Date: Thu, 14 Apr 2011 08:20:43 +1030
From: Marcus McNally <marcusis32@live.com.au>
Subject: Love On The Rocks - 19

Love On The Rocks - 19

This story contains sexual situations between males. If material of this
nature offends you then you should not read this story.  If you are under
18 years of age you are probably not legally allowed to read this story.
This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no
duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the web
sites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author.

*************

Ty was still on the floor hyperventilating between wracking howls.  My
brain was trying to process what he'd just told me; that there'd been a
bomb blast in Oruzgan Province in the centre of Afghanistan, and that
Lachlan has been a victim of that bomb blast.  It felt as though my life
had suddenly gone into slow motion.

As I registered this news I started to feel like I might pass out but all
of a sudden, arms were guiding me to sit on the couch and I realised that
George was with us.  He settled me and then knelt on the floor next to Ty,
lifted him gently to an upright kneeling position and slapped him hard
across the right side of his face.  The blow momentarily stunned Ty but
before he had time to react, George lifted him quickly and dropped him on
the couch opposite me.

In complete control, George acted in swift order, handing me a small bottle
of smelling salts and holding to Ty's lips a tumbler with a measure of
brandy.  I sniffed, Ty drank and a moment later, George handed me Ty's
mobile phone, which he had dropped when he collapsed.  Even from a
distance, I could tell someone was on the other end.

"Hello?" I shouted, "Hello?"

I heard weeping.  "Hello?  Who is this?"

It took a while, but I realised it was Ty's mother and she was also in
shock.  She reacted to my voice by sobbing "Tyson?  Is that you?"

"No Mrs Hill," I replied, as calmly as I could.  "This is Michael Stewart,
Tyson's lawyer.  I'm with him in Sydney.  Can you please tell me what's
happened?"

Again, she started to cry.  "Mrs. Hill," I pleaded.  "I need to know what's
happened.  Ty can't come to the phone right now, he's in shock.  Can you
please tell me what has happened to Lachlan?"

I knew she was trying to speak but like Ty, her distress was making it
impossible to get words out.  "It's Lachlan," she blubbered.  "I knew this
would happen if he went to Afghanistan ..."

"Mrs. Hill," I said.  "It is possible for you to put Scott or Mr. Hill on?"
Things were silent for a moment and I heard her say "it's Tyson's lawyer"
before she handed the phone over.

"Frank Hill," said the concerned but controlled voice in my ear.

"Mr. Hill," I replied, "this is Michael Stewart, your son's lawyer.  I'm
with Tyson at the moment, but he's very distraught and I haven't been able
to find out what's happened?"

Ty's father drew a deep breath and explained that two officials from the
Department of Defence and two members of the Federal Police had arrived at
the farm earlier to notify them of a roadside bomb blast in the Mirabad
district of Oruzgan Province that had killed two Australian soldiers and
critically injured a third.  They knew that Lance Corporal Lachlan Hill was
one of the three soldiers involved but at this early stage, they were
unable to confirm whether he was one of the two men killed.

I asked Mr. Hill for the names of the Defence and Police personnel who'd
attended, but he told me that because his wife was so hysterical, he hadn't
thought to ask.  I assured him I would do what I could to find out more
information, and when he asked to speak to his son, I told him that Ty
would call him back in a few minutes.

Ty was sitting on the couch, brandy in hand and staring into space, a look
of total desolation on his face.  I sat next to him and hugged him.  He
hugged me back and suddenly started to shake, before breaking down again.

"It's OK Ty," I tried to reassure him.  "We don't know anything for sure
yet.  I'll phone one of the guys in our Melbourne office who's done work
for the Defence Department and see if he can fast-track me through to
someone who can give us some answers."

Ty just nodded and I could tell he was in danger of shutting down.  George
returned and sat on the other side of him on the couch and waved for me to
go and attend to my calls.

I grabbed my phone and moved to the study where I quickly called the
Department of Defence Emergency Line but as I expected, I got nowhere,
despite being a lawyer.  Or perhaps because of it.  My next call was to my
Melbourne colleague Tim Hardy.  I apologised for the late call and filled
him on what I needed.  Fortunately there was no need to explain why I was
with Ty; our company represents him and it's known that I'm his personal
attorney, so it would be a natural occurrence for my client to contact me
in a situation like this.

Tim was reassuring and asked for a little time to make some calls.  He had
close contacts within the Department and he was confident he'd find a way
to get directly though to the Minister for Defence who, he assured me,
would be `on the case' around the clock in the event of deaths of
Australian troops.

I'd no sooner finished talking to Tim when my mobile rang.  It was Scott,
who'd been out at the pub earlier with mates but was now back at the farm
with his parents.  He was clearly very shaken, but calmer than I expected.
Ty, he explained, was talking to his father and he was ringing to see
whether I'd managed to find any further information.  I told him about my
call to Tim and assured him that everything possible was being done, and
that I'd call him and his parents as soon as I heard anything.

In the meantime, I suggested that the whole family needed to be together
and asked him to get himself and his parents organized and packed to fly to
Sydney in the morning.  Somehow, I promised, I'd organize a charter flight
for them from Toowoomba airport and would have them picked up at Sydney
airport and driven to Point Piper.  I assured him I would let the Federal
Police know where they were temporarily relocating.

Hardest of all, I had to ask Scott gently to have his parents bring any
personal papers relating to Lachlan, including his birth certificate if
they could find it, recent photographs and the names and contact details
for Lachlan's doctor and dentist in Stanthorpe.  It was this request that
caused Scott to lose it a little, but I managed to convince him that these
were precautionary measures only and that for now, we must all think
positive.

