Chapter Eight

 

During her Christmas holidays at Elianne, Kate had done some

sleuthing. Eager to discover someone who might know what had happened

to Pavi and Mela Salet, she’d asked around among the several islanders

who worked on the estate. It was the proud boast of one farm labourer that

his ancestors had been in the region since 1870 and that members of his

family had worked at Elianne from the mill’s first days in the early eighties.

As he was a Solomon Islander Kate presumed he may well be a descendant

of Old Willie and she proved right, but neither he nor others of his family

had any knowledge of the Salets. Nobody did.

Bartholomew would of course remember Pavi and Mela, Kate thought,

he’d have been around sixteen years of age when they’d left Elianne. But

she was not prepared to reveal her knowledge of the past to her grandfather.

Besides, Bartholomew would have no idea what had happened to the Salets.

Ellie had written in her final ledger that there had been no further

communication of any kind between the families.

Kate’s other attempt at sleuthing had also proved fruitless. Bundaberg

Cemetery on the outskirts of town had been in its present site since 1879

and she had hoped to find Beatrice’s grave. But search as she might, she had

discovered nothing. The headstone appeared to have crumbled into dust,

obliterating any sign of poor little Beatrice’s existence. Clearly the grave

had not been tended – a further poignant comment, Kate thought, on a sad

story. Ellie had said in her diaries that Big Jim had forbidden her to

continue visiting the grave for fear it would upset her. How unjust that after suffering the pain of her baby’s inexplicable death Ellie had received neither

sympathy nor support from her tyrant of a husband.

Kate returned to Sydney in mid-February, once again with a sense of

relief. In the city she would continue her laborious translation of the diaries,

writing everything out by hand, one ledger after another, then typing the

pages up on her faithful Olivetti. But there, in the living room of her little

Glebe house, the exercise would become academic. Here at Elianne, the

diaries and their revelations were an obsession that threatened to engulf her.

She drove over the bridge and into town, but before setting off on the

long trek south, she called in at the post office.

Neil Durham found a quiet spot in the canteen, or rather a spot that was

a little less noisy than elsewhere, and sat down to read his mail. He ripped

open the first envelope, recognising his sister’s handwriting. As always,

Kate’s letter was chatty and amusing. He smiled when he got to the end.

By the way, you owe me ten dollars. Dad and I didn’t have a

barney. Peace was maintained, but I have to admit with the greatest

of difficulty. As a matter of fact I nearly lost the bet two days after you

left. I shall expect ten dollars or five quid, whichever is most

convenient during this period of dual currency, by return mail.

In the meantime, stay safe, and I mean really safe. Keep me posted

won’t you, Neil. I want to know when I need to start worrying.

Lots of love,

Kate

Less than three months later, a letter arrived from Neil, who closed with

the news Kate dreaded, although he made light of it.

We’re off to Vietnam shortly. But don’t start worrying yet. I’ve

heard the task at hand is to build a military base before leaping into

battle. Do you reckon I should tell them I failed carpentry at school?

Anyway I don’t think we’ll be seeing any action for a while.

Love always,

Neil

The chosen site for Nui Dat, the Australian Task Force Base in Phuoc

Tuy Province, was ten miles north of the coastal township of Vûng Tàu.

Built from scratch, mainly by men of the 5th and 6th Battalions, Royal

Australian Regiment, the base was completed by July 1966 and was to

serve as the principal headquarters for all Australian operations.

During the building of Nui Dat, the nearby port town of Vûng Tàu,

attractively situated at the tip of a small peninsular and flanked by beautiful

beaches, became a favourite haunt for the Australians, as it was for the

American support units that had arrived the previous year. The locals, who

had been quick to embrace the Americans, now embraced the new arrivals

with equal fervour. Australian soldiers roaming the town’s streets and

exploring the roadside markets were eagerly welcomed by hawkers and

shopkeepers plying their trade, and at night bargirls enticed them to enter

the open doors of clubs and bars where prostitution abounded. New clubs

and bars were already springing into existence to accommodate the men’s

needs, and many more would follow as the war ground relentlessly on and

Vûng Tàu became the favoured in-country R & R centre. Soldiers were

known to spend up big. For the Vietnamese, there was money to be made in

Vûng Tàu.

‘G’day, girls, can we buy you a drink?’

Neil’s mate Bobbo was an out-and-out larrikin with an insatiable lust for

women, and his other mate Phil although less obvious wasn’t much better.

