Off Reservation

by Bram Connolly

  Matt moved off towards the main living area with his signaller in tow. Acknowledging the Team One commander, Matt made his way towards the corner of the room where the hostages were being secured. In the confusion of the assault each one of the hostages had received a palm to the chest and a strong hand to the back of the head, forcing them to the floor. An assaulter doesn’t muck around. The roller ball starts and can’t be stopped, as they say. The hostages were now cuffed, sitting on the floor and sobbing.

  ‘I tell you what, they’re good actors, boss – the screams of the young girl when we made entry caught me out for a moment.’

  ‘Young girl?’

  Matt looked at the players on the floor: a middle-aged couple and a young girl, maybe no more than fourteen, dressed in pyjamas. She was rocking back and forth, and clearly in shock. He felt a wave of panic come over him.

  ‘Hey, you.’ Matt tapped the man on the shoulder. ‘Are you part of this exercise?’

  The man only sobbed in response.

  ‘Speak up,’ Matt ordered.

  The man drew a shaky breath. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you? What have we done? Please don’t kill us.’

  ‘Kill you? What are you talking about?’

  The man shook his head and let out another sob.

  ‘Oh crap, this can’t be happening,’ Matt groaned. ‘Get these cuffs off them and sit them on the lounge.’

  The Team One commander immediately complied.

  ‘Someone get the medic in here,’ Matt barked. ‘Where’s he at?’

  ‘Here, boss.’ The medic stepped into the room from his position in the hallway.

  ‘Make sure their not injured,’ said Matt.

  ‘Boss?’ asked Barnsley.

  ‘Not now, Barns,’ Matt replied. ‘Let me think this through, mate.’

  ‘Boss, it’s the CO. He wants to talk to you right now – immediately, he said.’ Barnsley passed Matt the handset to the platoon radio.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Matt, get your men out of that house and hand over to the police. They’re out the front. Take your men back to base. I’ll see you in my office as soon as you’re back, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Matt gave the handset back to Barnsley and turned his attention back to the distraught family sitting on the couch. The father was shaking and looking at the trembling hands that he was holding up in front of his face. Next to him, his daughter was as pale as a ghost. On the far side of the couch, the mother’s arms were wrapped around the crying girl. She looked up at Matt in terror, tears streaming down her own face.

  Matt put his hand up to his mouth. ‘Jesus Christ, what the fuck have I done?’

  4

  COMMANDO HEADQUARTERS, SYDNEY

  ‘The weapons are cleaned and back in the armoury, boss,’ said JJ as he entered the platoon office, his huge frame filling the doorway.

  From behind his desk, Matt looked up at the massive commando sergeant. Jack Jones had been a loyal friend. Even through Matt’s worst days in Afghanistan a few years previously, JJ had stood by his young platoon commander. Not just a great warrior, JJ had proven himself as a great administrator for the platoon, and even more pleasing to Matt was the fact that the men still feared and trusted him equally. Matt was happy to have such a great ally.

  Matt put down his pen and stood up. ‘Thanks, JJ.’ He picked up his A4 diary-notebook and walked over to place it back in the filing cabinet. He had been sure to make detailed notes about the situation, times, places and people involved. It was a habit that he had established in Afghanistan during that last deployment. Closing the drawer, he turned back to face JJ.

  ‘What are the lads doing now, mate?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ve knocked them off and told them to reappear at seven am. We’re gonna clean the platoon stores and make a start on the Polaris Raptors tomorrow. Then it’s the weekend!’ JJ clapped his hands together, did a little shimmy that looked ridiculous given his hulking size and smiled at Matt. He studied his commander for a moment and then lowered his voice. ‘What’s the matter, boss? You look like your face was on fire and someone tried to put it out with a hammer.’

  ‘Oh, come on, JJ – are you saying I’m ugly?’

  ‘Nah, you’re a good-looking rooster alright, but you look like you’re upset about something.’ JJ grinned.

  Matt shook his head. ‘Your jokes are ridiculous, you know that, right?’

