The Easy Day Was Yesterday (13 page)

Exercise Lucky Dip is a ‘can you hack it’ exercise. It involves various tasks that require solutions to problems. The solution always involved a bloody heavy load to be carried, pushed or pulled. I found myself continually trying to deliver something to some ungrateful resistance fighters. At one time, everyone in the patrol carried two full jerry cans of fuel to the resistance. The restriction was that we also had to carry our full kit and then patrol tactically at the same time. So we tied both jerries together with our ropes and slung them over our packs — damn it was heavy. Then we arrived at a lake and had to get all our kit across the lake. The resistance supplied two large tarpaulins and, with our ropes, the patrol got across by wrapping our packs and the jerries in the tarp and then floating it all across. I was left behind to untie the safety line and the rest of the patrol were going to drag me across. All I had was my webbing, rifle and life jacket. I tied the rope around my waist and the blokes pulled me over. As I left the bank, the DS told me not to get my rifle wet and not to inflate the life vest unless I really had to. Well fuck me if the blokes didn’t really start pulling on the rope and the water forced me straight to the bottom. They said the last thing to go under was my rifle. I decided that now was a good time to inflate the life vest, and I shot to the surface spitting out muddy water. The jerry can problem was a carry exercise — the next was a push exercise.

This pattern continued for five days. We’d do two tasks during the day and one at night. During each task someone different would be the nominated patrol commander. I drew the short straw during a night ambush. I positioned the patrol in three groups in a linear ambush. Given that we were all totally shattered, I gave orders that one man in each group was to be awake at all times while the other two slept. We were expecting a three-man patrol to move along the road and my task was to kill, search and deliver the intelligence to the resistance. As I settled into the ambush with the two other members of my group, one bloke volunteered to do the first picket. Sometime later in the night I woke and lifted my head. I turned and looked at my group and everyone was asleep. I then heard a noise coming from the killing ground and fuck me if the patrol wasn’t moving through the ambush. I fired immediately and, by the time I had fired almost 20 rounds, the rest of the patrol was awake and had started to fire. It was the worst ambush ever, but thank God something stirred my sleep and I sprung the ambush in time. After the search we withdrew back to the firm base and the DS said we could eat the food that we had recovered from the ambush. I looked at my searchers and they shrugged their shoulders. They had seen the food but hadn’t taken it. ‘Too bad,’ the DS said. This was devastating because we hadn’t eaten for two days, and didn’t look like getting any food in the near future.

On the fourth day, and at the end of the first task for the day, we were given food by the resistance. There were several hot boxes waiting for us, but instead of TV dinners we were served sheep’s heads boiled in water. But hey, we were starving and hooked right into the feast. By now the end of the course was in sight, and I believed that, even though I felt absolutely shattered, I was going to make it — I only had two more tasks to complete.

When we arrived at the second task for the day we were shown a land rover, and we told that it had to be taken to the resistance, but could not be driven. We were given long, thick ropes to attach to the front of the rover so we could pull it. We got it moving and everything was going sweetly; the road was flat and, in parts, slightly downhill. But this quickly changed when we hit the hill. It would have been a bit easier to push and pull the rover up the hill had the back not been full of rocks. We found ourselves tying truckies’ knots and moving the rover six inches at a time. I was on the rope with my back to the hill pulling the rover. Two blokes were in front of me, and one was behind me. We were dressed in full kit and were leaning right into the hill when suddenly the rope broke. We all crashed to the road and I landed on the rifle of the bloke behind me. The magazine rammed into my ribs, immediately followed by indescribable pain. I couldn’t fucking believe it. This couldn’t be happening to me — not this close to the end. I was so close to finishing this thing, but now it was all over. I stayed on the road, struggling to gain a full breath and fighting the tearing pain every time I breathed, until the ambulance came and took me to the base camp. The medics gave me some morphine for the pain and I was sent back to Northam. I became very depressed. I would now have to go back to the battalion as a failure. The Q store approached me and told me to hand in all my issued equipment including my rifle. It took me a long time to get used to not carrying my rifle with me and, for days, I kept looking for it before going anywhere. The next day the course was over and the rest of the blokes were on their way back to Northam. The SI of the course came to the hut and told me that yesterday’s incident would not affect my result on the course, and then left. What the bloody hell did that mean? Would yesterday’s incident not affect my passing — or ensure my failure?

