metres. Six claymores amount to 4.2 kilograms of plastic explosive, so I wanted to give us a few metres of stand-off behind the mines.
We had the ambush set up in about nine minutes. The six claymores were joined using detonation cord and could be fired from a central location using one firing device. We only had to wait about one hour when the first ambush went off, then another and so on until we blew ours. Even sitting eight metres back from the claymores and behind our packs we still had a fair load of shit thrown at us. We dusted ourselves off and headed back to our camp.
Over the next few days the rest of the blokes went on with some booby trap training. They asked me if my patrol knew anything about making booby traps. I said they did, so they gave me a heap of explosives to do my own training. We played around a bit with booby-trapping, but still had a heap of explosives left over, so John went fishing in our little creek. When our neighbours came back to the camp at the end of the day, John had about 50 little fish for them. They were rapt and hurriedly cooked them. They tasted all right, but had heaps of bones. Our neighbours had caught a big frog that day and also cooked that up. They boiled it with three rocks from the creek and a piece of fungus selected from a tree. It turned out to be beautiful and the soup was good, very similar to chicken soup.
On our last day in the camp we packed up and prepared for a 45-kilometre walk to an ambush position that was near a small town. That was 45 kilometres as the crow flies, but in this place, with some of the biggest mountains and thickest jungle in the world, it could become 80 kilometres or more. We had seven days to reach the ambush position, so it would mean a fairly quick pace.
On the night before we left the camp, one of the corporals was being tested on his night attack so we took part as well. It was all live fire, which concerned me a little, but what could we do? We moved to a point about 200 metres from the enemy camp and were told to leave our kit there, and that we would move along another 100 metres and sleep there the night. This meant lying on the ground without a sleeping bag or a hutchie. I knew it would piss down with rain all night, so I told the patrol to grab their bivvy bags and a couple of hutchies between us and to give them to John who had a small pack to carry them in. This we did and, as night fell, I told John to pass out our gear and we got into our bivvy bags. About an hour after dark, it pissed down — I mean literally bucketed down. Now a bivvy bag is water resistant to an extent and will keep the dew out, but we were nicely located in a gully and, as I lay down, I found myself in a foot of water. A couple of hutchies went up, but you couldn’t move under them because of the other blokes. Basically, it was a bloody miserable night, and in situations such as this you realise how long nights really are. The jungle is hotter than hell during the day, but at night, when you are soaked to the skin, it’s bloody cold.
We completed the attack and didn’t lose anyone to gunfire and commenced our walk out. We were given a local soldier to go with us to ensure we didn’t get into trouble and that we took the correct route. I had already prepared and given orders for the patrol to the ambush site, and told my local man that he would be positioned between Stuart and Cleve. After breakfast, and a final briefing from the Captain, we patrolled off in a rough north-westerly direction with John scouting. I doubled as patrol commander and the second scout about five metres behind him, while Stuart, as signaller, patrolled behind me, then my local man, then Cleve as medic and Tony as the 2IC. Tony also had responsibility for acting as the rear scout. He had to ensure that no-one was tracking us, to protect us from enemy surprise from the rear and to ensure we didn’t leave a huge trail behind us. We were patrolling well in primary jungle that
We had the ambush set up in about nine minutes. The six claymores were joined using detonation cord and could be fired from a central location using one firing device. We only had to wait about one hour when the first ambush went off, then another and so on until we blew ours. Even sitting eight metres back from the claymores and behind our packs we still had a fair load of shit thrown at us. We dusted ourselves off and headed back to our camp.
Over the next few days the rest of the blokes went on with some booby trap training. They asked me if my patrol knew anything about making booby traps. I said they did, so they gave me a heap of explosives to do my own training. We played around a bit with booby-trapping, but still had a heap of explosives left over, so John went fishing in our little creek. When our neighbours came back to the camp at the end of the day, John had about 50 little fish for them. They were rapt and hurriedly cooked them. They tasted all right, but had heaps of bones. Our neighbours had caught a big frog that day and also cooked that up. They boiled it with three rocks from the creek and a piece of fungus selected from a tree. It turned out to be beautiful and the soup was good, very similar to chicken soup.
On our last day in the camp we packed up and prepared for a 45-kilometre walk to an ambush position that was near a small town. That was 45 kilometres as the crow flies, but in this place, with some of the biggest mountains and thickest jungle in the world, it could become 80 kilometres or more. We had seven days to reach the ambush position, so it would mean a fairly quick pace.
On the night before we left the camp, one of the corporals was being tested on his night attack so we took part as well. It was all live fire, which concerned me a little, but what could we do? We moved to a point about 200 metres from the enemy camp and were told to leave our kit there, and that we would move along another 100 metres and sleep there the night. This meant lying on the ground without a sleeping bag or a hutchie. I knew it would piss down with rain all night, so I told the patrol to grab their bivvy bags and a couple of hutchies between us and to give them to John who had a small pack to carry them in. This we did and, as night fell, I told John to pass out our gear and we got into our bivvy bags. About an hour after dark, it pissed down — I mean literally bucketed down. Now a bivvy bag is water resistant to an extent and will keep the dew out, but we were nicely located in a gully and, as I lay down, I found myself in a foot of water. A couple of hutchies went up, but you couldn’t move under them because of the other blokes. Basically, it was a bloody miserable night, and in situations such as this you realise how long nights really are. The jungle is hotter than hell during the day, but at night, when you are soaked to the skin, it’s bloody cold.
We completed the attack and didn’t lose anyone to gunfire and commenced our walk out. We were given a local soldier to go with us to ensure we didn’t get into trouble and that we took the correct route. I had already prepared and given orders for the patrol to the ambush site, and told my local man that he would be positioned between Stuart and Cleve. After breakfast, and a final briefing from the Captain, we patrolled off in a rough north-westerly direction with John scouting. I doubled as patrol commander and the second scout about five metres behind him, while Stuart, as signaller, patrolled behind me, then my local man, then Cleve as medic and Tony as the 2IC. Tony also had responsibility for acting as the rear scout. He had to ensure that no-one was tracking us, to protect us from enemy surprise from the rear and to ensure we didn’t leave a huge trail behind us. We were patrolling well in primary jungle that