Monsoon (2 page)

As they waited to set off Tom gestured to his tape recorder hanging in a bag from his shoulder. ‘Col, could I have a bit of a yarn to you about this story I'm doing on troop entertainment?'

‘Sure thing, mate, want to do it now or when we get to the camp? Might get a bit busy then.'

‘How about I jump in the Land Rover with you to the camp? I'll grab some of the concert and a few comments from the troops after.'

‘Hop in, Tom.' Col clambered into the front of the large Land Rover. Two of the Joy Boys were already in the back.

As they moved off from the edge of the airstrip and into the remains of the abandoned rubber plantation that made up part of the base camp, Tom gazed at the distant jungle-covered hills that now seemed so threatening. Beneath the low mountain spread, much closer to the camp, he could see a few thatched huts and some water buffalo in fields. It looked so peaceful.

‘Man, it's steamy. My shirt's shrinking on me,' said one of the band.

‘Don't take it off and throw it,' Col advised his lead guitarist. ‘This audience is all blokes.' He grinned. ‘Got your dancing shoes on?'

The two members of the band, who favoured long pointy-toed winkle-picker shoes, eyed the army boots and the jungle green pants they'd been issued. The civilian shirts they were to wear on stage had been the only concession by the army to showbiz glamour. Tom glanced at his own fatigues and army boots and smiled.

‘The fellows are really looking forward to your show,' said the driver. ‘It'll be a big audience. Some of the Sixth Royal Australian Regiment have just come straight in from the perimeter.'

‘Been much action around here?' asked Tom as they set off down the dirt road.

‘Been fairly quiet. Bit of action to the west. Few mortars were lobbed in at the base last night, probably a few stray Viet Cong having a go. D Company 6RAR are having a quiet snoop around. Nothing to worry about, I reckon.'

Tom had his large tape recorder balanced on his lap and he held the microphone close to Col. ‘What are your feelings about doing a concert for the troops here at Nui Dat, especially as there's been a bit of action near the base camp?' he asked.

‘We're happy to do our bit for the men who are up here in the middle of it all. Bring them a taste of home,' answered Col. ‘We're here to bring some fun to our troops. Remind them what Australia is all about and that the folks back home haven't forgotten them. No big message, just a few laughs and a singalong.'

The driver swung the Land Rover onto the worn track through the base to a slight dip in the landscape where a stage had been built and some tents erected for performers and their equipment.

The raised dais was screened with green canvas and the sound equipment was set up to one side, the big amplifiers facing the crowded audience who were sitting on the ground, chatting, smoking and laughing. Tom began describing the scene into his tape recorder.

‘Let's do it, eh?' Col picked up his guitar.

As Col was approaching the stage three soldiers – two Australians and a New Zealander – jumped from a Land Rover.

‘G'day, Col . . . ah, listen, mate, when's the show going to finish?'

‘When we sing “Clementine”,' answered Col. ‘You blokes in a rush?'

‘We nicked the colonel's Land Rover so we want to get it back before he notices. Love your music, mate.'

‘Enjoy the show.' As Col leapt onto the stage Tom stepped in to get more comments from the three soldiers who were happy to help, provided they remained anonymous.

‘Col Joye and the Joy Boys, Little Pattie . . . What a ripper. Couldn't miss this.'

‘Even if there's a very irate colonel awaiting your return?' said Tom into the microphone.

‘She'll be apples, sport. One of our mates has arranged a little diversion if we don't get back on time,' laughed one of the Aussie soldiers.

Tom's next question was drowned out by a roar and cheers from the men as Col Joye launched into ‘Bye Bye Baby'.

The performers ran through their hit songs as requests from the audience written on lolly wrappers, playing cards and scraps of paper were passed forward.

There was thunderous applause as diminutive singer Little Pattie came on stage, simply dressed in a skirt and blouse, her bouffant hair giving her extra height. A bundle of bouncing energy, she radiated fun and humour, every man's favourite little sister.

Half an hour into the show Tom leaned over to shout in the ear of a sergeant manning the sound boxes. ‘Did I hear a few rockets, or was that feedback from the amps?'