I checked my message bank and still no word from Tim, so I called Vince,
who seemed surprised to be hearing from me so late at night and naturally
asked immediately if everything was OK?  I brought him up to speed and his
first reaction was to jump in his car and head over, but I talked him into
waiting until morning, to give Ty some time to collect himself and
hopefully, get some rest.  It was Vince's suggestion that he could pick up
Ty's family from the airport, which relieved me of one task.  As with
Scott, I assured him I'd call as soon as I heard anything.

It turned into a very long night.  While I was making calls, George managed
to calm Ty and, from the bottomless bag of `stuff' George seemed to have,
he had produced a sleeping pill which he'd persuaded Ty to take.  I lay and
held Ty as he dozed on and off through the small hours.  George slept on
the couch opposite, having ignored my suggestion that he sleep in his own
bed.  On the coffee table separating us were two mobile telephones that
were ominously quiet.

**********

We all woke with a start at 5.35 on Saturday morning, to the sound of my
mobile phone ringing.  It was Tim Hardy, calling to let me know that he'd
finally had some success.  He had no further information on whether Lachlan
was a casualty or a fatality, but through a series of phone calls he'd
finally spoken with the Minister for Defence's press secretary and gave me
his number along with the recommendation that I wait until seven to call
him.  Then, possibly, I might be able to speak directly with the Minister.

Tim cautioned me that one of his contacts had told him that the Australian
media had been alerted to the bombing; that Australian soldiers had died,
and also that they'd managed to find out that one of the troops was Tyson
Hill's brother.  The alert had come too late to make the morning newspapers
but no doubt, he said, it would soon be all over the radio and television
news within the hour.

I passed on to Ty and George everything I'd been told and while George
organized a light breakfast for us all, Ty rang his parents to fill them
in.  At the end of his call, I spoke to Scott and let him know I would
organize a flight for them as soon as the charter airline opened for
business.

As the morning wore on, I was pleased that Ty was being distracted by calls
from people who'd heard radio reports of the bombing.  Monique spoke to him
at length, his mates from Stanthorpe called, as did his record company and
a couple of members of the band who'd played with him on his last tour.

Ty was disinclined to eat, but George convinced him he needed some food in
his stomach, especially after the brandy and sleeping pill he'd had a few
hours earlier.  As he picked as his plate of bacon, eggs and toast, George
flicked on the TV to further distract him, before joining me in another
part of the room where we quietly discussed what needed to be done to
accommodate Ty's parents and Scott.  As we talked through sleeping
arrangements we both paused when the TV station interrupted its broadcast
to cross to its news desk.

The news anchor led the update with a report on the fatalities, saying "Two
Australian soldiers are dead and another is critically wounded in what has
been described as the deadliest day this year for Coalition forces in
Afghanistan. A roadside bomb was detonated in the Mirabad Valley region of
the Oruzgan province about 1.45pm Eastern Standard Time according to the
Department of Defence.  The three troops were serving with the 1st
Mentoring Taskforce and were part of a dismounted patrol conducting
operations in Oruzgan.  More news as it comes to hand ..."

George was about to turn the television off when I stopped him, explaining
that Ty shouldn't be shielded from the news as it unfolded, and that it
would help him confront his feelings.

"You OK, Ty?" I called, and Ty just nodded, pushing his mostly untouched
plate of food away.  He got up and wandered on to the balcony, looking out
across the harbour, and I asked George to go and be with him while I called
the Minister for Defence's press secretary.

Miraculously I got him on my first try and he was as helpful as he could
be, although unable to give me any fresh information.  Security protocols
meant he couldn't give me any details until the families of the deceased
had been notified.  When I asked whether this meant that Mr and Mrs Hill
could be notified of Lachlan's death, he repeated that he was not at
liberty to discuss those details.  He suggested I call again at 9a.m. when
hopefully, procedures would have been observed and he might be able to put
me on to the Minister.

I decided not to discuss the call with Ty or George, but to leave them
sitting on the balcony where it appeared George had things under control
and they were deep in discussion, the ever-faithful Scruffy at Ty's side.
Instead, I called Vince to update him, and he in turn said he would call
Monique and then head over to join us in Point Piper.

I quickly logged on to the Australian news websites and scoured the reports
of the incident, relieved to see that so far, there was no mention of
Lachlan or Ty.  But I was aware that the media knew the connection, and it
was only a matter of time.

I made a second call to the Minister's press secretary and asked if he
might be able to assist me with arranging a charter plane for Ty's family
in Stanthorpe so that I wasn't forced to wait until nine when the
commercial services opened for business.  Again he was helpful and gave me
the number of a government charter service.  I contacted them and was able
to arrange a flight from Toowoomba to Sydney departing at 11.15.  I rang
Scott with the flight details and suggested that he and his parents should
leave as soon as possible to make the airport in good time.  Scott seemed
agitated that he and his family were still `in the dark', but I explained
that everything was being done to keep us up to date; the most important
thing was for him to stay positive for his parents' sake and to get to
Sydney as soon as possible.  I let him know that Vince would pick them up
at Sydney airport and suggested that he shield his parents from radio and
television if at all possible.  As an afterthought, I prepared him for the
possibility that the media may somehow find out about their arrival in
Sydney and that they should make no comment.

I joined Ty and George on the balcony, my first priority to remind Ty him
that I loved him and to let him know that his parents and Scott would be
with us by early afternoon.  Minutes later the doorbell rang and George
returned with an ashen-faced but stoic Vince, whose first move was to grab
Ty in a bear hug and not let him go for several minutes.  Once again, Ty
started to cry.  At first, Scruffy thought Ty was being hurt and started to
snarl at Vince, but George was quick to give him a pat and let him know
everything was OK.

