by Neryl Joyce
I’d escape the rigid training institution and return home to my son. I didn’t want Kane to forget who I was. Each night I bathed him, fed him and put him to sleep. As I lay with him to settle him down, I’d often fall asleep from exhaustion, not waking until my alarm went off at four in the morning.
I wanted to spend every spare minute I had with my family, and homework always came last. My alarm was set so I could work on my assignments before Kane woke up. At four in the morning it is hard to focus on the weapon characteristics of an Abrams tank as compared to those of a Leopard tank. No wonder I was struggling through tactics lessons.
Eighteen months later I graduated from the college. My parents had moved back to Newcastle, New South Wales, so they were now living close enough to come to my March Out parade. In July 2001, my father looked on proudly as I received my commissioned rank of lieutenant at our graduation ceremony. To top things off, I was placed ninth on the Queen’s Medal ranking for my performance during the whole course. Not bad for a mum, eh?
My relationship with Bruce had been put under considerable strain during my time at RMC, but at last things would go back to normal. After a lot of discussion, we thought it best that I join the medical corps as an administration officer up in Brisbane. It would be a job that allowed for a more stable family life.
In August I attended medical and logistical training in Wagga Wagga, while Bruce organised our move to Brisbane. The plan was that his mum would accompany him on the long drive north, and then I would fly up to meet up him once my course had finished. We’d bought a second-hand SS Commodore just before I left for training, and Bruce was eager to give it a good run. We had been allocated an army house in Brisbane to live in, but couldn’t move in straightaway because we had to wait for our furniture to arrive from Canberra. Hotel accommodation was arranged for us to stay in until it arrived.
I couldn’t get off the plane at Brisbane fast enough, expecting to see their happy faces at the gate. But Kane’s cheery face was all I got. I hugged and kissed him and held him in my arms. He was two and a half years old by now and fantastically adorable. I went to hug and kiss Bruce too, but he was standoffish – distant and quiet. His mother wasn’t with him; apparently she was off visiting a friend for the night. I knew something was up. On the drive home, the only conversation I had was with Kane.
I’d been away on the course for just over a month, and during that time Father’s Day had come and gone. When we had settled into the hotel room, I gave Bruce the gifts I’d purchased, including a card from Kane and me. He quietly opened the presents, before putting them aside. Kane moved off into his bedroom to play with his toys, and that’s when Bruce finally opened up: “I’m leaving. I don’t love you anymore.” I sat in shocked silence.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We had bought a family car the month before. We had looked forward to a better future together. What the hell was going on? “I know things were tough while I was studying, but things are going to be better now. I’ll have normal working hours now. I’ll be Kane’s main carer now. We can focus on us now. We are supposed to be getting married,” I said. But Bruce just sat there, stony-faced. I kept asking him, “Why? Why are you going?”
All he would say was that he didn’t love me anymore. And that fucking hurt. He was being completely honest with me, but that was no consolation. I wanted to know why he no longer loved me. What had I done wrong? I argued that we should work on our problems first before just giving up – we should try for Kane’s sake, if nothing else. But Bruce would only say, “I can’t make myself love you, if I don’t feel that way.”
I knew we had grown apart. Our sex life had changed dramatically during my training, and my long hours and weeks away from home did us no favours either. I thought Bruce understood, though: he was a soldier too. Surely he recognised the needs of the army. During my eighteen months at RMC, I had focused most of my attention on Kane. He was a baby. He needed his mother. I thought Bruce could handle it, but I was wrong. I guess he needed me too.
Bruce had decided he needed to go his own way. He was happy with his decision. It was a big relief for him to finally come out and say it. But I was devastated – completely and utterly devastated. We were going to get married. We were going to make a new life together. It was all disappearing before my eyes. And, to top things off, I had to march into my new unit the very next morning.