Like Neil they were ‘nashos’. Bobbo was a fellow Queenslander, from

Rockhampton, loud and sometimes vulgar, but eminently likeable, and Phil

was a Sydneysider with a veneer of style, but a recently discovered

predilection for the seamier side of life. The two frequented brothels with

alarming regularity and thought nothing of picking up street prostitutes.

Neil, although happy to get drunk with his mates, baulked at the idea of

indiscriminate sex – the thought of disease frightened him off. At least it

had so far: he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. He was starting to

feel toey, and it only got worse when Bobbo raved on as Bobbo was wont to

do.

‘Seriously, mate,’ Bobbo would urge, ‘you should give it a burl. You’ve

never had sex like this, I’m telling you. These girls offer a whole new ball

game, pun intended.’

Neil didn’t doubt for one minute that Bobbo was right. His own sexual

experiences had been limited to the back seats of cars and once a hay barn,

but he nonetheless managed to resist temptation.

Bobbo teased him mercilessly about his celibate state.

‘Don’t be a wowser, mate,’ he’d say when Neil refused to negotiate with

a bargirl or do a deal with a mama-san. ‘What are you, a bloody virgin?’

‘Give it a rest, Bobbo.’ Phil would invariably come to Neil’s defence.

‘He’s smart, that’s what he is. At least there’s one of us who won’t get the

clap.’

Neil didn’t actually need defending. Bobbo’s teasing didn’t bother him

in the least, although there was the odd occasion, he had to admit, when

Bobbo’s crassness made him cringe. Today was one such occasion. It was

late afternoon and they’d been wandering the downtown markets when out

of the blue Bobbo had accosted the girls. He was leering at them as he

offered to buy them a drink, clearly implying he wanted to buy a great deal

more. But these girls weren’t prostitutes. No more than eighteen or

nineteen, pretty all three, they’d been innocently browsing the markets’

wares. Neil felt embarrassed; he hoped they weren’t insulted.

Phil to the rescue, playing it with his customary debonair style. ‘We’re

going to the Sand Bar to watch the light fade over the ocean, ladies. We’d

be delighted if you’d join us for a beer.’ He gave a slight bow and offered

his arm to one of the girls, on the presumption that if she didn’t speak any

English the body language would suffice. She would certainly have

understood the reference to the Sand Bar. Everyone knew the Sand Bar.

Built primarily of bamboo, thatch-roofed and with a verandah fronting onto

the beach, it was a colourful and popular meeting place.

‘OK.’ The girl put a hand to her face and gave a light giggle. ‘Sand Bar

nice,’ she said and returning his bow she took his arm.

‘Excellent,’ Phil beamed at his friends, ‘you speak English. And what’s

your name?’ he asked.

‘Kim,’ she said, ‘my name, Kim.’

‘I’m Phil. This is Bobbo and this is Neil.’

As the girls introduced themselves, Neil silently blessed Phil’s

intervention. He didn’t doubt for one minute that Phil was hoping to see

some action, but at least he hadn’t treated the girls like whores.

He offered his arm to the third girl, who said her name was Yen. She

was extremely pretty, but seemed a little shyer than the others. Perhaps she

didn’t speak English.

Upon arriving at the Sand Bar, they crammed themselves into the corner

of the verandah at the last remaining table, which looked out across the

beach to where the light would shortly fade over the South China Sea. More soldiers, some with girls, were pouring in to prop themselves at the bar. The

Sand Bar was crowded at any time of day, but particularly at dusk.

Bobbo bought a round of beers for them all and he and Phil launched

into conversation with Kim and her friend Mai, both of whom it turned out

could communicate quite well in their broken English. But Yen said

nothing. She sat in silence, looking rather grave and giving the occasional

nod as if she understood, but Neil had the feeling that perhaps she didn’t.

He felt self-conscious, unsure how to include her in the conversation.

‘I am sorry,’ he said in Vietnamese, the only phrase he had yet learned

apart from hello and thank you, ‘I do not speak Vietnamese.’

‘Is no matter,’ she replied, ‘I speak some English. A little. Not well.’

He was surprised. Even from the few words she’d said, it was clear her

command of the language was superior to that of her friends.

‘Whatever English you speak is a great deal more and a great deal better

than any Vietnamese I shall ever master,’ he said.

She smiled, her serious little face suddenly transforming, and Neil was

enchanted. He thought how extraordinarily attractive she was. All

Vietnamese girls were attractive, it was true, petite, delicate, their hair a

glossy jet-black, but Yen seemed to him flawless. Her features were

perfectly formed, like those of a porcelain doll. And that smile!

