Читать книгу Fox - Bill Robertson - Страница 19

‘Come,’ barked Major John Hoey to the soft knock at his door. Corporal Colin Fox entered and snapped to attention before his desk. ‘At ease Fox. Sit.’ Hoey, at fifty years of age, was a highly respected administrator and renowned as a fearless soldier. His personal credo was shaped by an oft repeated phrase: ‘substance flows from action.’ His piercing blue eyes examined the world from a calm, strong face and his presence filled the room.

‘Been going through your file, Fox. Impressive. Got a bit of “go” about you. I like that. And you’re quiet with it. I note quite a few entries here concerning your contribution to our knowledge and understanding of Aboriginal food and customs. Bloody good! It builds on work by Elder Sam Woolagoodja and Major Les Hiddens. I must confess too – and Chatham House Rules apply here – I pissed myself laughing when you took out that snooty nosed Holmes in Tar Pot last year. Sometimes, the oldest and least complex strategies work best. Trouble with the bloody yanks is, they think they’re God’s gift to the world. If, as I have, you study their history in war, you’ll find arrogance is their achilles.’

Fox sat quietly, wondering what was coming. This summons had come yesterday, during an exercise at Rottnest Island off the Western Australian coast. Being there depressed him. Between 1838 and 1931 Rottnest had held more than three thousand Aboriginal prisoners. Boys as young as eight were incarcerated with men in their seventies under brutal conditions. Taken from all over Western Australia, there was no common language, dialect or custom between them. Shackled at the neck and ankles by chains, 370 souls had perished and still, the Western Australian Government equivocated about properly recognising their burial place. It had been a period of unbridled and sadistic savagery and Fox found the government’s lethargic attitude beyond belief. He was there because he had to be, but didn’t like it.

He did, however, like Hoey. Hoey was a “straight-up” bloke who spoke the truth and pulled no punches.

Hoey peered at the file before him. ‘I see when you joined us three years ago you said you hoped you might get to England for professional development one day. Would next month suit?’

Fox’s even features cracked into a broad smile. ‘Yes sir. It certainly would! Do you mind if I ask a question?’

‘Speak,’ smiled Hoey.

‘Well, it’s just … this is … unexpected. I mean … there’s been nothing on the radar about professional development for any of us.’

‘Bloody hell!’ Hoey laughed. ‘Don’t tell me we’ve actually managed to keep a secret.’ He laughed again. ‘As you know Fox, we’ve been through trying times over the last couple of years. Army recruitment has been falling and our traditional recruitment base for the SASR is the army. We’ve just been authorised to raise another squad but, as you can imagine, finding the right people is bloody difficult. We’ve had modern equipment on order for so damn long it’s nearly a memory. Now it looks as if direct public recruitment to the SASR will get the nod and, our new equipment is beginning to arrive. But that’s not why you’re here. Apart from telling you about the UK, there’s something else I want to raise and I want you to indulge me a little. I know your training fully covers origins of terrorism. I, however, have a particular view of things that’s not always appreciated and I believe you are the kind of person who can take it on board. I want you to think about these things when you are overseas.’

Fox was intrigued – he sensed an aspect of Hoey that perhaps was revealed only among trusted friends and felt honoured. Moreover, he sensed that Hoey was settling in for discussion of a subject dear to him.

Tilting his head, Hoey gazed reflectively at the ceiling. Patiently, Fox waited.

‘Terrorism,’ started Hoey in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone, ‘has been around a bloody long time – at least from the first century when zealots tried to annihilate the Romans. It will never go away. We all know, or think we do, the reasons for terrorism: destruction of governments, nullifying opponents, polarising unity, subjugating by fear and popularising the terrorist cause. Motivating all of that is the toxic and heady cocktail of ideology and politics. That’s how it’s been since the days of the French Revolution. And, as you know, any means is used to effect terror – bombings, hostage taking, arson, rape, armed attacks and horrendous forms of murder.’ He paused, a wry smile upon his lips. ‘Even we, in Australia, contributed to the terrorist arsenal. Did you know the pipe bomb used by so many of our mad friends is attributed to the Eureka rebellion at Ballarat in 1854? Strange how these things can bite you on the bum. But Fox, terrorism is an interesting term.’

‘How do you mean sir? We don’t seem to have too much difficulty understanding it.’