I awoke the following day with a splitting headache. I didn’t want to face the world. My life was in tatters. Bruce, the man I thought I would grow old with, had dumped me. I was suddenly a single parent in a new town, and I didn’t know how I was going to handle it. Our furniture was due to arrive in a few days’ time, but now only Kane and I would be moving into the house. Bruce made arrangements to live in the soldier accommodation on base and sorted out Kane’s enrolment in day care. Everything was organised and planned from his perspective, but emotionally, I was a wreck.
And now I had to report for duty. I had to put on a mask and pretend that everything was okay. Even before Bruce dropped the bombshell, I had been nervous about my first day as a lieutenant. I’d been a soldier for eight years. Officers were smart. Officers were leaders. Officers always knew what to do. Now I was one of them.
I dropped Kane off at day care, reported for duty, did my job, and then came home. That became my life: work, look after Kane, work, sleep. Shortly after Bruce walked out of my life, I realised I didn’t want to be in medical corps. We had discussed my going back into the MP when I was at RMC, but dismissed it, as it hadn’t fitted in with our ‘family plans’. Everything had changed now. I wanted to be in the MP again. I applied for a corps transfer, knowing that it could take years to be processed.
For the next year and a half, I struggled along. Bruce was hardly ever in Brisbane as he was either deployed on operations or attending courses. He’d see Kane on the occasional weekend and talk to him on the phone, but, for the most part, it was just my son and me. I had no life outside of Kane. I wasn’t interested in going out and meeting anyone new. I wanted to concentrate on my son and make things the best I could for him. I always stayed upbeat around him. My pain was my own – just because I was hurting, didn’t mean that he should have to hurt too.
IN JANUARY 2003, my transfer was finally accepted, and I started work as the platoon commander of the Brisbane-based MP platoon. I would be responsible for thirty soldiers. In medical corps, I had mostly dealt with administration, logistical and training issues. Now it’d be up to me to command my soldiers, plan security missions, complete policing tasks, and oversee soldier welfare and training. It was scary, but I was definitely up for the challenge.
Major Murray Heron, who had been my platoon commander back in my early days in the corps, was now my company commander. He was a good leader, and someone who I had the utmost respect for. Major Heron was the kind of boss who’d give you a task, tell you what the parameters were, let you formulate your plan, and, if needed, ask you to justify a particular course of action. He’d draw you into line if it was required, and provide guidance and support to bring out your best. There was no one else I would have rather worked under.
The training warrant officer at the unit was none other than Leo Legend, my instructor from my MP basic course. Leo had always inspired me to work to a standard I’d thought to be unreachable. His style of leadership was motivating, confident and fair.
I was also lucky that my platoon sergeant major (or second-in-command) was Craig, another instructor from my course. Craig was the strong, silent type who provided me with oodles of solid advice from his many years with the MP. He was my counsellor and my sounding board. Being a leader can be a lonely job because you are required to make decisions that may not be popular. If you find yourself being too familiar with staff, it can sometimes affect the outcome of important decisions. A certain amount of aloofness is required, so that your decisions are unbiased and are made responsibly. This is an important aspect of leadership as it prevents strong personaliti
es or ‘boys clubs’ from influencing people in power. It creates equity in the workplace and allows the leader to make the right decision without being swayed by their ‘friends’. I never realised just how important this was, until I saw it flagrantly ignored years later. So Craig was a very important person to me. It was vital to have a second-in-command who I could trust implicitly, to discuss work, staffing and personal issues with.
One of the sergeants under my command, Clappy, was a guy who I had served alongside when I was a soldier. In fact, he had been in charge of me back then. I was now his boss. Things were not as awkward as they might have been. I’d assign him tasks, and it would be up to him how to do them. If he did them well, I told him so. If he stuffed up (which he never did, just for the record), he’d get extra training. It was how things worked with everyone in my platoon.
