PREFACE
26 August 1966
Phuoc Hai. Vietnam
The four men huddled close together under a makeshift plastic shelter. The monsoon rains were not showing any signs of abating. It had rained solidly for six days now. These four men had become very close friends in the short time they had known each other. As part of the First Battalion Royal Australian regiment, they shared one thing in common: They had joined the war voluntarily. The rain was falling heavier now and a substantial pool had formed at the top of the shelter.
“Why don’t you just paint a bloody target on that thing to make it easier for the gooks to shoot at you?” Sergeant Norbert ‘Nobber’ Hastings said. Nobber Hastings had been in Vietnam for over a year.
He lifted the sheet and got underneath.
“Bit of rain never hurt anyone,” he said, “you should have seen the typhoons we got last year.”
Nobber took out a crumpled packet of American cigarettes and offered them round even though he knew that none of these men smoked. He put a cigarette in his mouth, straightened it and lit the end. A cloud of smoke filled the shelter. The gunfire in the distance seemed to be getting closer.
“Would you mind smoking somewhere else?” One of the men said.
His name was Mark Doyle but everyone called him Abo because of his unusually dark skin. Nobber took a long drag of the cigarette, exhaled and smiled.
“Would you mind smoking somewhere else Sergeant,” he said, “relax Abo, a bit of smoke isn’t going to kill you. It’s those bastards out there that will do you in. Sounds like they’re getting closer. The yanks have reported heavy losses. Since Long Tan, those gooks seem to be wising up to our operations.”
“What’s the plan Sarge?” A tall blonde man asked.
His name was Brian but he was known as Brain because of his exceptionally high IQ.
“We wait for further orders,” Nobber replied, “you volunteered didn’t you?”
“We all did sir,” Brain said.
“Bunch of bloody idiots, you should be back home surfing and chasing girls.”
A bullet flew over the shelter and bored into a nearby tree.
“You better take this thing down,” Nobber ordered.
He nodded at the plastic sheet. They climbed out of the shelter and were immediately drenched by the rain. Nobber spat out his cigarette in disgust.
“We’d better get back behind those trees over there,” he said, “We’re sitting ducks out here.”
He picked up his rifle and fired three shots into the distance. Brain looked at him in amazement.
“These American rifles go rusty in the rain if you don’t use them regularly,” Nobber smiled. Three of his top teeth were missing.
“How come you managed to get hold of an M16?” Brain asked, “They’re much more reliable than these bloody Fals.”
“I pulled rank,” Nobber replied, “besides, there’s nothing wrong with a Fal. A rifle is only as good as the fella on the trigger. Let’s get the hell out of here. Brain, you and Abo make a line with those blokes back there behind that row of trees.”
He pointed to a clump of small trees behind them to the left.
“You two come with me.”
The other two men had barely spoken to anyone since the battle of Long Tan. Fifteen Australian soldiers had been killed and many others wounded. It was deemed a resounding victory for the Australian army but what happened there had left a permanent mark on many of them. John Fulton and Max Brown had been friends since school. They had joined up together, undergone basic training together and now they were fighting a war together.
“Are you still with us?” Nobber asked when neither of the men moved. “Come on, there’s a small ditch back there where we can pick them off as they approach. Move it soldiers.”
Fulton and Brown stood up and followed Nobber to the ditch. The gunshots were becoming more frequent now. The ditch was barely big enough for two men but it provided protection from the incoming fire. Bullets flew over their heads in quick succession. Nobber took out his radio.
“We need help here,” he screamed, “These bastards are everywhere. Give us some cover fire.” He shouted to Fulton and Brown.
Fulton did not move.
“Get your bloody rifle out and shoot some of those mothers,” Brown shouted at him.
Fulton had a vacant look in his eyes that Nobber had seen many times before.
“He’s out of it,” Nobber said.
A bullet hit him in the left shoulder and he fell backwards.
“Shit,” he cried, “that was my good shoulder. We need help now,” he screamed into the radio again. “Where the hell are those Yanks?”
Fulton stood up, looked at Brown and then at Nobber. He smiled, put his hands on the edge of the ditch and pulled himself up. Brown stared in disbelief as he walked towards the enemy fire.
“Get back here, you dumb moron,” Nobber screamed.
Blood was pouring down his arm.
“I’ll go after him,” Brown said.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Nobber ordered, “you’ll be shot to pieces.”
“He’s my friend.”
Brown crawled out of the ditch and, with his head down he ran after Fulton. The hum of helicopter blades could be heard in the distance. About bloody time, Brown thought. He spotted Fulton up ahead. He was sitting under a tree staring into the distance.
“Stay there,” Brown shouted, “I’m coming to get you.”
Everything suddenly went quiet. All Brown could hear was the rain on the trees and his rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.
The bullet entered the right side of his chest, pierced a lung and exited through his back. Very soon his lung would fill with blood, his blood pressure would decrease rapidly and unless he received urgent treatment he would die. Fulton watched the whole thing as if it were in slow motion. He saw the bullet hit Brown and watched as he put his hand to his chest and fell to the ground. He still had the vacant look in his eyes. Brown lay face down on the ground and blood was pouring out of his mouth. The gunfire seemed to have stopped.
“Fulton!” a voice screamed. It was Nobber. “Help him in the name of the Lord.”
Fulton did not move.
“Medics,” Nobber bellowed into his radio, “we’ve got one man in serious shit out here and another who doesn’t even know where he is. We need assistance now and while you’re at it you might as well have a look at this bloody shoulder of mine.”