry wood.” He spied a green log and tucked it under one arm.

“That won’t burn” pointed out Rob.

“I know. That’s the idea.” Eager to help, Rusty picked up stray branches in his jaws, and dropped them onto the heap. Luke kept them both pretty busy gathering wood for the next hour or so, during which time Rob thought about what had happened back at the campsite. He understood Luke was probably not going to discuss it and that was fine with Rob, who felt much the same way. Every now and then they would come together in these passionate clinches, then resume their normal banter as though nothing had happened. The encounters might be romantic in nature, with Luke kissing him or caressing him, or they might be sexual in nature – like last summer when Luke had humped the hell out of him up by the swimming hole at Clearwater Creek. They had both been fully clothed at the time, but it had still been exciting. He closed his eyes momentarily at the memory of the sensations Luke had aroused in him. When he opened them Luke was staring straight at him.

Sometimes he felt they shared the same memories simultaneously, like a kind of telepathy.

“Alright?” Rob nodded. Loubelle had been absolutely right about the whole business of flirting with a certain type of man, in that the results could be unpredictable. The outcome could be sweet; alternatively you could get more than you bargained for. He couldn’t help wondering what it had been like for Cindy when she’d been Luke’s girlfriend. At one point he’d been extremely jealous of her, but it couldn’t have been easy for her.

“Well, that ought to do it” said Luke, referring to the pile of wood they had accumulated. The sun had gone down, and it was getting chilly. He had decided they would make a small cook fire, then a larger one for warmth after they’d eaten. He had meant to put in a metal grid which would act as a grill, but had forgotten at the last minute. Fortunately his mother had thought of a skillet and pan, plus a roll of aluminum tinfoil.

“Are we making a fire pit?” asked Rob, looking around for some stones.

“No need. I’ll show you how to make a stove range with a couple of green logs. Tomorrow night we’ll fix up something more elaborate.” Rob thought a “stove range” sounded elaborate enough when all they needed to do was wrap some potatoes and burgers in tinfoil, but being ex-military his brother was a back-to-basics kind of guy and always had to do things the hard way. They had brought provisions in the truck and could have dispensed with cooking altogether if they wanted, but that wasn’t Luke’s idea of camping. For the same reason, they had declined Scott’s offer of a pitch for the night on his base camp with ready-made fire pits and barbecue racks. He smiled to himself. “What’s so funny?” enquired Luke. “Huh?”

“Nothing, Mr. Homo Habilis He-Man” replied Rob. “I love how you operate.” They built a small tepee fire, placing dry pine needles and leaves in the centre for tinder, and Luke lit it with his Zippo lighter. Once the fire was sufficiently hot, Luke laid down a couple of green logs with a high moisture content side by side, wider at one end to hold the frying pan and narrower at the other to hold a coffee pot or kettle.

“There’s your range” said Luke. “Simple.” After raiding the cooler Luke fried up some steaks and Rob roasted some ears of corn, wrapped in tinfoil, as Rusty waited patiently by their side. When they were done, he wolfed down a prime chunk of steak, then bounded off to investigate something he’d either heard or smelt in the brush. After they’d eaten, Luke suggested they make a bigger campfire.

“Another one?”

“That puny little fire wouldn’t keep you warm if this was winter. You’d freeze to death.”

“No I wouldn’t, I’d just curl up in a sleeping bag and go to sleep. We’d huddle up together.” Rob shivered and moved closer to Luke for warmth. Luke put an arm around him, pulling him close.

“When we made camp in the jungle the first thing we had to do was dig foxholes for shelter. No matter how tired we were. The guys always grumbled about it, but it saved lives.”

“I didn’t know the enemy was hiding out in the trees, Mister.” Luke cuffed him playfully.

“Don’t get fresh with me. I’m trying to make a point here. When men rode everywhere on horses they made sure their horse were tended to first thing before settling down for the night. Because if you don’t look after the things that keep you alive – your horse, your gun – you’re pretty much screwed.”

“Whatever you say, Marshall” Rob was starting to giggle. “But I think you’re just a born slave-driver.” Luke started tickling him with a vengeance, and Rob tried to crawl away. “Rusty, help me!” Rusty appeared as if on cue, and rushed to Rob’s side. I’m here, Master. At your service.

“I swear to God, that dog has a hard-on for you” remarked Luke as Rusty nudged underneath Rob’s arm, gazing up at him adoringly. As Rob played with him, tossing him a rubber ball he could fetch, Luke selected and stripped a couple of branches then whittled down the ends with his knife to make two sturdy hardwood stakes, which he drove into the ground about a foot apart. Next he stacked some green logs against the back support he’d created, angling them back a little from the fire.

“What are you doing?” asked Rob, his curiosity getting the better of him,

“Same principle as a fireplace in a house” replied Luke “You place a chimney against a wall and not in the centre of a room so as to reflect and focus the heat back instead of throwing it off in all directions. If you’re out in the open the next best thing is to build your fire against a cliff face or a large boulder, but as we don’t have one I’ve improvised. These logs are too damp to burn so we’ve got ourselves a little wood stove.”

It occurred to Rob that by taking him on a camping trip, Luke was attempting to teach him basic survival skills. Or it could be that he wanted to impart certain values he set store by, like self-reliance or self-discipline: when he was a kid their father was always saying stuff like “work before play” to ensure he completed his homework before he got to watch television, or making him do chores before he was allowed any pocket money. And Luke was doing much the same thing, not by lecturing him but showing him through example. His brother evidently thought it was important that they spent an hour or so collecting firewood, and then expending more labour on a cook fire and a proper camp fire, rather than just doing what was easiest and most convenient.

“Does that feel better?” asked Luke, as Rob leaned back against him, Rusty curled up contentedly at their feet. The fire was now generating so much heat he felt completely warm and relaxed.

“Yes. But Luke, you’re not going to make me dig a fox-hole?”

“Ah well, I might let you off this time. How about getting us a couple of beers from the cooler?”

“Coming right up, sir. Will I be expected to fish for our supper tomorrow night?”

“Just get the beers” growled Luke “before I start getting ideas. Such as showing you how to make your own poncho hooch shelter.” When Rob returned, Luke had dragged across one of the bigger sawn-off logs for a back rest, against which he was leaning, legs stretched out in front of him. Rob knelt down to hand him a beer, and Luke pulled him onto his lap, encircling him in his arms. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels in the truck but Luke hadn’t touched it, wanting a clear head for tomorrow. They conversed quietly for a while until the natural light went and the fire died down.

“I guess we should turn in” suggested Rob, which was exactly the kind of thing his parents said when they retired for the night.

“After you, Alphonse” returned Luke, allowing him to crawl in first. Luke unzipped one of the sleeping bags and spread it out on the floor of the tent, using the other as a covering for both of them. When they slept in a bed together the mattress sloped a little towards Luke – since he was heavier – which gave Rob a perfect excuse to tumble against him. On this occasion they couldn’t avoid intimacy as the pup tent was barely big enough for two. Luke could feel the smooth warmth of Rob’s thigh pressing against him. He soon felt something else stirring and laughed softly.

“Whoa. Down, boy.” Rob shifted his body slightly, so he could slide a leg underneath Luke’s. “Keep that up, and I’m going to kick your butt out of this bed” warned Luke, sounding once more like the older brother he’d been before their world had tilted on its axis. Rob removed his leg. For some reason Luke was reluctant to take things further. Was it because Luke was only sexually attracted to female bodies, or was it because of the incest thing – that they were brothers? He covered his eyes with his right arm in a futile attempt to hide his tears.

“Hey” said Luke gently. He lifted Rob’s arm away from his face, turning it around, before kissing the inside of his elbow; he was always quick to pick up on his younger brother’s distress, and leaned over him in the darkness.

“I love you” said Rob. “I want…”

“I know what you want” said Luke. “But you’re still just a kid, You’re not ready for that...” What he was trying to say was that he felt like a man who was messing with a young boy, and that was wrong. It was a line he didn’t want to cross. Years before, when Cindy had lost her virginity to him at sixteen, he felt that he’d handled it clumsily. She’d made it plain that was what she wanted, but it should have been a special occasion. With the thoughtlessness of a typical teenager, he’d taken her up into the woods and done what comes naturally. He had thought she was enjoying it as much as he was until she’d cried out and tried to pull away from him. She tried to reassure him she was OK, but eventually he had to stop. She had never made him feel bad about it, saying “It’s always painful for a girl the first time. It’ll probably be better next time.” It wasn’t, but she still wanted to be with him. “I love you” she had insisted. “I just don’t always like that.”

The experience had given him pause for thought: it didn’t seem fair, somehow, that the man should get all the pleasure whereas the woman just endured the sex act for the sake of pleasing him, and he didn’t want history repeating itself with Rob. Some men got a kick out of deflowering a virgin, but Luke wasn’t one of them: he liked to give as much pleasure as he took. He was pretty sure Rob would allow him to do whatever he wanted, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Once you fucked a boy – even if he wanted you to – you took something from him he couldn’t get back. As the older and more experienced of the two, Luke was in the driving seat and with that came with certain responsibilities and obligations.

“It’s not because I don’t want you” said Luke quietly. “I think about it all the time, I’m a randy bastard. Look, I can have sex with a number of people if I choose. So can you. But what we have between us is special. I don’t want to spoil things between us by bringing that stuff into it.”

“You wouldn’t spoil it. Normally I wouldn’t want some guy doing that to me. I’d really hate it, but because it was you I think I’d like it.” Luke was lying across his body - not with his full weight but propped on one elbow. He placed a hand on Rob’s bare diaphragm as it rose and fell, his flat stomach taut as a drumskin.

“I’d probably enjoy it” he said slowly. “But I doubt if you would.”

“Why?”

“Because once I get going I keep going. And you’re…. do I need to spell it out?” Put in such crude terms, Rob understood what he was saying. It would undoubtedly be painful, but on the other hand the man he loved would be forever part of him. They would be lovers.

“I don’t care if it hurts.”

Luke ruffled his hair. “Well, I do. Go to sleep now.”

“I guess you think you’re so well-endowed I couldn’t take it” murmured Rob.

“Bighead.” He sensed Luke’s smile in the darkness.

“Now, I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth.” Luke was shaking with silent laughter.

*****

Scott was talking to a party of young people sitting in a circle on the grass outside his cabin, who all looked up when Luke and Rob put in an appearance, Rusty at their heels.

“Hey, guys” Scott stood up and came towards them. He shook hands with Luke warmly. “Seems strange not to be calling you Sir.”

“Seems strange not to be calling you Sarge” responded Luke, smiling. They had only ever known each other as Moreland and Turnbull whilst on active combat duty.

“Let me introduce you to my ex-Platoon Leader. We were out in Vietnam together.” Rob observed that one of the party had stiffened slightly, hanging back a little whilst the others shook hands with them. Rob pegged him as an anti-war protester, and narrowed his eyes. The group was pretty young, aged between 18– 20, and he gathered they were at the same college as they all seemed to know each other. There were four men and one girl, presumably half of a couple, since she was leaning against the guy who had eyed Luke with suspicion, as if he were some ex-con who’d just been let out of jail. If his brother had noticed this, he didn’t let on.

“What’s that dog doing here? You can’t bring a dog on the river” said someone. Scott called to someone indoors, and an attractive young woman with long brown hair appeared on the porch of their cabin.

“Hi, I’m Suzanne” She smiled at them. “I do all the work around here while Scott just plays at being Huckleberry Finn.” She knelt down beside Rusty. “Hey, fella. I’ll be looking after you today” she murmured, stroking behind his ears. “We’re gonna have us a ball, you and me.” Rusty seemed to take to her immediately, which was a good sign.