With nothing to do now but wait, George began an endless procession of
`comfort' food, casually left around the lounge room for grazing, before
disappearing to make sure the bedrooms were set up for our visitors.  When
Ty took another call on his mobile, Vince joined me in the study to discuss
the problems weighing heavily on his mind.

What was my hunch – was Lachlan dead?  If so, how would Ty handle it?
Should his upcoming tour be postponed?  It was too late to delay the
release of the album, it was already being shipped to stores.  Should
Monique prepare a press statement?  Questions, questions ...

"I don't know, Vince," I answered truthfully.  "Your guess is as good as
mine.  How will Ty handle it if Lachlan's been killed?  I don't know that
either.  He's fragile.  You know how those boys love each other - it would
devastate him.  But then again, they're an amazing family.  My advice would
be to proceed as normal for the time being.  The one thing I've learned in
the time I've been with Ty is that he responds well when situations are
normalised.  We just need to be strong around him and keep him afloat.  One
chink in the armour and he'll fall apart."

Before Vince could respond, my mobile rang.  It was the Minister's press
secretary, apologising again that there was still no word on the
fatalities, but informing me that the Minister was ready to speak to me.  I
was transferred to the man whose portfolio meant he was in the firing line
every time Australian lives were lost at war, and he said all the right
things in a very sympathetic way, without really saying anything at all.
Still, I understood his predicament; what could he say without a fact sheet
and a prepared speech shoved under his nose?

I thanked him for his assurance that his secretary would call me as soon as
any news came to hand, and Vince and I joined Ty and George in the lounge
just in time for another television news update, this time highlighting the
fact that one of the soldiers "caught up in the bombing and possibly one of
the fatalities" was Lance Corporal Lachlan Hill from Queensland, younger
brother of rock star Tyson Hill.

We all stood staring at the TV as an image of Lachlan, handsome as ever in
his combat gear, flashed on the screen, followed by another photo of
Lachlan and Ty taken after Ty's multiple award win at the ARIAs earlier in
the year.  It felt for a moment that there was no air in the room and out
of the corner of my eye I could see Ty welling up.  I was about to move and
grab him but I left it to Vince to offer him open arms into which to
disappear.

***********

Vince again displayed his leadership qualities when he herded us all up and
gave us a briefing.  He would, he said, call Monique and tell her to field
questions from the media with a simple `Tyson has no comment to make at
this time' response.  He'd also given thought to the possibility that Ty's
parents might question Ty's living arrangements and he believed, in the
short term, it would be best if he casually explained in the car trip home
from the airport that Ty's lawyer had just moved from Melbourne to Sydney
and was staying with Ty until he found a place of his own.  And hey, isn't
it great that Ty has a lawyer on hand at a time like this?

We all simply nodded, and George commented that he would make up another of
the spare rooms for me and transfer my clothes and toiletries.  It seemed
like a practical idea.

When Vince commented that Ty and I "look like shit" after very little sleep
and suggested we have a shower and freshen up before Ty's family arrived,
we simply stood and wandered into the bedroom.  Ty seemed to be on remote
control as he stripped off his clothes and followed me into the en suite.
He stood back as I turned the shower heads on and then stood next to me and
waited for me to hand him a cake of soap before, by rote, he went through
the motions of washing himself.

I realised this was the first time since I'd met Ty, all those months ago
in my holiday accommodation at the Grand Apartments on the Gold Coast, that
we'd been together naked in a non-sexual situation.  And when Ty turned to
me in the shower and hugged me, I realised it was the first time we'd been
naked and embracing, with neither of us having stiff cocks.

I kissed Ty softly on his cheek and whispered, "you're doing great, mate",
before kissing him gently on the lips and filling my hand with shampoo and
washing his hair, just as he'd done for Scott in the tub in our bathroom
during our recent break on the Sunshine Coast.

By the time we were washed, dried and dressed, George had removed most
traces of me from our shared bedroom and Vince was ready to leave for the
airport.  I checked my phone, but there were no missed calls.  Vince
embraced Ty and whispered something in his ear, and when I saw him to the
door he mentioned quietly that he'd turned the TV off and suggested I keep
it that way.

"They're starting to beat up the `Ty' angle to the story and they've
somehow managed to get a whole heap more photos of Lachie and Ty together,"
he said.  "Probably best that Ty doesn't catch any of it.  I've also
switched his mobile off and sent a text to Scotty and Monique to call you
if they need to get in touch."

"Thanks Vince," I replied, "for everything.  Drive safely, and stay
positive."

I closed the door, took a deep breath, and walked back into the house.  Ty
was sitting at the table on the balcony, looking out at the boats on the
harbour as another fine and sunny Sydney weekend got underway.  I wondered
briefly which way the cards would fall for the Hill family this weekend ...

**********

To take Ty's mind off the agonising wait for news, I talked him into a walk
along the beach front.  As we didn't have the luxury of a private beach I
suggested he wear a beanie and dark glasses to lessen the chance of
recognition, without adding it would be even more likely today with he and
Lachlan plastered all over the news.

We walked four kilometres to Watson's Bay and I let Ty talk, rambling from
subject to subject, mostly random recollections of special moments he'd
experienced with Lachlan, growing up as boys together on the farm, his
voice breaking every now and again.  We sat a while on the sand and when Ty
lost it, I let him cry it out, my arm around his shoulder for support.

When he had composed himself, we walked slowly back the way we'd come and
as we made our way up the back stairs to the balcony I got my first glimpse
of Ty's parents.  They looked as I thought they would; kind, friendly,
hard-working farm people, their skin toughened by the sun but with the
healthy glow that comes from hard work and modest living.

