Like all of the men from my old troop, I was gutted by news of his illness, as well as being quietly concerned that my mind, too, could start to tune out, any day now.
I visited Matt in July 2014. He had trouble walking and speaking clearly. His partner told me that his condition is deteriorating quickly and she notices weekly changes. It appears that the bomb blast I survived in Iraq will kill a soldier, but many years later than anyone expected.
I finished writing this memoir only a few months before the tenth anniversary of the IED attack in Baghdad and about eighteen months after leaving the army. The Governor-General has invited my patrol to morning tea at Admiralty House, Kirribilli, for the anniversary, and we’re planning to have a few beers afterwards.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A few individuals are cast in a bad light in this book. I acknowledge it is easy for me to sit in my quiet back room and criticise actions or attitudes. Most I have not named because, really, I don’t have a personal gripe with you; rather, I deplore the circumstances and the system that allowed you to do, and get away with, what you did. If any of you feel that I have incorrectly portrayed you or your actions, I strongly encourage you to contact me to discuss this, or – better still – write something that tells your side of the story. The more we tell our stories, the more the public will understand the tensions, inherent contradictions and realities of life for Australians in modern war zones.
Those I have named are high-profile figures; trying to conceal their identities would have been futile and would have undermined the points I was trying to make.
To borrow the words of the wise sergeant mentioned in Part 2, Trent Morris: ‘Everyone makes mistakes. I make them every day.’
I really do make mistakes every day. And, regretfully, I have also had to deal with other people’s mistakes; to omit them from my account would have detracted from its truthfulness. While some of my opinions may have softened over the last few years, writing a book with deliberate omissions designed to protect the feelings of a handful of people was something I could never do.
Now, to switch tack – there are many people I must thank. First, thank you to everyone who played a part in saving my life in 2004: the members of SECDET V, particularly the cavalry troop and attachments, who protected their injured troop leader and got him to hospital; the medical staff at the CSH and Landstuhl; and all those who played a part in my evacuation back to Australia. Once back in Sydney, I was lucky enough to be operated on by Dr Antonio Fernandes and his team, whose talent and skills produced a great result despite a shabby canvas on which to paint.
Thank you to my father, who, armed only with a sharp mind and a credit card, challenged the diplomats and Defence hierarchy to ensure that I made it back to Australia when they were found to be lacking a plan.
And, of course, thank you to my exceptional wife, Crystal – my nurse, my best friend and a young woman who, like so many other Defence partners, has been forced to live with an absentee partner during prolonged deployments. Crystal, thank you for everything you have put up with. From now on the only adventures I will have, we’ll have together. Love you.
Additionally, thank you to our gracious host for the tenth anniversary of the IED strike, General Sir Peter Cosgrove, the Governor-General. Also, warm thanks to both the Victorian and Tasmanian RSLs for providing financial support for those attending the event.
It would be remiss of me not to mention those who have played important parts in the writing of this book.
To Gillian Delbridge, my mother, whom I forced, time and time again, to live through the stories of her son in a war zone, as she helped review and edit my manuscript: thanks, Mum – you have been my safety blanket and secret weapon throughout. And to my wonderful sisters, Nathalie, Elspeth and Marlee, who have each, in their own way, played a part in these stories.
And, of course, thank you to my amazing daughters, Eva, Zoe and Amelia. What some term the ‘armoured corps curse’ – having only daughters due to working with high-powered radios inside large steel boxes on wheels – I don’t see as any curse at all. To Amelia – little lady, you were born well after I wrote the journal that is the basis for this memoir, and I am so glad I haven’t missed any of your life to date.
James Brown, my friend and the author of Anzac’s Long Shadow, has not only been the catalyst for getting this book published, but has also been a tremendous support through the publication process. He also introduced me to Chris Feik and his team at Black Inc., who have been pivotal in helping turn my ramblings into something worth reading, and getting it to print.
Jim Culloden, a talented photographer and all-round good bloke, must be thanked for allowing the use of some of his images, particularly that shot of the goat.
I have been humbled by the involvement of Major Generals Jim Molan and John Cantwell. Both have challenged my thinking and at times, quite rightly, put a snotty-nosed major in his place. Thank you, gentlemen, for your candour and support.
Defence has been very gracious in reviewing my manuscript and providing some leniency in allowing me to tell the stories as completely as I wished.
To my extended family, the men and women of the 2nd Cavalry Regiment, 2nd/14th Light Horse, SECDETs V and IX, and my Weapons Intelligence Team, it has been an honour and a privilege working with all of you over the years.
Kyle Tyrrell, the Boss, Officer Commanding SECDET IX, must receive a particular acknowledgement. His inspirational leadership, selfless service and personal sacrifice – and the systemic failure to support him – is a story all Australian military commanders must learn from. It does not get said enough – on behalf of the men and women of SECDET IX, thank you, Boss.
To Beau St Leone – in my eyes the quintessential modern Australian soldier – thank you for letting me use your personal story and tell of your classic Australian larrikin personality. I truly hope that the Army gets over its current agenda to be an institution for Australian social reform and instead understands that you cannot send a man to a war zone, to survive and thrive amid violence and death, and then expect him to return home and be ‘normal’. When this change finally comes around, I hope to see Beau in the running for Regimental Sergeant Major of the Army.
Matthew and Terese Millhouse, the two bravest people I know, thank you. Australia needs to thank you. None of us can really fathom what you are going through or will go through. I hope telling your story draws a little more public attention to your battle.
Lastly, to the soldiers who didn’t make it and therefore cannot read, or critique, what I have written – Jake Kovco, Jamie Bodley and Benny Ranaudo, to name only a few – I hope I have done your stories credit. And to their families – I hope I have shown your young men in an appropriate light.
Garth Callender
April 2015
After the Blast Page 18