  ‘Chicks dig ’em,’ said JJ.

  ‘Sure they do. Anyway, I’m fine. I’m going over to the officers’ mess to get out of these damp clothes and then I’ll go up and see the CO, take the arse-kicking that’s coming my way.’

  ‘It was an honest mistake, boss,’ JJ protested. ‘The rain was smashing down on us, the snipers were orientated on the wrong house, there was no safety there to intervene.’ JJ counted off the mitigating circumstances on his fingers.‘You’ll just have to give the family an apology and that will be that.’ He gave Matt two thumbs-up.

  ‘I wish I shared your optimism. Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes. Can you fill out the ammunition acquittal? I’ll sign it off tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Of course – it’s half done already.’

  Matt moved past JJ and walked down the hallway, looking at his watch as he went. It was 0145 hours. Matt knew the commanding officer would be in his office until the company commander called to tell him all the weapons were in and the administration was done for the night. That would be at least another hour because the clearance divers were only just coming through the main gate now.

  Matt walked out of the building into the falling rain. It pitterpattered on the corrugated-iron roof of the all-weather breezeway that linked the commando base and the officers’ mess. His GSG 9 Adidas combat boots squelched in the dampness from so many days of rain. He entered the steel security turnstile only accessible with his ID swipe card and then walked down the hill and into the back of the old accommodation building. The red-brick building was constructed in the 1960s and had been the officers’ mess for many units over the years. Now it was home to the officers in charge of the 2nd Commando Regiment, the most potent force in Australia’s ground assault arsenal. Back in Afghanistan, the commandos were well known to other special forces units as the highly-trained guys who would go out for months on end, rock up to any firefight, violently win and then disappear back off into the dark desert, but it was always the Special Air Service Regiment who got public credit if the media got wind of any successes. It was as if the 2nd commandos were hidden in plain sight.

  From the hallway, Matt could hear laughter coming from the adjoining building. He turned the corner and pushed open the saloon doors that led into the dining room. Some officers from another commando company and a few of the various support company officers were still there drinking for Australia, after a formal dining-in function earlier in the evening.

  ‘Hey, there he is – it’s quick draw Matt-Graw,’ said Dennis Shelby, one of the support company majors. ‘Get over here, Rix. We’re doing a validation against the deer’s head.’ With that he let two bottles of Corona fly in quick succession, both missing their mark by inches and smashing into the wall.

  Matt looked at the majestic deer’s head hanging over the huge brick fireplace and the pile of broken beer bottles on the floor. So far the deer’s head had escaped a soaking but the commando officers were finding their range. The game involved donning a gas mask and standing on a painted X in the middle of the dining room with one’s back to the deer. On the command ‘Up!’, you had to do a close-quarter battle turn and launch the bottle at the deer’s nose, then immediately pick up a second bottle from the floor and send it flying. This was known as the double tap.

  ‘Looks like the deer has had enough for one night,’ Matt observed.

  ‘C’mon, buddy, have some fun,’ said one of the other officers as he thrust a gin and tonic into Matt’s hand.

  Matt looked down at the drink. Fuck it, I could use a drink afte
r tonight, he thought. He slammed it down in one gulp to the cheers of the other commando officers. Another drink was put in his hand and he slammed it down just as fast, raising the glass above his head as a sign of victory.

  The noise of the crowd threatened to wake the dead; they shouted their approval at the return of a popular member of their unit.

  Standing there in his soaked MultiCams, surrounded by twenty or so drunken commando officers all dressed in red-and-white summer ceremonial dress uniforms adorned with medals, Matt smiled. He had served with some of these men on the most violent operations Australian troops had ever been involved in, and he had completed selection with some of the others years before. They were a brotherhood, the bond between them forged in combat and adversity, and they loved each other like brothers too.

  ‘Hey, Matt, what’s this about you totalling some civvies’ house tonight?’

  The question came from the back of the crowd and it brought Matt crashing back to earth in an instant. He placed his thumbs over his eyelids and pushed in on them as he squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘Oh shit – the CO,’ he muttered, then strode off to his room to get a clean uniform on.

