No Angry Shots ...

We set off in single file. It’s a long spur line and fairly steady. March 50 minutes, stop for 10. Ant rotating the sections through the lead section and the Sarge bringing up the rear. In 84 we had Des Hickey, in 85 GT Smith. Des was significantly older than us, I was 22, Temps 24, Willy 23 and The Sarge was late 30s. We were pretty fit, he was OK, which basically meant when we stopped for a 10 minute break - he was still closing up.

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Towards the end of Day 1 and Day 2; he would get at best a couple minutes, at worst no rest before the platoon recommenced. Like Toad Dunshea in 82 and John Turner in 83 84 that never stopped them. They mightn't have enjoyed it, but they kept going. The Sarge did it tough. And so did we. It was hot, humid and the terrain was rugged. Our 2PIR guides were in their element. We crossed through highland villages, on high ground heavily cleared. We trekked over ridgelines so steep that you felt you could touch 40m trees either side of the spurline and track. It was a tough couple days.

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On the second day we passed through the 4 white grid squares and reverted to bearing and paces. Like Tully, where the map had no detail compared to what you patrolled over. There were no lost species or pterodactyls flying overhead. And we crossed in single file. We stayed overnight in a local village and then set out again towards the ocean through the clouds.

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The second day was torrential. We entered a village at lunchtime absolutely drenched. Tully rain doubled. It was relentless. We were drenched. A rest stop at a village gave us the chance to recover for a meal. Luckily, no Spam - we had Luncheon Meat from the D Pack to satisfy our hunger.

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We had covered about 15-20k over some of the most challenging terrain. Up and down ridgelines, across needle wide spur lines joining mountains and through villages and creeks. We were grateful it was non tactical (not patrolling like an Exercise).

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If day two was memorable for the downpour that engulfed us, day three was memorable for other reasons. We had a decent sleep that night and then had a four hour trek into the village beside a river.

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The trek up the mountains had been challenging, the trek through torrential rain hard work but it was nothing like the downhill trek into the village. Again, steep sections, muddy tracks and unstable ground. We slid down the track, off the track, looking for decent foot holes in clay and tree roots. But we knew we were on the downhill run and after passing through 4 white grid squares, felt somewhat bullet proof, like 0230 at Scums. Untouchable.

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We'd swapped the gun over the 3 days, the old Clydesdale Jed doing a chunk of the heavy lifting. Browny, Shane, Ox, Richo, Finnie, Graham and even Murph, as well as a couple ring ins. Our guides were reveling in the conditions. The guys who grew up in the mountains were just as comfortable removing their boots and trekking bare foot. Only the town guides preferred patrolling in boots. This was certainly their land. We reached the village and gratefully cooled off. Shirts off, football out, gear spread out to dry out. We had 15k to go.

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We had gotten through relatively unscathed. The Rebels were not as fortunate. They'd taken a casualty earlier in the day and had to stretcher one of their guys for about 4h. In brutal country, on treacherous slippery footpads you could barely travel single file. They battled on. And when they made it to Sapuian, a village near a river and got a chance to rest. Watched in awe as Dunder Klumpen jumped off the stretcher, joined the Aussie rules kick punt, and took a couple screamers.

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We cheered ... Dunder Klumpen was no longer on the Xmas Card list of the Rebel diggers.

The Company was then called in to a hollow square - Dougal had a surprise for us, and Boy oh Boy we loved surprises.

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Sir Ronald RAAF was to helibox drop a resupply of rations in Porters. We listened intently. The distinct hum of the Porter could be heard. Dougal had warned the Chief and the village lined up next to the company.

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The Porters appeared over the Village, and one of the RAAFies started to drop the heliboxes from the plane.

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The heliboxes spun through the air. A clearing of 300m by 150m next to the river. But Ronald had other ideas. Half dropped in the village, half in the river. Ronald took out 4 huts. The heliboxes spearing through thatch roofs like mosquitoes biting through greens. The boxes disintegrated, with condensed milk exploded through every orifice of our ration packs.

The local kids dived into the river, retrieving the river sodden rations.

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Ronald, you fucking legend. 1 day’s rations, 80 men, 16x heliboxes, 4x huts taken out and 40% of the rations were obliterated.

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Fucking Flyboy Pogues. Thank you for again demonstrating the excellence of interservice cooperation.

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We brewed up, got an hour’s gonk (sleep) and set off about 1430 to marry up with the trucks. About 3k to a road, then 8k along a track to the rendezvous at the Independence Memorial.

The final leg was mostly tame, but it was interesting that when we got onto the road our hosts’ fitness was found out. Whereas they were in their element on the footpads and trails through the mountains, we were stronger marching down the road. We finished up near Dagua and then made our way south to Moem.

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The cooks were waiting with a fresh meal.

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Spam.