“That’s the trouble with shacking up with your childhood sweetheart. They know everything there is to know about you. We’ve been hanging out since we were eleven.” Scott introduced everyone, but Rob didn’t really take in their names, apart from the guy he decided he didn’t care for much, who was called Eric.

“OK, back to business. You might be interested in knowing something about the topography of the area.” Scott showed them a little map which most of them merely glanced at, though Luke studied it for a couple of minutes, before handing it back to Scott. Despite its name the New River had the distinction of being the oldest river in the USA, rising in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina where it flowed northeast through the Great Appalachian Valley before turning northwest into southern West Virginia - passing from the Ashe-Alleghany county line through a series of gorges and narrow valleys to meet up with the Gauley River to form the Kanawha River.

“So is that where we’re going today?” asked Eric. Scott explained that he didn’t take rafting parties down the Gauley River because it was pretty dangerous, especially during spring runoff when people had got into trouble with rafts being swamped as they attempted to negotiate the steep drop-offs, raging currents and strong undertows. When he mentioned Grade 6 rapids with 50 foot high falls, his audience shifted nervously. “We’re taking the Upper New River which is more placid than the Lower New River with Class I – III rapids. The Lower River is a lot more turbulent with Class IV rapids.”

“I thought we’d be shooting class IV plus rapids” protested Eric.

“Not today” said Scott firmly. “You’re not experienced enough. I intend to get you back in once piece.” As he explained about the strong currents and whirlpools, with fearsome-sounding names like Helter Skelter and The Devil’s Cauldron Eric’s girlfriend, who was called Cheryl, turned to her partner.

“Why do you always have to be such a show-off? If the guide says we’re not experienced enough, then I guess we should listen to what he’s saying.”

“Yeah, well you’re just a girl. You would say that.” Cheryl bristled.

“Excuse me? You’ve heard of Mary Draper Ingles?” Rob rolled his eyes. He hoped they weren’t going to have to listen to this couple bickering all afternoon. With any luck, once they got on the water, conversation would be minimal. Rob got the distinct impression Eric felt threatened by Luke’s presence, and was trying to impress his girlfriend. Luke had lit a cigarette, and was leaning against a tree, happy to take a backseat. Since leaving the army, his attitude to most civilians was that of amused tolerance. As for the more radicalised college kids who’d been brainwashed into thinking soldiers belonged to a subhuman species, he seldom took the bait, considering most of them to be beneath his notice.

“Who was Mary Draper Ingles?” asked another student.

“Mary and her two young sons were taken captive by Shawnees in 1755 during the Drapers Meadow Massacre” said Scott. “She managed to escape with another woman and trekked over 600 miles through the gorge and across the Appalachians before making it home. They crossed many rivers although neither woman could swim.”

“My God!” exclaimed Cheryl. “How come they didn’t drown?”

“They lashed some logs together with vines to make a raft. Mary wore moccasins, and the only weapons she had was a tomahawk and knife. There’s a statue of her in Burlington, Kentucky.”

“Sounds like one helluva woman” commented Luke, who’d been listening. “I’d like to shake her by the hand.”

“So if it’s so ancient why’s it called The New River?” asked someone else.

“Good question” shot back Scott, who was losing patience with these wide-eyed college kids. “But one I don’t have the answer to. The most likely explanation is some fur trappers discovered a river they’d never seen before so just wrote down New River on their map.”

“You mean like Kit Carson?”

“Kind of, only the European pioneers came through here well before frontiersmen in the 1800s. And before the mountain men and fur trappers you had Cherokee, Shawnee and Iroquois who called this the “river of death” and “river of evil spirits.” This had the effect of silencing them momentarily, before Cheryl said “I’d like to know a little about the wildlife around here because I could maybe use that in my Senior Year project.”

“OK, well you’ve got copperheads, black rat snakes, stinkpot turtles and snapping turtles…”

“-Why are they called stinkpot turtles?”

“Because they stink. They have this musky odour. Nothing like the odour given off by a bunch of GIs who’ve been in the jungle too long, though” he added for Luke’s benefit. “Apart from common mammals like beaver, otter, mink, chipmunks, squirrels, groundhogs and white-tail deer you might catch sight of some Allegheny alligators, otherwise known as hellbenders.” They looked at him in horror. Luke was smiling to himself.

“I didn’t know they had alligators. Jesus Christ, nobody told us this when we booked the trip!”

“Scott, quit it. You’re scaring these kids half to death” said Suzanne. She turned to the group. “Hellbenders are just aquatic salamanders, big lizards. Though they can grow to about two feet in size.”

“Do they bite? Can you eat them?”

“They have a lot of sharp little teeth but won’t normally bite you. And why would you want to eat one?”

“Alright, I want everyone kitted out in five minutes” said Scott, who considered they’d wasted enough time chatting. He handed around some life jackets, and as they prepared to walk down to the landing stage by the water’s edge, Rusty came running up to them, barking excitedly.

“You’re to stay here with this nice lady” said Rob, patting him on the head. “Good boy.”

“Can you put him on his lead until we’re out of sight?” Luke asked Suzanne. “In case he gets it into his head to jump in the river.”

“Sure.” She slipped the lead on his collar. “You’d better get going. He’ll settle down soon enough.” Rusty looked from Luke to Rob uneasily. He didn’t understand. They weren’t taking him with them?

“We’ll start off with some easy paddling before we hit the big water” said Scott, who was sitting in the rear. As they took their seats on the outer rim of the raft, Rob glanced over his shoulder at Rusty, who was tugging on his lead, trying to get free. “He’ll be fine” said Scott. “Suzanne is good with dogs.”

“Those of you in front can use the foot cups, and the rest of you use the centre thwarts. Start paddling” Scott directed, as their thigh muscles strained to keep them in their seats. The raft was soon bucking like a bronco.

“Why are we sitting on the outside?” began Cheryl. “I’d feel more secure if we hunkered down in the centre. I can hardly keep my balance.”

“There’s a good reason for that” replied Scott grimly. “Keep your feet wedged underneath the thwarts. The inflatable tubes running across the bottom of the boat” he added, as she looked puzzled. “Just enjoy the scenery.” Luke smiled across at Rob who was sitting to the fore, his feet jammed under the loops fixed to the floor of the boat. Rob smiled back and mouthed “This is great.” As the current started to build, they had to paddle furiously for the forward momentum to propel them through the rapids.

“I don’t get it!” shouted Eric to Scott above the roar of the water. “Shouldn’t we be trying to slow down, not paddling faster? I can’t get my-” Scott gritted his teeth.

“The paddle acts as a brace and will help you keep balanced when it gets rough. Now shut the fuck up.” Eric’s girlfriend was biting her lips in concentration. She looked terrified. Rob caught Luke’s eye and tried to suppress his laughter.

“You guys are enjoying this?” continued Eric, who hadn’t heard Scott’s last words. “This is fucking dangerous.” Scott warned them that they would soon be entering a narrow canyon slot called Thread the Needle. Seconds later, the raft rocketed through a tight corridor, which corkscrewed between steep rockface hemming it in from both sides. Whenever a boulder loomed up ahead, Scott shouted “Bump” and they leaned inwards, placing their paddles on the floor of the boat as they’d been instructed earlier during the safety drill. Rob was laughing as they slid down a water chute. He was clearly loving the adrenaline rush, and Luke was glad he’d arranged the trip.

“Paddle faster” shouted Scott as they shot out the other side. “Try to stay in sync. We’re about to hit some turbulence.” Eric’s foot must have slipped out from underneath the thwarts as he tipped backwards over the rushing water. Luke let go of his paddle for a split second to place a steadying hand on Eric’s back and shove him back inwards, dislodging his own footing in the process. The next moment he found himself in the water and tried to grab the outside safety line, but it eluded his grasp as the raft went barrelling forward through the raging torrent.

“Luke!” cried Rob. “My brother…”

“Alright, alright” said Scott. “Don’t panic, we’ll get him, I promise. He knows what to do. Everyone keep paddling.”

Upstream from the raft, which was receding into the distance, Luke righted himself so that he was on his back with his feet pointing downstream to avoid bashing his head against a rock. Oh well, here we go, thought Luke. He had no choice as to direction, which was to keep right on going. Fortunately he’d kept hold of his paddle so if Scott could slow the raft once they’d passed the white water, maybe they could haul him in via his paddle or throw him a grab rope. His flotation device kept his head above water and he wasn’t unduly worried. He remembered to keep his feet raised so they didn’t get trapped in a crevice or stuck between rocks beneath the surface, and kept his arms out to try and slow the speed at which he was being hurtled through the water. As he hit the foaming maelstrom the others had already passed through it felt like he was being tumbled inside a gigantic washing machine. The experience was not actually that unpleasant: he thought might as well lean back and go with the flow.

“Luke!” shouted Scott. Yeah, I hear you, buddy. What’s the plan? Luke had managed to hook his arm around a rock, thinking it might be an idea to hang on in there for a while. Scott was beckoning to him. He had slowed the speed of the raft in a calmer stretch of the river and Luke understood he wanted him to carry on towards them. He let go of the rock. Here I come, fellas. Catch me if you can. As he neared the raft he came so close they didn’t need to throw him a line, and he was grabbed by about three pairs of arms, one of which was his brother’s. They hauled him back in via the shoulder straps of his life vest.

“Well, hello again” said Luke to Rob as he recommenced paddling.

“I nearly died when you fell out” said Rob. “Are you OK?”

“Not too bad, considering.”

“We’ll take a break in a few minutes” said Scott, pointing to a spot further down the river bank.

They paddled in unison towards a strip of shore which must have been a designated picnic spot for rafters as there was a small wooden landing stage where they could moor the raft. As they disembarked, Rob caught hold of Luke’s hand.

“Later” said Luke in a low tone. The others were sprawled out on the rocks, and unwrapping sandwiches. Cheryl handed Luke a thermos cup of coffee which was still hot.

“Here. You must be freezing.”

“I’m fine. That little dip certainly woke me up.” Eric looked annoyed, probably because her attention was momentarily focussed on Luke rather than him.

“Weren’t you scared?” she asked him. Luke smiled at her.

“Highlight of the day so far. I have some advice for anyone attempting to swim against a strong current like that.” They all leaned forward, hoping to learn something to their advantage. “Don’t.” Eric suddenly laughed.

“Isn’t there a saying in the bible about how it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than a bad man. Guess who fell out of the boat, folks? The big bad soldier.” He startled chortling as though he’d said something hilarious. Scott shook his head, and raised his eyebrows.

“For God’s sake, Eric” hissed Cheryl. “The only reason he went in the water was because he was trying to stop you from being thrown out. What’s got into you?” Rob hadn’t seen what had caused Luke to be tossed out as it had all happened so fast, but he now understood what Eric’s beef was. Quite unintentionally, Luke was showing him up before his girlfriend. Most men reacted in one of two ways to his brother: they either looked up to him and followed his lead – recognising that here was a dominant male with whom they couldn’t compete – or they resented him and tried to undermine his natural authority because they felt their masculinity to be under threat. Eric clearly fell into the latter category.

The sun had come out and some of them had shed their outer layers, basking in the unexpected warmth. Luke had taken off his plaid wool shirt to wring it out, and looked completely relaxed in his white undershirt, elbows folded behind his head. Cheryl was covertly checking him out, running her eyes over his well-developed biceps and the bunched muscles of his powerful shoulders. In Biology class they had been told this was an evolutionary thing. Women traditionally chose physically strong muscular men to mate with because such men were able to do all the heavy work and also protect them from other predatory males in the days of the wild frontier. And men were attracted to women with sturdy hips and big breasts because Nature had designed things so that such women were best equipped to bear healthy children who would be able to help out with all the work needed to farm and build new homesteads.