Scott noticed us before Ty noticed them, and he ran quickly through the
open sliding doors and grabbed his brother tightly.  There were no tears,
but the two clung to each other like drowning men to lifelines.  Again, I
found their unbreakable bond overwhelmingly touching.  After a full minute
locked in embrace, Ty kissed Scott on the head and forehead before they
moved apart.  Scott turned and hugged me as Ty walked towards his parents,
enfolding his mother in his arms and kissing her cheek, and then embracing
his father.  The three of them then moved together in a huddle and stood
for a few moments without speaking.

Scott walked me towards them and Vince stepped in with, "Dot, Frank, I'd
like you meet Mike Stewart, Ty's lawyer."

They offered their hands one after the other and kindly mentioned how
grateful they were for all I had done for Ty and especially for being here
to support him at such a distressing time.  I greeted them warmly in
response and assured them that I was trying to come up with the answers we
all so desperately needed to hear.

George returned from delivering their suitcases to their room and offered
them tea, sandwiches and cupcakes, which he had made while Ty and I walked
along the beach.

Vince said his goodbyes and promised to check in later.  I helped George
serve the refreshments in the lounge, while Ty and his family sat around on
couches and in armchairs.  It was an awkward situation.  It was
inappropriate for Ty's parents to mention the house or the view, even
though in normal circumstances they probably would.  Ty obviously wasn't
going to talk about his record being at the top of the charts or his
upcoming tour.  And nobody wanted to be the first to mention Lachlan, the
elephant in the room.

The discomfiture was relieved when George thought to open the kitchen door
and allow Scruffy to come bouncing in, wagging his tail, and scampering
from one family member to the next, offering a lick and accepting pats.
For a few moments, Ty answered their questions about how Scruffy was
settling into his new home, and made light conversation about how well he'd
adjusted to George's cat.

Everything fell quiet again so I picked up a tray of biscuits.  "Would you
like a Tim Tam, Mrs. Hill?"

"No thank you, dear," she replied.  "And please, call me Dot."

I had a similar reaction from everyone, so I put them back on the coffee
table and asked whether there had been any problems with the charter
flight, just to get some sort of conversation going.  Ty's father said
everything had gone very smoothly and the people they'd dealt with at both
ends had been enormously helpful and friendly, "unlike the people you have
to deal with at the major airlines".

The next silent interlude was broken by George, who offered to show Dot and
Frank their room and to quickly guide them around the house so they'd know
where everything was.  George looked to Scott to see if he wanted to join
the tour, but it was obvious he wanted to be with his brother.  As soon as
George disappeared with Ty's parents, Scott moved from his armchair to the
seat next to Ty.  When Ty reached out and pulled him close, Scott started
to cry.

"It's OK Scotty," Ty soothed quietly.  "Let it out."

Scott pulled himself together quickly and looked at Ty closely.  "Do you
think Lachie's one of the two who died?" he asked, airing the question
nobody had actually verbalised.

Ty, with heartbreak written all over his face, returned Scott's searching
look and whispered, "I'm praying to God that he's not, mate.  Through the
night I kept thinking about what old Mr. Colditz used to say at school,
`every man has his own destiny; the only imperative is to follow it, to
accept it, no matter where it leads him'.  And I've also been thinking of
the words of a song ..."

And gently, with Scott's head resting on his shoulder, Ty began to sing the
lyric of Gerry Beckley's "Hope".

"There's a clock timing the world as it turns, There's a man marking the
candle as it burns, Keeping track of every minute that remains.  Still we
hope somehow, It's gonna be alright, It's gonna turn out fine."

"I think I remember you singing that when I was little," Scott said softly.

"Yeah, mate," Ty smiled.  "I loved that CD, `Hourglass Written'.  It was
one of my CDs that you and Lachie were using as frisbees, remember?  It
ended up in the fish pond outside and I punched Lachie in the ear.  And I
was the one that got a belting from Dad for hurting my little brother!"

"Bet you wish you hadn't done it now?" Scott smiled, as another slow tear
slid down his cheek.

"Nah," Ty chuckled. "He deserved it.  Asshole!"

**********

Somehow, between phone calls to Ty's parents from shocked relatives,
Scott's long call to Simon and Ty's discussions with Monique, time passed
quickly and before I knew it, I could smell something fine coming from the
kitchen.  If I wasn't mistaken, he was making a pasta dish with garlic
bread, presumably a safe option for the Hill family.

We were all back in the lounge having a drink when I heard my mobile
ringing in the study.  I excused myself and left the others to their beers
and in Mrs. Hill's case, her umpteenth cup of tea.

The call was from Derek, the Defence Minister's press secretary who was
keen to let me know that the Department had now been fully briefed and that
the Minister would speak to me.  I was put on hold for a minute or two
before the Minister came on the line.

I could feel my heart beating so hard I thought it might come through my
chest as he told me that he now had confirmation of fatalities and
casualties.  The two soldiers who had lost their lives in the blast were a
Lieutenant and a Private, and that Lance Corporal Lachlan Hill had
survived.

My relief was so great that I started to talk gibberish, but was cut short
by the Minister who wanted me to be fully aware that Lachlan's injuries,
while no longer life-threatening, were critical nonetheless.  He did not
know yet the full extent of those injuries, but assured me that Lachlan was
being well cared for in a field hospital while preparations were being made
to fly him home.

The Minister and defence force chief would fly to the United Arab Emirates
in the morning to accompany the bodies of the two soldiers back to
Australia after a ceremony at the Tarin Kowt base in Afghanistan where they
would be farewelled by their comrades.

Lachlan would be flown by separate Military aircraft later in the week,
perhaps as early as Tuesday, and he would be transferred directly from the
RAAF Base in Richmond to Randwick's Prince of Wales Hospital where he would
be treated further.