I don’t know if I was a good leader or not, but I will say this: I ran my platoon as best I could. When I assigned my soldiers a task, I expected them to complete the job competently. If I had to plan a mission, I’d take my own knowledge on the matter and combine it with advice from my sergeants. If soldiers or platoon sergeants were crap at their jobs, I counselled them and took steps to remedy the problem. With my platoon, I knew I had complete loyalty, and that was what counted the most. In return, they had my unwavering loyalty too.
While in the unit, I was given the opportunity to try out for the elite MP close personal protection (CPP) course. Only one or two officers were permitted to attend the course at a time, as most of the positions were given to the corporals. Selection to attend the course was only the first hurdle I had to jump over. I then had to pass the ‘barrier test’ before I could even start the course. The barrier test was designed to weed out candidates who aren’t physically ready for the demands of the course. The barrier test included push-ups, sit-ups, a timed 2.4-kilometre run followed by a ‘beep test’ (a shuttle run), a swim test and a weapons shoot. The pass standard was bloody high, and well above normal military fitness requirements. Now, if you can recall my previous stories about not being a fast runner and a natural athlete, then you can probably appreciate the considerable amount of effort I put into passing that test.
The training paid off. I kicked arse on the barrier test and went on to complete the course, which was even more gruelling. It involved five weeks of intensive training, and every minute of it was thrilling. I loved conducting reconnaissance missions late into the night. I loved practising our ‘walking drills’ on the busy streets of Sydney. My lower back and knee were pretty well stuffed for most of the course thanks to over-training, but when enemy fire started raining down on us during battle simulations, the adrenaline kicked in and any thoughts of pain went out the window. I ducked, weaved and returned fire with the rest of the team. It was the best course I’d ever done: it was physically demanding, mentally draining, but a hell of a lot of fun! I was ecstatic when I learnt I had passed the course. I had worked hard and was extremely proud to be the first female officer qualified to command CPP teams on military operations.
As a female leader in the army, I found that I had to be above average in all areas of the job in order to be thought of as equal to my male counterparts. The army was filled with fit, strong, testosterone-fuelled men, and I needed to be ‘special’ in order to be accepted into their realm. All women did. It wasn’t a rule or obligation; it was just something that you did to gain credibility as a leader, in a male-dominated workplace. Completing the CPP course bolstered my reputation as a female leader, and I hoped it would propel my career within the MP.
My career might have been red-hot, but I still had no personal life to speak of. When Bruce first told me there was someone new in his life, I was hurt. He wanted to introduce me to his new wife, Pamela, but even the thought of it was too much. It didn’t help that she was a stunning blonde with a top executive job – she was basically everything I wasn’t. I didn’t want to meet her. I didn’t want to sit down and have a cup of coffee with her, and I certainly didn’t want to imagine her anywhere near my son. Bruce didn’t respond well either, and things turned bitter on both sides. I wasn’t sure why I was still so upset about breaking up with Bruce after almost two years of being apart. I didn’t love him anymore and I wasn’t pining after him. I just wasn’t healing.
As my relationship with Bruce continued to deteriorate, work went off the rails. My soldiers and sergeants were being deployed on operations, and I found myself left with an understaffed platoon for most of the year. At one stage there was only me and fifteen soldiers – half the size the platoon should have been – which meant a big increase in my work, as I had no sergeants to share the load.
At first I relished all these challenges, but after twelve high-tempo months it just got plain hard. Even the Christmas period did nothing to help my exhaustion. By the time I returned to work, I was well and truly burnt out.
I started 2004 feeling despondent and unmotivated. I loved my job, but I was tired. Being a single mum was tough. All too often I found myself driving Kane to my mum’s house at the weekend (a twenty-hour round trip), so I could attend mandatory army field exercises. I’d then have to repeat that trip the following weekend to pick him up. I loved the training exercises, but the travel was tough on Kane; it was also tough on me.
