
© Roger
Lambert
Platoon Commander
9 Platoon, C Company,
2nd Tour |
 |
In February 1970, as
our tour of duty was coming to an end, it was
our turn to host the Advance Party of 7 RAR who
was to take over from us in country. Officers,
SNCOs and NCOs of the Advance Party were
‘married up’ with their counterparts across 5RAR
and the business of imparting local knowledge
began earnest.
To set the scene, 9 Platoon’s tent lines were on
the perimeter of the Company area with only the
sentry machine gun pits, wire and Claymores
between us and the enemy. The lines were in two
rows of tents parallel to the perimeter.
Now, one of the few pleasures we had in camp was
the odd movie that would be shown (the ‘theatre’
was conveniently located next to the C Company
area). There was some rudimentary wooden bench
style seating but for the most part, ‘movie
goers’ took along their “chairs, canvas,
folding, troops for the use of” to watch the
movie.
On this particular night, for some inexplicable
reason, the movie being shown was that old B
Grade B&W horror movie “The Night of the Living
Dead”. As the title suggests, it was about what
we now colloquially refer to as zombies and
included cannibalism. It was pretty full on for
its time. For details, see here:
Now, after a 12 month tour of duty, it would
take a lot to upset the seasoned veterans of C
Company. Not so our 7RAR counterparts who were
fresh in country.
At the conclusion of the movie, everyone folded
up their canvas chairs and retired to their
respective tent lines.
Now after what seemed to be a fairly short time
after lights out (which, if I recall correctly,
was at 2230 hours (10.30pm)), I was woken by a
blood curdling scream from the far end of 9
Platoon lines. It was one of those screams in
the night that could make the hair on the back
of your neck stand upright and that took some
doing at this late stage of our tour.
After disentangling myself from my mosquito net,
I was out of the cot and out of the tent with my
trusty
9mm
Browning pistol in hand wondering what on
earth had happened. Had a VC got through the
wire and past the gun picquet and infiltrated
the lines? Was someone being attacked by one of
the myriad of poisonous creatures we’d learnt to
live with over the preceding 12 months? What on
earth was going on?
I was greeted by a voice from the end of the
tent lines reassuring me all was well.
“It’s OK, skipper. One of the new blokes was
having a nightmare. Scared the crap out of
himself and us momentarily but all’s well –
now.”
“Roger that” says I. And to the few diggers who
had been roused from sleep (by now most would
sleep through an artillery barrage), I simply
said “OK, stand down you blokes and hit the
cot.”
It was only then that I realised that I’d leapt
out of the ‘farter’ (cot) in my usual sleeping
attire, grabbed my 9mm pistol and holster,
slipped my feet into flip-flops (thongs) and
proceeded out of the tent and down the lines. It
must have been a sight to behold – a naked
subaltern, with nothing but thongs on his feet,
a pistol belt and holster around his hips and
brandishing a 9mm Browning …that’d be enough the
put the fear of God into any enemy!
“Mental note for future reference” I chuckle
inwardly. “Don’t show horror movies to newbies
in a war zone.”
“Welcome to country, 7RAR” I thought as I
climbed back under my mosquito net and once more
drifted off …our own “wakey” was not far away.
And no zombie was going to change that.
TALES FROM THE TIGER
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