One Life One Chance Read online

  To build up our endurance in order to carry weight on our backs, we started doing short pack marches of around 5 kilometres with only 10 kilograms in weight. Then the week after it would be 8 kilometres with 12 kilograms building up the distances and weight until we could march 20 kilometres carrying 25 kilograms. The trick I found the best when carrying a pack was to never take it off. Any time we would stop for a break the others would take their packs off and sit down, I would just sit straight down with the pack still on my back and lean against it. This ensured that the pack remained in a comfortable position when we set off again with very little time wasted in finding a comfortable position. I enjoyed the physical and mental battle of the marches, little did I know that this skill would serve me well on high mountain expeditions in coming years.

  I had grown up hunting with Mum and Dad out on the cattle properties and enjoyed using various bolt-action rifles and shotguns. I was excited to finally get my hands on the F88 Austeyr, the Austrian made fully automatic assault rifle. This is the number one rifle used throughout the Australian Army, it replaced the SLR (self loading rifle) in 1989 which had been used since 1960. The Austeyr has a plastic stock and can unload a thirty round magazine of 5.56-millimetre ammunition in less than five seconds. It all sounded like Rambo to me and I could not wait to play with it.

  The next weapon to be placed in my hands, and little did I know would remain there for a very long time, was the F89 machine gun. Its ammunition is belt fed and it can pump out a thousand rounds a minute of the same 5.56 millimetre ammunition. It’s a lot heavier than the F88 rifle and we became inseparable buddies. It came with two spare barrels for changing over when one got too hot from firing, and a night scope that is the size of a loaf of bread and produces an amazing magnified green image, even on the darkest of nights. Cleaning kit for maintenance had to be carried and one thousand rounds of belt ammunition thrown on top. Finding room for everything in my already full pack was a struggle. It all added over twenty extra kilograms, which never bothered me too much because I got to carry the big gun and have the most fun.

  Night vision was something I had only ever seen in movies so the day that we were going to be issued our own set of night-vision equipment I was very excited. Called Ninox, it was a single monocular the size of a small can of Red Bull, which painted a light-green picture of the world even on the blackest of nights. It is mounted on a head harness with a chin strap or it can be pulled out of a pocket and used sporadically. The monocular is very powerful, so to avoid any retina damage from overuse it must be continually rotated from left eye to right eye throughout the night. The Ninox functions by detecting all ambient light from the moon and stars then amplifying it. The picture seen when looking through the eye piece was exactly the same picture I could see during daylight, except now in shades of green. The device is extremely sensitive to any forms of artificial light, even a lit cigarette at 100 metres is very easy to detect and looks like a car headlight through the monocular. One place the Ninox was useless however was in very thick jungle, like what we have in North Queensland at the Army Jungle Training Wing in Tully, where the canopy blocks out all the ambient light.

  Becoming a soldier wasn’t just about playing with all the toys, we also had to be able to perform formal duties including parades. I’m sure you have seen groups of soldiers all synchronised, completing turns, salutes and firing rifles. It looks very impressive and getting up to that standard was going to be the one part of military life I did not enjoy. Parade movements were called ‘drill’ but it wasn’t limited to the parade ground, everywhere we travelled on the military base and every movement we made while in uniform consisted of learning two or three movements of drill. Every day for at least two hours we had to form up on the parade ground and get lessons on doing everything to perfect drill timing. Performing salutes, learning to slow march, quick march, presenting arms (saluting with the F88) and all the halts and turns. Everything was to be done to a count and with perfect timing by everyone. If one person was out of time they stood out like a sore thumb bringing a barrage of verbal abuse from the staff.

  Drill lessons tended to send the corporals a particular type of insane; I think they hated the sessions just as much as I did. Standing out on the hot parade ground and trying to get soft-skinned new recruits to pick up the fairly difficult art of drilling would have been extremely frustrating for them. Corporal Pearson was one of my favourites because he stayed calm and did not lose his temper as much as the others. He did explode once when sweat was pouring from his face and we continually messed up his commands, but I didn’t hold it against him. During my first few sessions of drill I had doubts that I would ever move like I was supposed to, however after hours and days of repeated practice it started to come together. Slowly we were starting to look like one solid unit.

  The three physical training sessions per day were the most enjoyable for me and so were the three meal times. The only downside during meal times was our restriction to a twenty-minute window for the entire process. We would be marched to the mess (dining hall), halted at the front door and then dismissed. The dismissal would start the twenty-minute clock and it turned into a literal feeding frenzy from there. Racing inside I would grab the tray, plate and cutlery as fast as possible. Then, proceeding to the buffet, I would load my plate with as much food as it could hold. Sticking to the stews or spaghetti was the key, it created a solid base for food to build on and I didn’t have to chew it as much, saving valuable time. Spaghetti base, crumbed steak on top, eggs, pie and bread on the edges. I would always try to place a piece of cake at the very top of my mountain of food making it the first to get eaten, ensuring I never missed out on dessert.

