It was three months to the day since the accident, that Mike finally returned home. The occupational therapist had recommended the necessary adjustments to the house to accommodate a wheelchair, and other necessary equipment, and Philip, Gregory, Buffer and 2Dads had worked to make the adjustments a reality. When Kate wheeled him through the door, his family and friends were waiting. The house was full of people. His parents, father-in-law, Buffer, Nikki with their twins, 2Dads, people from NAVCOM including Cmdr Steve Marshall and some of the COs and XOs from the Patrol Boats and Minesweepers. Jessica ran forward and threw herself into her father's arms. She told everyone that "daddy had a magic chair", and everyone smiled at her. Kate looked about, disappointed to see the absence of anyone from Hammersley, until Steve informed her that Hammersley had just left to go on patrol, due back in six weeks. He said, "you could use that time to get used to having Mike home."
"Thanks sir, I could use it."
Steve went over to Mike. "Welcome home, sir. It's good to see you."
"It's good to be home, Steve. Real good."
"When you feel up to it, come into NAVCOM. A lot is happening right now."
"Steve, look at me. I can't walk yet. I don't know how long it will be before I do, if ever I do. I may not have a Navy career, so there's no point." Mike looked sad.
Steve said, "I've talked to Fleet Medical. In light of the doctor's prognosis, they've given you a Medical Category 3. You're not out of the Navy yet. So, all you need to do is keep up with whatever you need to do to get well. And if you feel up to it, come to NAVCOM. It might do you good."
The crowd in the house started to dwindle as people took their leave. Mindful of not wanting to tire Mike too much on his first day home, Kate had passed the word, and shortly there was only Kate, Jessica, and her father, with Mike's parents. Amelia took over the meal duties, and after they had eaten, Kate took Jessica to have her bath. The little girl had had a big day, and she was almost asleep at the table.
Gregory wheeled his son over to the lounge, and helped him out of his chair. Gregory propped cushions around him, to make him comfortable, then sat down next to him.
"Philip and I went out fishing on your friend's boat. Buffer? Is that what you call him?" he asked.
Mike said, "That's what his nickname was in the Navy. He was our bosun on the Hammersley -called Buffer, as the most senior NCO onboard, he was "buffer" between the officers and junior ranks. The name has stuck."
Gregory said, "He and his mate, Leo, had quite a lot to say about you. All good, I might add. Peter told a few stories of serving with you on the Hammersley. They thought the world of you, Mike. Peter said that the crew would 'walk backwards through hell for Mighty Mike.' That's high praise. It made me feel proud. And son, I'm proud of you. You've become the man any father would love to have, you've made a good life for yourself, and you've married a wonderful girl, and given us a beautiful granddaughter. What more could a man ask for?"
"I'm not that man anymore, Dad. What sort of husband and father will I be now? And the Navy. I hope I'm still in; I'd like to go back to sea one day. Will that ever happen again? Dad, I'm not sure if I'll ever walk again."
Gregory put his hand on Mike's arm. "It's early days still. You've only just come out of rehab. You still have physio I believe. Give it a go. And son, in my eyes, you're still that man. And I guarantee that your mother, Kate and Jessica feel the same way about you. You are a good man, Mike. A good man."
Mike's eyes filled with tears, and Gregory said, "It's time we were off. Your mother is tired, I need to take her home. Meantime, you need your rest too. Goodnight son." Gregory stood up and ruffled his son's hair.
They left, and Kate had put Jessica to bed. Philip had discreetly retired to his room, to allow Mike to have time with his parents.
Kate came to the lounge-room. She could see Mike was tired, so she helped him into the wheelchair, and pushed him toward their en-suite. She attended to his personal needs, and showered him. Mike was embarrassed and ashamed. Three months ago, he did all this for himself. Now he was dependent on Kate.
"I'm sorry you have to do all this. It's not fair on you," he said.
Brusquely Kate responded, "For better or worse, in sickness and in health, remember? Pretty sure that's what I promised. Besides, haven't we showered together often?" She wheeled him into their bedroom, then put him to bed.
She kissed him, deeply and said, "I love you, Mike Flynn. Goodnight." She went quietly out to the kitchen and saw Philip there, making himself a warm drink.
He held his mug up inquiringly, and Kate said, "Yes please, Dad."
Mike's Memory.
He was driving down the Hume Highway, heading for his uncle's farm. Mike was seventeen now, and in his last year of school. He was a very tall youth, seeming to have sprung up in height overnight. He had recently gotten his driver's licence, and his father had found a cheap car for him. He reached the farm gate, opened it and drove through, and mindful of the Australian farm etiquette – "shut the bloody gate mate" – he did so.
He pulled up outside the house, grabbed his bag and went in. His aunt greeted him as always, "Michael. Look at you. All grown up now. Come in, I have some dinner for you."
He bent down to kiss his aunt – she seemed so small these days. His uncle was sitting at the table. "Michael – how are you boy?"
"Good thanks, Uncle Pat. How have you been?"
"Can't complain. What's the bloody good of that?" Patrick answered with the standard response he'd given ever since Mike could remember. They had their dinner, then Pat got himself a beer. He offered one to Mike, then hesitated, asking, "How old are you now?"
"I'm seventeen, Uncle Pat."
"Ah close enough. Don't tell your aunt." They grinned conspiratorially, and Mike flushed with pleasure at being treated as an adult. While his aunt did the dishes, then went and fed the hens, they sat and drank and talked of farm matters. There had been a drought, and Patrick had to sell off quite a few of his sheep. He had kept his best ram and ewes, and did not send the lambs in to market. "Not worth it, lad, the prices they're offering would make a grown man cry. I'm glad you're here this next fortnight. Plenty of fencing to be done."