‘Bit of a blue going on near the base. They've sent a platoon out to check. She'll be right.' One of the soldiers tried to ask Col for an autograph but the lanky singer was belting out popular songs from the hit parade. It wasn't so long ago these men in the audience had been home, keenly following Saturday
Bandstand
. The music brought back good memories for them.

Although entertained by the performance, Tom was aware that some of the men to one side were moving away from the crowd and he noticed a message being handed to some of the brass down the front. There was a rumble and Tom glanced up at the sky where thunder clouds had covered the afternoon sun.

‘It's not just thunder, mate,' said one of the men. ‘That's some Viet Cong trying to have a go.'

‘Where are they?'

‘Out in a rubber plantation, few miles down the track. I heard about it from one of the blokes who went out last night.'

At that moment the heavens opened and the band and Little Pattie were hurried into an armed personnel carrier as rain began to fall. The boys stripped off their stage shirts and were handed army shirts as the torrential downpour became a constant curtain of water. Holding his camera and tape recorder inside his shirt, Tom joined them.

‘Sounds like something's happening near here. The brass are having a pow wow; no one would speak to me.'

‘Hop in with me, Tom, I'll yarn to you,' offered Col.

They jumped in the vehicle behind Little Pattie's and the band.

‘Jeez, are we going to be able to fly out in this weather?' Col asked the driver.

‘It'll stop soon. Like a bloody tap going on and off. It's monsoon time.'

‘Hurry up and wait, eh?' said Col.

‘Yeah. This doesn't look too good,' said Tom, wondering if he would get back to Saigon in time to file his story. He was trying to think of a solution when the Land Rover's weather flap was wrenched open and a grinning, dripping sergeant stuck his head in.

‘G'day, Col. I'm Tassie Watts. Listen, could you nick back and say hello to the blokes in my Land Rover? They missed the show. Just say hello, like.'

‘It's flaming wet out there, mate.'

‘We're parked right behind you. Just take a tick. Boost morale no end, do us a favour, eh?' The sergeant reached to help Col. ‘Hang on to me shirt and run.'

‘Coming, Tom?' called Col.

Pulled along by the sergeant, Col kept his head down, and Tom followed, clutching his gear inside his shirt as the red mud sloshed over his boots. A Land Rover weather flap opened and Col was manhandled into the back as Tom jumped in next to the driver. In the back two men held Col, one pinning him down.

‘Got 'im! Take off, Rusty.'

‘What the . . . ?' began Col as the Land Rover lurched and did a U-turn, sliding along the slippery track. ‘What's going on?'

Tom could only watch helplessly from the front seat, wondering what was happening.

‘We've kidnapped you, Col,' said Tassie cheerfully. ‘We're from 5RAR. We had to man some outposts so missed the show. Thought you could at least say hello to the blokes.'

Tom burst out laughing and Col joined him. ‘Well, I guess we're not going anywhere else in this rainstorm.'

For the next few hours Col went from tent to tent, yarning to the men who were just elated to talk to someone from home and not because he was a big name. Tom tagged along, recording snatches of the conversations, asking the men questions, knowing he had a far more colourful story than if they'd left Nui Dat on time.

‘You're bloody terrific, Col,' said Tassie, well pleased his plan had been so successful. ‘The way you ask where a fellow is from and then you say you've been there or know the area. Makes them feel real close to home.'

‘Me and the Joy Boys have toured all over Australia, so, yeah, we've been everywhere,' grinned Col.

‘Hey, Col, come in here and see us!'

In a large tent a guitar was produced and men crowded around Col to sing their favourite songs until Tassie stuck his head in a tent flap. ‘Hey, Col, HQ are screaming at me to get you back. Let's go, mate. Where's that journo bloke? Let's go!'

As the Land Rover bounced and swayed through the mud Tassie explained, ‘Been a bit of enemy fire so HQ is sweating on getting you out. They said get you back no matter what. You too, Tom,' he added.

‘Listen, Tassie, tell 'em it was my idea. To see the blokes,' said Col.

‘Aw, she'll be right.' Tassie peered through the windscreen. ‘It's coming down again. Thought it might clear up before dark. No such luck.'

They skidded to a stop and through the rain Tom could hear artillery fire close by.

As they jumped out of the Land Rover Col looked at the empty helipad. ‘Where're the others?' he asked.