The teacher had gone on to remark that a clever marketing executive for Coca-Cola had purposely designed the bottle to mimic womanly curves because the classic hour-glass shape unconsciously appealed to male consumers. Rob thought the marketing guy couldn’t have been that smart because women enjoyed Coke too. And since the world was now overpopulated and they lived in more civilised times than the Wild West, did that mean people would stop being attracted to the opposite sex? He wondered whether he might be the forerunner of a new type of species because there didn’t seem to be any biological or evolutionary reasons why he should be attracted to his big brother.

“Well, I don’t need some army dope to play the big hero. All brawn and no brains” he muttered to Cheryl, who looked shocked.

“Shut up, Eric, he can hear you!” As Luke continued to ignore the provocation, Eric came and stood in front of him.

“Fuck the war and fuck you.” Luke eyeballed him steadily for a moment.

“My sentiments entirely” he replied coolly. Rob was perfectly aware his brother could have flattened the little shit-faced punk if he’d wanted. But he wasn’t going to, for two reasons: he didn’t want to make things awkward for his friend Scott as these people were his paying guests, nor did he feel the need to prove himself to someone who was lashing out because Luke made him feel small. If Eric’s aim was to impress Cheryl by his belligerence it wasn’t working, as she was now gazing at his brother with undisguised interest. Most women did. Rob turned away. He would be glad to get away from this crowd.

“Alright, people, time to make a move” said Scott. “We’ve got another fifteen miles of thrills and spills to go. Is everybody ready?”

“Yes!!” came the enthusiastic response.

“That guy Eric is such a jerk” said Rob, as he walked down to the landing stage with his brother. “Don’t know what she’s is doing with him.”

“She could do a lot better” agreed Luke. He reached across to tighten the strings on Rob’s vest. “Next time I might just let him topple in. Homo Ignoramus could do with a good rinse and spin.” They laughed.

*****

“Thanks” said Scott to Luke later, when they were lounging around outside in front of his cabin. The rest of the afternoon on the river had passed without incident, apart from a hairy white-knuckle ride down the Helter Skelter – a series of rock shelves with a stepped drop-off like a watery staircase - and the others in their party had since dispersed towards their respective tents or log cabins. “I could see how he was riding you.”

“You mean thanks for not punching his lights out? You’re trying to run a business here and we’re not in the army any more.”

“Yeah” said Scott. “Things were simpler then. You give an order and it’s obeyed. That’s how things get done. Running a civilian outfit can be a bitch. Even when these kids have no experience and don’t know what they’re talking about they question every damn thing you do or say. If a guy’s being a pain in the ass or gives you any backchat in the army, you kick his butt or refer him up the chain of command.” Suzanne appeared at the bottom of a trail with three dogs, including Rusty, who hurled himself at Rob and Luke, jumping up to lick their faces.

“Hey, how you been, boy?”

“He’s been as good as gold” said Suzanne. “We’ve been on a walk and he found himself a new girlfriend. They were getting down and dirty so I had to pull him off.”

“He gets frisky around my kid brother too” said Luke, holding him off. “Quit it, Rusty. I’m wet enough as it is.”

“Scott! I can’t believe you didn’t tell him to get into a pair of your pants and let him dry off” exclaimed Suzanne, looking at Luke’s wet jeans. “That old river buck you some? I must have been dunked about ten times.” She grinned. “Come on inside.” She shooed Luke inside despite his protests that he was drying off nicely. He reappeared moments later in a pair of faded jeans that were slightly too short for him, Scott being about six foot.

“Why, howdy Jethro” said Rob, grinning. “Now you look like a real hillbilly.”

“Ah’s jest plumb wore out from workin’ that corn patch. So Ah’m gonna set myself down here and have me some grits, a mess of collard greens, and some of them cornpones. I sho is mighty hungry” replied Luke. Suzanne started giggling.

“So where you folks headed tomorrow?” enquired Scott. “There’s plenty of hiking trails around the gorge. Hell, what can I say? We love West Virginia.”

“We feel the same way about Kentucky. We were thinking of heading northeast to Monongahela National Forest. It’s about a three hour drive by my reckoning.”

“Yep. About 125 miles or so. That’s bear country so watch where you pitch the tent. If you take the US-19 north from Fayetteville, then the WV-20 north…”

“Scott, he’s been all over the jungle like you. I’m sure he can read a map” said Suzanne. “Say, would you all like some pizza? I’ve got some dough in the fridge just calling out for Pepperoni and Mozzarella.” Rob suddenly realised he was starving, and that it would take a while for Luke’s clothes to dry out. He smiled at her.

“Uh, if it’s no trouble…”

“No trouble at all, sweetie. You know something? You’re about the most beautiful boy I’ve ever laid eyes on. Those blue eyes of yours just blow me right away.” Rob blushed and looked at the ground. Luke and Scott burst out laughing.

“Get outta here, woman” growled Scott good-humouredly. “And stop embarrassing this bashful kid.”

“You remember that little girl in Saigon?” said Scott to Luke, who looked blank at first until Scott added “At the café. Dinky dau.”

The French-style café was run by a local man who hated the North Vietnamese Communists with a passion. When Luke and Moreland sometimes stopped by for a cold drink he would come running out to them, all grins. “You kick Charlie’s butt, yes?” He loved all things American and knew enough to serve the beer ice-cold, and consequently had a regular stream of American customers. In the mornings the café was patronised by officers who liked to breakfast on pastries and coffee, but as the day wore on with the sun beating down relentlessly the outside tables would fill up with GIs, swigging from bottles of cold beer. They might have been in some Parisian sidewalk café watching the world go by – the only indication that there was a war going on being their uniforms and holstered pistols. The street traffic was always busy and chaotic: boys and young men wearing sandals or flip-flops pedalled by on foot-powered 3 wheeler bicycle taxis called cyclos - a cheap and effective way of negotiating the narrow streets and alleys. Some were barefoot. Women sashayed by in their elegant long-sleeved tunics with split side panels worn over trousers (ao dais) the men and women alike in ubiquitous conical hats. A few of the younger women wore Westernised Capri pants or mini-skirts teamed with kitten heels, copying Hollywood movie stars.

One afternoon, Luke and his sergeant had been sitting at a table in the sunshine, when a pretty teenage girl stopped her bicycle on the sidewalk to smile at them. She pointed a dainty little foot at Luke and said “You bam bam. You Dinky dau.” He glanced at Moreland for enlightenment.

“She just called you crazy” said Moreland. “I think she might be flirting with you.”

“You bam bam, me bam bam. We both bam bam” said Luke, returning her smile. “You cute little Dinky dau.” She kept riding up and down the street, always pausing to say the same thing “You bam bam” followed by a little giggle. “Dinky dau Yankee doodle.”

“Yeah, I remember that café and that little girl” said Luke. “She first showed up the day they ran out of ice.” As they had taken an outside table, the owner had appeared before them with a mournful expression on his face. “Generator broke. No cold beer. Sorry, sorry.” He looked at them anxiously as if it were the end of the world. Then he brightened up. “I send boy to get ice. You wait, please. Not long.” They had tried to tell him not to bother but he’d insisted, and moment later a boy aged about twelve leapt onto a pedicab and took off, pedalling furiously as though his life depended on it. About ten minutes later little Dinky dau had shown up on her bicycle. Moreland was of the opinion the owner had enlisted someone’s daughter to keep them entertained whilst they waited for the ice. When the boy returned, laden down with a cooler strapped onto the passenger seat, the owner had beamed triumphantly before launching into Sinatra’s I Did It My Way.

“Dorsey married her” said Scott. “Took her back to the States after his discharge. That guy who owned the café is now his father-in-law.”

“Well, I’ll be damned” said Luke. Suzanne brought out a huge pizza which must have been the size of a picnic table, and cut it into sections with a circular pizza cutter. After they’d sat around shooting the breeze for an hour or so, Luke rose from his chair and muttered something about getting changed. Suzanne clapped a hand to her forehead.

“Oh shoot! I put your jeans in the oven to dry and forgot all about them. They’ll be burned to a cinder.” Luke was speechless, until Suzanne said “Just kidding. Shoulda seen your face!” Rob and Scott cracked up as Luke shook his head, grinning.

“Joke’s on me today, it seems. First the river gets me, then Susie Q here puts one over on me.”

“Your brother’s one heck of a guy” said Scott to Rob when Luke had disappeared indoors. “Best platoon commander I ever came across.” At thirty Scott was a few years older than Luke, but had served under him as his second in command. “On his last day with us the guys went for him. He thought he was being attacked and was ready to take on the whole lot unarmed, when they hoisted him onto their shoulders and paraded him around the barracks. I’ve never seen them do that before. They really loved him.”

“Watch out for those bears” said Scott, leaning across the passenger window, as they prepared to leave. “Especially the females.”

“Damn straight” said Suzanne. “I’d rather come across a big old male weighing several hundred pounds than a sow and her cubs. You don’t want to mess with Mama Bear.”

*****

“You did put in the shotgun?” Rob asked the following morning. They were on the road again, heading northeast, having taken down the tent and packed up. Luke glanced over at him.

“Sure.” He’d packed both their Remington 870s, thinking he might get Rob to put in some target practice whilst they were away, though he was planning on hitting inanimate objects like tin cans, not bears. “Ah, those two were just trying to scare you. Black bears aren’t like grizzlies. Generally they don’t want anything to do with humans. If you make a lot of noise and act tough they run off.” Rob hoped Luke was right. The thought of camping out in a flimsy tent with bears roaming around, sent shivers down his spine.

“What I’m really worried about” said Luke with a smile, is those aliens from Outer Space.” When Rob was still in 2nd Grade a rumour had started up that extra-terrestrials would be descending on Planet Earth for the purpose of kidnapping children under the age of ten, who would be taken from their beds at night and whisked off to another planet. The unsubstantiated claim had originated from somewhere in Indiana where it been broadcast over the air waves, and then spread eastwards to neighbouring states like Ohio, West Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. Small children wept when they heard the news, which became grimmer with each re-telling: they were told the aliens needed earth children to populate their own planet, and that their parents would not be able to protect them: anyone who tried to stop them would be destroyed, “vaporised” with death rays.

Children were solemnly informed by their older brothers and sisters that they needed to get ready. They should say goodbye to their families whom they would never see again, and pack a few of their favourite toys. As the rumour continued to circulate Rob had taken it very seriously. So many people were talking about it and it had even been announced on the radio, so it had to be true. As the date in question drew nearer he became increasingly anxious and went to his brother.

“Can I sleep in your room with you tomorrow night?”

“Nope. Stop being such a baby.”

“But, Luke…” His lower lip was trembling as he tried to put on a brave face. “I don’t want to go to another planet. I want to stay here with you.” There was no point in talking to his parents, who clearly didn’t believe him and had told him not be silly. Luke had merely laughed and carried on with what he was doing. By Wednesday evening – his last night on earth – he was utterly wretched. He was reluctant to go to bed, and hung over the banisters in his pyjamas straining to hear as his parents conversed in normal tones as though nothing awful was about to happen.

“Little buddy, it’s way past your bedtime” his father said, catching a glimpse of him from the hallway below. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.” Rob camped outside his brother’s bedroom door, waiting for him to come upstairs. He should be safe until midnight, when the spaceships were due to arrive. Luke came upstairs, whistling, and walked right past him. Rob stood in the doorway watching Luke undress with tears running down his cheeks. He just couldn’t believe how calmly his brother was taking it. In less than three hours the aliens would come for him. He would be taken to some horrible place millions of miles away in another galaxy, far away from his home and his family. He and Luke would never see each other again. And his brother didn’t even care? Luke eventually noticed him.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Please don’t let them take me, Luke” sobbed Rob.

