Soldiers' Tales by Denny Neave

Author:Denny Neave
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780980325133
Publisher: Big Sky Publishing

Explosion

by Private Tony Blake, 7th Battalion, the Royal Australian Regiment, Vietnam

The digger behind me seemed half asleep. He was right up my bum and hardly watching his arcs. I stopped and turned and he had no option but to do the same. I was very pissed-off. In fact I was angry enough to swing the muzzle of my rifle in his direction.

“I don’t care if you come up with me (on a mine), but I’m not going up with you, so back off!”

He just looked at me and said nothing. Turning around I started moving again making no effort to close the extra gap that had opened between John and me. I often wonder now whether that distance saved me from further injury.

Within a minute or so there was a huge bang. A massive cloud of sand and dust flew into the air, hung there then fell to the ground. I thought, someone’s fired a rocket propelled grenade at us, so there will be automatic fire. I tensed, waiting for the sound of incoming rounds of an AK47. I was down on my knees with my head hanging down. It was strangely silent. My rifle had gone, my watch was missing and my hands were on the ground, as if I was praying. Blood was dripping onto the back on my hand. Eventually the silence was broken.

“Mines, mines, mines”, someone yelled. “John is injured and I need Blakey up here to have a look at him”.

We had practiced this drill ad nauseam in Australia, first on the footy oval, all spread out, with someone selected as a casualty. Then it would be sprung on us unexpectedly in the bush: down on your knees, prodding, prodding and marking safe lanes. To run or move away was fatal. Other units had done so and triggered more mines, as the Viet Cong rarely planted just one. This area of our operations was a bad area for them. Of all our training, I hated mine drill the most. This was because I knew if we had to do it for real, we would have someone down, maybe killed or badly injured. And now we had!

I could see Sergeant King standing up, beyond where John was face down. The sergeant was calmly directing others to maintain discipline, but not moving himself. The platoon worked as they had trained, and Sergeant King was awarded a Mention In Dispatches (MID) after our tour.

John started to yell. There was no doubt that he was badly injured. I got out my bayonet and started to prod, in a 45 degree angle to the ground about three inches apart. I seemed to be doing everything in slow motion, and my ears were ringing. A digger went past me prodding like mad.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying to get to John.”

“That’s my job, mate.”

I had the platoon medical kit and I knew it was important to get to John as soon as I could, but the mine drill had to be done correctly.

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