  Once loaded I’d move to the closest table among the hundreds of recruits feeding like animals; dropped trays and smashed plates were a common occurrence. There was no conversation at the tables, all that could be heard was the scoffing sounds of starving soldiers. I could clear an entire plate of food in under two minutes, giving me ample time to stand at the water machine drinking as much fluid as my stomach could hold. It was then a race to drop the dishes into the allocated bins and be outside formed up with the rest of my platoon. All in under twenty minutes.

  Shooting is a critical skill for an infantry soldier and we spent many days out at the firing range learning the finer skills of marksmanship. I had a head start on the other recruits because I had grown up hunting but there was still plenty to learn. Taking an accurate long-range shot was something we had to master, and like everything else in the military there was a procedure in place to make it happen.

  Lying on the range in good body position, having gone through all adjustments and my sight locked on target, I would take in a deep, slow breath and focus on relaxing my body and slowing my heart rate. I would start to release my breath and at the same time take my finger to the trigger, very softly beginning to apply pressure. At the very end of exhaling, when I’m at my steadiest, the shot should almost be a surprise. I would feel the recoil and see a perfect hit on target.

  After the first few weeks I had passed all of the rifle shoots at the firing range, the physical fitness tests and even passed the drill test. It then came time for all of us to undergo bayonet assault course training.

  Every combat soldier must know how to fight effectively with the use of a bayonet (combat knife) attached to the end of an assault rifle. Throughout history countless battles have come down to the use of bayonets, and the soldiers that were more aggressive and effective in its use were victorious. This is where war becomes up close and personal, and it was one of the most intense days of my entire life. At around five-thirty in the morning the training staff walked into the quiet halls of the fifteen platoon barracks, crept into our rooms with machine guns and opened fire with blank rounds, not more than a few feet from our heads. Shocked from deep sleep, my heart was thumping out of my chest and I didn’t know what the hell was happening. We were rushed down the hallway in the dark and every time the corpo
ral asked ‘What are you going to do?’ we were made to scream ‘Kill, kill, kill’ at the top of our lungs.

  At the end of the hallway was a pitch-black room where we were all made to sit together cross-legged on the floor. Once sitting down and still screaming ‘Kill, kill, kill’ a projector screen flickered to life in front of us. Images of war, killing and battlefield clips were flashed across the screen over and over again to a soundtrack of heavy metal music. Braveheart, Saving Private Ryan, Apocalypse Now scenes, and images of bombing raids, all shown to us in order to do one thing: make us emotional and aggressive. It worked.

  As the rage inside me was building I could feel the tears fall from my eyes. I had a quick glance around at the rest of the platoon and everybody looked to be in the same condition. Even the guys I thought were too tough to show emotion were welling up. The film clips and music continued on for half an hour in that dark, cramped space. Then the commanding officer of 15 platoon stopped the video and began to read us a story about Australian soldiers fixing their bayonets during World War I at the battle of Gallipoli. The soldiers in that battle knew they were going to die but still they fixed their blades to the end of the rifles and charged in with their mates behind them, never to return. That story was the tipping point for us, we were ready to begin. We were led out of the building and down to the bayonet assault course, the sound of ‘Kill, kill, kill’ being screamed by thirty passionate men was deafening. Over and over we were told that today was all about aggression and it was hard not to be swept up in the emotion and violence of the day.

  We were put into lines, told to fix bayonets and then for the following ninety minutes were taught the bayonet fighting movements. Once the corporals were satisfied we knew what we were doing it was time to hit the assault course for the first time. The course consisted of a massive pit of water (bear pit) at the beginning that was neck deep. The bear pit was first so that when you emerged on the other side you were soaked from head to toe, making the rest of the course all the more difficult. There were tunnels filled with water and barbed wire, walls to climb, wooden beams to balance and move along and endless mud to crawl through on your stomach. Red, green and blue smoke grenades were set off everywhere, burning your eyes and lungs. Above everything was the constant sound of gunfire from the machine guns that were positioned all the way along the course and manned by the corporals. Just as I was nearing the point of exhaustion a target would appear and it would be time to put our aggression and fighting skills to the test.

  At the time I was going through basic training the September 11 terrorist attacks were fresh in everyone’s minds. The training staff used this to their advantage and made the bayonet targets with faces of Osama bin Laden. This added to the emotion of the day, giving us an extra burst of aggression as we stabbed, hacked and smashed our lifeless enemy to the ground. It was a physically gruelling course and at the end of the first run through I was shattered, after the second I was vomiting and after the third I thought I might black out at any second.

  We were sat down at the start of the course absolutely shattered and barely moving. The commander came across again and read us another story about the Rats of Tobruk. The story was of an Australian soldier taking out three gun pits single-handedly after watching his mate die and being shot three times himself. He won the Victoria Cross for his efforts, our highest military commendation. The story got us firing and when the commander asked, ‘Who wants to do the course again?’ all of us jumped up and screamed. We lined up at the pit ready to charge in when the commander called the stop. It was the end and that was our final test. If we hadn’t jumped up and gotten ready to go in again we would have failed. It was a physically and mentally draining day and one I will never forget. That night the halls were silent and I slept like the dead.

