Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard (4 page)

WE HAD BEEN MARCHING
all week, practising our drill movements until everyone had a ‘Kapooka smile’ burnt onto their faces. The Kapooka smile was the result of standing in the hot sun all day, every day in our wide-brimmed slouch hats. The hats protected most of the face but somehow the chinstrap area would always be exposed, leaving a suntan mark that stretched across both cheeks. I was proud of my Kapooka smile, as were the other girls. It signified that we were almost bona fide soldiers.

Drill week had been long and exhausting. During the day we practised formations, weapon drill, marching in time and standing still for long periods of time. Of an evening, we would busily prepare our uniforms. Our brass belt buckles had to sparkle, our boots had to be polished until you could see your reflection in them, and our uniforms had to be starched and ironed to perfection. The girls were thrilled at the thought of soon seeing their families who would be coming to watch them officially graduate and march out of Kapooka. I was excited about finishing too, but the parade was just a formality for me. My family wouldn’t be there. While I’d been in training, my parents had moved to Cairns. It was just too far away for them to come.

Graduation day arrived. There was anticipation in the air. We dressed carefully and inspected each other for faults. We had to be particular about our appearance and ensure our mates were also immaculately presented. We filed through the armoury to get our weapons, then lined up in three ranks to await inspection. Harty picked over my uniform one last time. I had to be perfect. We all had to be perfect. We were Australia’s newest soldiers.

Satisfied that we were up to scratch, Harty took command and marched us down to the parade ground. The spectator stands were full. It wasn’t just our female platoon marching out today; there were also four male platoons. I was excited and happy to be leaving. I knew that I had achieved something great. Physical fitness was my biggest challenge, but I had overcome my weaknesses and passed. I knew I deserved this day, although I was a little disappointed not to be able to share it with my family.

It was about 28 degrees Celsius on the day of our graduation in April that year, but on the hot bitumen parade ground, it felt about 40 degrees. During the ceremony everyone was sweating profusely. The girl standing next to me, Smithy, leant over and whispered, “Joycee, I think I am going to pass out.”
Oh, no
, I thought. We weren’t even halfway through the parade. We still had to stand at attention for some time yet; there were many more speeches to listen to. I had to keep Smithy on her feet. There are not many things that are more embarrassing for a soldier than passing out on parade, especially when it’s your own graduation.

Smithy started to sway. “Wriggle your toes and take deep breaths,” I whispered to her. It was the standard thing to say, but I hoped it would keep her upright. For the rest of the parade I did my best ventriloquist act. I didn’t want to be obvious about talking on parade (a big no-no), but there was no way I was going to let her fall. After all the moral support and encouragement my mates had given me during those harsh physical training sessions, the least I could do was to stop Smithy from fainting on parade. I whispered all kinds of stuff to her. I tried to keep her focused on what I was saying, quite a feat when you can’t move your lips.

Smithy made it through all the speeches and got her composure back once we started marching around the parade ground one final time. At the end of the ceremony, we headed over to the boozer for a barbecue and drinks with the families. A few of us congregated at a small table to down Southern Comforts and Coke. We were the orphans, the ones with no family or friends present. We consoled each other over numerous drinks and shared horror stories about our time as recruits.

Smithy came over later that day and bought me a drink. She thanked me several times for talking to her on parade and stopping her from fainting. She then told me that her mother wanted to know why the girl standing next to her daughter had talked the whole way through the parade. I guess I was no ventriloquist after all!

The rest of the day was a haze. I went to bed early that night. I had packed up all my kit and was ready to leave the next day for my next lot of army training: I’d be attending a dental assistant course. I’d be the only one from my platoon; the rest were going off to be army medics, truckies and clerks. I don’t know how I ended up choosing that course. Who joins the army to be a dental assistant? I wanted to do all the cool stuff I’d seen soldiers do in action movies, but was instead destined to suck the slag out of people’s mouths.