‘You live here,’ he asked, pointing rather foolishly at the floorboards of

the verandah, ‘Vûng Tàu?’ He was probably stating the obvious and felt a

bit silly, but he wasn’t sure how else to continue the conversation. He only

knew that he wanted to retain her interest. The others were downing their

beers and chatting away animatedly and at any moment her attention would

be drawn to them.

‘Vûng Tàu, no,’ she said, and she waved a finger to the north, ‘my

village two mile away.’

‘Oh, so you’ve come in from your village to Vûng Tàu,’ he repeated

unnecessarily.

‘Yes.’ As she smiled again he noticed the dimple that flashed

disarmingly in her left cheek. ‘Family have stall in market,’ she explained.

‘I see.’ Perhaps it was the dancing dimple that made her smile so

infectious. Something did anyway: he found her mesmerising. ‘But you

don’t work at your family’s stall, do you?’ She wasn’t dressed like the peasant girls who sold vegetables in the market. Perhaps she worked in an

office.

‘No, no,’ she appeared surprised he should ask such a question, ‘my two

sister work stall. They more young than me.’

‘Right.’ The comment confused him a little, but for simplicity’s sake he

decided not to pursue it. ‘Where did you learn to speak such excellent

English?’ he asked.

‘My priest, he teach me,’ she said proudly. ‘My priest is Irish man,

teach many English.’

‘So you’re a Catholic?’ He found the fact interesting. Despite the

predominance of Buddhism throughout Vietnam he had heard there was a

strong Roman Catholic minority.

‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘my family all Catholic.’

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by Bobbo.

‘We’re heading off with the girls now, Neil,’ he said, ‘you coming?’

Bobbo stood, Mai with him, their arms around each other, Bobbo’s hand

already straying to her breast. Phil and Kim also stood, similarly linked; it

was clear an arrangement had been struck.

Neil looked dumbly up at them, feeling all of a sudden incredibly

stupid. The girls were street prostitutes. But how could he possibly have

known? They’d not been advertising the fact, they wore pretty little cotton

dresses, they’d been wandering the markets . . .

‘You coming or not mate?’ Bobbo urged with a jerk of the head towards

Yen, indicating he should do a quick deal with his girl.

Neil was confronted and embarrassed. Yen couldn’t be, surely, and yet

surely she must be. He glanced at her, but she made no movement, as if

awaiting instruction.

‘Um, no thanks, Bobbo,’ he said, hiding his confusion by pretending to

consider the matter briefly, ‘I reckon I might give it a miss. Heck,’ he said

holding up his virtually untouched beer, ‘can’t leave a full glass, mate.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Bobbo glanced at Phil. ‘Wowser,’ he said with a good-

natured grin. ‘Come on, girls.’

A glance was also exchanged between the three girls, and as Kim and

Mai turned to go Yen quietly rose from the table.

Neil was further confused. He felt a rush of concern for Yen. Had he

insulted her? In saying no had he humiliated her in front of her friends? In any event, he didn’t want her to go.

‘Would you like another beer?’ he asked. The invitation was vaguely

ridiculous as her glass sat untouched on the table, but he took out his wallet,

indicating he was willing to pay for her time. ‘I would very much enjoy

your company.’

‘OK.’ Grateful to be saved a loss of face, Yen smiled her pretty smile

and resumed her seat.

‘Bye bye,’ Kim and Mai called, waving as they left.

The seats they’d vacated were quickly grabbed up by a bunch of new

arrivals and Neil edged his chair closer to Yen’s to make room.

‘If I had gone with you and your friends,’ he asked, getting straight to

the point, ‘how much would it have cost me?’

‘Ten Australian dollar, short time,’ she said. ‘I do only short time.’ Once

again his question seemed to surprise her. ‘You never go with girl here in

Vûng Tàu?’

‘No.’ He placed the money on the table.

‘Ah.’ The fact was clearly of interest as she folded the notes and slipped

them into the pocket of her dress. The pocket had a flap, which she

carefully buttoned. ‘You want go with me now?’

She made as if to rise but stopped as he shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, ‘no, I just want to talk.’

‘Oh.’ She appeared concerned and put a hand to her chest. ‘You not like

me?’

‘I like you very much,’ he said. ‘That’s why I want to talk to you.’

‘But you not want to sleep with me?’

‘Not yet.’ Of course he wanted to sleep with her. He wanted to sleep

with her very much, but he didn’t want to be one in a queue and then out the

door minutes later. ‘Not right now. I want to get to know you a little first.’