‘I’m sure you don’t because here, we are mainly concerned with action, not the origins of terrorism. And that’s okay – action is our role. When we get involved, we are inevitably dealing with a situation demanding an immediate solution.’

‘So what do you mean sir? I detect some equivocation,’ Fox challenged.

‘No. I am quite clear about our role, but, I do wonder about our political masters. For them, things pirouette on matters of convenience, power or politics, or all three. And let me tell you Fox, for your ears only, the older I get the more slimy I think politics is. Let me give you some examples. Yitzhak Shamir, twice Prime Minister of Israel, is reported to have written in 1943 that moral considerations were not part of the equation when pursuing a national identity. He said something like “…first and foremost terror is for us a part of the political war and appropriate for the circumstances of the day.” He was then a member of the Stern Gang seeking formation of a Jewish State. I see no difference between his statement then and the actions of Arabs today who repudiate a 1948 political decision. In another case, Harold Wilson’s decision to send the SAS into Ireland in January 1976 was more about making a political statement than any considered military strategy. Indeed, when he announced his intention, as I understand it, he didn’t even bother to advise his Ministry of Defence. He just put it out there.’

‘So, one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter?’ asked Fox, observing the Major sceptically.

‘More or less,’ said Hoey with a grin. ‘Yassar Arafat, told the United Nations in 1974 that “… whoever stands by a just cause and fights for freedom and liberation of his land from the invaders, the settlers and the colonialists cannot possibly be called a terrorist.” Hoey paused and looked at Fox keenly. ‘I venture to suggest that your warriors, Pemulwuy and Yagan, would have roundly endorsed Arafat’s viewpoint.’

Fox nodded imperceptibly. Hoey’s statement resonated far more deeply than he could have imagined – Mullett, Matron Fisher, Wildman, Brother John and his brown cronies all swirled to the fore.

‘What I’m saying is this: our job is always clear – it is governed by operational imperative. Nevertheless, it is important not to lose sight of the big picture, to reflect not only on the now, but the history, the context, the politics and the purpose behind what we do. It won’t change your role but it will help you maintain perspective and that is important for those occasions when the public reject political imperative.’

Fox nodded. ‘What about the incidents we discuss in training, where do they fall?’ asked Fox.

‘Let’s start with Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin,’ said Hoey, warming to his subject. ‘Unquestionably they used terrorism to quash opposition and rule by fear. They were leaders who used state might to repress their own people. In a quite different context, the Red Brigades kidnapped and murdered Italy’s former Prime Minister Aldo Moro. Their goal was to destroy the Italian government by revolutionary action, to attack NATO installations and to “… wage war on anti-imperialist multi-national corporations”. South Moluccans in the Netherlands, Hezbollah, the Armenian Secret Army, the Popular Front for Palestine, Basque Separatists, Abu Nidal. And so it goes. These groups believe their actions are rational and justifiable. Good leaders, Fox, should not ignore history. I’ve been in this caper a long time and terrorist patterns are changing. I worry about where they are heading.’

Fox straightened, his senses sharpened. From Hoey, this was significant. ‘My concern was triggered by the Iranian hostage crisis of ’79. Fifty-three yanks captured and held 444 days. Why did that happen? Oil. I’m not going to labour the point – you’re smart enough to work it out. Oil, Iran and problems with Britain, Russia and the USA go back to at least 1901. At the time of that hostage crisis, the USA needed Iran’s oil and backed the Shah. Superficially, Iran appeared stable but the Shah’s people hated him, thought he was evil. By 1978 the plans of an underground Islamist fundamentalist movement to remove the Shah were well advanced. As his protector, America was Iran’s enemy. In 1953 Britain and the CIA, with the Shah’s support, engineered the overthrow of Iran’s democratically elected leader, Dr Mohammed Mossadegh, a man of integrity. Mossadegh had nationalised Iran’s oil supplies in a fight against what he called a “… savage and dreadful system of international espionage and colonialism.” His actions did not suit USA or British interests. In short, Iran had been ripped-off by Britain in every conceivable way through its oil agreement.’

Fox, thinking of Aboriginal history and the Rottnest Island debacle, gave Hoey a hard, penetrating look. ‘I take it you are alluding to my people again.’ The statement was blunt and flat-toned.

