The sun had risen and the straps of 2Lt Cotters Bergan were digging into his shoulders when contact was first made. Men gripped their weapons a little more firmly at the sound of combat to their front.
“Baz…er sorry… Mr Cotter sir?” a voice called in a failed stage whisper. “What’s going on?”
“Price, do I look like the fucking oracle? Well do I?” Baz fixed the rifleman with a look. “Rumour has it, it’s the Third World War, or hadn’t you noticed?” Baz then shook his head wearily “Now shut up and watch your front.”
The firing tailed off and twenty minutes later they drew level with one of the Australian ASLAVs sat at a drunken angle, half in and half out of a ditch beside the road. It was still burning and its crew were a little distance away, covered by their ground sheets and awaiting collection by the graves registration detachment. Four hundred yards further on another vehicle, a Type 98 tank, was also consuming itself with the resulting thick black smoke marring an otherwise blue sky. Several Chinese infantrymen lay equally dead, killed by the same Apache gunship that had avenged the Aussie armoured recce troops of the Light Horse.
A mile from Bega the sound of modern warfare returned, initially just with an exchange of small arms fire between the point section and the occupants of a trench, but it grew and grew in intensity until the mortars and the GPMG SFs of the machine gun platoon were in constant action, soon to be joined by 105mm and 155mm artillery rounds.
B and C Companies moved up beside A Company but D halted and began to dig shell scrapes. Behind them to the left and right the Green Jackets and Light infantry were doing the same. 1RAR and the New Zealand infantry, however, could be seen hurrying forward on either flank and Baz could no longer see the tanks comforting presence.
Baz had just finished his shell scrape and got himself comfortably ensconced, with his bergan below ground too, when the order was passed back verbally to move forward, as is ever the way.
The Chinese knew they were there now so there was no mileage in maintaining radio silence for all but those who were up to their waists in muck and bullets, although it did seem to have taken two contacts for that to have occurred to the senior management.
“Hello all stations Four, this Four Nine, nobody told you to move!”
To Baz’s left Dopey Hemp’s camouflaged face turned towards him.
“Send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance!”
The dedicated smokers’ relit cigarettes stubbed out moments before and Baz removed the heavy bergan and settled himself back into the shell scrape.
There was a loud whistle from forward and Baz saw CSM French pointing at him and miming the winding motion of turning a car engine with a starter handle.
Out-bloody-standing!
“Twelve Platoon, prepare to move!”
The CSM did have some good hand signals for them though, pointing at the mortar line and GPMG SFs. Baz knelt so that a No.3 on the guns could open his bergan’s top flap and remove the single, long, thousand round belt, and a hundred yards later he was relieved of his two 81mm mortar rounds also.
Ah joy!
Feeling almost bionic 12 Platoon now hustled forwards with Baz receiving a quick set of radio orders. Removing his bayonet he banged the blade loudly against his own helmet to get everyone’s attention and held it aloft for all to see before attaching it. They all followed suit, snapping the steel into place and giving the bayonets a twist to ensure the retaining lug had been locked.
They were striding out now, butts of weapons firmly in the shoulder.
Passing through a gap in a hedge he encountered the first Wessex dead, lying unmoving under the bluest sky Baz could ever remember, and he took a moment to look at it in case he too would never see another of its like ever again.
1 Section was ‘up’ with 2 on the left and 3 on the right. They crossed between enemy fighting positions, trenches and more dead, their own and the Chinese.
The end of the captured position was marked by A Company who were occupying the rear trenches and now facing towards Bega.
Words of encouragement, warnings, and gallows humour were shouted their way from A Company.
“Good luck boys.”
“Watch yer selves, they’re hard fuckers.”
“Don’t get shot Steve…you still owe me a tenner!”
“Pete…if you get topped can I shag yer wife?”
“You may as well, I already shagged yours!”
The smell of cordite, gun smoke, and the burnt almonds scent of high explosive was tinged with that particular smell that results in a dying man releasing his bowels.
To the left and right the Aussies and Kiwis, as well as the Wessex B and C Companies, all remained down in the prone position. They had taken an infantry battalion’s position after a hard and vicious fight but now the advance to contact was resumed.
12 Platoon were now the point section, stepping short as the ground began to slope away before them. The quiet was restored with only the sound of their boots moved through foot high grass for ten minutes. The green grass and fragrant wild flowers, a pastoral setting Baz Cotter would have liked to have enjoyed over a picnic. A perfect vista, a perfect warm summer’s day to enjoy with the family. Only a skylark’s song was absent.
Private McKenzie and L/Cpl Silva, the 1 Section gun group, abruptly dropped down among the wild flowers. The crack of high velocity rounds only registering on his consciousness like an afterthought.
“COVER!”
Dash, down, roll, sights, observe…
…nothing.
A butterfly landed upon Shaun Silva’s neck, its gossamer touch should have tickled and elicited a reaction but Shaun was beyond ever doing that again.
“Anybody see anything?”
“Hello Four One this is Four Nine, do you have a sitrep for me, over?”
“Four One, Four One Alpha has two down, no shooter seen…wait out.”
They could not stay here all day waiting for the enemy to get bored and go home, although on a purely personal level that thought had merit.
“Dopey…send someone on a dummy run.”
Cpl Hemp picked Spider as he was closest to another piece of cover. Webber rolled onto his side, keeping out of sight as he undid his bergan’s straps, and after a moment to prepare he launched himself off the ground and towards a fold eight feet away. Turf ripped up about him and Spider went down screaming.
“Section…three hundred…eleven o’clock…water trough in field…two o’clock from trough…two clicks…enemy gun group!” Dopey Hemp had seen the muzzle flash and 2 Section engaged it while Baz sent the OC his sitrep and requested a mortar fire mission, which was refused as they weren’t going to expend hard to replace mortar rounds on a single gun trench.
First thing first was to win the fire fight, show them who the boss was and keep their heads down. Once that was achieve the rate of fire was reined to preserve ammunition, fire control being exerted by the section commanders.