Having pulled myself together, I thanked him profusely, and extended my
deepest sympathy to the Department and to the families of the fallen
soldiers.  The Minister concluded his call by advising me that his press
secretary had released details to the media and it was likely the story
would feature heavily in the coming hours.

I sat for a moment, letting relief sweep over me, before stepping back out
into the main area of the house where five pairs of troubled eyes were
burning into me.  Uncontrollably, tears welled in my eyes and five faces
fell before I placed my hand on my heart and exclaimed, "Lachie's alive!
He's coming home!"

There was a moment or two before it registered and then the room erupted in
tears and audible gasps of relief.  Scott and Ty hugged each other, as did
Dot and Ty, and both boys then ran to me and swept me up in a group hug.
George hugged Ty's parents, and even Scruffy started bouncing around the
room barking and wagging his tail, oblivious to the reason for the
celebration but wanting to be part of it.

Our joy was interrupted by a painful sob from Dot and we all turned and
looked at her as both her hands wiped tears from her cheeks.  "Oh dear
God," she wept, "what about the families of those other poor boys?  How
must they be feeling right now?"

It gave us all a reality check; in our revelry we had completely forgotten
that two of Lachlan's mates were dead.  Ty and Scott walked over and
embraced a parent each before Frank said, "The least we can do is pray for
them and for their loved ones."

As Ty and Scott joined their parents in lowering their heads and closing
their eyes, George and I followed suit as Frank recited `The Lord's
Prayer'.  As it ended, I could see sorrow in their eyes but I knew that in
their hearts they were feeling joy that their adored son and brother had
been spared.

George disappeared to start serving dinner and we sat on the couch and
turned on the television.  I explained to the family what would now happen;
Lachlan would be flown home within the next two or three days and be
transferred directly to the Prince of Wales Hospital.  I was about to
update them on the arrival of the bodies of the two soldiers who had died
when a television news anchor beat me to it.

"Updating our breaking news on the death of two Australian troops in
Afghanistan, the Department Of Defence has named them as Lieutenant Matthew
Burgess, 29, and Private Rodney Maguire, 24, both of Sydney ..."

Images of both men flashed on the screen and we all felt overwhelming
sadness at finally putting faces to the names of these two brave men who
had had their lives cut so tragically short.

The newsreader continued, " ... Critically injured in the Mirabad bombing
was Lance Corporal Lachlan Hill, 26, from Queensland, younger brother of
Australian rock star Tyson Hill ..." and we all stared as the screen filled
with a shot we'd not seen of Lachlan in full Army fatigues, smiling and
holding a glass of beer in the `cheers' pose.

"The bodies of Lieutenant Burgess and Private Maguire are expected to
arrive in Australia by Friday.  Lance Corporal Hill will be transferred to
a Sydney hospital as early as next Tuesday."

Within seconds, everyone's mobiles started ringing as friends and family
rang to express their relief at hearing that Lachlan was safe.

**********

The next couple of days passed very swiftly, albeit in something of a blur.
The bombing was all over the media and while the deaths of the two Sydney
soldiers dominated, and renewed the debate on Australia's involvement in
Afghanistan, much was made of the fact that Lachlan and Ty were brothers.

Frank and Dot were contacted by the Department of Defence and an
appointment was arranged for them to discuss Lachlan's return, his
hospitalization and treatment, and his future with the Army.  At Ty's
suggestion, the meeting was organized for the Sydney office of the law firm
I worked for, to give it an air of formality lest the Department try to
entice the Hills into signing any kind of disclaimer.

The meeting went well enough.  The Department's representatives were kindly
and helpful to Frank and Dot, answering all their questions and assuring us
all that while Lachlan's injuries were extensive, he had lost no limbs and
had suffered no neurological damage.  In time, with the appropriate
treatment, he was expected to make a full recovery.  No decision was
reached on his future beyond that recovery; Frank and Dot, while doubtless
hoping Lachlan would want to abandon his active duty, felt powerless to
offer any suggestions, indicating that any resolution should rest with
their son.

We were all relieved to hear that, as predicted, Lachlan would arrive in
Sydney the following day and be admitted to the intensive care unit of
Prince of Wales Hospital.  I was impressed that the Department had arranged
to pretend to the media that the arrival would take place on Wednesday in a
bid to reduce media focus.

The Hills were informed that in the first instance, access to Lachlan would
be strictly limited to his immediate family, and I was both surprised and
touched when Dot requested and then insisted that I be included in that
group.  I could tell that Ty was similarly taken aback, but when I caught
Scott's eye, he winked.

The meeting ended well and the Hills returned to Point Piper while I
remained at the office and completed the work day.  I gave the Department
representatives my business card and wasn't surprised when much later in
the day I received a call from Derek, the Minister for Defence's press
secretary, who transferred me to the Minister.

I was presented with a formal request from the Department of Defence on
behalf of the Australian government, for Ty to sing at the funerals of the
two soldiers, which would be held in Sydney the following Monday.  I gave
him my assurance that I would put the request to Ty and get back to him as
soon as possible.

That evening I returned home to find that George was preparing a full roast
meal for us all with help from Dot.  George, doing his best to keep
everyone's minds active, had assured Dot that while he'd done his best,
he'd not been able to perfect the gravy that her boys loved so much and Dot
had fallen for it, hook line and sinker.

Over dinner, I brought up the request from the Minister and there wasn't a
moment's hesitation from Ty.  Not only would he sing at the service, to be
held at the magnificent 19th Century St Mary's Cathedral opposite Hyde
Park, he would consider it an honour.

The rest of the evening was filled with expectation as we willed the
morning to come, knowing that Lachlan would be safely home on Australian
soil and on the slow road to recovery.  George and Dot cleared up after
dinner, and all it took was a quick glance from Frank and Scott was on his
feet and helping with the washing and drying of dishes.