‘I see definite parallels Fox – different times, different ways but parallels nevertheless. Anyway, since ’79 we’ve seen the emergence of various Islamist groups around the world, attacks on and in numerous countries and the deaths of hundreds of people. My point is this: Ayatollah Khomeni’s return to Iran parallels the rise in Muslim extremism, power, and aggression. Confrontation against the secular west is occurring on the basis of religious fundamentalism and democratic states around the world are being assaulted by it. I think this is a paradigm shift. History shows that wars fought on the basis of religion always contaminate “white hats” just as much as the “black hats”. Where is this all heading? Who knows. But where do we live? Just below one of the most populous Muslim nations in the world.’

Hoey paused again and Fox thought: Hoey’s right – none of their instructors had presented this slant on terrorism. Put in the context of Aboriginal history, Hoey’s perspective had even more bite. Nothing, it seemed, was simple and straight forward. And with that, Mullett again flashed in and out of his mind – a tiny abused boy.

‘Obviously Fox, you’re familiar with Sydney’s Hilton bombing in ’78 and the Iranian Embassy siege in Britain. Before Hilton, Australia had no formal means of dealing with terrorist attacks. Between those two events, SACPAV – the Standing Advisory Committee on Commonwealth State Co-operation for Protection Against Violence – was created. Sir Robert Mark, former head of New Scotland Yard, was brought out by the Federal Government to talk about terrorism and training as part of SACPAV’s initial development. His strong recommendation was, and I quote: “close quarter battle is a task for the most experienced soldiery, not for the police whose role should be that of containment until the military arrives.” ‘That message has now been understood. Increased numbers means we’ll want bloody good leaders in the SASR. I expect you to be a sergeant by this time next year. You’ve got what it takes to get on Fox. In preparation for that, I want you, and others like you, to broaden your understanding of how things work in other places and cultures. We are still in our infancy in this field and have much to learn. Many countries have developed excellent anti-terrorist tactics but I think the Brits still hold the edge because of their experience in Northern Ireland. You requested the UK, you’ve got it. If you are wondering why you’re getting this lecture, it is because Indonesia is Australia’s largest and nearest Muslim neighbour. It is a pushy and aggressive nation as can be seen by its actions in East Timor and West Papua: rape, murder and massive population dislocation is par for the course. In the context of my concern about Islamic fundamentalism and because of Indonesia’s proximity, you will be receiving some extra-curricular training that others on your course will not be getting. If the shit hits the fan with our neighbour down here, I want our strategies properly informed. Make ready Fox. I’ll talk to you again before you go.’

Fox rose, snapped a sharp salute.

‘Thank you sir. I’ll be doing my best.’ He left the office, feeling elated yet deeply thoughtful.

Two nights later, after finalising matters with Caroline, Fox arrived at the McNulty home on South Perth Esplanade. This time with a special treat. He rang the bell and waited, listening to the light step and happy whistle of Judy as she skipped down the hallway.

‘Hi Foxy.’ Eyes widening, her dimples embraced the huge smile that followed. ‘What have you got there? Oh, he’s beautiful.’ She reached up, hugged and kissed the grinning Fox and removed a squirming bundle of yellow fur from his arms. ‘What’s his name?’

‘She Jude, she. And I’ve been calling her Lucy, after my little sister.’

‘I thought you guys couldn’t speak the names of dead people,’ she said.

He smiled but said nothing.

‘Oh, I love her Foxy, and Lucy’s a great name. What about Mum and Dad? What will they say? And what about Belle? Belle’s not going to like competition. And whose dog is she? Mine, Jen’s or Jason’s? Or does she belong to all of us?’

‘Hey, what’s with the twenty questions?’ Fox stepped inside, still smiling. ‘First of all, Belle is getting old and might like a companion. Secondly, Mum and Dad have okayed this …’

‘And to think they never said a word,’ Judy interrupted, managing to pout and giggle at the same time while the puppy licked her face.

‘… Because Lucy belongs to you all. I thought it might also be a good idea to leave something here for you to remember me by while I’m overseas — out of your hearts and out of your minds.’

‘As if,’ grinned the light-hearted Judy who, privately, was already beginning to miss Fox. ‘Mum! Look what I’ve got!’ They walked into a warm kitchen filled with tantalising cooking aromas.

Caroline, bending to close the oven door straightened and turned. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek and a lick of thick blonde hair clinging to her forehead. She held her arms out to embrace Fox.

‘Hi Col, you look disgustingly happy and healthy. Welcome. John’s in the study just finishing a phone call. He won’t be long. Would you like a stubby?’