The next morning I walked outside my building to where four buses were lined up. They’d be taking all the newly promoted privates to the sites of their initial employment training: technical schools in Puckapunyal and Portsea in Victoria. I waved goodbye to my friends and watched the buses until they disappeared around the corner. It was hard watching everyone leave.

I was left standing alone. My employment training was to be conducted at the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) base down the road. Not knowing what else to do, I walked back to my room. On my way, Harty stopped to ask me if I knew what was happening with my travel. I said I didn’t know.

She asked me to wait in my room while she made me a coffee. She’d then go to find out what was happening and get back to me. I was shocked. Harty wasn’t speaking to me as though I were the scum of the Earth, lower than low, as she had when I was a recruit. I was a private now, and that meant she could speak to me as she would a normal person. It was really weird. I knew that our treatment during army training was not indicative of life afterwards, but the transition was still extremely unsettling.

I sipped on my hot coffee, trying to calm my nerves. I sat in my room for more than two hours, too afraid to go wandering around the barracks. Even though I wasn’t a recruit anymore, I wasn’t going to risk getting a bollocking. Eventually, Harty came to get me and my kit: it was time to go to the Wagga Wagga RAAF base.

I knew from the moment I started the dental assistant course that it was not for me. I didn’t mind studying the theory and science behind dental procedures, but the applied side of the work just didn’t do it for me. Although I passed the theory and practical tests with ease, the incentive to excel just wasn’t there. Dental nursing is great for those who enjoy working in a medical environment, but it wasn’t what I had joined the army to do. I knew that what I was really after was something that would challenge me. It was one thing to recognise that I wasn’t cut out to be a dental nurse, but another to go from bad breath and cavities to a job where the action was.

AFTER SIX MONTHS
I had finished all my training. A fresh-faced nineteen-year-old, I was posted to Brisbane, which was where all my recruit mates were being sent as well. As soon as I arrived at the airport, I was picked up by Ranch. Ranch had trained as a truckie after her time at Kapooka, and was posted to my dental unit as a driver. I was ecstatic to see her. It meant that I had at least one friend in my unit.

I asked her what kind of driving tasks she was getting to do in the unit, and she told me she’d been stuck with all the mundane ones. She had to drive a HiAce van around the base completing admin tasks for the unit, like picking up the mail.
What a waste!
I thought. She didn’t get to do any of the cool stuff the male truckies did, like drive giant Unimogs around the place.

Ranch was excited that we would be in the same unit. The dental unit was quite small compared to infantry company’s, so we’d be able to see each other during PT sessions and our lunch hour. Ranch drove me over to our accommodation, explaining that she and I would be sharing the unit with two other girls. We each had our own room, but we’d be sharing the bathroom and common room. It was like share-housing with three friends. I felt so grown up.

I had arrived on a Friday evening, and Ranch was determined to show me around Brisbane. I barely had time to unpack before she took me out nightclubbing. We went to the local army hangout in the city called ‘The Pit’. The place was throbbing with army guys and civilian chicks, all trying to pick up. It was a great way to start life in a new city. I bumped into all my friends and got to hang out and be dickheads with them.

The next day Ranch took me out again. She showed me where the Brisbane markets were, took me to some cool scenic spots, and then we went grocery shopping. The army provided all our meals for us, but we still needed to buy snacks. Towards the end of the weekend, I started to get nervous. The next day I would be starting work as a dental assistant. I would be meeting new people and adjusting to a new environment. Thank goodness Ranch would be there with me. It would make things far less scary.

The next morning Ranch and I walked down to the dental unit. Ranch introduced to me to Corporal Hudson, who looked about fifty years old but was probably only about thirty. Hudson took me on a tour of the unit and introduced me to the other staff. He then informed me that I would be assisting the boss of the dental unit. My heart sank. I was just a private and really didn’t know that much about dentistry. Sure, I could perform basic procedures, but there were about a hundred more complex ones that I didn’t know a thing about. I couldn’t believe they would pair the most junior dental assistant with the most senior dentist.