Ty and I joined Frank and Scott – the `menfolk' – for a game of cards
while Dot busied herself in the kitchen, where George made her feel useful
by inviting her to plan the next day's meals and write a grocery list which
would no doubt find its way into my pocket sometime before morning.

Eventually, Dot returned to the lounge room and started to knit, the
time-honoured way older Australian women filled in time.  With no
grandchildren on the way and therefore no need for knitted booties, Dot had
resigned herself to making yet another scarf for one of her boys, to help
ward off colds during winter.

Our card game was relaxed and we laughed quite often at Frank's corny
jokes.  Every once in a while, when Ty and I were interacting in the way we
always do, I'd feel Dot's eyes on us.  Each time I'd glance her way she'd
smile, and look away.  I wondered if, as some mother's do, she knew? ...

**********

Late Tuesday morning at the office I received a call from Derek at the
Department of Defence, who surprised me by telling me that Lachlan had
already arrived in Sydney and been admitted to hospital where his condition
was listed as "serious".

Only now was Derek able to give me further details, filling me in on the
fact that an Afghan National Army dismounted patrol had struck an
improvised explosive device resulting in the deaths of two soldiers, and
Lachlan suffering serious blast and fragmentation wounds to his arms and
one leg.  Lachlan had been treated at the scene and unbeknownst to us had
been aero-medically evacuated to the ISAF medical facility at Tarin Kot.
His injuries at that time were deemed serious enough for him to be then
transported to the ISAF medical facility in Kandahar.

Derek passed on the advice that the Hill family should wait until evening
to see Lachlan, after doctors had had sufficient time to assess his
condition and get him comfortable.  I decided to wait until I got home from
work to get everyone together for the trip to the hospital rather than have
them worry all afternoon.

I arrived at the house to find dinner underway and Ty, Scott and Frank
playing pool.  The situation, finally, had normalised.  I let George know
what was happening to prime him for serving dinner early and over a Hill
family staple – lamb chops, mashed potatoes, peas and beans – I let
them know of the latest developments.  You've never seen a family finish a
meal so quickly.  I was still eating vegetables when the Hills were milling
around in the foyer.

We made it to Randwick in 20 minutes and found the car park of the Prince
of Wales Hospital. Inside, we were directed to the Intensive Care Unit
where we were stopped by nurses and advised that Lachlan was heavily
sedated and this first visit should be brief; just to let Lachlan know we
were there but not to overwhelm him in any way.

We were directed to his ward and all of a sudden Ty and Scott broke away
from us and almost ran to his room, such was their eagerness to be with
their beloved brother.  Dot noticed my surprise.  "They've always been the
same, our boys," she smiled.  "They used to fight all the time but they
always look after each other."

I squeezed her hand as we walked along.  "I've seen it for myself," I
smiled back.  "They're like the Three Musketeers ... all for one, one for
all!"

When we reached Lachlan's room Dot and Frank walked in and I took a seat
outside, hoping to give them a little time on their own as a family.  A few
second later, Dot stuck her head outside the door and looked at me in
surprise.  "Come, come," she beckoned with her hand.

I was taken aback by my first glimpse of Lachlan, heavily bandaged with two
drips in his arms and several other cords hooked to machines.  Either side
of his head were his older and younger brother, variously whispering in his
ear, kissing his forehead, stroking his hair and touching his face.  Unable
to open his eyes, I could nonetheless see that Lachlan was communicating
with them with slight nods of his head.

Frank was standing sombrely to the side, his gaze fixed on his middle son,
his expression hard to read.  Dot, meantime, was at the foot of the bed -
one hand over her mouth - allowing the Hill men their space.  I walked over
and put my arm around her and she gently rested her head on my shoulder.
She made no sound, but I could tell she was crying.

After a minute or two, Ty looked up at me, and then at his mother.  He
reluctantly moved away from Lachlan, allowing his father to take his place,
and walked around to where we were standing.  He turned his mother towards
him and enfolded her in his arms, hugging her tight and whispering in her
ear.  Scott noticed what was going on and he too moved to the end of the
bed, embracing his mother from the other side.  With his free hand, he
gently pushed me towards the place where he had been standing at Lachlan's
side.

While Frank stroked his son's hair, I leaned in and whispered in Lachlan's
ear that it was Mike and that we were all with him and that everything
would be OK.  He was, I assured him, in the best of hands and that we would
be there every step of the way.  My hand was resting on the sheet covering
him and although the movement was slight, Lachlan moved his bandaged hand
to mine.  Frank looked surprised and caught my eye.  Again he was hard to
read, but I returned a slight smile.

Following Frank's lead I joined Ty and Scott at the foot of the bed while
Dot moved to her injured son's side and wrapped her arms gently around his
shoulders, cuddling him to her like a mother would a newborn baby.  She
covered his face softly with kisses and spoke quietly into his ear.  Still
he was unable to open his eyes, but his strained face relaxed; he couldn't
smile, but it was the next best thing.

As we watched on, Dot cradled her boy until the nurse reappeared and
suggested that perhaps we might leave him to rest and return the following
day.

And return we did, the following morning.  And then throughout the day in
smaller groups.  Ty and Scott in the early afternoon, Dot and Frank in the
late afternoon, and me in the early evening after work.  Once dinner was
out of the way, Ty and Scott would return to the hospital.  Ty would sing
softly to him or Scott would read the newspaper to him and they would stay
until the early hours of the morning.

There was still no real response.  The doctors assured us all that Lachlan
had sustained no brain damage and that his lack of awareness was a result
of the morphine that was being administered to control his pain.

