FISHING IN THE BINH BA RUBBER
By "The Lifer"
I wrote an article for the newsletter several issues ago, which Brian kindly published. Nobody wrote me any abusive letters after it so I thought I might have another go. My last account covered the first few days of my time as a platoon commander in B Coy in 1969 wherein some light-hearted moments intruded into the serious business of war. In this short yarn, it's several months later and I am now a 'steely eyed veteran' (or at least I felt so at the time!).
It was B Coy's last operation: a two or three day search and clear in the J south and west of the Binh Ba rubber around late November. We put in an immediate ambush one morning on a heavily marked, recently used track through light J and were rewarded when some chap came along it about 30 minutes into the ambush. Unfortunately we engaged him a little early and he fled apparently unscathed, although (A) I would back him in the Olympic 100 metres over any comers and (B) I wouldn't want the job of washing his underwear! During the contact, Graham Dugdale the Company Commander rang up on the radio to complain that the 'overs' from the contact were cracking in among CHQ. My sig, the unflappable Gary Mayer converted my unprintable reply into "Sunray suggests you take cover".
The next morning we were quietly patrolling along when we smelt cooking and heard some human noise. We were deploying to cross a small but bush-choked stream when suddenly it was on for young and old. Sepp Sodervik and Col Moyle did some very brave things and we avoided disaster and captured what turned out to be the bivouac site for about twenty or so enemy. We found later that they were the Chau Duc District Company - poor b's. they were the sort of 'South Queensland Crushers' of the VC in Phuoc Tuy; everybody gave them a belting. While we didn't personally knock any over on this occasion, we did capture their breakfast (and their breakfast dishes)! To add injury to insult, I sooled a couple of gunships onto them as they fled, so all in all they had a pretty bad day. I felt particularly sorry for one of them however - during our search of their camp we found where they had fled en masse across the narrow stream. The sides of the stream were heavily scored and muddied by the frantic feet of the fleeing mob. Trodden into the mud there was a pair of now-broken spectacles with the thickest lenses I have ever seen. I had visions of some guy blundering around introducing himself to trees and looking for OPSM!
After this bracing couple of days B Coy was able to call it quits and the fellows were pretty pleased to be able to return unscathed to Nul Dat. We rendezvoused in the Binh Ba rubber as a Company to mount up on a troop of APCs for the journey back to base. Imagine the scene: all these APCs backing and filling in a small space with engines growling and scores of very happy diggers hooping and hollering at having survived a year of extreme danger. Eventually we were all mounted on the decks of the APCs and we were ready for the 'off. My APC was jockeying to get into line when it lifted one side slowly but steeply up a bund. I was sitting on the ammo liners on the low side, holding on grimly to one of the long, fibreglass radio antennas, as the laws of gravity started to apply: more tilt, more downward force, until my anchor point - the antenna, snapped off at its base.
I think I did a forward one and half somersault with pike (degree of difficulty 1.4) although all these years later I can't be sure. I do remember lying on my back on the ground, still holding the antenna like a fishing rod, looking up at the APC and at my platoon and the rest of the company who were laughing so hard [thought there might be the first case in history of mass cardiac arrest. The APC crew commander chose this moment to abuse me, using frightful language, for breaking his radio antenna. I told him where and how hard I would replace the antenna and of course this exchange of pleasantries increased the general merriment, if that was possible.
I know Vietnam was a dreadful place to many of us but there was always humour among the excitement and drama - after all we were Australian soldiers, so what else would you expect. Talking about falling off things. I am prepared to respond vigorously to inaccurate versions of how I fell from the slippery log into the raging torrent while advancing to contact---but that's another story.
"The Lifer" 9RAR
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