“Let who take you? Oh, not that alien thing again. I guess you can sleep in here if you want, just for tonight.” Rob had hurtled across the room and dived into his brother’s bed before Luke could change his mind, snuggling down beneath the coverlet. He didn’t sleep a wink for the next two hours, starting at every noise outside the window. His brother was fast asleep. Rob climbed over him to get on the side nearest the wall where he thought he would be safest. With Luke’s body acting as a solid bulwark between him and whatever creatures might appear, perhaps they would give up and go away. They wouldn’t be interested in his brother because he was nearly twelve, and he was sure Luke would not allow anyone kidnap him, whether they had death rays or not. As he pressed up against his brother’s back, Luke turned over and woke up. Rob was relieved he was awake and that he wouldn’t have to face the aliens alone.

“What are you doing over there?”

“I thought if I could hide between you and the wall they might not see me. Remember that zombie movie where the family hid under the bed? Even though the zombies had X-ray eyes they didn’t see them.” He gazed at his brother hopefully.

“Of course, you realise aliens can pass through walls, just like ghosts?” observed Luke casually, instantly dispelling any hopes of salvation. “If they can travel lightyears across space a wall isn’t going to stop them.” Seeing the look of horror on Rob’s face, Luke had agreed to stay awake until midnight, just to humour him. Rob had eventually drifted off to sleep, unable to keep his eyes open any longer, only to be shaken awake by his brother.

“Robbie, they’re here. I can see the lights from the spaceship.” Luke had decided to play a prank on his little brother, and was shining a flashlight from beneath the covers. Rob clung to Luke in terror as the beams of light played over the ceiling and walls. He was about to tear off down the hallway to wake their parents, when Luke put an end to his misery by revealing his trickery. Rob took his revenge the following morning by putting pepper in Luke’s oatmeal porridge.

“I was only seven, you bastard” Rob now said. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“I didn’t believe that shit for one second” replied Luke, as he turned off onto the WV-20N. “If I had, do you seriously think I’d have let them take you without putting up a fight?” He pulled into a rest stop a couple of miles down the road to fill up the tank, and returned with a couple of coffees in Styrofoam cups and a bag breakfast muffins.

“I liked Suzanne and Scott. They’re both really nice” said Rob. Suzanne had confided that she had been something of a tomboy when she was a kid and that she and Scott were “soulmates.” They had both liked the same things as children - playing in the woods and camping out - just like him and Luke. But in their teens they had started to develop different feelings for each other, and by High School they were going steady.

“Yep, she’s the right gal for him” agreed Luke, manoeuvring out onto the highway again. “A lot of girls hate camping. They worry about their hair and all.” Rob reflected on evolution and how the traditional roles between the sexes were changing. As the workplace became more mechanized and there was no longer any need to produce large families to work farms, maybe less people would get married and more people would gravitate towards their own sex because they had more in common. He now put this theory to Luke.

“If women can get jobs I guess they won’t need to rely on a man for money, and if they don’t get pregnant because of the Pill maybe men won’t have to marry them.”

“They won’t have to, but they’ll probably still want to. Most men are still gonna want a female around, and most females still like guys, don’t ask me why” said Luke. Most soldiers he’d known were not in favour of women being called up for active combat service. There had been some crude jokes flying around to the effect that the only way a female could “engage” with the enemy was flat on her back, with her legs in the air. “No reason women can’t work on a Ford factory assembly line or as accountants and lawyers, but if they put them on the battlefield women would have a pretty rough time of it, fighting off guys from their own side as well as the enemy.” He thought back to their primitive living conditions in the jungle. “I just don’t see how that could work.”

“What about the Spartans?” asked Rob. “What about them?”

“Professor Taylor said in ancient Sparta the sexes lived in separate military barracks because they had to spend their whole lives training for warfare. The women got it on with each other, and so did the men. A lot of them were queer because their society made them like that.” Luke laughed.

“How the hell would old Taylor know what they got up to centuries ago? Anyway the same stuff goes on in prisons - chicks into chicks and guys cornholing each other - but once people get out of jail most go back to acting normal. I mean, men and women aren’t going to change that much. It’s been like this for thousands of years, right?” The more he thought about it the more puzzled Rob became. He just couldn’t make head or tail of any of it.

Everyone else but him seemed to accept that because this was the way things had always been, this was the way it would always be.

“Luke, do you think I’m some kind of mutant freak?” Rob suddenly asked. Luke gave him a considering look.

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

Chapter Fourteen – March 1968

“Let’s drive around and see what we can find” suggested Luke. Shortly after taking the WV-15E to Monongahela National Forest at Elkins, they had passed several signposts directing them to campsites, but taken one look at the families running around with squealing children and looked at each other dubiously. A few miles further he turned down an unmarked road and ended up having to reverse all the way back up as it didn’t go anywhere. A forest ranger with a rifle slung over his shoulder popped up out of nowhere.

“Can I help you fellas?”

“We’re fugitives from the law” explained Rob. “We need somewhere to hide out.” The ranger looked at them for a moment. He was trying to decide whether they were trouble or not.

“If you guys are thinking of camping off the main sites there’s no law against it, but don’t keep food close to your tent. Likewise with your garbage: keep it bagged up and make sure you put out any fires you start. The maximum penalty for -”

“Thanks for your helpful advice, mister, but I have to get my brother to a hospital so we need to leave right away.” Luke turned the truck around and they waved goodbye to the ranger, who was still staring after them, probably memorising their licence plate so he could send out an alert to other rangers in the vicinity. They were actually trying to find Big Bend on the South Branch Potomac River in Smoke Hole Canyon, which Scott had mentioned as a great place to camp, but he wasn’t about to ask this guy for directions. He knew the sort: most state troopers were over-officious and totally devoid of humour.

“Try that road, Luke” said Rob, pointing to a sign that said Smoke Hole.

“Looks like we’re on the right track” agreed Luke. The terrain was steep and pretty muddy in places with tight switchbacks, the service road twisting like a sidewinder the higher they got. It eventually widened out into a clearing with enough room to park two or three vehicles: there were a couple of trails branching off in different directions. One sign said Smoke Hole and the other Big Bend. “The gorge is about twenty miles long. We want the Big Bend Loop Trail so I guess we’ll take the second one.” Rusty was running around in circles, ecstatic to be out in the open again.

Luke hefted the camping gear in the heaviest backpack, and Rob took their sleeping bags and some supplies in a smaller one. They climbed steadily to reach the river bend which was a mile and a half distant. The riverbed was about 1100 feet above sea level so Luke estimated they were probably halfway up Cave Mountain by the time they emerged onto the bank. From here they could see Castle Rock and North Fork Gap to the west. High above the river on the north side of the gap was a prominent crag called Eagle Rock, an exposed sandstone formation on the edge of the mountain. Beyond Big Bend was remote wilderness, the only access by boat or on foot.

“Can we get up to Eagle Rock tomorrow?” asked Rob.

“If you like climbing, boy.” replied Luke. “We’d have to cross South Branch by boat as there’s no chance of fording it by foot at this time of year. In the meantime, let’s find somewhere we can pitch the tent.” The landscape was very rugged and rocky with exposed rock layers and lots of caverns and rock cavities, Luke noted.

“Just the kind of place where bears would hang out” said Rob uneasily, echoing his thoughts. ”Those are probably their lairs.”

“Yeah. And they won’t be hibernating at this time of year.” It was the last week in March. Luke paused, and looked around him. Yet in many ways the spot was ideal: near a water source so they could splash about at the end of a day’s hiking and freshen up first thing in the morning. “What do you think, kiddo?” It was certainly isolated, which was what they wanted, and it might not get any better than this.

“Well, I don’t think we should go back and camp at the other sites. I know they have picnic tables and fire pits and all, but we don’t need that, do we?”

“That’s my boy. How about over there?” Luke pointed to a level patch which was close to some flat rocks and boulders by the river’s edge where early settlers and succeeding generations had probably fished for rainbow trout, rock bass and sunfish. Not that they had any fishing gear with them. As boys they had both fished for crawdads with a stick and string, with a lure fastened on the end of the string with a pin, but for tonight they would make do with chili dogs: they’d picked up some hot dogs and a can of chili con carne at a country store earlier on. They’d also loaded up the flatbed of the truck with several gallons of drinking water, since they wouldn’t be staying at official campsites with spigots. Even Luke drew the line at laboriously filtering river water through a nylon stocking and boiling it up before it was safe to drink.

“Let’s get a fire going before it gets dark” said Luke. The sky was yellow and mauve like a healing bruise, as the sun sank behind the mountains. He didn’t want to be stumbling around where he couldn’t see where he was going. After an hour they had collected enough wood to last them for the night and the following morning. They built a fire pit ringed with stones, and Luke rigged a hickory pole on some upright supports to create a spit from which to hang the pot their mother had thought to include for brewing coffee in the mornings. When the water started to bubble they lowered in the frankfurters. Rob had remembered how to improvise a range stove from Luke’s demonstration, and heated up some chili in another pan laid crossways on the green logs.

Once they’d eaten Luke took out some whiskey and had a couple of shots, offering the bottle to Rob, who didn’t really like it neat but gulped down the fiery stuff in imitation of his brother. Luke laughed as he screwed up his face and mixed some with water in a tin mug for him. They put another couple of logs on the fire, and watched the fireflies swarming in the dark. Overhead the stars were preternaturally bright, winking like millions of sequins stitched into a black velvet cloak. Cave Mountain Gap - the gateway to the canyon - was an exceptionally beautiful place, but like many other beautiful places on earth, Luke sensed it could also be deadly.

Whilst Rob had been preoccupied with hunting down some marshmallows for toasting, the store owner had warned Luke of timber rattlers if they planned to camp in the wilderness. As a fifteen-year-old Rob had been bitten by one in the woods behind their home, and Luke had had to carry him back down the mountain trail. It had been touch and go before they were able to rush him to the local hospital where they’d pumped anti-venom into him, but in a remote area like this any similar incidents could be life-threatening. Rusty was in canine heaven with all manner of small mammals and rodents to chase: cottontail rabbits and squirrels, mink, woodchucks, chipmunks, racoons, and possum but they would need to keep a close eye on him.

“You look serious” observed Rob. “What are you thinking?”

“Just boring stuff” replied Luke. “Making sure we have enough water.” He estimated they were likely to get through the water they had been able to carry with them. They could either hike back to the trailhead at some point, or sneak into the nearest campsite, which was about the same distance from the river as their truck. “We’ll go back to the truck tomorrow after we’ve been out hiking, and pick up a few more gallons. And I want you checking underneath every rock and log before you sit on it” he added.

“Did you remember to check that time you leapt on me when I was lying on a log?” returned Rob mischievously “Or did you just get so carried away you couldn’t help yourself?” Luke smiled but didn’t reply.

“Don’t put ideas in my head” he said eventually. “I haven’t had you up a against a tree yet.” He leaned in to kiss Rob, whose tongue tasted of the marshmallows he had just been toasting on sharpened twigs, kind of like the cotton candy he used to like as a kid. At the fairground, Luke would peer down at his little brother, trying to discern his face which was completely obscured in a fluffy pink cloud of the sticky stuff. Rob now sat astride Luke, facing him with his legs either side of the boulder Luke was leaning back against. Luke pulled him in closer so their crotches were up tight and Rob held onto his shoulders. Soon they were rolling around on the ground, working up a white heat with the friction.

“I think I might have found a solution to our little problem” murmured Luke, as Rob clasped him around the neck.

