Windwhistle

I never did learn his name

but I know he was married, and had kids.

I know this because the Padre spoke of his family,

during the Memorial Service.

I know he was an Australian,

and by all accounts a good soldier,

and a damn fine photographer.

I know that because they published

some of his work in 'Reveille'.

- after the Military Funeral.

We brought the guns into action that morning

just after first light,

and then slept beneath the dappled

shade of our camouflage nets.

We were hidden in rocks,

not far from the river,

which ran swiftly over the masses

of grey South Island boulders.

Relaxed and rested after a week

or more of intense Gunnery Training.

I'd been all over the world,

and the name of the place "Windwhistle"

was about as forgetable to me as a hundred

other places that I had sweated,

slept, and soldiered through.

Still, it's funny how the hand of fate

can intervene, and burn an instant

of time and space into the very core

of your living memory.

I never did learn that Aussie Soldiers name,

but I watched him die;

crushed beneath the unforgiving tracks

of an armoured fighting vehicle...

just in front of my hidden howitzer.

In slow motion I, and my gun detachment,

watched in silent terror as he bent

to retrieve a lense-cap,

while that tank, angry and loud,

turned on itself and swept him beneath the tracks;

engulfing him in a sea of blood and agony,

beneath those unforgiving tracks of armour plate.

It seemed so very sad and futile

when the young Gunner yelled to me

"Sarge, shall I go and try and help him...

I've got a shell dressing taped to my rifle butt?"

"No son" I replied "Just remain at your post,

and pray for his widow".

It seemed such an odd name "Windwhistle",

but I never did forget it, or the events of that day.

It's funny how fate can intervene; and brand your mind forever,

with an instant of pain...and an eternity of horror.

© Copyright Mike Subritzky

161 Battery RNZA

"Golden Fleece"