‘One of the Chinooks got out with quite a mob. Your lot will probably be back in Saigon in their cosy hotel, mate.'

‘I don't fancy hanging around here,' said Tom.

At that moment a barrage of Australian and New Zealand artillery fire went over their heads into the jungle from the unit behind them. Col and Tom got back in the Land Rover and as they sat and waited they hoped none of the shells fell short or the enemy on the other side of the hill got closer.

‘With all this stuff coming down on them, the VC will pick up their mortars and run,' said Tassie. ‘Little but lethal. Hard to pin 'em down.' He lit a smoke, his cheerful face now grim.

In the gathering dusk the tropical downpour eased as another vehicle pulled up beside them and a burly officer stepped out.

‘Hello there. I'm Max Smith, the chaplain.' He shook hands with Col and Tom. ‘You can't get out so you'll have to spend the night. You can have my bed, Col, and we'll find a tent for you, mate,' he said to Tom, who nodded his thanks.

Col went to protest; the chaplain waved a hand. ‘Don't worry about it, mate. They're calling in the dead and missing: I won't be sleeping tonight. Follow me.'

Tassie gave a rueful grin. ‘Sorry about the detour, Col, but it meant a lot to the boys.'

Col looked at Tom. ‘You're getting a bit of an exclusive, eh?'

The chaplain pulled up at a row of standard green canvas tents. ‘There's your stretcher bed, there's your bunker hole. Nick in there if there's any action.'

Col and Tom looked at the small and very wet pit next to each tent. ‘Fat lot of good that's going to do me,' commented the tall rangy singer.

‘We might be doing a bit more digging,' remarked Tom, ducking into his tent.

‘Well, thanks, sir,' said Col.

‘Call me Maxie. Here, you might need this too.' He handed Col his pistol. ‘See you both in the morning.'

‘Listen, Maxie, this is clearly a big story. I can't just go to bed. Is there somewhere I can find out what's going on?' asked Tom.

‘Well, I don't think the base command will tell you even if they know, but I guess you can ask.'

Col was sitting on the stretcher bed tying his shoelaces as Tom stuck his head inside the tent next morning. ‘How'd you sleep?'

‘Not bad. Should've slept on that pistol, might have been softer than the pillow. But thanks. How'd you get on at the base?'

‘They were very tight lipped, but I stayed all night. It's all happening at a rubber plantation only a couple of miles away from here,' said Tom. ‘Long Tan is a place our boys have been through many times without problems, but it seems the Viet Cong have been burrowing there for ages. A hundred or so blokes from Delta Company from 6RAR ran into what probably amounted to a full enemy battalion.'

The chaplain wandered over looking tired and grim.

‘What's the latest?' asked Col.

‘They've taken some casualties,' he replied. ‘Radio contact with them was lost for a while. The Kiwi artillery moved in with support fire. We're flying the most serious casualties to Vung Tau. I suggest you two go up to the command post and clean up and have breakfast.'

At the mess they ate a bowl of cornflakes each, wondering about the men who'd been trapped in the Long Tan rubber plantation.

‘Wouldn't be much protection behind a couple of rubber trees, would there?' Col said to Tom.

A chopper pilot came past and asked Col how he was doing.

‘Better than a lot of the men, I'd say. I'm Col Joye, how are you, mate? This is me mate Tom, the journo.'

They shook hands and the pilot suddenly looked at Col and exclaimed, ‘Christ, I thought you had too much hair for a captain.' He pointed at the pips on Col's borrowed shirt and grinned. ‘My chopper's back. It's been out dropping Chieu Hoi leaflets. Bloody stupid idea. I wouldn't surrender if a bit of paper fell from the sky promising me amnesty and hot dogs, or whatever those Yanks from the Information Service are saying. Anyway, I can get you out.'

‘We're ready, mate.' Col put down his bowl of half-eaten cereal and followed the pilot and Tom to the waiting chopper.

In Vung Tau, Col and Tom found the rest of the entertainers waiting for transport to Saigon, who were pleased to see them.

‘Where've you blokes been?' asked Little Pattie.

‘Took a bit of a detour,' grinned Col.

Tom turned to Col. ‘There's some wounded Aussies from Long Tan in the base hospital. I've arranged transport to go and see them.' He stuck out his hand to farewell Col.