  The crowd behind him roared with laughter and then came the call to play carrier landings – nothing good was going to come from that.

  Fifteen minutes later Matt was in a clean disruptive pattern camouflage uniform. Walking purposefully under the breezeway, he headed towards the headquarters. The security lighting softly lit the concrete path in contrast to the darkness between the buildings. The rain was still tapping gently against the iron roof overhead; it was eerily quiet save for the noise from the rain.

  What a crappy summer, he thought.

  At the end of the covered walkway was a patch of grass overlooked by flagpoles and the commando memorial. During the day, both the Australian and the unit flags flew, but at this time of night the flagpoles were empty. The memorial – a low marble wall inscribed with the names of the fallen – was illuminated by four spotlights. Lest we forget, Matt thought. Those names were etched in the surface of the marble for all eternity; he knew he would never forget the names of those who had died under his command.

  Matt pushed open the doors to the headquarters and entered the foyer. He paused to gaze at the cabinets that ran along the side wall to the stairs leading to the CO’s office. There were photos of some of the fallen, along with memorabilia from Timor, Iraq and Afghanistan and all manner of trophies. The champion platoon trophy was the largest and stood proudly in the centre of a middle shelf. Matt’s platoon had won it the year after they arrived back from Afghanistan. Competing against all the platoons in the regiment, over twelve days they had to conduct the same mission – a night parachute jump into the ocean from a C-130 aircraft with their boats bundled onto pallets, a transit under the cover of darkness up the coast to Palm Beach, followed by a twelve-hour sea transit in the inflatable boats back to the wharf near the Commando Base on Georges River. Matt looked at the trophy and read his own name back to himself.

  He heard a voice calling from above, ‘Is that you, Matt? Come on up here.’ It was the CO, Mark Hoff. He must have heard Matt arrive.

  ‘Coming, sir.’ Matt hurried upstairs to the CO’s office.

  As he entered, he noticed that the chair in front of the CO’s desk had been moved over to the wall. The only option was to stand. The CO was seated behind his huge oak desk, everything on it orderly and in its place. Even the notes on the whiteboard on the wall above his computer must have been made with the aid of a ruler; all the dates and times and events were arranged in perfectly straight lines. Hoff himself sat bolt upright in his impeccably pressed uniform, his hair parted to one side like a school rugby captain. He eyed Matt for a moment. Matt caught his own reflection in the window. By contrast his uniform was wrinkled and slightly damp and his hair was uncombed. I needn’t have bothered changing, he thought wryly.

  The clock on the wall showed that it was only minutes from three am, so Matt was surprised when the phone rang.

  Hoff answered. ‘Yes, hello?’

  He paused as someone on the other end of the line spoke. Matt recognised the voice of his own company commander outlining the status of the tactical assault group, ready for their next call-out.

  ‘Thanks, Mike, no worries. Your guys did a great job this evening, all things considered.’ Hoff narrowed his eyes as he looked across at Matt. ‘Yes, he’s here with me now. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow. Come and see me after lunch, mate. It’s been a long night.’

  The CO hung up the phone and spent a moment looking at the table in front of him. Finally, he said, ‘I don’t want to get into the details, Matt, but you stuffed up.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I made a mistake and it won’t happen again.’

  ‘No. No, it won’t, Matt.’ The CO stood up from behind his desk. At six foot one Matt wasn’t a small man, but he still found himself looking up at the CO, who was a good inch taller. Matt felt the gravity of the situation then.

  ‘You’re a brilliant young officer, Matt. From topping your officer courses to your Distinguished Service Medal for leadership in combat, you have excelled in everything the regiment has thrown at you.’

  The CO stopped for a moment and turned his attention to the rain still steadily tapping at the window.

  ‘Christ, Matt, you’re an inspiration to your men. We did the mountain warfare course together and I saw how they responded to your leadership style. And no one works harder at their fitness or combat skills than you…’ The CO trailed off, his gaze still fixed on the flagpoles.