She probably considered him downright stupid, or at least naïve, which no

doubt he was, but he didn’t care. She intrigued him too much.

‘OK.’ She shrugged: he’d paid her, it made no difference either way.

‘What you want to know?’

He indicated her untouched glass. ‘You don’t like beer, right?’

‘No.’ She shook her head vigorously. ‘Mai and Kim and other girl, they

drink beer because men like. Me, no,’ she wrinkled her nose in an

expression of disgust, ‘beer make me sick.’

He laughed. ‘So what do you like?’

‘I like sweet drink.’

He bought her a sickly concoction of pineapple juice and coconut milk,

which she very much enjoyed while they admired the shimmer of light

across the ocean’s surface.

‘How long have you been doing your sort of work?’ he asked, avoiding

the term ‘prostitute’ more for his own sake than hers – he had the feeling

she wouldn’t have been remotely offended.

‘Two month only. Mai and Kim, they go with American soldier one

whole year, make lot of money.’ Far from being offended, Yen was more

than happy to talk about her work. She liked the Australian. He was very

polite. ‘Mai and Kim have place in town with many other girl. We have

deal, is good. I teach Mai and Kim speak English, they teach me way to get

soldier.’

‘Oh? And what way’s that?’

‘They teach me not look cheap like bargirl. And they right,’ she said

eagerly. ‘Bargirl show too much, you know? Here. Here.’ The way she

heaved up her bosom with one hand and slapped her thigh with the other

was comical and instinctively he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t, aware that

she was intent upon getting her message across. ‘They teach me how look at

soldier in street nice way, friendly, you know?’ She offered a

demonstration, bobbing her head a little, putting a hand to her face and

smiling in a way that was at once demure, provocative and flirtatious. There

was no mistaking the signal, and Neil realised yet again how absurdly naïve

he’d been. Bobbo’s behaviour in the marketplace hadn’t been crass at all.

One of the girls had obviously flashed him the sign and he’d known in an

instant the three were prostitutes; so had Phil.

‘Yes, I see,’ he said, ‘very effective indeed.’

‘Yes, yes, is correct way.’ Yen was pleased that she’d made her point so

succinctly, and that he agreed she was right. ‘And make more money,’ she

said with an efficient nod. ‘No need for pay barman, no need for pay mama-

san,’ she counted the benefits off meticulously on her fingers, ‘and soldier

no have to buy girl Saigon tea,’ she added, referring to the non-alcoholic

drinks posing as hard liquor that the bars sold to the servicemen for

exorbitant prices. ‘You see? Is good for soldier too.’

‘What a very astute businesswoman you are, Yen.’

She was gratified by the compliment, but felt compelled to give credit

where it was due. ‘Mai and Kim teach me,’ she said. ‘They teach me lot.’

She ran her hand affectionately over her pretty, peach-coloured dress, the

fabric of which was far finer than the coarse peasant garb she was

accustomed to. ‘They teach me wear nice dress like this. They teach me be

nice girl. Soldier like to go with nice girl.’

‘But they didn’t need to teach you that. You are a nice girl.’

No comment he could possibly have come up with could have pleased

her more. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

They smiled, the moment resting between them. Then he asked the

question he was unable to resist, even though he suspected it was further

evidence of his naïveté.

‘Do you like your work?’

‘Is OK.’ Another shrug. ‘My family poor, I make lot more money from

soldier than market stall.’

‘So your family know what you do?’

That was when he realised he may have overstepped the mark. Her face

lost its eagerness to communicate and went blank as she focused upon a

nearby cormorant perched on a piece of driftwood, wings outstretched,

feathers drying in the last heat of the day.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, ‘I didn’t mean to pry. It was rude of me, I’m

sorry.’

‘Is OK.’ The cormorant took off, but she appeared not to notice as she

continued to look out at the fading light. ‘I must go now.’

‘Please don’t be cross, Yen. I really am sorry.’

She shook her head. She wasn’t at all cross. ‘Market close soon, I go

home with sisters. I work only daytime.’

‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ He had a full three days’ leave. ‘Not just to

talk,’ he added and, feeling strangely self-conscious, he patted his wallet to

ensure there would be no misunderstanding.

‘OK.’ Although barely eighteen, Yen felt far older than the Australian.

He is very young, she thought. Then she corrected herself. No, no, he is

very innocent. She wondered if he was a virgin. She’d had the occasional

virgin soldier in the past. ‘What time you want?’