The blokes arrived back a day later and told me what I’d missed. They got cleaned up and also handed in their issued stores. For the rest of the day we sat around and did nothing but eat. We were all so underweight and found ourselves continuously hungry. I’d eat at the mess until I could barely walk, and would then regret eating so much. But come the next meal time, I’d do the same thing. At lunchtime the following day, a DS called out about ten names and told those people to report to the SI. Bugger, I thought, they must have passed. Then the rest of us were told to be in the mess at 1.30 pm, dressed in greens. We all sat down, and even though we had showered, had a good feed, and had a good sleep, everyone looked as rooted as I still felt. The SI of the course marched in and we all braced up.

‘Sit easy,’ he said. ‘Look around you, men. These are the other men who will continue the selection process with you. Well done.’ He looked at us for a response, but no-one said anything. ‘You can say something if you want to.’ No-one said anything until one of the blokes said, ‘Shit hot!’ That was it, most of the blokes smiled, but if the others were like me, I had mixed feelings of excitement and exhaustion. At this point in time I wasn’t looking forward to starting another ‘can you hack it’ course. The SI then said, ‘Grab all your kit and get onto the buses. You will be taken back to Swanbourne and will not be required again for the rest of the week.’ You beauty, five days off. So, out of 120, there were 27 left who were to go on to the patrol course. This was unexpected and fantastic. The selection course was brutally hard, but not impossible. There were times when I had absolutely nothing left in the tank, but had to keep going and make tactical decisions. You have to dig deep and look for some heart. Damn, I got through.

So, if I can get through 28 days of hell, I can survive one night in this toilet.

At about midnight I needed to go to the loo, so I put the light bulb back in and called to one of the guards. No-one heard me, but I heard a prisoner in the cell next door say something to a guard and he came in. I motioned with my hand that I needed to pee. I hadn’t seen this guard before, but he was a true caveman with the guttural grunts and ‘arrghs’ to go with it. He motioned for me to go to the toilet where I was, before walking away. I realised that he was the grunting guard who had been shining the torch in my eyes all night. I got one of my water bottles, drank the remaining water and then peed into the empty bottle. I’d hate to have a stomach problem at night in this place. I decided to remove the light bulb and try to sleep. As I did I noticed how many cockroaches were running across the floor and the hessian bag — oh God, what else can you throw at me, old mate? I pulled the light bulb back out and lay down to try to sleep. Trying to sleep on a hessian sack on damp concrete was almost impossible. I normally sleep on my side, but the concrete was just too painful on my hips and shoulders. So I lay on my back wondering what the next day would hold and hoping that I’d be released to get on with my work.

Tuesday 27 May

After very little sleep, I woke at 5.00 am as the caveman guard unlocked my cage and gave me another ‘aarrrgh’ to make sure I really was awake. I didn’t know the morning procedure, so I got straight up and rolled up my bedding and then had bugger all to do. I decided to have a look outside and empty my pee bottle. Within minutes my crowd was at the gate staring again to see what the animal was doing this morning. I decided to go and visit the drain and wash my hands and face under the pump. Those prisoners not watching me were laying out their bedding from these great stacks of hessian in the yard so they had something to lounge around on all day. Others were cleaning their teeth with what looked like ash and a piece of chewed stick. They dipped the frayed end of the stick into the ash and rubbed it over their teeth. They seemed to take a long time to do their teeth, but I guess if you’re using a stick it won’t be as good or as quick as my Oral B. The final thing they did was to jam the stick down their throats until they nearly coughed up a lung. They’d dry retch and hawk things from the back of their throats and nasal passages for a good five minutes. Now I’m not saying only one or two did this — they all did. All 580 of them spent the first 30 minutes of every day cleaning their nasal passages, and I was certain there were several cases of bronchitis and several cases of pneumonia in this prison. To describe this as disgusting is a gross understatement; it was way beyond repulsive. I quickly retreated into my cell so I wasn’t in the line of fire of any green and yellow missiles. I was getting a bit older now and I really didn’t think I could have handled getting slapped in the leg by an oyster.

