1977

Coffee poured, in for a joint to the meditation room, memories flooded through his mind, visions of distant places, old times. The passage of time seems so strange, passing away as the years go by, faces returned and his head began to spin, small pieces of long forgotten, deep, deep down memories, started to surface, where was he, what strange land was he in, where were these distant, strange, unknown visions of lands, people and events coming from. A jigsaw puzzle, yet again and he had to piece it together.

“You’re going on bivouac, go and get your gear on”, his Mother said to him in a loud yet calm voice, “Bivouac”, he thought to himself, ”On a Sunday night before school, what fucking bivouac”, he thought to himself, and he made his way to his bedroom and dressed in his army cadet uniform, which he kept clean, boot’s polished and the straps and buckles gleaming. He returned to the kitchen and his Mother said to him, “The truck will be here at 8 o’clock”, so he sat down at the big old kitchen table, looked at his kitbag and waited. At eight o’clock precisely, a truck horn tooted twice and he jumped up, said “See’ya”, swung his kitbag over his shoulder as his Mother said goodbye and wished him well. He made his way through the fernery and out to the driveway and to the front of the house to the waiting lorry. He threw his kitbag up into the back of the truck and climbed in and with a hearty “G’day fella’s”, greeted his classmates and sat down on the seat. He looked around once he had sat down and his eyes grew accustomed to the dim interior light, strange faces silently greeted him, older men, none he recognised , he swung his head to the right to look at the soldier sitting next to him and the last thing he saw was a syringe being plunged into his arm, his head slumped down and he passed out.

The deck lay open before him at the rear of the troop transport, he blearily clambered onboard the aircraft and collapsed onto the webbing of the bunk bed. He looked around him and saw faces once he awoke and then passed out again. Suddenly a yawning gaping hole appeared before him, he was awake again and stared out into the inky darkness, wind whistled past the open hatchway, he looked to his right at the soldier next to him who yelled “Jump”, “I’m not jumping out there “, he yelled in disbelief and was pushed through the doorway and into the empty blackness that greeted him. He fell till he was told to pull his ripcord and floated down into the abyss. Got snagged in a tree and hung there, his mates standing around below on the ground, coaxing instructions to him in the night until he managed to fall to the ground.

The air lay still and crisp in the expanse around him, no birds sang, no crickets whistled, the stars glimmered silently above him. He looked around the clearing, foggy mist blanketed the ground, he was crouched down on the edge of a clearing, he did not recognise any of the plants, trees or any other vegetation, all that he saw was an alien land. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto”, he whispered to himself and peered at the scene that lay before him. Silently he stood up, turned around and walked quietly back in the direction from which he came, back, back through the darkness and the eerie, somber silence.

Sitting, dazed and confused, on the side of a white bunk bed he looked up at the table before him, “Have something to eat”, one of the men said to him, he stood up and eagerly grabbed the white bread with ham sandwich and wolfed it down, an army officer spoke to him and then was given instructions by a medic, then the syringe was plunged into his arm and he passed out once again on the bunk bed. When he awoke he was in a jungle clearing, being instructed by one of the soldiers, what he said, he could not remember to this day.

Their unit went out on nightly forays, through the jungle. Always quietly walking, stealthily, through the jungle, ever watchful of the surroundings, always glancing around at the slightest sound, quick pointed gestures were thrown around in quick succession, then nothing save for the occasional rustle of a leaf on khaki. He was given the position of point after a few days, his ability to see in the dark made him an invaluable resource, and he could glide through the jungle without a sound, he would stop and point in the direction of the enemy, one of the men would be sent out and all would be silent. One of the enemy was captured one night, and brought back to base for interrogation, after that they made their nightly forays, looking for the butchers that were rampaging around the countryside, raping and burning, murdering and mutilating, the ones that burned down villages, whole villages and wiped them out completely.

The war had been over for a few years, parts of this distant Asian land were decimated, many had lost their lives to the carnage, Australia had sent troops over to aid the Americans, and with the ensuing withdrawal from Vietnam, many thought it was over. It was an opportunity for greed and lust to rear their ugly heads, a small group of men, from dingy back rooms hatched a savage plan and the brutal invaders made their way to that war torn land. They rampaged through the countryside, terrorising small villages and decimating the inhabitants, they looted, raped and stole their way through South East Asia. They were pursued eventually and the orders were given to hunt them down and put an end to their despicable homicidal acts of violence, a team was sent to Search and Destroy, and put an end to their mischief.

They crouched down, tracer fire whistled around them, little white lights that sang their shrill siren call, hoping to find their mark and put an end to the recipient. They returned fire but were heavily outnumbered, they were surrounded on all sides, one of the men handed him a rifle, but they were shouting at the night, shooting at the shadows. The C.O. was hit bad, and two of us crouched down over him while bullets whistled through the night air and the other men returned fire, the other soldier handed him his pistol and said “You have to do it”, he looked at the gun and then at his C.O, “I can’t do that”, he hissed back, his C.O, looked up at him and said, “Do it”, he shot him through the heart and with head down and a sorrowful heart, they made a hasty retreat back to H.Q.

They couldn’t take him with them, couldn’t carry him to safety, he was too badly wounded and they all would have been captured and tortured for information, the mission was too critical to allow such a strategic mistake. But that was war, war against an unseen enemy, one that could jet in and out and return home to anonymity, war against a hostile group of mercenaries that raped, plundered and butchered their way through that far flung countryside. 17 kills was his tally, one captured alive and the others sent to their graves by having their throats cut during battle in the jungle, one had his head cut from his body by the deft use of two knives, counter terrorism, counter insurgency, call it what you will, but the orders were to have him trained for the battle that lay ahead, one that lay ahead in the ensuing decades.

He walked into class that morning, it was June, or thereabouts, and sat down at his desk in the classroom at St. Pat’s College Ballarat, it was 1977. One of his classmates swung around and asked him, “Where have you been”, he looked back at his classmate and replied, “Bivouac”. He had been gone for three weeks and he was behind in his schoolwork and when he had returned to school he was still in his army cadet uniform.