Sure enough, all my fears were realised. It was absolutely horrible working for the head dentist. He expected me to know much more than I did, and would embarrass me in front of patients if I didn’t know the answers to his questions. My days were full and demanding. In the mornings, I would get into work really early to set up the surgery for the day. I’d then have to rush off to smash out a session with the PTIs. When that was over, I’d have to be showered and changed in time to see the first patient at 9 a.m. There was normally just enough time to do this, but I was stuffed if PT went on even a few minutes longer than usual. I’d hear the dentist yelling from outside the bathroom for me to hurry up. The dentists never did PT with our unit, so they were always ready to begin before us.

Then, from the moment I saw the first patient, I would not get a break until the day was over. The scheduled morning-tea break was for everyone except dental assistants. In that time I was expected to have cleaned the dental instruments, sterilised the surgery and prepared for the next patient. I was also expected to catch up on the surgery’s paperwork: filling in the patients’ medical documents and filing them away at reception.

Even lunchtime was no break. Once again, I was expected to have completed all cleaning before I was allowed to leave. At four in the afternoon, when everyone else had knocked off for the day, I was left there, cleaning instruments, sterilising the surgery and locking up the building. I hated it. It sucked not knowing enough about dentistry. Not being offered more training made it even worse. I spent that six months feeling unsure about my work and terrified of saying the wrong thing to my boss. And there was nothing I could do about it.

My social life helped to get me through. All my girlfriends used to go out clubbing on Thursday and Friday nights. Thursday was ladies’ night at The Pit, so my friends used to get free drinks and free entry. I couldn’t go with them. I had to be stone-cold sober when I worked. I just couldn’t afford to be hung-over in that stressful surgery environment. But every Friday night I partied with them till the wee hours.

I did a lot of growing up and experienced a lot that year. I’m glad I shared that time with a group of such close friends. It is important to have good friends to make mistakes with. Ranch was my best friend and I could tell her anything. We talked about boys, sex, our futures and clothes. That year would have been a hell of a lot worse if she hadn’t been there.

It was nearing the end of the year, and shortly I would leave for Cairns to have Christmas with my family. Before that, I had my first bush trip with the dental unit. I had no idea what to expect. The only bush experience I’d had was in those few short days during recruit training, so another dental assistant named Charlie took me under her wing. She showed me how to pack and store the medical supplies, and what quantities were needed for the duration of the exercise. It was going to be a two-week trip in a place called Shoalwater Bay, on the Capricorn Coast in Queensland.

We left early in the morning after bundling into the back of a Unimog. It was squashy, cold and not very comfortable, but I can sleep anywhere. I made myself at home on the packs that were scattered around the floor. I slept until we arrived – a full eight hours. On our arrival, I helped to unpack all the dental equipment. Over the period of a day I learnt what a camouflage net was and how the sticks and mushroom heads are used to hold up the net. Most importantly, I learnt that camouflage nets always go up before the tent. It’s never the other way around – unless you want to make things extremely difficult for yourself … which is what happened on my first attempt.

Little by little, Charlie showed me how to set up a field dental surgery. It didn’t take long before we were ready to start seeing patients. I wasn’t worried about working in the surgery during the bush trip. I had been assigned to a brand-new dentist (one straight out of training) and knew that complicated dental work would not be attempted in the field.

The two weeks breezed by. I got along with the dentist. We mainly performed annual dental assessments, but also did some fillings and mouthguard impressions. I still had other duties to take care of, such as digging, garbage disposal and water collection. All in all it was very enjoyable. I even got to be on the standby team for emergency response.

Our dental unit was located with the medical unit. It had an emergency response team, which included stretcher-bearers, set to react to any mass-casualty situations. A mass-casualty situation is where there is an influx of patients who all require immediate medical support at the same time. The stretcher-bearers are used to move patients around the field hospital and to support the medics. I was excited to be placed on the roster, even though it was considered by most to be a chore rather than a privilege.