It was Neil’s turn to shrug – any time that suited her, he didn’t care.

She chose noon. ‘The market, where we meet,’ she said. She would not

take him to Kim and Mai’s place, she decided, where often many girls

serviced soldiers in the same room. She would take him to her other place.

The Australian was nice.

The following day they walked a half a mile to the outskirts of town

where wooden huts and tin shanties dotted the countryside.

‘I take you nice place,’ she had said as they’d set off, ‘quiet, you like.’

He enjoyed the walk, although it was no leisurely stroll: Yen strode

along at a brisk, business-like pace. They spoke little as they went, but

glancing at her from time to time he did not feel uncomfortable or self-

conscious as he’d suspected he might. She looks so pretty, he thought, in

her blue sleeveless shift, her arms swinging healthily in time with her bare

legs and sandal-shod feet as she marched. He found it difficult to

encompass the purpose of their assignation, that she was a prostitute and

that they’d done a deal, that his ten-dollar note was already folded and

tucked away in the pocket of her dress. The situation was somehow bizarre.

It became even more so as the town petered out and they were suddenly

among rice paddies where peasant workers and farmers were going about

their daily business and where the odd water buffalo stood motionless in the

fields, baleful eyes staring fixedly at them as they passed.

By now the purpose of their trek seemed quite unreal, lost as he was in

the splendour of the surrounding countryside. ‘How beautiful it is,’ he said,

gazing across the rice paddies to the distant mountains, but she either didn’t

hear or wasn’t listening.

‘There auntie’s place,’ she said, pointing to the tin-roofed hut that stood

twenty yards or so from the side of the road. They had arrived at their

destination.

Auntie had seen them coming, as auntie always did, she kept a regular

lookout for Yen, and as the young couple entered the hut, which was

virtually one room, she nodded to her niece and gave a quick bow of

recognition to the soldier.

Neil returned a respectful bow to the weathered peasant woman before

him and waited for an introduction, but there was none. Before he knew it,

auntie had grabbed one of the many bundles of raffia that hung from pegs

about the walls and disappeared wordlessly out the back door.

Yen took a dollar coin from the pocket of her dress. It made a tinkling

noise as she dropped it into the empty jar on the table.

‘Is nice place, yes?’ She started to undress. ‘Quiet, more nice than

town.’

‘Yes, very nice,’ he said. Looking around at the poky little hut where

two wooden boxes served as seats and where the bed was a hessian-covered

pallet in the corner, he wondered what the alternative would have been.

Following her lead, he sat on one of the boxes and removed his boots.

When he’d done so, he rose to discover her standing already naked before

him, but he had barely time to admire the pertness of her breasts and the

flawless satin of her skin before she embarked upon the ritual that was to

follow. Her own disrobing had been quick and efficient, requiring seconds

only. Her disrobing of him was to take much longer. As his hands went to

the belt of his shorts she stopped him.

He stood motionless, watching her as she undressed him in silence, her

eyes not meeting his but focusing rather on each tiny detail. Even the

undoing of a button was a daintily performed process. She might have been

undressing an emperor. And as she slipped the shirt from his shoulders, her

fingers trailed across his naked skin with the same reverence, as if she were

serving a lord and master. Neil found the whole process intensely erotic.

Given Bobbo’s reports, he had anticipated a sexual awakening, and he

was not disappointed: she served him with her mouth and her body in ways

he had never envisaged let alone experienced. But it was her final pleasure

in the act that took him completely by surprise. When she sensed he was

nearing his climax, she gave herself up to her own release with a

spontaneity, unrestrained and abandoned, that excited him beyond measure.

When it was over, she recovered herself remarkably quickly and, as he

lay on the pallet still gasping for breath, she rose to wash herself. He

watched, somewhat dazed, as she crossed to the bucket of fresh water that

sat by the back door of the hut. He’d expected the sexual ministrations of an

expert certainly, but the sheer uninhibited pleasure? Did other women

behave like that? Had it been an act on her part, had she been faking her

pleasure? She couldn’t have surely. It hadn’t felt that way to him.

She returned with the wet rag and bathed his penis, chatting happily as

she did so.

‘Nice, yes?’ She smiled. ‘Good for me too.’ Yen preferred to orgasm

whenever possible, it made work so much more pleasurable, and the

soldiers always liked it. ‘You have good time?’

‘Yes,’ she might have been asking if he’d enjoyed a meal. ‘Very good,

thank you.’

‘I think you virgin,’ she said and gave a light laugh, ‘but you not virgin,

hey?’