‘Yep, just one. Dinner smells great. What’s on?’ said Fox as he stepped forward and swept Caroline into his arms with a giant bear hug.

‘Garlic bread, lamb and apple cider stew, minted peas, baby carrots and spuds in their jackets followed by home-made apple crumble and cream. So … this is Lucy is it? Put her down a minute love, I want to see what she does.’

Judy placed Lucy on the floor and they all laughed as she yipped in her puppy bark and ran about madly sniffing this and bumping that.

‘How old did you say she was Col?’

‘Fourteen weeks with all her first round jabs complete. Here’s the papers.’ He passed across a thick envelope. ‘Her next immunisation is due in two weeks and, they’ve been paid for. Pedigree papers are there too, pure bred golden Labrador.’

Then, as if by magic, Belle, the family’s antique black Labrador, entered the kitchen, stopped and gave a single deep bark. Lucy darted across the floor and began leaping and dancing around her, yipping and nipping in delight. Stoically, Belle stood her ground and eyed Caroline with a look that said, ‘How could you do this to me! At my age. What an upstart!’

‘Put the dogs out the back will you please Judy. Belle can show Lucy the ropes.’

‘Oh Mum, she’s only just arrived. Can’t she have permission on her first night?’

‘NO! That’s what I mean about learning the ropes.’

Judy looked imploringly at Fox who shrugged and grinned. ‘Don’t look at me mate, your mum’s the boss here.’

‘Thank you very much Mr Fox! And here was I thinking I’d trained this house to run exactly as I needed.’ John McNulty walked into the kitchen, hand extended, smiling. ‘Good to see you Fox. I see Caro’s got you a beer. So, this is the new addition to the family, eh? She looks pretty lively.’

‘G’day John. Yep, this is Lucy. Jason and Jenny in too?

‘No, Jason’s still in the eastern states at Melbourne uni but Jenny should be home in the next ten minutes. She’s been out on the water all day as part of her studies. Said she’d be home at seven.’

‘Dad, can we leave Lucy inside until Jen’s home?’

‘What did your mother say?’ he asked, catching Caroline’s sly wink.

Suddenly, there was more high pitched barking as footsteps came down the hallway and Jennifer entered the kitchen. A flurry of golden fur launched itself into the air yapping and licking the new arrival, stopping only to piddle with excitement.

‘And who is this?’ asked the lissom, auburn haired girl in her well-modulated voice.

‘Jenny, meet Lucy,’ said Fox stepping forward to give the beautiful girl a warm hug and kiss. ‘She’s your new play thing and Belle’s nightmare.’

When they’d finished laughing at the antics of the little dog Caroline said, ‘Sorry Judy, just joking Poppet. Of course you can have her inside, Belle’s here most of the time why not Lucy. But do please clean up that puddle. Tea will be about ten minutes.’

Fox walked off to the bathroom to wash before tea and heard Jenny ask, ‘What happened to your car Mum?’ Caroline’s response was lost in the hiss of splashing water.

Over dinner, conversation bubbled backwards and forwards between Fox’s impending journey overseas and family activities: a medical professorship, the children’s studies and Caroline’s recent promotion to Senior Sergeant sub-charge at Fremantle. During a lull in conversation Fox asked, ‘Did I hear Jenny suggest there’s something wrong with your car, Caroline?’

‘Oh some ratbag ran a key or something all along the passenger side and gouged the duco. Don’t know when it happened. I noticed it when I was shopping at Booragoon this afternoon. It wasn’t there at the weekend because Judy and I washed the car so it’s happened some time in the last three days.’

‘Yes, and I think that’s strange,’ said Judy, ‘when I got my bike to ride home from school this afternoon both brake cables were disconnected. Fortunately they weren’t broken and Tory Stephenson fixed them for me.’

‘You should have mentioned that earlier, Judy,’ said Caroline frowning, ‘that’s dangerous. Were they alright when you went to school this morning?’

‘Yeah, they were fine.’

‘I’ll have a word to the headmaster. We can’t have students doing stuff like that, it’s irresponsible.’

‘What about the car?’ asked John, ‘insurance?’

‘No, it’s not worth losing the no-claim bonus. I’ll get a price from a couple of local repair shops in Freo.’

At ten, on the grounds of a follow-up exercise at Rottnest Island, Fox excused himself with a promise to attend a final dinner before leaving for the UK.