The medical unit ran an emergency drill one day, to make sure we were prepared and able to react quickly. As soon as I heard the siren go off, I grabbed my webbing and weapon, and ran over to the triage point. From then on I was drawn in to another world. I sprinted around, moving patients and helping medical staff. I became acutely aware of everything going on around me and looked for ways to help. I was having the time of my life.

I was sent back to dental and raved on about the experience to Ranch. She thought I was an idiot for getting so excited about it, but I loved being in an emergency situation and having to react accordingly. Later that night, Corporal Hudson came over to congratulate me on my efforts. The medical staff had been impressed and wanted their thanks passed on. I was happy to have their acknowledgment of a job well done. After spending six months as a sucky (excuse the pun) dental assistant, I was starting to think I was a failure at anything related to medicine. It was just the morale boost I needed.

I’d enjoyed my first bush trip with the dental unit, but not enough to want to stay on as an assistant. With a full-time year behind me, my service to the army would now become part time. I wanted to come back after Christmas for my part-time service – I was keen on the money and seeing my friends again – but the thought of another year of staring into people’s mouths in the surgery made me feel sick. I would be returning in January, after the Christmas break but didn’t know for how long. I loved the army, but I just wasn’t getting to do any of the fun stuff.

In early January 1994, I returned to Brisbane for my part-time service. Hundreds of reserve soldiers had gone home on leave and were now returning for work, money and a hell of a big reunion. The nightclubs of Brisbane were overflowing with soldiers, all looking for a good time.

My first week back at the dental unit mainly involved packing and repacking medical stores. The days were long and boring. I could not keep working as a dental assistant – it wasn’t who I was inside. I needed something more than suction machines and dental floss to spike my interest and enthusiasm.

One day, the military police (MPs) came to our medical facility to give us a presentation on their roles in the field. I was absolutely fascinated by everything they said. They announced that they were going to start a new MP platoon, which was to be filled with army reserve soldiers. I knew it was for me. From the moment they showed up in their MP vehicles, tactical belts and bright-red berets, I’d known it was for me.

I begged Corporal Hudson to let me do some on-the-job training with them. He spoke to the MP commander and organised for me to stay with his crew for a few days while they conducted an MP exercise. I was to leave immediately. I packed up my kit in about two minutes flat and carried it over to their vehicle. Sergeant Hanes introduced himself as the MP section commander. He would be the one looking after me while I trained with them. The MPs were keen to have me, as they were always short on staff, and were eager to meet a prospective addition to their new platoon.

Over the next three days, I learnt about traffic control points, prisoner of war facilities and how to conduct a route reconnaissance. The MPs gave me basic lessons on handcuffing and ASP baton use. I loved every second I had with them. I knew that it was the corps I was destined to join. As a woman in the army at that time, I just wasn’t able to join combat-related corps. However, as an MP, I’d be able to see and do many things that most women in the reserves wouldn’t.

My mind was made up: I was going to apply for a corps transfer to military police. The dental staff had no choice but to recommend the move. I was going nowhere as a dental assistant. Sergeant Hanes provided a favourable report for the time I’d worked with them in support of my application. Before I knew it, my paperwork was signed off and my interviews and testing for the corps were complete. It was time to kiss my dental service goodbye – the next time I came to Brisbane for my army service, I would be going to the MP training school.

*

I returned to Cairns to start a university degree. I got a part-time job at Woolworths and moved into a tiny unit. I loved that little studio apartment and the freedom it afforded me. During my uni breaks, I would fly down to Brisbane for my army reserve training as a member of the MP. I had to work hard to balance the demands of my studies with those of my job, but my life was great. I had everything going for me.

It’s funny how when you’re on a good run you think things are only going to get better. You don’t stop to think that things can go wrong. Why should you? But it doesn’t take much to derail someone’s life. It could be a car accident, or tripping down the stairs, or a bout of illness. For me, it was falling in love for the very first time.