‘No not virgin. But not very experienced,’ he admitted wryly.

‘No, I think that too.’ She rose and returned the rag to the bucket. ‘That

why I bring you here,’ she said as she started to dress, ‘special place.’

He hurriedly stood and also started to dress. ‘You don’t bring many men

here?’

‘Only nice soldier,’ she said. Yen very much preferred the privacy of

auntie’s place to Mai and Kim’s, but when a soldier was overly drunk or

aggressive she needed the back-up on offer at the girls’ rooms. There was a

practical aspect too that further complicated things. ‘Cheaper here,’ she

said, ‘pay Auntie one dollar, pay Mai and Kim half money, but take more

time bring soldier here from town, so . . .’ She shrugged. The financial issue

was indeed a complex one. ‘Still, I like better here.’

‘I’m glad I’m one of the nice soldiers,’ he said. He wasn’t sure why or

how he qualified, but the thought somehow pleased him.

‘Oh yes, you very nice. You very, very nice soldier.’ She smiled as if he

was something special, and Neil’s heart seemed to foolishly skip a beat.

‘You first uc dai loi I bring here,’ she said. ‘Other nice soldier come here all

American.’

Uc dai loi, literally meaning people from the south, was the local term

applied to Australian soldiers, and Neil supposed he should be

complimented that he was the first Australian she’d brought to auntie’s

place, but he felt vaguely disappointed.

‘We go now,’ she said.

‘Yen.’ He halted her at the door and she looked up at him questioningly.

‘Would it be all right,’ he said feeling extraordinarily gauche but unable to

resist asking, ‘I mean would you mind awfully if I kissed you?’ He

wondered if it was true what they said, that prostitutes didn’t kiss – he had

no idea, having never been with a prostitute. He only knew that he

desperately wanted to kiss her.

She gave the matter a moment’s consideration. ‘OK,’ she said, and

closing her eyes she leant her head back, lips dutifully pursed.

He cupped her face in his hands and bending down gently kissed her.

‘Thank you,’ he said as they parted.

His tenderness impressed her. ‘You are gentleman,’ she said.

‘Neil.’ He wasn’t sure if she remembered his name. ‘My name’s Neil,’

he said.

‘Yes. You are gentleman, Neil.’

*

Over the next several weeks, every single day’s leave Neil could

scrounge saw a trip to auntie’s place. He discovered a great deal about

Nguyen Thi Yen. As the oldest of three sisters and with no brother in the

family, she had taken it upon herself to be the principal breadwinner. Each

morning she and her sisters would wheel the big wooden barrow the two

miles from their village into the marketplace, stopping off regularly at their

widowed auntie’s hut on the outskirts of town to collect the raffia craftwork

she made for sale.

Once in town, Yen would change into one of the pretty dresses she kept

at Kim and Mai’s and while she worked the streets with her friends, her

sisters would sell the vegetables their father grew, together with the sandals

and mats and bags woven by their auntie. At dusk, Yen would change again

into her work clothes and the three girls would trundle the barrow back to

their village.

Yen’s auntie and sisters knew of her double life, but apparently her

parents did not. Or so Yen said. Neil found it odd they shouldn’t question

the radical improvement in their market sales; more probable, he thought,

that they suspected the truth, but would not admit it even to themselves. He

never questioned Yen on the subject, however, as she clearly wished to

believe in her parents’ ignorance.

The more he grew to know her, the more Neil came to realise that he

genuinely loved Yen. At first he’d tried to convince himself that his

obsession with her was due to no more than a newly awakened lust. Bobbo

had been quick to warn him of such a danger.

‘Geez, mate, you’re mad to get involved with the first hooker you sleep

with,’ Bobbo had said, not unreasonably. ‘Try another one. They’re as sexy

as all get out, the whole lot of them.’

But Neil didn’t want to ‘try another one’, and before long he was forced

to admit the fact that he was in love. That he’d quite possibly been in love

from the first day he’d met her.

‘I want to look after you, Yen,’ he said one afternoon. They’d had sex

and she was bathing him in her ritual manner. How many other cocks does

she bathe like this? he wondered as he watched her efficient ministrations.

He was plagued by such images lately and had been for some time.

Unrealistic though he knew he was being, he loathed the thought of her with

other men.

He took the cloth from her and eased her down beside him on the pallet,

propping on his elbow to talk to her. ‘I don’t know what you earn and I’m

sure I couldn’t match it, but I could help you support your family. I could do

that if you would let me.’