By the time the weekend rolled around, Dot, Frank and I were still visiting
in short bursts, but Ty and Scott had taken to staying by their brother's
side virtually around the clock.  The fact that Lachlan was an injured
serviceman and Ty was a famous singer meant the nursing staff were prepared
to bend the rules and when I called by on Saturday morning, rollaway beds
had been wheeled in for them.

By Sunday afternoon, Lachlan had begun to show the first signs of recovery
and, despite being still heavily sedated, was able to open his eyes and
focus groggily on the faces of the two men who had shared his life for
longer than anyone but Frank and Dot.  He registered awareness and was
smiling while Ty hummed, strummed and sang, and Scott hand-fed him broth
that George and Dot had prepared and brought along in thermos flasks.

Ty finally left his side on Sunday night, but only because the following
day marked the funerals of the two soldiers killed in the bomb blast.  Even
before I met him, Ty had stepped up to the plate of numerous occasions for
charities, his substantial fee waived in order to help those in need.

The request from the Department of Defence for him to sing at St Mary's
Cathedral was another occasion where he knew that his small contribution
might help, and as Lachlan was unable to attend the funerals, he wanted to
be there to represent his brother and pay their last respects.

Reluctantly he left the Prince of Wales Hospital, for he knew he needed his
sleep in order to do justice to their final farewell.

**********

Sombrely Ty arrived at the Cathedral in a Department of Defence vehicle,
wearing a black suit he'd borrowed from my side of the wardrobe, a plain
black shirt and black shoes.  I was at the top of the steps leading to the
Cathedral's open doors, waiting with Dot, Frank and Scott.  Ty was
grim-faced, doubtless thinking of the responsibility ahead of him, to try
to bring some small comfort those loved ones already seated who were so
totally consumed by unspeakable grief.

Ty stopped briefly to kiss his mother, and one at a time, Frank, Scott and
I squeezed his shoulder or arm.  Ty walked ahead of us into the Cathedral
and a few moments later, I followed his family in.  The pews were packed
with people; the Prime Minister and Opposition Leader, State leaders and
military personnel were sprinkled amongst friends and family of the two men
whose lives had been cut so tragically short..

Ty, I noticed, was standing alone at the back, behind the pews.  We started
down the aisle to find some vacant seats and when I caught Ty's eye, he
beckoned me.  I went to him and he quickly squeezed my hand and indicated
he wanted me to stand with him.

When everyone was seated, the joint service for Lieutenant Matthew Burgess
and Private Rodney Maguire got underway with the hymn "O God Our Help In
Ages Past".

Ty and I stood solemnly as the long service continued, listening intently
to the liturgy for the dead, the remembrances and thanksgiving, and the
46th Psalm "God Is Our Help And Strength".  These were followed by readings
by fellow infantrymen, eulogies from mates, and prayers for all Australian
soldiers offered by both soldiers' commanding officers.

As the final prayer commenced, a military aide approached and signalled for
Ty to follow him along the left side aisle of the Cathedral.  Ty squared
his shoulder, looked at me and smiled weakly and then walked tall to the
side of the altar.  The prayer finished, a few moments passed before Ty
appeared.

There was no announcement, no fanfare, no flood of spotlights and no
eruptions of applause.  This was not Tyson Hill the rock star, this was a
young Australian man paying tribute to two men he would never know and yet
whose ultimate sacrifice he needed to acknowledge on behalf of all
Australians.

He had the option of standing high on the altar behind a lectern with a
microphone, but he chose to remain at ground level with his fellow
mourners, positioning himself between the two flag-draped caskets.  He
stood for a few moments, head bowed, calling on his inner strength. In
those few moments I realised that we had not talked about what Ty would
sing.  Knowing him as I did, the decision would have been made in the last
hour or so.

Slowly, he squared up again, his gentle face scanning the first two rows
where the wives, children, siblings and parents of our fallen boys sat.  He
took a deep breath, spread his arms slightly and, completely unaccompanied,
he began to sing:

"I came by today to see you / Oh I had to let you know / If I knew the last
time that I held you was the last time / I'd have held you and never let go
..."

I smiled.  It was "Heaven Was Needing A Hero", a country song he sometimes
sang in the shower.  In any setting, Ty's voice is spine-tingling but
today, in the sanctity of this magnificent Cathedral with its bluestone
walls and vaulted roof, it was almost divine.

Although I knew he how emotionally affected he was by the occasion, his
voice didn't falter; it was full, rich and true.  It was only when he got
to the final chorus that he almost lost it:

"Heaven was needing a hero / Somebody just like you / Brave enough to stand
up for what you believe and follow it through / When I try to make it make
sense in my mind the only conclusion I come to / Is heaven was needing a
hero like you ..."

For once, I wasn't the only person in the room with tears streaming down my
face.  I expected there wasn't a dry eye to be found.  Instead of bowing to
the congregation, Ty turned his back on them, bowing first to the casket of
Private Rodney Maguire to his left, and then to Lieutenant Matthew Burgess
to his right.  He turned and walked to the side, disappearing into an ante
room, as a final prayer was offered and the congregation rose for the
singing of the National Anthem.

Members of the two men's regiments formed a guard of honour outside the
Cathedral as the caskets were wheeled through and placed on gun carriages
for their final journey to the Sydney War Cemetery.

I wandered around the side of the Cathedral and located the ante room door.
I opened it and found Ty alone, sitting quietly on a chair.  He stood when
he saw me and walked into my open arms.  No words were necessary.  I hugged
him tight and when we moved apart he followed me out of the door and to the
side far side of the Cathedral where his parents, Scott and the two Defence
Department cars and drivers were waiting.