“What problem?” asked Rob, returning his kisses. Sometimes when Luke touched him or kissed him, he felt like he was plummeting down an elevator shaft, his heart pounding like a kettledrum.

“You like this, don’t you?” From Rob’s passionate response, Luke gathered he was loving it. Cindy had also enjoyed dry-humping, more so than the act of penetration, and he and Rob could have a lot of fun jean-jamming without breaking any taboos. He’d once heard that the ratio of men to women in the Wild West during the frontier period had been something like nine to one: with the scarcity of women – at least white women, as opposed to indigenous females – all those single unattached men must have sometimes fooled around with each other when they were far from towns with saloon bars and brothels. Some of them spent so long out on the range they got touched with prairie fever: if you spent long nights out in the open with a good-looking young buck by your side and got to feeling frisky, Luke could see where there might have been an element of temptation there.

“Hey, get off my brother” said Luke good-humouredly, as Rusty tried to get in on the action, thrusting his nose between them. “I’m sure as hell not getting into a threesome with a dog.”

“I’ve never seen so many fireflies in one place” said Rob, gazing in awe at the hundreds of flickering golden lights darting around them. He got unsteadily to his feet, rocking on his heels like a crocked sailor on shore leave.

“How many whiskeys did you have?” asked Luke, walking him over to the tent with an arm around his waist.

“I can’t remember. Where’s Rusty going to sleep?” asked Rob. Normally, when they were camping he slept in the flatbed on a blanket, or inside the cab if it was wet, but they’d left the pickup at the bottom of the trail. “He’ll have to come in with us.” There wasn’t a great deal of room inside the tent, and Luke’s height meant his feet were right up against the canvas. Eventually they made a bed for him on an old quilt just outside the entrance flap.

“He’ll be fine” said Luke. “It’s relatively mild and dry outside.”

“But what if a bear came sniffing around and Rusty goes for him….” Luke stopped his words with another lingering kiss. They were lying together inside one of the opened out sleeping bags, the other one pulled up over them.

“Listen, if a bear comes within a hundred yards of us that dog is going to smell it and hear it before we do, and he’s gonna start growling. By which time I’ll have the bear in my sights.” His 12-gauge pump action shotgun was a couple of inches away. “And we’d hear it too. Bears don’t exactly tiptoe around.” Luke had bagged up the rest of their food and hoisted it up a tree with a rope at some distance from their tent. Somewhat reassured, Rob nuzzled into the crook of Luke’s shoulder. As his brother had said, it was a clear night and sounds travelled. But if a breeze got up in the night the flapping of the canvas might muffle the sound of anything prowling around outside. A huge claw would rip though the canvas before it tore into flesh. Confined in the small tent, there would be nowhere to go, no escape. Any further such thoughts were soon chased from his head by the close proximity of his brother.

*****

Rob knelt on a flat rock in the shallows splashing his face to wake himself up. He had slept fitfully for the first part of the night then fallen into a deep slumber, pressed close against the side of Luke’s body. An early morning fog had descended like a shroud on the river and it was eerily quiet. He looked up as Luke came up behind him.

“Maybe that’s how Smoke Hole Canyon got its name” he suggested to Luke. “Because of the mist. You know, like the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee.”

“Possibly. But I think it’s more to do with the fact that Indians used Smoke Hole Cave for smoking meats; it’s shaped like a funnel with a hole at the top so the smoke can escape. I could murder some pancakes right now” Luke added.

“Me too. I didn’t know we had any.”

“We don’t. All we’ve got is corned beef for sandwiches later on, a jar of peanut butter, Saltine crackers, and some coffee and sugar. I just checked. Though I think there’s some more stuff back in the truck. Guess what we’re having for breakfast?”

“Crackers and peanut butter?” Rob couldn’t help admiring the casual way Like stripped off in front of him before availing himself of the soap Rob had left in a tin holder. He watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, as Luke sluiced himself down with water by the river’s edge.

“You got it, Sherlock. Are you going to stand there staring at my cock all day, or are you going to hand me that towel?”

“I’m not. I wasn’t” fibbed Rob, getting flustered. Luke laughed and went off to make a fire to brew up some coffee. Over a breakfast which consisted of a peanut butter sandwich and coffee with condensed milk, they discussed where they would go hiking.

“We can go wherever the hell we want. There are miles of backcountry mountain trails. We should probably stick to the western side of the gorge. The South Branch Trail is only three and half miles but there are dozens of other trails which connect to the North Fork Mountain trail. That’s a good one – it follows the western rim of Suck Hole Canyon with great views of the Allegheny mountains - but it’s 24 miles long and we couldn’t do it in a day, not without camping en route, and it’s way too steep and rugged to be lugging a tent and all our gear.” Rob smiled at his brother. Luke had made a preliminary study of some maps posted near the entrance to the gap yesterday, and had already familiarised himself with the topography and terrain. That was his military training kicking in.

“I’m not sure I like the sound of Suck Hole Canyon anyway. Sounds like something you might get sucked into. Unless of course it got the name from lonesome guys who used to blow each other off.”

“Hey, not at this time in the morning” said Luke, smiling despite himself. “We’ll stick to Cave Mountain today. It’s nearly two and a half thousand feet, so plenty of rock climbing to cut your teeth on.”

“Tell Mom and Dad I had a nice life and not to grieve too much when you bring home my body” said Rob, knowing full well Luke was trying to frighten him, and they wouldn’t be reaching the summit. “I want to be buried alongside Jesse James in Missouri.” Luke came over to him and placed his hands underneath his armpits, lifting him high up into the air. Rusty looked puzzled.

“Why do you do that?” asked Rob, laughing, as Luke put him back down on the ground.

“Because I can.” Rob suspected that it wasn’t just a show of superior strength, but that he just liked holding Rob in his arms. They smothered the fire, dousing the embers with coffee dregs, and started to gather what they would need for the day: plenty of water, food, their knives and shotguns, plus a length of rope which Luke jokingly tried to tie around Rob’s waist.

*****

An hour later they had picked up a trail which wound its way through forested gorge and rocky cliffs. After a strenuous hike involving some scrambling over rocks they reached a lookout point perched on a rocky outcrop, with far-reaching vistas. To the north of the gap they could discern Cat Path Rocks, which were probably named after big cats like puma and cougar which used to roam wild like bison and elk. Luke slipped a lead on Rusty’s collar and pulled his brother several feet back from the edge.

“Tremendous country. Drop’s enough to make your palms sweat, huh?” At places the canyon was well over 1000 feet deep. He had the same impression as he had the night before: the place was breathtakingly beautiful but deadly. The Appalachians claimed several lives every year – through accidents and falls suffered by rock climbers, cavers or unwary hikers, heart attacks from the steep gradients, or from kayakers and rafters misjudging the ferocity of the rapids halfway through the canyon. Less common were attacks from the wildlife (and occasionally other humans) A few people just went missing and were never seen again. Every year Americans flocked to wilderness areas which drew them like a magnet. The pioneer spirit lived on. There were those who would like to tame these areas by turning them into vast recreational camp sites, but in the process you lost something valuable. If you eliminated the element of danger, the ruggedness and unpredictability of the natural landscape - with its steep gorges and unexplored caves with bottomless pits, the natural predators like bear, coyotes and deadly rattlesnakes - then there would be no wilderness. And it was the wilderness that people unconsciously craved, whether they were aware of it or not.

Rob fed a peanut butter sandwich to Rusty, feeling guilty about leaving his dog food in the truck, but there had only been so much they could carry (water was more important) and Luke had said it wouldn’t hurt him to eat their food for a couple of days, with some dog biscuits thrown in.

“No, not the corned beef, boy. It’s too salty.” Rusty had poked his head into their bag of sandwiches. He poured some water from one of his canteen into a shallow bowl, and Rusty lapped it up thirstily. “I wouldn’t want to meet up with a rattler here” said Rob, glancing around him.

“You know the drill, kid. Freeze and don’t move a muscle. As long as they don’t feel threatened they’ll leave you alone. Out in the desert cowboys used to skin and eat rattlesnakes. Meat’s meant to be pretty tasty, like alligator meat” said Luke, biting into a sandwich. He’d taken off his outer shirt, and was contemplating the view in front of him, enjoying a gentle breeze. Rusty was curled up at their feet, restrained by his lead and resigned to the fact he wouldn’t be going anywhere until they got back onto the trail. Rob gazed at his brother. When Luke was twelve he’d killed a rattlesnake which had been coiled up on the doormat of their home, basking in the sun. Their father was at work, and they’d both been outside playing. They had heard their mother scream, and Luke had raced around the other side of the house. She was standing on the other side of the screen door, transfixed with horror.

“It nearly got in the house” she’d whispered through the mesh of the door. Rob had been too young to recognise the threat, but had done exactly what Luke had told him to do, rushing off to the barn to fetch a pitchfork and shovel.

“Make sure the screen door’s locked, Mom.” She had already slid the little metal catch across. “Rob, stand back.” Rob was hovering just behind him, fascinated to see what he was going to do. Luke had plunged the pitchfork into its writhing body, skewering it before it could escape. “Now hand me the shovel.” He had then severed its head with the shovel just as he’d seen his father do once. It was all over in a matter of seconds. Rob had been in awe of his brother – for his swift and decisive action, his strength and grim determination. He had shown no hesitation or fear as he killed the snake, and had probably dispatched the enemy in Vietnam with the same ruthless efficiency.

“Do you think we’re near Cave Mountain Cave?” asked Rob. The Confederates had operated a saltpetre works in the cave during the Civil War for the production of gunpowder, which they’d taken over from existing apparatus set up by eighteenth century pioneers.

“I’ve no idea” confessed Luke. “This mountain is riddled with caves.”

“Are we gonna keep climbing?” asked Rob.

“Only way is up or down. Are you feeling tired?” Luke traced a finger across his brother’s cheek, now a little flushed from the exertion. He had the smooth complexion of a girl.

“Not especially.” Rob didn’t want to admit up to the fact that he was finding the steep gradient pretty challenging, and was determined to keep up with his older brother. Luke regarded him thoughtfully.

“If you recall, the trail bifurcated about quarter of a mile back, and I’m pretty sure the other route will take us down to a valley bottom. From there we should be able to make our way back to Big Bend.”

“Yeah, let’s take the bi-fornicating trail” agreed Rob, giggling. Why couldn’t his brother just say “forked” like most people? They retraced their steps to where the trail branched, and began to descend. As the trail widened out and the incline became gentler the lower they got, Luke unclipped Rusty’s lead and let him scamper on ahead. Every now and then he would turn around and wait for them to catch up, as if to say Get a move on, you slowpokes.

“Tomorrow, we can go up to High Falls if you like” said Luke, putting a hand on Rob’s shoulder. “It has a swimming hole and we can mess about for an hour or so.”

“Sounds great” said Rob. By “mess about” did he mean go swimming or did he mean fooling around? Whatever Luke suggested was fine with him. Rusty was enjoying himself too, having just streaked off in pursuit of a chipmunk. “I hope he’s not going to kill it and eat it.”

“He probably won’t even catch it. He just enjoys the chase.” They eventually emerged into a narrow flat-bottomed valley, where there were traces of old stone walls and foundations – the remnants of settlements from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. They followed an abandoned narrow-gauge railroad with coal mine entrances alongside rotting tracks.

“I didn’t know people could get here by train” said Rob.

“These were used to transport coal wagons not people, so the coal could be loaded onto boats.” They came across further evidence of a scattered community of remote homesteads: an old grist mill and several illicit stills.

“Moonshine country. Bet they were liquored out of their heads half the time.” Rob pointed to an old tombstone inscribed Here lies Abe Stump, loving husband to Amy Stump and father to….. there was a long list of illegible names. “Do you reckon old Abe was a stump jumper?”

