Читать книгу Fox - Bill Robertson - Страница 17

‘C’mon Fox, c’mon! You can do it man, c’mon!’ Massed members of 16th Battalion Royal Western Australian Regiment’s (16 RWAR) inter-service swimming team bellowed at Fox, willing him to fly the last one hundred of the 1500 metre freestyle final. He cruised three body lengths behind the navy swimmers, Letts and Dean. As they battled each other for supremacy, Fox, in a lane to the far right of the pool, was difficult to see.

Suddenly, navy’s cheers outgunned 16 RWAR and almost lifted the roof. Letts turned fractionally ahead of Dean, Fox was two strokes behind. Yelling, stomping, clapping and whistling, navy were doing everything to inspire their men to victory.

Fox’s reach lengthened, white water churned from his kick and his body lifted to a glide. With twenty-five metres to go, he headed Letts and touched a half body length in front. His swim had been superbly timed to strike during the final fifty metres.

The win moved army two points clear of navy and six points ahead of air force. For the first time in years, army were outright winners of the entire Inter-Service Sports Competition. And Fox had contributed handsomely: winner of his weight classification in the boxing, second in the equestrian contest, third in the 5000 metre track event and winner of this blue riband swimming race.

With nine years of army life behind him, Fox had changed. He felt part of a whole and considered he belonged. After basic training at Kapooka in New South Wales, he selected 51st Far North Queensland Regiment for his first posting. Fifty-one FNQR conducted reconnaissance and surveillance patrols in remote areas and worked with Indigenous communities. Overall, the regiment patrolled 640,000 square kilometres. While he enjoyed the work and fitted into local communities easily, he realised it was not enough. He wanted more.

In mid ’79 he transferred from Cairns to 16 RWAR in Perth. In the Light Infantry Unit he had earned respect, made close friends and attended a range of internal and external courses. He even found time to occasionally date a girl from another unit.

Before joining the army, Fox had not realised the significance of sport in the services. He soon found that teamwork and competition brought great satisfaction and freedom. His boxing prowess boosted him to legendary status in 16 RWAR though he remained silent about his riding and swimming skills. Over time, these too were “sussed” by his mates who entered him in the annual Inter-Service Sports.

Although unappreciative of their skulduggery, his belief in honouring a commitment and his sense of pride compelled him to accept their pledge. Success in boxing, riding and swimming enticed him to enter the following year – including some track events.

His win today cemented a decision he’d been toying with for months – the challenge of the Special Air Services Regiment (SASR). Unexpectedly, his Commanding Officer, Captain Peter Flynn, himself a former SASR member, had suggested a move in this direction. Fox smiled to himself as he remembered the conversation in Flynn’s office two months before the sports.

‘Are you saying Fox that you haven’t contemplated the SASR?’

‘Well, not exactly sir. I’ve given it a lot of thought but didn’t think I was quite ready yet.’

‘Too modest, Fox.’ Flynn smiled. ‘What are you now, nearly thirty? Your age is right and you’ve had a bloody good grounding in the service. What’s more, I don’t think you’ve anywhere near reached your potential. The SASR will bloody soon test that. Your field craft will be a major asset, your knowledge of horses and animals is an advantage and you’re damned fit. You’ve got talents they want – excellent judgement, self sufficiency and intense motivation.’

Fox shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew his strengths but, as usual, had trouble hearing them from others. He remained a private man.

‘At what stage do you think you’ll be ready?’

‘I’m not quite sure sir, maybe another year or two.’

‘Bullshit! Two more years with us will change nothing. You’re as ready now as you’ll ever be.’ Flynn’s eyes twinkled. ‘I just happen to know SASR is advertising for recruits soon, think about it. Hard. I’m not trying to get rid of you, to the contrary. But, I do believe the SASR needs our best and you’d fit in well. Now, bugger off.’

Fox rose and snapped a salute. ‘Yes sir, I appreciate your advice,’ he said, not entirely convinced.

Flynn had winked as Fox departed.

A month after the Inter-Service Sports, the army doctor closed Fox’s folder after making extensive notes.

‘Well Fox, you’re good for the next round – nothing wrong with your health. You’ll be off to the shrink this afternoon. See the clerk on the way out for details.’

Fox allowed himself a tiny smile. His homework revealed that at least twenty per cent of applicants dropped out during this first stage of medical and psych tests. Having made it through an excoriating pre-selection panel of hardened veterans, Fox was unfazed by the next session. He was certain of surviving.

A fortnight later he presented with eighty-five others for the second phase – a three day “barrier”, or entry test. Another twenty per cent would fail this stage: endurance marches, push ups, swimming and sleep deprivation. The medical, psych and barrier tests determined whether candidates were suitable for the uncompromising, three week selection course. By the end of that course usually only a quarter of the applicants remained.