‘You want look after me?’ No one had ever looked after Yen before. As

the oldest in a family of three girls, she had always been the one to do the

looking after. No soldier had ever treated her like Neil did either. Neil

treated her in an honourable way, with respect. And now he wanted to look

after her? She was overwhelmed.

Neil’s love was possibly predictable, perhaps even inevitable, but the far

less predictable had happened. Yen too was in love, in her own way, a way

that would prove fiercely loyal.

Everything changed from that moment on. As evidence of her fidelity,

Yen gave her pretty dresses to Mai and Kim, proof of the fact that she had

no wish to attract the attention of other men. She worked in her peasant

garb at the market alongside her sisters, and when Neil was granted leave

they spent the day together.

‘You want I keep pretty dress just for you?’ she asked the next time they

went to auntie’s place.

‘I like you exactly as you are,’ he said. When he’d arrived at the

marketplace to find her in her work clothes he’d been deeply touched,

realising in an instant the statement she was making. ‘You are beautiful,

Yen, in whatever you wear.’

It had seemed a more or less routine patrol – at least that’s what the men

had first thought. For some time the Australians had been aware through

radio intercepts and sightings that a sizeable enemy strength was operating

not far from Nui Dat, but patrols sent out in search of the Viet Cong had not encountered the force. Then a barrage of enemy mortar was fired upon the

base, and in the mid-afternoon of 18 August, D Company, 6RAR was sent

on patrol into the rubber plantation of Long Tan to discover where the shells

had been fired from.

At quarter past three, 11 Platoon encountered a small group of Viet

Cong and a skirmish ensued, leaving one enemy dead and the others

fleeing. Clearly the enemy was in the area, but as the Australians continued

their patrol they still believed themselves the numerically superior force.

They were soon to learn otherwise. 11 Platoon was unaware it had

encountered the forward troops of a full-force regiment.

Shortly after four o’clock, the men of D Company, 6RAR were met by

the main body of the Viet Cong 275th Regiment.

The battle conditions were horrendous. Heavy monsoon rain broke out,

reducing visibility to barely fifty yards and breathing became difficult as

men literally sucked in water. All about them, the ground turned to a boggy

mess, but 10 and 11 Platoons fought valiantly on, still ignorant of the full

force they had encountered.

The advancing battalions of Viet Cong attacked with mortars, rifle and

machine-gun fire in an attempt to encircle and destroy the Australians. As

assault followed assault it became evident that the enemy force was far

stronger than had at first been envisaged and 12 Platoon was ordered

through from the rear to support 11 Platoon, which was by now all but

surrounded.

Neil and Bobbo fought side by side. Blinded by rain and dragged down

by mud, the men of 12 Platoon faced a barrage from all directions, forcing a

path through the fire to defend their comrades. The noise was horrific. The

explosion of enemy mortars joined the boom of heavy artillery support that

was now being fired from Nui Dat, several miles to the west, and all about

was the constant rat-tat of machine guns, the whistle of bullets and the

unnerving bugle calls of the Viet Cong.

Despite the cacophony, Neil heard the murderous screams begin nearby.

So did Bobbo. Through the blanket of rain they saw them appear from out

of the rubber trees barely twenty yards away: three Viet Cong charging

directly at them, firing at random and screaming like madmen.

The Australians raised their rifles and fired. Neil’s bullet found its mark.

A headshot. One of the Viet Cong dropped instantly and Neil turned his sights on the next.

Rattled by the surrounding mayhem, Bobbo’s aim had been erratic and

wildly off target. He fired again frantically. The soldiers were by now

virtually upon them. His second bullet proved successful, as did Neil’s, and

the two Viet Cong all but collided with them as they fell, each shot through

the chest. But Bobbo had paid a price for his inaccuracy. He lay on the

ground beside the enemy soldiers, also felled by a shot to the chest.

Neil halted momentarily, presuming his friend dead. The Viet Cong

certainly appeared to be. But then he saw that Bobbo was not dead. His

mate’s eyes were alive, fearful and bewildered, but signalling him

nonetheless. Go on, Bobbo was saying, go on. Neil knew there was no

alternative. Others of 12 Platoon were surging ahead through the chaos. He

had no way of carrying him to safety. There was no safety zone anyway.

‘Hang in there, mate,’ he said, ‘you’ll be right. They’ll come and get

you later.’

He left his friend and ploughed on through the mud and the rain and the

bullets. He didn’t believe for one moment they’d come and get Bobbo. How

could the wounded be evacuated from this bedlam? If anyone was to get

Bobbo it would be the Viet Cong. But Bobbo would probably be dead by

then. At least Neil hoped so.