“He liked to spread his seed around, that’s for sure. Must have had at least twelve kids.” Luke bent down to read another headstone which recorded the death of a sixteen-year-old girl who died of scalp wounds inflicted by a marauding band of Indians.

“They scalped her? Were they Blackfoot? Kit Carson hated them” declared Rob. “He killed as many of ‘em as he could find. Said they were downright evil.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been the Blackfoot” said Luke. “Their hunting ground was the Rockies in Montana. Shawnee or Iroquois maybe. Or Seneca. The Seneca Caverns are named after the Seneca tribe. Your guess is as good as mine, little brother.” You had to admire the resilience of the early 18th century settlers, Luke reflected: trying to scratch a living off their smallholdings, whilst fending off raids from hostile Indian tribes. With the area being so isolated, they must have relied on fishing and hunting game like bison, elk, bear and puma to trade hides and fur. Although you could still hunt white-tail deer, black bear, foxes or wild turkeys, the bison and elk had long gone. Later generations had introduced sheep and swine to supplement their subsistence farming. Everyday living must have brought a great deal of pain and self-sacrifice with no doctors to tend to injuries and wounds, and with older children having to walk seven miles each way to catch a school bus. Though this not unusual. His own father had been raised in a remote rural community in Kentucky and was forever telling them how he and his brother Jim had walked several miles each day to attend the little country schoolhouse.

Despite the obstacles and hardships posed by living in an inaccessible canyon the little communities of Smoke Hole had persevered; they had never thrown in the towel, never once contemplated leaving until they were forced to with the inevitable decline in population accelerated by the war. They had even prospered during the 1920s and 30s when the production and distribution of high-quality moonshine was a booming cottage industry, but the network of mountain roads that had once connected the scattered farms had fallen into disuse and long been abandoned. There was an oppressiveness to the atmosphere, a palpable sense of sadness and tragedy hanging over the valley: they both felt it. Rob slipped his hand into Luke’s and Luke glanced at him, amused. “You feeling spooked or something?”

“There’s nobody to see us.” He was right. They were entirely alone with not a soul in sight. Psalm 23 floated into his head. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. All deserted spots had a peculiar atmosphere. His father had told them there had been a lonely stretch of country road that the locals believed to be haunted. Walking alone there late at night as a young man he had heard the sound of a wagon, a horse’s harness and the clop of hooves right behind him - literally breathing down his neck - but when he moved to get out of the way and whirled around there had been nothing there. His brother Jim had heard and experienced the same eerie phenomenon at the same spot, and they had both been nervous about walking this route when alone.

But maybe the air of sadness was just their imagination at play. The little community of people who had lived and worked here in the canyon had probably been no less happy than people living anywhere else. It was a mistake to view their lives through the eyes of the twentieth century. They would have provided their own entertainment through music and story-telling; they would have debated the issues of the day, forged strong bonds of friendship, loved, laughed, fought and dreamed. And they undoubtedly enjoyed an enormous amount of freedom to explore and wander at will.

“Why isn’t there anybody living here now?” asked Rob. “It’s like a ghost town.” He kept hold of his brother’s hand; Luke’s grasp was warm and strong.

“There were people living here as late as the 1940s. Could be the men who came back from the war took advantage of the GI Bill and decided to settle elsewhere, taking their families with them. I guess people want different things these days. Like Howard Johnson’s 28 different flavours of ice-cream” he added sardonically. “Come on, let’s see if we can find a trail out of here.” He whistled to Rusty, who came bounding up to them eagerly. Yes, Master? What can I do for you? “Go find us a trail marker, boy, and make yourself useful.” Not quite understanding what was required of him, Rusty dogged their heels patiently while Luke paced the perimeter, poking around in the undergrowth with the business end of his shotgun.

“Gotta be one around here somewhere” he muttered. There were no trail signs but the trailblazers of old often used rock markers – heaping up a little pile of rocks – to act as a guide. After fifteen minutes or so, they found what they were looking for, a boulder chalked with an arrow by some helpful hiker or local, which had been partially obscured by a blackberry bush.

“But how do you know where the trail will lead us?” asked Rob.

“It will take us to back to the Big Bend campsite or Smoke Hole Road where we’re parked up, either of which will be fine” Luke assured him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. Part of my evil plan involves checking you into the Allegheny Lunatic Asylum. I hear they admit all kinds of cases.” Rob thumped him.

“What does the other part involve?”

“Wait and see.” After about an hour – a fraction of the time it had taken to ascend the mountain - they emerged onto a narrow switchback road. “Recognise that?” Luke pointed to an old barn they had passed on the day of their arrival. “The truck’s about three quarters of a mile up the road.” Rob clapped.

“I never doubted you for one second, mister.” Actually, he was relieved they wouldn’t need to slog the three miles there and back from their campsite to the truck to fetch their remaining supplies. Although it was only three thirty in the afternoon, they’d been up since six, and hiking up an almost vertical trail by eight o’clock. They sighted the pick-up after rounding the third bend, and checked to see what was left in the cooler.

“What the hell’s this?” Luke picked up a Tupperware tub containing some kind of yellowish liquid which sloshed around as he shook it. Stuck to the side was a label with the words “Pancake mix. To be eaten within 2 days” in their mother’s handwriting.

They laughed. “Sorry, Ma, we’re too late.” Luke poured the mixture into the earth by the side of the road.

“It might have lasted” said Rob. They could have had their pancakes that morning if he’d only thought to pick it up.

“Nah, it had eggs in it. Starting to curdle. Tell you what, there’s not much stuff left apart from some cans of dog food and some cookies. Let’s go back to that little general store and get some more supplies. The water’s not going to last much beyond tomorrow anyway.” They jumped in the truck, and Luke managed a skilful U-turn, avoiding a deep ditch. Rusty seemed happy to go with the flow and looked at them expectantly.

“We could even drive in to Petersburg” suggested Rob. “If you like” replied Luke. “It’s only another ten miles.”

“And then we could stop by a drive-in and get some cheeseburgers and fries for tonight” continued Rob hopefully. Luke smiled.

“Now that’s not camping, Robbie. I suppose you want us to swing by a Dairy Queen for a hot fudge sundae too?” Rob ran his fingers through the short dark hair at the nape of Luke’s neck. “And don’t flirt with me. We’ll be making another fire later on, so we could pick up a chicken and roast it. Rusty could do with some meat and so could I. How’s that sound?”

“I won’t argue, so long as you keep me out of that asylum.”

*****

By the time they got back to the campsite and lit a fire it was getting on for six in the evening and the light was starting to fail. There were still some young campers “tubing the loop” and a couple of kids floated by on their inflatable tubes, waving and giggling. The river looped back on itself like a Shepherd’s crook for about 1.3 miles, and it was possible to end up more or less where you started from. The waters were placid on this particular stretch of the river, and it took about 45 minutes to float around Big Bend, at which point all you had to do was walk a few hundred yards across a narrow strip of land before jumping in again to repeat the entire process.

“Didn’t we see those same kids a while back?” said Luke, waving back to them. “This must be their second time round. I think folks must be going a little stir-crazy around here.”

“It’s sending them around the bend” quipped Rob. Ten minutes later a couple appeared on the water in an inflatable raft.

“Have you seen our children, a boy and a girl aged ten and twelve?” called the mother. “They were told to get out of the water and come straight back to the campsite.”

“Yeah, they’re not far ahead of you” replied Luke. “Should be able to catch them up if you paddle a little faster.” Just when they thought they had the place to themselves again, two young men in a canoe hove into view.

“Hey, how’d you all find such a great spot to camp?” shouted one of them. “Is there room to pitch another tent?”

“We own this land” lied Luke, lighting up a Camel. “Trespassers will be shot on sight.” The pair took one look at Luke’s shotgun, slung casually across his shoulder, and kept paddling.

“You scared ‘em off real good, Frank” said Rob. The official campsite must have been a lot closer than they had originally thought. It was completely invisible through the thick brush which straggled up a steep incline, but it was only a question of time before some campers discovered a way through.

“Things will settle down soon” said Luke, coming over to him. “No-one will be on the water after dark. Hey, that’s pretty. Looks like the spokes of a silver wagon wheel.” Rob had wrapped up a dozen chicken drumsticks in aluminum foil and arranged them in a circle around the fire. They had toyed with the idea of roasting a whole chicken on a spit, but had decided against it. It might take up to two hours to cook properly, and would mean constant turning to avoid the outside being overcooked and the inside underdone.

“Are they done yet?” enquired Luke, squatting down on the ground just behind him.

“I’m not sure how long they’re supposed to cook for. I guess I could unwrap one to check.”

“Well, don’t burn your fingers. Rusty, dammit. Quit that.” Rusty had hold of Luke’s bootlace between his teeth and was tugging at it.

“He just wants to play with you” said Rob. Like I do, he thought. He held up a chicken drumstick for Luke’s inspection. “I think this one’s done.” Luke speared it with his knife, and the juices ran clear. Rusty was already salivating, waiting impatiently for something good he knew would be coming his way soon.

“Yep. Which means they all are. Hey, pooch, this is for you.” He tossed one to the dog, who immediately switched his attention from Luke’s inedible boot to the tasty edible treat. After a pause Luke said “So, I was thinking we might take a little hike up to Glade Creek tomorrow.”

“You mean, after we’ve climbed Eagle Rock?”

“We’re not going up Eagle Rock” said Luke. They had come across a couple of professional rock climbers on their trek back to the camp, and stopped to chat for a few minutes. When Rob had asked them whether they’d climbed it yet, one of them said “Sure. Once you cross the river, head to the left of the rockface where the terrain is less steep. You can scramble up for the first 20 feet or so but then it gets pretty hairy. And you need to watch where you put your hands. One guy came across a snake underneath a ledge and he was so freaked out he fell.”

“What’s the trail up like?” Rob had asked, and they’d stared at him. “There is no trail. You’re not planning to climb it without ropes and the right gear? That would be suicide, man. You know what I’m saying?” Luke had understood perfectly what they were saying, but Rob hadn’t. There was no way he was going to jeopardise his brother’s safety and risk seeing him plunge to his death if he were startled or lost his footing. Although Luke had some experience of rock climbing and abseiling from his time in the army, his younger brother had only scrambled up boulders and rocky outcrops in the wooded mountains behind their property. Rob had such unbounded faith in his brother’s abilities he probably thought that - with Luke by his side – they were capable of scaling Everest.

“It’s too dangerous, Rob. It’s like Cat Path Rocks. A mountain lion or panther could do it, but we’re not cats and we don’t have climbing equipment.” Rob knew better than to argue the point. He had always accepted Luke’s decisions without question, and he was not about to break the habit of a lifetime.

They were feasting on roast chicken and fresh potato salad when Luke suddenly sprang to his feet and grabbed his shotgun. Rusty had started to growl in a low, menacing manner, his hackles up. The dog had obviously heard something it didn’t like.

“Rob” said Luke quietly. “Keep hold of Rusty and don’t let him go anywhere. He stood there listening and looking into the shadows by the treeline, at the same spot on which Rusty was so intently focussed. Rob slipped the lead onto Rusty’s collar and clasped him tight.

“What is it, Luke?” he whispered. “Is it a bear?” His question was answered seconds later when a black bear lumbered onto their campsite. Luke had the bear in his sights, his finger on the trigger. He had no desire to shoot it, but would have no choice if it charged them. The silence was broken by loud antagonistic barking from Rusty, who was straining and tugging at his leash. If he hadn’t been restrained he would have launched himself at the bear, risking serious injury or death. Luke had no doubt the dog would have laid down his life in their defence. That was how his canine brain operated: loyalty and devotion to his masters came before self-survival.