  At the end of our six weeks of training there was a march out parade that showcased to our friends and family the beautiful drill that we had been practising every day. I had performed well during my time at Wagga and I was lucky enough to win the physical training trophy for fittest soldier. This meant that I had to march out in front of the entire parade with the other four trophy winners, call the halt for the five of us at a certain position on the tarmac and salute the governor of New South Wales. In the days leading up to the parade I couldn’t manage the halt on the right spot, no matter how much I practised it. The night before, during our final dressed rehearsal, I stuffed it up again. The staff were not very impressed with me and there was talk that they would get someone else to call the halt instead. The commander came to my rescue and said that I would be fine on the day. I was shitting myself. The moment came during the real deal with everyone’s families watching and I called the halt: it was perfect and exactly where I had to be. I was a bit stunned that it all went so well that I nearly forgot to salute the governor so it was a little bit delayed. The entire march out parade went really well and I was keen to see my mum who had travelled 2300 kilometres to Wagga from Far North Queensland just to see me.

  Mum was a little shocked at my physique as I had lost 8 kilograms over the six weeks and I was already a skinny kid when I arrived. At the buffet dinner, Mum got to see some of the skills I had learnt in the Army. She followed behind me as I loaded my tray from the buffet with a full plate of spaghetti, crumb steak on top, mash potato and bread on the sides. Then to finish off my meal a large slab of chocolate cake at the summit. All of this was promptly shovelled into my mouth in four minutes flat. I turned to see my mum staring at me with shock on her face. All of the manners I had been taught at home were erased in a matter of weeks and I’m sorry to say they were going to remain that way. Basic training was over and I now had to get prepared for my next ten-week training course at the Singleton school of Infantry. I thought I had survived a hard six weeks in Wagga Wagga but it was only the beginning.

  Every soldier in the Army goes to Wagga Wagga for the initial basic training course. On completion those going into cavalry, artillery, catering and other corps get sent out to their own training courses which the Army names IET (Initial Employment Training). For me, who was wishing to become an Infantry soldier, I was sent off to Singleton Infantry School for ten weeks. On arrival I was fairly confident and believed I was ready for anything. The course didn’t start straight away so I had two weeks of waiting around for all of the other soldiers to arrive. I was in the gym lifting weights and eating well again, trying to put back on some of the weight I had lost in Wagga. As the men arrived I noticed they were all fit, strong and some of them had infantry experience in the past, so once again I was the youngest and most inexperienced of everyone. This didn’t bother me, I had done well in Basic Training and had the unbeatable confidence of youth on my side.

  The staff corporals this time were all hard infantry men called ‘grunts’. All of them had seen some action in their careers and they were now tasked to turn us into warriors. They wouldn’t yell for the sake of it like our last staff but these guys could put the fear of God into us when they wanted to. Our first physical training session was the hardest since I had joined the Army and at the end of it they said that the session was an easy one to judge where we were with our fitness. One of the first things we were taught was the role of the infantry, and we had to know it and be able to recite it on request. The role of the infantry soldier is: ‘To seek out and close with the enemy. To kill or capture him. To seize and hold ground, and to repel attack. By day or by night, regardless of season, weather or terrain.’

  For the next few weeks we spent long hours inside the lecture room learning everything from the history of the Infantry and rules of engagement to navigation and bushcraft. These were tough times for me due to the staff always putting a two-hour lecture straight after we had done a gruelling physical training session and had eaten a big meal. I could never stay awake no matter how hard I tried, but I wasn’t alone. The corporals went mental any time someone fell asleep and they guaranteed we would all be punished for it. Punishments occurred whenever we had a
spare ten minutes and at the end of every day, no matter how long the day was. A dirty rifle warranted 100 push-ups, failure to adhere to timings was another 100, not finishing runs in a decent time 100 and on it went. Falling asleep earns 200 push-ups to every man and once begun they would not stop until we couldn’t do another single rep.

  Becoming an infantry soldier also meant learning a whole new range of weapons and devices. One of my favourites was the M18A1 Claymore mine containing 700 grams of C4 and steel ball bearings with a kill range of 200 metres. I was getting paid to shoot and blow stuff up, I was in heaven. A thirty-man platoon has three sections, each containing ten men. Inside a section there are two machine gunners, a corporal leading as section commander, and a lance corporal as his second in charge. Most tasks were completed as a section and my section became my little family over the two and a half months at Singleton.

  The corporals had to mould us into infantry soldiers and one of the tools used to carve out a soldier was the biggest obstacle course known to man. It could be completed in thirty minutes with good teamwork and high levels of fitness. The course encompassed everything from concrete tunnels narrow enough to get stuck in, rope climbs up and across muddy pits, barbed wire fences, 14-foot-tall walls, cargo nets, monkey swings and endless bars to climb. It was tough and gruelling and if we didn’t attack it with everything we had it would chew us up and spit us out.