By six o’clock, the Australian troops had successfully manoeuvred

themselves into an all-round defensive position, but it was now nearly two

hours since the battle had begun and still the enemy kept up its assault, their

numbers seemingly inexhaustible. They came in lines of twenty or more,

wave after wave of them, deathly black shapes hurtling out of the rubber

trees in relentless response to the awful call of their bugles. No sooner had

one line succumbed to the barrage of Australian artillery and gunfire than

another line rose up from behind the mangled bodies of the fallen like

spectres, indestructible and never-ending.

To the beleaguered men of D Company 6RAR the outcome appeared

inevitable. Indeed they would already have been wiped out had the two

RAAF Hueys not managed to deliver them their sorely needed ammunition.

Despite horrendous conditions, the aerial drop had been made miraculously

on target, the pilots led in by the red smoke from the flares that had been

released. D Company had had a new lease of life there for a while, but they

now knew to a man they couldn’t go on much longer.

Then at seven, as darkness descended and all seemed lost, the relief

force appeared from out of the gloom. 6RAR’s A Company arrived

mounted in the armoured personnel carriers of 1st APC Squadron and as

they thundered through the plantation the enemy forces melted away into

the gathering night. The Battle of Long Tan was finally over.

The facts were revealed during the days that followed. D Company,

6RAR, a force of one hundred and eight, had encountered a full regimental

strength of approximately two and a half thousand Viet Cong and North

Vietnamese Regular Army, engaging them in battle for close on three hours.

Eighteen Australians had been killed and twenty-four wounded. Enemy

casualties were far more difficult to ascertain. Two hundred and forty-five

bodies were found in the battle area, but it was estimated up to a further

three hundred and fifty dead had been collected during the night, together

with an unknown number buried along the evacuation route. The true

statistics would never be known.

The Battle of Long Tan proved a decisive victory for the Australians. It

also proved a major local setback for the Viet Cong, forestalling any

imminent action against Nui Dat and challenging their previous domination

of Phuoc Tuy Province.

‘You’ll be off home soon, mate, something to look forward to, eh?’

Neil visited Bobbo at the base hospital just before he was shipped back

to Australia. Bobbo hadn’t died after all. The bullet had hit him high in the

chest, smashing through his upper ribs and out his left shoulder blade: a

nasty wound, but resulting in no damage to vital organs.

‘Yeah, aren’t I the lucky one.’ Bobbo gave a wink that looked somehow

odd, somehow lacking his customary larrikin flair. ‘I’ll miss the girls

though.’

Neil pretended a bit of a laugh, knowing the act was sheer bravado.

‘Just as well you’re a better shot than me, mate.’ Keeping up the

pretence, Bobbo chatted away, trying to cover his twitchiness. ‘I wouldn’t

be here at all otherwise, and that’s a fact.’

‘Luck, Bobbo, that’s all.’

‘Balls. You’re the best marksman we’ve got. Bloody good bloke to have

on side when there are three of them coming at you . . . Geez, mate, if it

hadn’t been for you . . .’

Bobbo’s manner was suddenly urgent. He seemed to want to talk about

it, so Neil let him rave on, giving a nod from time to time. Bobbo had the

jitters: he could see that. Little wonder, he thought. The battle alone had

been enough, but Bobbo had gone through a whole other form of hell.

The Australians, after consolidating their position, had evacuated a

number of wounded during the night using the lights from their APCs to

guide in the helicopters. But some of those less fortunate who had fallen in

a peripheral area of battle had been forced to lie there throughout the whole

terrifying night while all about them the Viet Cong had crept, whispering as

they gathered their dead. Bobbo, like the others, had lain doggo.

‘I just did my best to look dead, mate, nothing else for it,’ he said,

unable to stop talking, the words coming out in bursts as images flashed

through his mind like a speeded-up film. ‘Geez, Neil, they collected the

three blokes we shot. I could hear them. I could see them even though my

eyes were closed. What do you reckon those bastards would have done to

me if they’d known I was alive?’ Another shaky grin. ‘I tell you mate, I’m

fucking lucky to be here.’

Bobbo was a different man. His nerves were shattered. Already Neil had

seen others like him, and there would no doubt be many more. A tiny

element in Neil wondered why he wasn’t that way himself. But he had

weathered the storm of battle, and he knew he would again. Perhaps he was

tougher than he’d thought.

 

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