The bear continued to regard them, as if trying to ascertain what manner of beast he’d stumbled across. It was about forty yards away, far too close for comfort. At such short-range Luke couldn’t miss, but a direct hit might not stop the bear and he wouldn’t have time to get in more than one shot before it was on them. Its shambling gait might look clumsy, but he was well aware bears could achieve speeds of 30mph when they wanted to move fast.

Rob stood close beside him, the dog lead wound tightly around his right wrist.

“Make yourself look bigger and shout as loud as you can to scare him off” directed Luke, his gun trained on the bear. Rob raised his free arm above his head and bawled every curse from every Western he’d ever seen:

“Why, you no-account, low-down two-timin’ yellow-bellied …SKUNK!” yelled Rob, shaking his fist in the air as Luke fired a warning shot over its head. Rusty’s barking got louder, merging with Luke’s full-throated roar. The bear didn’t like what he was seeing and hearing and huffed apprehensively: whatever this unidentifiable four-legged creature making such an unholy racket might be, he didn’t want to stick around to find out. When Luke fired another warning shot, the bear decided he’d had enough and turned around, presenting his heavy hindquarters for an instant before lumbering back into the undergrowth. Rob and Luke looked at each other, before collapsing with laughter.

“You called it a skunk? You must have really hurt its feelings. I bet that bear’s never been so insulted in all its life.” Luke rested a hand on Rusty’s collar. He was trembling slightly. “It’s alright now. Good dog. You’re a fine fella.” They added some more logs to the fire to keep it going. Luke had an idea they wouldn’t be getting much sleep, and he had already resolved to keep an all-night vigil. It was unlikely the bear would return the same night, having been chased off, but being inside the tent at this point would have rendered them more vulnerable to attack. Although it was getting quite dark outside their eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and a bear would be more clearly visible outside. Rusty had quietened down, and was gnawing at a chicken drumstick Rob had just given him.

“Uh, do you think it’ll come back tonight?” he asked Luke.

“I doubt it, but I’m going to stay awake for a while. Is there any coffee?” Rob put some water on to boil, and poured them both a shot of whiskey, while Luke clipped the end of Rusty’s lead to his belt. “Sorry, fella, but I don’t want you wandering around the woods right now.” They finished the meal they’d been halfway through before being so rudely interrupted, Rob throwing frequent, nervous glances over his shoulder.

“Did you ever see Night of the Grizzly?” he asked Luke, who shook his head, smiling. He’d been in Vietnam when the film was released. “There was this gigantic grizzly who goes on the rampage killing and attacking livestock and people.” The bear in the film must have been about ten feet tall and was a truly terrifying sight as it towered over its human prey, eyes glittering evilly in the dark. “It was called Satan, and its teeth and claws were about six inches long.”

“That’s Hollywood for you” commented Luke, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “There are no grizzlies in these parts, but I wouldn’t want to come across one. They generally reach about eight feet on their hindlegs. They can’t climb trees like black bears, but they’ll certainly try to shake you down.”

“If you’re staying out here all night, I’m staying with you” declared Rob.

“I can’t quarrel with the company” replied Luke, accepting a mug of coffee. For the next three hours, they sat in front of the fire, murmuring quietly to each other. The dog lay across both their knees, head on his front paws, taking full advantage of the new sleeping arrangements. “So, have I made it up to you yet?” Rob looked momentarily confused.

“Made it up? How do you mean?”

“When I left for Vietnam, I realise I hurt you badly. But I didn’t mean to. Are you happy now?” Luke asked him.

“I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you” Rob replied, meaning it. Luke stroked his hair. He was silent, thinking of the love-note Rob had left beneath his pillow last summer, which he had kept and treasured, having memorised every word.

Dear Luke,

This is hard so I’ll just come out and say it. I don’t know how it happened and I wish it hadn’t, but I think I’m in love with you. Maybe the doctor will be able to fix it, but I don’t think so. I hope you won’t feel disgusted when you read this, but it’s not my fault and I’ve tried not to. Nothing is working. If you don’t want to speak to me ever again I will understand but… I can’t think of anything else to say except I love you with all my heart. Rob.

It must have taken a lot of courage to write something like that, opening his heart and laying himself wide open to ridicule or contempt. He supposed most brothers would have been shocked and repulsed, but Luke had not actually been that surprised to discover how Rob felt about him. In a sense, this had been going on for most of their lives, and Luke would have had to have been blind or stupid not to have had an inkling of his brother’s feelings. Once Luke reached his teens and started fooling around with girls, Rob had been unable to hide his jealousy. “Why isn’t your brother speaking to me?” Cindy had once asked him. “I don’t understand what I’ve done to offend him.” She had been hurt and bewildered by Rob’s hostility, but Luke had intuited what was going on even before Rob had.

“Don’t let me fall asleep” murmured Rob drowsily, his head against Luke’s shoulder.

“Did you know the punishment for falling sleep at your post during sentry duty was death by firing squad?”

“Huh?”

“That was World War I. Now the punishments are less severe. But it rarely happens because there’s always two guys on watch together, and one will cover for his buddy. Or give him a kick up the ass. If you’re in a hot zone it’s pretty difficult to fall asleep anyway.” There was no reply from Rob. Luke smiled to himself and kissed the top of his sleeping brother’s head. The wood supply was getting quite low, he noted, and once the fire went out they would be better off sleeping in the tent. The boulder against which he was resting was not the most comfortable of pillows, and he shifted his position slightly.

“Come on, Robbie, time to make a move.” He shook his brother awake gently.

“I thought we were on guard duty all night” protested Rob feebly, as Luke hauled him to his feet.

“That bear’s long gone.” Luke told him. “If he was anywhere near Rusty would sense it.” He unclipped Rusty’s lead from his belt. “Take charge of this fella while I damp down the fire.” Rusty cocked a hind leg against a tree to do his business, and Luke did pretty much the same, aiming his stream at the embers.

The rest of the night passed without incident, with Rusty sleeping inside the tent at their feet, Luke occasionally shoving him over to Rob’s side so he had some room to stretch out. His feet were right up against the tent flap, and his last waking thought was to get a bigger tent next time they went camping. By morning the condensation was terrible, dripping from the canvas onto their faces.

“Good morning, Grizzly Adams” said Rob to Luke, referring to the fact he hadn’t shaved in two days. Luke fingered the stubble on his jaw and unzipped the front flap, poking his head out. There was another low lying mist on the river, gradually being burnt away as the sun rose in the sky.

“I think it’s going to be a warm one today, so I’ll be giving my little brother a good dunking in a swimming hole. In the meantime, I think I’ll find out just how ticklish he is.”

“No! Luke, please….” Rob’s giggling protests were drowned as Luke gave him a good going over, tickling him in every available spot he could find, while Rusty looked on in bemusement. At one point he thought Rob was being attacked and came to his rescue, tugging at the belt of Luke’s jeans with his teeth. Luke rolled off his brother, not because of Rusty’s insistence, but because he was feeling distinctly horny and they might end up having sex in a minute if he didn’t. Rob stared at the bulge in Luke’s crotch, aware that his brother wanted to make love to him and feeling excited at the prospect. Luke looked at him for a moment. There were times when he couldn’t keep his hands off Rob. He realised this was precisely what his father feared, and why he didn’t like them spending so much time alone together. His brother couldn’t help being so damned seductive, but Luke couldn’t help agreeing with his father: he shouldn’t be so susceptible to Rob’s charms.

Rob crawled outside the tent. His brother had knelt down to shave in front of a small hand mirror he’d propped on top of his favourite “armchair” boulder. “Do you want me to hold it straight for you?”

“Nope. I don’t need the distraction of your lovely face two inches from mine, pretty boy. Go play with that crazy dog some before he starts snapping at the fish.” Rusty had been let loose and was racing up to the water’s edge and back, splashing about in ecstasy. The water was so translucent the fish were clearly visible, and Rob could see why bears liked this spot, as the river was teeming with trout. Uncle Jim said they had a sweet tooth and would come sniffing around at night when he and his Dad were boys, breaking into the barrels of maple syrup and molasses that the family stored outside. Bears were plentiful in Kentucky when they were growing up and his grandfather would have to scare them off with a shotgun, much as Luke had done the other night.

“Thought I’d chop some more wood before breakfast” said Luke, shouldering his axe. “We probably won’t feel like it later on. Coming?”

They headed off into the woods, Rusty scampering at their heels. The clearing soon resounded with the rhythmic thud of Luke’s axe as he chopped into a tree at a 45 degree angle.

“That ranger guy won’t like it if he sees you doing that” remarked Rob.

“It would have come down in the next strong wind anyway. And what Mr. Snooper Trooper doesn’t see won’t harm him.” The tree in question was a small one and the forest was probably overstocked. Luke had the tree on the ground now and steadied it before swinging his axe again. “What I’m doing here is bucking: that’s when you cut a felled tree into logs.”

“If you say so.” Rob picked up an armful of logs to carry back to the site, before giving him a disarming smile. “Oh, and when you’re done fucking, I mean bucking trees what do want for breakfast, Homo Habilis He-man?” Luke smiled to himself, ignoring the provocation. His brother could be the most outrageous flirt at times, but he had his own method of dealing with that.

They had picked up some fresh supplies when they’d driven into Petersburg yesterday, so Rob decided to make his brother’s favourite breakfast – bacon sandwiches with fried tomatoes. Luke dumped the last load of logs into their woodpile and was splitting them down for firewood, whilst Rob fried up some bacon and tomatoes in the pan.

“That smells good” said Luke, coming over to him. As he leaned forward to accept a bacon sandwich, Luke caught a glimpse of the ring he’d bought Rob for his birthday, which he wore close to his heart on a leather thong around his neck. Luke fingered the ring, upon which he’d had their entwined initials engraved. “So, when is this marriage going to be consummated?”

“I….but I thought you said..” stammered Rob, blushing to his roots. He gazed at Luke, his heart hammering.

“Yeah, I know what I said. But I think you’re ready for it now. How about you and I go back in the tent and get better acquainted?” Rob fumbled with his plate and almost dropped it in his nervousness. He adored his brother and would allow him to do whatever he liked, but he really hadn’t been expecting this. He allowed Luke to pull him to his feet and lead him by the hand over to the tent, feeling like a virgin about to be deflowered on her wedding night. “After you, little brother.” He gestured towards the entrance flap. Rob swallowed and put a hand on Luke’s arm, seeking reassurance, which was when he suddenly realised his brother was shaking with laughter.

“April Fool. It’s April Fool’s day.”

“You complete and utter bastard” said Rob, when he could speak. Luke was roaring with laughter as Rob leapt onto his back and started pounding him. Luke carried him around the site on his back, in an unconscious echo of their childish games of mediaeval jousting.

“You’re so easy, like a lamb to the slaughter. Had you forgotten it was April Fool’s day?” Rob had. He’d completely forgotten, though this had been a ritual thing with them when they were younger. It was rare that one of them could catch the other out, because they were both expecting it. The pranks were sometimes quite elaborate, like the time Rob pretended he’d overheard their parents speaking about the “new baby” that was coming, and had shaken his brother awake.

“Mom’s pregnant, Luke! We’re going to have a baby sister.” Luke had fallen for it, but only because he was half asleep. On another occasion, Luke had convinced him that their father had gone bankrupt and they were going to have to move to a tiny apartment in Lexington.

“It’s all we can afford. Dad’s been on the phone to the bank, and they’re foreclosing on the house.” Rob hadn’t known what “foreclosing” meant, but he’d been horrified. Moving to a city and a new school? Not having their beloved woods and mountain on their doorstep? Luke had known his brother didn’t like Lexington, for no other reason than they had once driven through it on their way elsewhere, and Rob had seen a dead dog that had been hit by a vehicle, its insides spilled out on the roadside. The sight had made him feel sick.