I had got so much from being a soldier and an officer. Joining up all those years ago was the best decision I ever made, but things had changed. At work, I wanted to invest all my time and effort in my job. I wanted to plan missions, attend exercises and be the best leader I could. When I was at home, I wanted to immerse myself in Kane’s life. I wanted to bake cupcakes, attend playgroups and socialise with other mothers. As things stood, I wasn’t doing either to my satisfaction: my mind was always in two places.
I also had a deep sense that I wanted something more out of life. I wanted an adventure. I had spent the past three years just reacting to whatever situation came my way, and it was starting to wear on me. What sort of example was I setting for my son? I needed to show him the benefits of being bold, of making your own opportunities rather than just waiting for them to be handed to you.
So I began to think about other options. I’d heard about the emerging security contractor scene in Iraq. What was the good of having all these skills if I couldn’t put them to use? My whole adult life I’d trained to work in a war zone, and yet I couldn’t do so as a female officer. But, in the security sector, the possibilities were limitless. It was far from an easy decision. I wrestled with how it would affect my son, and ruminated torturously on the ‘what if’ scenarios. How would Kane cope without me for six months – the length of the typical contract? What if something happened to me while I was over there? These were difficult, soul-searching questions. I thought of the fathers I knew who took up these sorts of contracts all the time without a second thought. After lengthy discussions with Bruce, in which he suggested that Kane could stay with him while I was away working, it looked as though it might be feasible. I still agonised over leaving my son but, in the end, I decided it was better to show Kane that it paid to take life by the balls. Apprehensively, I resigned from the army.
I made some enquiries and, before I knew it, I had a job lined up as part of a private security detail (PSD). Kane would live with his dad for the six months I’d be away, and when I returned on leave (I would have a month’s holidays halfway through the contract), I would be a stay-at-home mum. This was a life-changing decision, and making it felt electric.
On a beautiful summer’s day in early November 2004, Kane and I travelled to Canberra, where Bruce and Pamela were living. My connecting flight out of the country was due to leave that evening.
Kane and I hung out together all day, doing whatever he wanted. We went to the movies, mucked around at KidCity – a huge indoor play centre – and ate ice-cream until our stomachs hurt. I’d see Kane with this huge smile on his face, and I had to fight to keep myself together. Kane was everything to me. God knows it broke my heart to leave him, but
I knew how much Bruce was looking forward to spending this time with his son. I was certain Kane would get a lot out of this time with his dad too.
At the end of the day, I dropped off Kane at his father’s place. I hugged him long and hard, promising that I would write to him and ring as often as I could. I passed Kane over to Bruce, knowing he would be well taken care of. Fighting back the tears, I told my son how much I loved him and that I’d be home again before he knew it. It was more than I could bear. After a last hug I turned and left.
I numbly drove back to the airport hotel, where I had a long, hot shower. It was there that I let it all out. I broke down and wept for my son. Eventually, I stepped out of the shower feeling drained but somewhat at peace. I had made my decision, and I was not going to change my mind. Despite the sadness of leaving my little boy, I felt a tingle as I dried myself with the fluffy white towel. I was excited to find out what was waiting for me outside Baghdad airport.
I changed into my cargo pants and thick, black army boots. There’d be no more pretty-girl clothes for me. I grabbed my belongings and had one more look around my room. There was no turning back now. I shut the door behind me and left for the airport.
AFTER THREE DAYS in transit, and more connections and palm greasing than I care to mention, I was in a plane above Baghdad. It was clear things were done differently here. There was no gentle descent towards the runway followed by a smooth landing. Thanks to the ever-present threat of surface-to-air missiles, the pilot had to fly in tight circles, staying in the ‘safe’ airspace, gradually getting lower and lower to the ground. Then the aircraft seemed to just drop onto the tarmac with a thud. It was a unique experience, but one that left me a little nauseated.
After we’d clunked onto the ground, there was a mad rush to get off the plane. The etiquette didn’t seem to include waiting for the person in front to get off first. So I followed suit, pushing my way into the aisle and off the plane. My fellow passengers and I travelled in a decrepit-looking bus across the tarmac to the passport office.