  Matt spirits sank. ‘Sir, it wasn’t all my fault,’ he countered. ‘I mean, the rain…’ He struggled for a more convincing defence. What was it JJ had said? ‘The snipers indicated it was the target, sir. It was an honest mistake.’

  The CO stood ramrod-straight. ‘Stop, Matt, just stop. We are the national capability of last resort. We’re not in the business of making mistakes, not like that. You’ve let yourself, your platoon and your regiment down this evening. Do you have any idea of the fallout that will result from this? The lengths we will have to go to in order to keep that family from going to 60 Minutes or A Current Affair? For God’s sake, your men blew up their doorways and handcuffed their fourteen-year-old daughter!’

  ‘I understand, sir. Perhaps I can reach out to them, apologise?’

  The CO gently banged his fist on the table. ‘Rix, I’m sorry, mate, but I have to relieve you from command.’

  ‘What?’ Matt took an involuntary step back. ‘Surely you’re joking? For this? No way! C’mon, boss. That’s bullshit and you know it. Whatever happened to “You can make any mistake in training – just not in war”.’

  The CO shook his head. ‘Despite being one of the best commando officers to have ever walked through these halls, Matt, this is your problem: you can’t take anything on the chin. Your first instinct is always to fight, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, with all due respect, it’s got me this far and you didn’t seem to mind that when I was leading a platoon in Afghanistan.’

  The CO’s expression softened. ‘I’m sorry, Matt,’ he said again. ‘The decision’s made. You are to report in six weeks to the International Engagement cell in Canberra. You’re being posted there as the ammunition consignment officer and you’ll stay there until your promotion at the end of the year. Your promotion will go ahead as scheduled if you let things just blow over, you know, keep a low profile.’

  ‘Sir, please – you can’t do this to me. Canberra? International Engagement? I mean – I’m a warrior. This will kill me. Jesus.’

  The CO’s demeanour softened further and he took a step around the desk to stand in front of Matt.

  ‘This came direct from the top, from SOCAUST, the Special Operations Commander of Australia himself, Matt. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. Go to Canberra, get yourself set up there. Who knows? You might find the cafe culture a nice change of pace. Let’s put all this down to you being str
essed and burned out from being continually deployed or on counter terrorism duties. Maybe after a year you’ll be competitive for one of the reserve commando companies.’

  That felt like a low blow to Matt. He hadn’t won a DSM and topped his promotion courses for major only to be relegated to the reserve unit. Matt couldn’t believe what was happening. Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been considered one of the highest-performing captains in the Royal Australian Regiment, and now this: the possibility that he might be competitive for a reserve company – not even a full-time company. Matt was cut to the bone. He felt something die inside him.

  The CO extended his hand and Matt shook it, and just like that his career was over, done.

  ‘Go get some rest, Matt. I’ll have the guys pack up your room. We’ll forward your belongings to your new address in Canberra once you’re set up there.’

  Hoff moved back to his chair and focused on his computer screen; his own reporting duties up the chain of command couldn’t wait any longer. He looked up briefly to say, ‘Spend the six weeks off relaxing, Matt, and head off to your new job with a clear head.’

  Matt turned to leave. He heard the sound of typing begin the moment he stepped through the doorway. No doubt the CO was sending SOCAUST a confirmation that the troublesome Captain Rix was no more.

  The rain was heavy as Matt stepped out of the headquarters and into the early morning. The sound of the water hitting the iron roof of the walkway blocked out all other sounds and made it hard for him to think. Matt felt numb. From being in command of the top assault team in the country, he was to become a logistician. For all the command cared, he’d become fat, dumb and lazy in Canberra.

  Fuck the army…

  5

  LONDON

  Rachel Phillips came out of Green Park station and turned into the grey winter’s day. The already bustling morning crowd was flowing along the footpath. She pulled up the collar of her Burberry mac, shielding herself from the cold, and then tightened the Gucci scarf around her neck. A London winter might be unforgiving, but she knew the tricks to survive, as anyone who lived there did. She just survived a little more fashionably than most.