Ty was composed as he hugged his mother, his father and then Scott.  When
the time came for us to leave, I opened a car door for Frank and Dot to
climb into the back seat.  As I opened the front door to take my seat in
their car, Dot leaned forward and said, "You go with Tyson, dear.  He needs
you."

I walked to the second car and sat next to the driver, Ty in the back with
Scott.  We were driven home in silence, and for the entire journey, Ty sat
with his arm around his youngest brother, Scott's head resting on his
shoulder.

**********

The mood back at the house was solemn; funerals will do that.  George
served a late morning tea for Dot and Frank and when I finally made it to
the lounge room I found Ty had changed into his jeans and tee shirt and was
talking to Scott.

"Why can't I come with you to the hospital?" Scott was asking.

"I just want to be with him on my own, mate," Ty explained.  "I just need
some time with just the two of us.  You do, too."

I could sense Scott's disappointment so I chipped in.  "I'm going into the
office to tidy a few things up," I said to them both.  "I can drop you at
the hospital Ty, and then after work I'll pick Scott up and he can have a
couple of hours with Lachlan before your mum and dad arrive."

"Sound like a plan?" Ty asked, looking at Scott.

"Yeah, I guess," Scott shrugged.

Ty gave him a light slap on the back of the head as he headed to the
balcony to let his parents know what was happening and by the time he
joined me we were ready to hit the road.  We had a clear run to the
Hospital and as I pulled into the car park, Ty put his hand on my leg and
said, "Thanks mate."

"What for?" I asked.

"Just for being here," he smiled.  "I couldn't have got through this
without you."

"Hey!" I smiled back.  "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, mate.  You
know that."

"Yeah, I do know," he replied.  "That's why I love you."

Without checking to see if anyone was watching, he leaned across and kissed
me tenderly on the lips, before jumping out of the car and heading up the
driveway to the hospital entrance.

The afternoon passed quickly at the office, with emails to answer, phone
calls to return and a deposition to prepare.  I still had my head buried in
paperwork when my secretary stuck her head around the door to tell me she
was leaving and that Scott was waiting in reception.

I grabbed my briefcase and keys and wandered to the foyer when Scott was
standing looking at the paintings on the walls.

"Hey mate!" I grinned.  "Ready to go?"

We took the lift to the basement and were soon on our way to Randwick.  On
the way, Scott talked about the funeral and his awareness that it could so
easily have been Lachlan that was being laid to rest.  He spoke of his
relief that Lachlan was back in Australia and asked whether I thought he
might be mentally scarred by what he had gone through.

"Mate," I said as we pulled up outside the Hospital, "the doctors have
assured us that Lachlan's had no brain damage, but of course he's going to
need some counselling at some stage to come to terms with what happened.
That's further down the track.  The most important thing right now is
getting him physically well again."

"Yeah, I know," Scott nodded.  "And by the way, I'm not going overseas
until he's out of Hospital and I know that he's OK."

"Well, that'll be a relief for your parents," I laughed.

Scott smiled.  "They like you, you know," he said.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah.  I mean, dad hasn't said anything specific, but I'd just know if he
wasn't sure about you.  And mum's said a couple of times how nice you are.
She's asked me a lot about you and she's commented on how you and Ty seem
to be such good friends."

I paused.  "Hey Scott?" I asked.  "Do you think she ... well, that she's
wised up to Ty and me?"

"I don't know Mike," he replied.  "I wondered that myself.  I wouldn't have
thought so because it's not obvious, but then again mum's always kinda had
this intuition thing going on.  I even wonder if she knows about me, even
though I don't have a guy around ..."

I mulled over the possibility as we made our way to Lachlan's room where we
found Lachlan asleep but with less equipment around him, and Ty resting his
head on his brother's chest, just as he did with me in bed at night.  He
smiled at us both as we walked in and when Scott said "hey!", Lachlan's
eyelids fluttered open.  He looked groggy, but his lopsided smile let us
know he knew we were there.

Scott walked over and kissed him on the forehead and put his hand on his
cheek.  Unable to move his arms, Lachlan instead moved his face slightly so
he was able to kiss Scott's hand.  Ty beckoned me, and I moved to the
opposite side of the bed, leaned in and kissed Lachlan on the top of his
head.

"Hey mate!" I smiled.  "You're looking pretty hot!"

Lachlan smiled and nodded slightly, before closing his eyes again and
slipping back into his morphine sleep.  Ty filled us in on the fact that
the doctors had downgraded Lachlan's condition from `serious' to `stable'
and that he was now able to eat solids.  As he grabbed his beanie and
wallet, Ty cautioned Scott to not tire Lachlan too much with talk, but to
just reassure him that he was by his side.

As we drove back to Point Piper, Ty filled me in on his discussions with
Lachlan's doctors, who appeared pleased with his progress.  In one of
Lachlan's more lucid periods, they had discussed the bomb blast and what
Lachlan had remembered of it.  In another, Lachlan asked about the funeral
and Ty had assured him it had been a fitting and moving tribute to his
comrades.  At Lachlan's beside, Ty sang the song he'd sung at the funeral
and they had both cried; a cathartic moment for them both.

Sensing that Ty was in a reflective mood and possibly didn't feel like
being bombarded with questions, I suggested we grab a bite to eat on the
way home.  We stopped by a small French bistro in Double Bay where we each
had a peppered beef fillet with baby spinach and a shared side of spaetzli
noddles with fried onions and a cauliflower gratin, followed by raspberry
mousse.

By the time we arrived home, Dot and Frank had already left for the
hospital and George was nodding off in front of the television.  I could
tell Ty was tired and when I suggested he might think about turning in for
the night, he surprised me by saying he felt like a long, hot shower.

As he made for the bedroom he turned.  "You gonna join me? ..."

**********

Always happy to have your feedback.  marcusis32@live.com.au