The selection course probed individual strengths, weaknesses and skill sets as well as evaluating resourcefulness and teamwork. The sociability index too was significant – the SASR wanted people who were neither too introverted nor too extroverted, people who were forthright, hard to fool and highly motivated. Resilience and personal toughness were critical qualities as was ordinariness. The capacity to blend with a crowd yet remain wary in the presence of strangers was highly desirable. What the SASR didn’t want was drongos. To the contrary, they wanted men who were widely read, adaptable and could learn quickly; decisive men who could make bold, intelligent and reasoned decisions. They wanted the best.

Fifty-two men, including Fox, made it to selection. Over the next seventeen days Fox’s brutal childhood and personal philosophy about life proved comprehensive preparation for the rigours of SASR selection. Nothing encountered on the course disturbed his balance, perspective or concern for others. The long distance runs, day/night marches, weight packs, swimming in temperatures of extreme cold, sleep and food deprivation, sit ups, push ups, mental games, starlight navigation, faulty maps and interrogation resistance – none of it could dent his steely determination to succeed. At the end, Fox and eleven others were successful: less than ten per cent of the 125 starters.

That night, Fox celebrated in the family home of Caroline Connors, her husband Dr John McNulty and their three children, Jason, Jennifer and Judith. He had renewed contact with Connors on returning to the west and now seemed part of their family.

Jason, only fifteen when he first met Fox, was inspired by the man’s balanced outlook on life and his curious inner stillness. He thought these qualities at odds with army life, Fox’s obviously competitive nature and his years in the boxing tent. Of particular interest to Jason – in his final year at high school and deeply interested in politics – were Fox’s laconic yet incisive views about current affairs. His two sisters loved Fox dearly and Judith, who was only nine when he entered their lives seemed, from the beginning, to have some kind of soul-deep affinity with him.

The March evening with its soft sky and river-scented breeze was perfect for the gathering seated around the huge jarrah table on McNulty’s wide veranda. Hunger was teasing as a result of the tantalising aromas from John’s barbecued lamb chops, porterhouse steaks and onion rings. Stomachs were rumbling. Caroline and the girls had prepared a variety of salads, dessert and a dark rich fruitcake. Jason had mown the lawns, swept the paths and cleaned the barbecue and when Fox arrived with flowers, champagne and a huge box of chocolates, everything was ready.

After dinner, they bombarded him with questions about his new life in the SASR. Diminutive brown-eyed Judith was the most insistent.

‘Come on Foxy, tell us, did you top the class?’

‘I don’t know Jude. They don’t tell us. All I know from the debriefing is that I was in the top five. Where in the top five, I don’t know.’

‘I bet you were numero uno,’ said the eleven-year-old, her eyes shining with pride. ‘What’s a debriefing?’

‘It’s a bit like your parent/teacher nights where Mum and Dad get to hear how brilliantly you’re doing at school. In my case, the bosses speak to everyone who was successful, tell us how we went, what areas need improvement and finally, what we’re doing next.’

Jenny started to laugh. ‘More like how un-brilliantly she’s doing! She’s too mad keen on sport to be doing school work.’ Auburn curls bounced around her face like butterflies flirting with blossom.

‘I am not,’ said Judith pouting, ‘and anyway, un-brilliant is not a real word!’

‘Will you be shooting people?’ intruded the serious-minded Jason.

‘Hold up mate. That’s not a fair question,’ said his father. ‘Fox can only say it’s a possibility.’

‘Give over Dad. I’ve read up on the SAS. I know they specialise in counter terrorism, rescue missions and deep reconnaissance in other countries. That’s what they do! Dangerous stuff. And Fox just qualified for it.’

Fox responded with a quiet smile. ‘You’re both right but I have no idea what the future holds. If you have read up on these things Jason, you’ll remember the SAS hostage rescue from Iran’s Embassy in London last year. Five terrorists were killed, all hostages rescued. I understand it was that first shot from the SAS which saved the lives of fifteen people trapped in one room. So yes, it is a possibility. Believe me though, decisions like that are not lightly taken.’

Caroline winced; the nature of the conversation was depressing. She vividly recalled how willing Fox had been to hurt the men who attempted to rape her ten years earlier. Changing the subject, she said, ‘Is there any likelihood you could be posted overseas for exchange purposes? You know, professional development?’

‘As a matter of fact there is. At the debriefing they told us about postings in New Zealand, the UK and USA. I said I hoped to get to the UK. But look, that’s years away. In the meantime, let’s toast successful futures and maybe, even Judy could have a tiny glass of champagne. What do you think Mum and Dad?’

‘Oh Foxy, that’s a great idea,’ bubbled Judy. ‘And while you’re here, could you please make me another grass wristlet? My last one wore out.’

Softly lit by fat mosquito candles, they sat well into the night, a temperate breeze stirring the peppermint gums, the moon, a jigsaw of silvery shards on the nearby Swan River. They laughed, joked and talked about school and politics, policing and movies, army life and good books. Caroline Connors watched them all, her heart swelling – these were the most special people in her life.