Rob was unusually pensive for the rest of the morning, as they made some cheese sandwiches for their lunch and set out for their hike. In general, he didn’t mind being teased by Luke and he’d probably been asking for it by his innuendoes about bucking. But on this occasion, he’d really thought his brother was serious. Was it all just a big joke to him, or was he subtly testing Rob – gauging his reaction – to see how far he could go? He wondered whether he wasn’t also testing Luke – testing his mental strength. According to Loubelle, many men were too dumb to do anything but react instinctively to flirtatious or provocative behaviour. Instead of returning the banter they just grabbed hold of the girl and did what animals did, seeing it as a mating call. Rob wasn’t like that himself, of course. Plenty of girls had flirted with him at school, and he never knew how to react and just ducked the issue. But that was because he was attracted to males, to one male in particular.

Luke had admitted he was attracted to Rob and that he “thought about it all the time.” But he’d also said ‘What we have between us is special. I don’t want to spoil things between us by bringing that stuff into it.’ That could mean any number of things. It could mean Luke was only attracted to the female body, and had just said that so as not to hurt his feelings. Rob had said something similar to Donna, using the excuse that he “respected” her too much to make a pass at her. That was bullshit and he knew it, but he genuinely hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. After all, there was nothing wrong with Donna. She was a pretty girl with a nice figure, and any of the other guys in his class would certainly have made a pass at her. Maybe Luke was just taking things slow. Maybe he wanted to get a lot more physical with Rob, but was exercising self-restraint because he was a lot more experienced and a lot smarter than his younger brother. Because he considered it the right thing to do.

Rob wasn’t even sure what he wanted himself sometimes. His adolescent years had been a tumult of bewildering emotions and conflicting impulses he didn’t understand. He didn’t know why he’d gone to Todd. Nor did he know why he was so hung up on his own brother. It was like that Humphrey Bogart quote: Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine. Of all the men in his own home town he could have picked he had to fall in love with his brother, his own flesh and blood. None of it made any sense. All he knew was that he didn’t fit the mould. He’d tried, but it was no use. Everyone else seemed to know how to act around the opposite sex and with their own sex. Unless they were all just acting a part and faking it. Sometimes he felt like the only person in the room who didn’t get the punchline.

But what did he himself want? Did he want Luke to jump on him like some primitive cave-man every time he got the urge, or was he unconsciously testing his brother – signalling I want to be desired by you but I also want to know that you are strong enough to resist the urge, that you’re so much more than some dumb Homo Erectus who can’t keep his dick in his pants, who would do it with literally anyone - male or female - if the opportunity presented itself.

Loubelle had said some men even fucked sheep or mares (if he were a horse he would have kicked their heads in) According to the bull-slinging old blowhards in Steve’s Roadhouse, Gabe Guthridge had tried to force himself on his own daughter, though Rob wasn’t sure he believed that. And then there was that bastard who’d tried to force himself on Rob when he’d been slung in the county jail on a DWI charge. Rob had found him repulsive, as ugly on the inside as on the outside. Even if he’d been handsome, it would have made no difference. Rob could never respect or love a man whose behaviour was so downright despicable. But he knew his brother wasn’t like that. Luke was one in a million.

“Are you alright?” asked Luke. “You’re pretty quiet today.” They were halfway up the High Falls Trail, a gentler hike than yesterday’s, but still a thirteen mile round trip.

“I was just thinking that I don’t really understand much. People are weird and the world doesn’t make sense.”

“You’ll understand things more as you get older” replied Luke. He passed a hand through his hair. “You’re still such a kid.”

“I’m twenty-one!” Luke laughed softly.

“Yeah, I know. I was around when you were born, remember?” Rob had always found this fact remarkable: his brother had been in the world and had led an existence quite separate from his before he had even been born, when he was no more than “a gleam in his father’s eye” as his mother put it. “I was waiting for you to come home from the hospital so I could see you for the first time.”

“What did I look like?”

“You looked like a baby – what else? Your eyes were shut tight like little clam shells. I wanted to say Hello there, baby brother but you were fast asleep. The first time you noticed me was the next day when I made you notice me.” Rob’s unfocused gaze had wandered around the room until Luke had suddenly clapped his hands in front his face, when Rob’s clear blue eyes had fluttered open and locked onto Luke’s, really seeing him for the first time.

They had held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

“That’s what I mean. You’ve been around for all of my life, but I haven’t been around for all of your life” said Rob.

“That’s true of everyone who’s older than you.” The words were meant to be reassuring, but there were times when Rob couldn’t envision a future, a future where he and Luke would be happy together. He suddenly felt shivery and cold, like that horrible expression someone is walking over my grave. Sensing the dip in his brother’s mood, Luke laid an arm across his shoulder. They were passing through cedar glades with numerous creeks and waterfalls, the water cascading and tumbling over rock shelves and ledges.

Luke glanced at him again. Something was wrong. His brother sometimes slipped into these inexplicable melancholy states, which descended on him without warning. He would become listless or depressed – just as Dr. Gottschald described – and then be would be absolutely fine, as if nothing had happened. The depression might persist for some time – hours or days, or he might have a panic attack for no discernible reason. Luke understood it was connected with the condition his brother suffered from intermittently, for which he was taking medication. Manic depression the doctor had termed it. It now occurred to Luke that Rob had not been taking any medication for days.

“Luke….” Rob had suddenly stopped walking and leaned against a tree. He was shaking, and apparently struggling to breathe. Luke came up behind him and locked him in his arms.

“You need to slow down your breathing. Inhale on a count of four.” Rob obeyed him, breathing in deeply. “Now hold it for 4 seconds.” In the army some guys would freak out just before a firefight, or in a highly stressful situation and they had to employ the 4-4-4 method to calm them down. “That’s it. You’re doing fine. Now exhale, breathe out, on a count of four.” Rob released his breath slowly. “And again.” Luke had him repeat the breathing exercise a few times until he’d got his breathing under control. He was immensely relieved to see that the technique was working: it seemed to have taken the edge off Rob’s panic attack. Rusty had pressed up against Rob and was making a high-pitched keening sound, having picked up on his distress.

“I’m sorry.” Luke gave him a hug, holding him close.

“No need to be. You OK?” Rob nodded. Luke was still concerned. “We can go back if you want.”

“No, honestly, I’m fine now.” Rusty was licking his face, attempting to offer comfort in the only way he knew how. Rob took another deep breath and looked around at his surroundings, a hand resting on Luke’s shoulder. They were at an altitude of over 2800 feet where the trail wound through the saddle on Shavers Mountain. “It’s really pretty around here.”

“Sure is” agreed Luke. They had emerged into the Glade Creek area and crossed a footbridge where the trail became narrow and rocky, and quite slippery underfoot. As Luke took Rob’s arm to steady him his brother smiled at him.

“You’re a lovely guy, but just because I had an attack doesn’t mean I can’t stay upright. It’s a mental thing not a physical thing.”

“It may have been mental, but the symptoms were pretty physical.” Luke rummaged around in his backpack and produced a bottle of pills. “Mom made me put these in, just in case. If you’ve been taking medication for some time, it stands to reason that if you come off it suddenly you’re going to experience some withdrawal symptoms.”

“You mean like cold turkey?”

“More or less. I’d like to get you off this stuff when we get back. In the meantime, I want you to take these.” Rob swallowed a couple of pills, then drank from Luke’s old army canteen, which was a little dented but still serviceable. “Sure you’re up to it?” They had about another three miles to go to reach their destination. Rob nodded, reaching down to stroke Rusty. As they passed Shavers fork a mile further on, the trail dropped down for a mile through lush evergreen forest, before levelling out.

“Sounds like there are a few people already there” said Rob to Luke, as a couple appeared on the path in front of them, on their way back down. “I can hear voices and splashing.”

“Let’s go take a look, then we can loop back to that other one we passed for lunch” suggested Luke. There were plenty of other smaller waterfalls with swimming holes where they could stop if they wanted more privacy. “Afternoon, folks.” He nodded politely to the couple, the female half of whom had a bandage on her forehead. She smiled at them wanly.

“Watch out for the boulders if you want to get down to the bottom of the falls for a swim. They’re slick as anything.”

“I told you to slide down on your butt, honey” said her boyfriend or husband. “but did she listen?” He shrugged and smiled at Luke and Rob as if to say Women. What can you do? “You can jump into the pool” he added, over his shoulder. “It’s deep enough. But freezing.”

They emerged into a clearing about ten minutes later, and paused to take in the scene. The cataract was about 100 feet wide, falling 20 feet into a huge clear pool where about half a dozen people were disporting themselves. “Hey, did you hear about that woman?” said someone excitedly. “She was trying to get down and fell. Split her head open like a water melon.”

“Is that right?” returned Luke. “We just met her as it happens. The lady seemed fine to me.” He rested his forearms on the wooden railing of the little lookout point, smoking a cigarette. “So, what do you think?” he murmured to Rob, who was standing by his side, the cool spray misting his face.

“I think you’re right, mister.” The falls were certainly spectacular, but they had grown accustomed to being alone in each other’s company. “There was nobody at that other smaller one we saw, the Blue Hole. It reminded me of Clearwater Creek back home.”

“Well, as the girl in the red shoes said there’s no place like home” agreed Luke.

“Luke, do you remember the Cake Walk?” asked Rob suddenly. One Halloween, Rob had dragged his older brother along to his elementary school where the classrooms had been utterly transformed, festooned with streamers and creepy crawlies - the Spooky Chamber echoing with screams and shrieks as kids crawled through a dark maze of tunnels constructed of cardboard boxes.

Luke had rolled his eyes ceilingward – he considered himself too old for this kid stuff – and hung around outside in the corridor, jumping out at the younger kids and frightening them.

“Wanna try the cake walk?” he had suggested to Rob. Both boys were in luck. The first time the music stopped, the number of the square Rob was standing on was called out by the teacher, and he won a chocolate fudge cake. They did it a couple of more times, and Luke scooped the winning number as the teacher fished the ticket out of the cookie barrel.

“Hey, that’s not fair” said someone. “They’re brothers, in the same family.”

“Well, we weren’t cheating” replied Luke, lifting a coconut iced cake from the table. But when Rob won a third time, picking out a cake with orange frosting and decorated with chocolate M&Ms, the other kids started to complain.

“Yeah, I remember” Luke now said. “We scooped the lot.”

“When we’re together” said Rob, turning to Luke. “We’re always lucky.”

Luke started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Lucky? I’ve been chased by a tornado, bucked by a wild river then cosied up to by a black bear. I’m beginning to think I was a whole lot safer in Vietnam.” Luke smiled at Rob. “Can’t wait for the next instalment. What’s next, little brother? A trip into bayou country with an ornery alligator snapping at our heels?”

“But the tornado didn’t get us, nor did the river or the bear. As long as we stick together, we’ll always be lucky. Like the cake walk.”

“I hope you’re right” replied Luke. He was more inclined to the view that people create their own luck, in accordance with the proverb God helps those who help themselves, but if his brother cherished such a fervently held belief, Luke was not about to disabuse him. “I’m feeling pretty lucky right now.” One day, thought Rob, in the far-off unimaginable future, they would both be old and wrinkled. He was seized by a desire to somehow capture and preserve this moment in time. As Luke tossed his cigarette butt, Rob leaned across and kissed him full on the mouth.

“Hey, hey” said Luke, catching hold of him, but not pulling away. They didn’t need to get “better acquainted.” They were brothers. It was the best and the longest acquaintance.