The next day dawned with clear skies, very cold, and no sign of any moisture. Patrick pointed out that it was so bloody dry, the trees were chasing the dogs.
Mike went into the shed, put the trailer on the tractor, and loaded the fencing gear. His uncle always took a couple of rifles as well, in case of seeing a sick sheep or a predator. His Aunty Jo had filled an old hamper with food, as well as a thermos of coffee.
Well wrapped up against the cold, Mike started the tractor. His uncle trusted him with the farm machinery more and more, and was content to ride in the trailer, accompanied by the two kelpie dogs. They reached the first fence Patrick wanted rebuilt, and set to work. They worked silently, side by side, with Mike once more marvelling at how deftly his uncle could work the wire around the posts without the benefit of sight. By lunchtime, the first fence was finished, and Patrick said, "Get a fire going, I'll get the tucker-box." Mike dug a hole in the earth and found plenty of dry dead wood to kindle the fire. Jo had filled the tucker box well, and pretty soon the sausages were sizzling away in the pan, and her damper was in a small camp oven on the other side of the griddle. They finished eating, and Patrick again produced some beer and handed a bottle to his nephew. Patrick rolled a cigarette and offered his tobacco pouch to Mike, who refused.
Patrick smoked contentedly, for a while, then said, "Seventeen, are you? When do you finish school? Next year?"
"No, I do my final exams in two months, then I'm done." As his father had predicted, school did get better, and his best subjects were English and History.
"So, young Mick, have you any plans for what you'll do with yourself when you leave school?"
"Uncle Pat, I've decided to join the Navy."
"And your father does not approve."
"No, he doesn't, he wants me to go to uni. He says he won't sign the papers to let me join. He thinks I should get a degree. But I'm so over studying – I want to travel and see the world."
"Well, joining the Navy will allow you to do that – " Patrick broke off as his keen hearing detected a sheep in distress.
"Lad, get that rifle quick, there's a wild dog around."
Mike grabbed the .22 rifle. He loaded and cocked it. Sure enough, his uncle's hearing was spot on. He could see the animal, a fox, not a dog, trying to steal one of the lambs. He took aim and fired. The fox leapt, then fell dead. It didn't know what hit it. Mike then saw its mate trying to get at the lambs. The ewe cried out; Mike fired again. The second fox flopped over. Mike yelled triumphantly: "Got you! YES!"
Patrick chuckled. "Well done, young feller. Your cousins would be impressed at how well you handle a gun." It was Patrick who taught Mike to shoot, with Gregory's help. The three of them would often go shooting on the weekends that Gregory and Mike were there, and Mike became very proficient with a gun.
"Well, put that fire out. Time we got back to work. It's too bloody cold to be sitting around." Mike cleared the rifle, put it back in the trailer, and resumed his place with the post-hole digger.
Five months later, Mike was on his way to the Navy Recruit School at HMAS Cerberus, having taken his oath with six others, at Fleet Base East. He didn't know exactly what had changed his father's mind, but he suspected Patrick had something to do with it. When he'd returned home after that fortnight, Gregory told him he would sign his enlistment papers, providing his Higher School Certificate results were acceptable.
Mike did well at Recruit School. When he graduated, he had been awarded Best Shot of the Intake, and Recruit of the Intake. His proud parents watched him accept the awards, and after the parade dismissal, Mike went over to them. He said to his father, "I owe Uncle Patrick this award. After all, he taught me to shoot."
The next morning, Mike awoke. He was disoriented at first, then he looked over and saw Kate sleeping peacefully. He was home, in his own bed, with his wife, and his daughter asleep in her bedroom. Kate stirred, and he reached over and stroked her face. "Good morning," she said.
"Hey." Kate kissed him, then said, "Coffee?"
"No, I'd like tea please. I missed your tea. I missed you."
"Me too." Kate climbed out of bed, threw on her dressing gown and went down the hall to the kitchen, where she discovered Philip already up, getting Jessica her breakfast. "Ah, mo ghaoil, there you are. How did you sleep?"
"Better than I thought." She turned to her daughter, "Hello there, sweetheart, Grandpa made your breakfast. Preschool today."
Jessica had been tucking into a stack of pancakes, and she raised her face and said, "Can I see Daddy before preschool?"
"Of course you can my love, of course you can. Finish your breakfast first."
Kate brewed the tea and carried the mugs back into the bedroom. By this time, Mike had pulled himself up, using the triangular grip hanging over the bed. Kate propped some pillows behind him and said, "Drink this, you're about to have a little visitor."
Jessica was about to launch herself at the bed, when her mother laid a restraining hand on her. "Gently, sweetheart, gently."
"Yes, Mummy." The child crawled slowly on to the bed and put her head on Mike's chest. "Hello Daddy, you're home for good?"
He wrapped his arm around her, "I sure am." Jessica stayed as she was, and Mike soaked up the child's love. Then she said, "I'm going to preschool now. But I'll be home later. Don't go away." She kissed her father, then slid off the bed and went to get dressed. Philip had agreed to take her to preschool, while Kate took Mike to physiotherapy at the outpatients at the hospital.
Kate said, "She really did miss you. She cried herself to sleep a lot. Poor little thing, it's been hard on her."
"I bet. She's a great kid though. Takes after her mother." Kate smiled and said, "I'd better see if there is any breakfast for us. Will you be OK to get yourself up and into your chair?"
"I'll be fine. I'll sort myself out and see you for breakfast."