Back in the cell I could visually block out the spitting, but not the noise, and that was enough to have me close to dry retching. Fucking animals. The other prisoners just took it as normal; in fact, they didn’t even seem to notice. I supposed it was because, in a few minutes, they would start doing the same. Maybe this was normal outside prison as well. When the group nasal-passage purging was almost complete, I decided to have a morning bucket wash and damn, the water was cold! As I poured the water over my head in front of my massive audience, I prayed that this would be the last time I had to do this. It was an interesting experience, but one I didn’t want to repeat. The massive undies were really pissing me off and I wondered what would happen if I just got nude and had a proper wash like a normal bloke. Then I quickly reminded myself that I was in prison and it was probably not the best place to show one’s fresh, white butt. After the bucket bath I washed my Calvin Kleins and hung them over the rope outside my cage so they would be clean and dry before my appearance in court and (hopefully) release from prison. I hoped the hearing would be early enough for me to get back to Nepal and get the flight to the next training course. Damn; I had really stuffed those poor students around through my stupidity.

My cage floor was covered with dust, dirt, dead ants and flies, rat shit and broken bits of concrete, so I asked Ugly Guard if I could have a broom to sweep it out. He looked at me as if I was suffering from the effects of LSD, rolled his fat eyes and walked away without giving any indication as to whether he was going to help or not. I wandered back into the cage and started pacing back and forth. A few minutes later, Ugly Guard reappeared with an old man following him carrying a broom. The brooms they use in India are just a few hundred lengths of straw bound together. It’s rudimentary, but effective. As the old man approached I put out my hand for the broom, but the old man waved me off and started sweeping himself. I insisted, but he just kept sweeping. Okay, I thought, if you really want to do it, mate, then fill your boots. The old man did a great job and I couldn’t believe how much rubbish he managed to sweep out of the cage. When he was finished I thanked him profusely and he was gone. Ugly Guard looked at me and shook his head. Why are you shaking that ugly mug at me? I said to myself.

At about 10.00 am I heard Manish calling names, so I stood at the entrance to my cage waiting for my name to be called. My Calvins were almost dry, as was my shirt, so at least they no longer smelt bad. I quickly ducked back into the cage and ran the toothbrush with some toothpaste over my teeth to try to make myself look a little more presentable. About 25 names were called, but not mine. Manish saw me watching and just shrugged and went back to the clerk’s office. I felt as if someone had hit me in the heart with a sledgehammer. Perhaps Manish was right, I thought as I slumped against the wall of the cage. Maybe I
was
going to court on the 7th of June; maybe I would be stuck here until then. It seemed impossible. It couldn’t be right; people knew I was here. I just couldn’t accept that this could be happening. How could I still be here for something so ridiculous? Yes, I cocked up, but I didn’t try to smuggle a kilo of heroine across the border. Fuck me!

Manish came to my cage at about 12.00 to tell me I had visitor. Thank God. Maybe I wouldn’t have to go to court. Maybe those wankers at the border had come forward to confess their mistake and I would now be released. I didn’t care who it was as long as they told me to grab my bits and pieces and got me out of hell. It was Ujwal. Ujwal had biscuits and more bottles of water with him. The sledgehammer hit again. You don’t bring water to someone leaving gaol. Ujwal told me that I wouldn’t be going to court today because if I got bail then I could be re-arrested for not having a valid visa and away we would go again. Ujwal told me that the Magistrate was now sympathetic and believed it was all a mistake, but needed the completed police reports before he could release me.

There was a moment of quiet and then Ujwal said, ‘Is it bad in there, Paul?’ ‘It’s beyond terrible, but I have it better than the other prisoners.’

‘Sallie rang and said to tell you she loves you,’ said Ujwal with a hint of embarrassment.