The Smack Track

by Ian McPhedran

  Deciding what they can and cannot afford is a difficult balancing act. ‘In the twelve months leading up to the deployment we have a lot of arguments,’ he says. ‘They like to go for the highest quality, which is good, but with our budget we have to do the sanity check. We get audited on the compliance side of the paperwork. Anything with a financial value has to be correct, otherwise you are held accountable.’

  Benbow applies a simple test. ‘Okay, what is it actually required for? You don’t need to build a car from scratch so I don’t need to buy you the tools to build you a car from scratch. We’ll get you the tools and the amount of sets that you need.’

  This hard-line approach can lead to conflict. Despite his laid-back demeanour the bespectacled Benbow admits to going ‘nose to nose’ with some angry sailors who reacted badly to some of his purchasing decisions, but he sticks to his guns. ‘I’ve had some roaring matches with some but I can be as pigheaded as they can.’

  14

  Beating the blues

  With their two previous patrols yielding no drugs or weapons, the crew of HMAS Darwin are desperate for a change of luck in May 2016 as they set off to chase heroin smugglers coming down the smack track. The woes of these recent empty-handed patrols have been compounded by the ship’s early departure from Dar es Salaam.

  Military life is characterised by long periods of mind-numbing boredom broken by moments of sheer terror or adrenaline-pumping action. Maintaining high morale, especially during the quiet times, is vital to the success of any naval deployment and requires constant vigilance by commanders.

  In all other ports visited during their 2016 six-month deployment, Darwin’s crew were allowed to leave the ship, check into a nice hotel, enjoy a fresh meal and a hot shower and even have a cold beer or two. After two to four weeks at sea sharing ablutions with shipmates, sleeping in a ‘rack’ no bigger than a coffin and lining up and eating meals alongside dozens of other sailors, the simple act of donning civilian clothes or civvies and leaving for a night or two ashore really lifts the spirits.

  Adding to the frustrations is the sacking of two shipmates who had broken the strict rules on alcohol consumption while ashore in Dar es Salaam. Sending sailors home under a disciplinary cloud is not just disappointing. It also generates extra work for others until replacements arrive and it can severely disrupt plans for such things as leave. The offenders blew well above .05 after spending their shore leave propping up a bar. Under the strict and well-understood rules regarding alcohol, their deployments were cut short and they were sent home via the Australian Middle East headquarters.

  For centuries, many of those who go down to the sea in ships have had a tricky relationship with alcohol. Traditionally, seafarers are renowned as hard drinkers and brawlers; those in uniform are no different. While consumption and fist fighting have been toned down in recent years in line with community attitudes, asking 228 young Australian men and women who have been locked in a 138-metre-long tin can with their mates for weeks on end to confine their shore time to visiting shopping malls, art galleries, museums and tea rooms is unrealistic.

  Except during ‘warlike’ operations, when booze is banned altogether on RAN ships, alcohol is permitted on board at the discretion of the CO. When allowed, the strict limit is two cans – equal to three standard drinks – per person per day and a blood alcohol limit of .05 is enforced. The beer ration is strictly supervised by the Naval Police Coxswain.

  For those commencing duty the limit is .02. This restriction also applies onshore in ports such as Singapore on the way home when, for off-duty sailors, the .05 limit no longer applies. The reason for the on-duty limitation is simple – the ship may need to ‘crash sail’ at short notice and the crew must be ready and able to do their jobs.

  Random drug and alcohol tests are conducted throughout each deployment. Commander Phill Henry says the key is responsibility. All Australian Defence Force personnel deployed to the region are paid their salary tax-free for the duration, and on top of that they receive a tax-free ‘non-warlike’ deployment allowance of $83.75 a day. They are also well aware of the rules and the cultural sensitivities regarding alcohol in Muslim countries.

  ‘All of us knew those requirements before we sailed,’ says Henry. ‘The days of sailors going completely mad and being renowned for the amount of alcohol they drink are gone. Society’s expectations have changed. The expectation of the Australian public is that we are up here representing Australia so you can’t come up here and behave like you might do on a Friday night in Sydney.’

  Even when the ship has ‘out chopped’ from the operation and docks in a lively port such as Singapore on the way home, the crew are not just tourists. ‘You’re there representing Australia, the Australian Defence Force and the Royal Australian Navy so the expectations of behaviour are above that of a tourist. I think really the Australian public would expect us to behave appropriately, but yeah, they can go and have a few.’

  Before each port visit the ship runs a compulsory ‘visit liaison brief’ where the visit liaison officer outlines the highlights and risks associated with that particular port. As well as the best restaurants and dive spots, the briefing focuses on medical risks such as malaria, and the cultural, social and political sensitivities including dangers such as terrorism. They give reminders about the alcohol and drug restrictions, places to avoid and force-protection issues. In addition, the CO makes a general broadcast or ‘pipe’ to the ship’s company before the ship docks to remind everyone of their responsibilities.

  Making the recommendation to send the two sailors home is one of those unpleasant decisions that falls to the skipper. Henry admits it has been an emotional time for all on board.

  ‘I’ve known both of those gentlemen since I joined the ship and developed a close working relationship with them,’ he says. ‘Would I have wanted them to have stayed? Naturally, because they are very professional, but the rules are there and you can’t say, “Well, look you’re doing a great job so I’ll keep you.” The moment that I don’t return them to Australia or recommend to return them to Australia then I’m condoning their actions that were in clear breach of our regulations. Dealing with them was difficult – but there are so many other things also regarding welfare issues for crew when you’re deployed [that] I think over the years I’ve mentally prepared myself, but it never gets any easier.’

  The ship’s Chaplain, Richard Quadrio, sees a lot and hears plenty of home truths. Unlike in the army and air force, navy chaplains – or ‘sin bosuns’ in navy slang – do not hold a rank and therefore assume the rank of the person they are talking to. Unlike other officers, Chaplain Quadrio can also sit down and eat with the junior sailors in their café, and he does that most nights in Darwin. He also spends time dishing up meals to the sailors from the galley servery.

  ‘Every night I sit there and listen to them as we eat dinner … and they always know that they can say stuff to me that’s confidential,’ Quadrio says. ‘I don’t have to report them or what they say, but the gist of things I can pass on.’

  Phill Henry and XO Tina Brown also spend several shifts in the galley servery and scullery spooning out food, washing dishes and chatting with sailors to stay plugged in to what is going on.

  Quadrio might live in the wardroom but he regards his lack of rank as a blessing. He says army and RAAF chaplains, who hold particular ranks, can cop it from both ends because those above them can dismiss them and those below are too wary to speak up.

  ‘To put it bluntly, my career is not on the line. So if necessary I can say some things that are maybe not as popular,’ he says. ‘Command doesn’t want to hear that everything is fine. They want to hear the truth – because then they can manage it, they can alleviate it and they can work around it. Sometimes they agree, sometimes they don’t.’

  The former Presbyterian minister from Eastwood in Sydney joined the navy late in life after serving for twenty-five years in the ministry that included establishing a chaplaincy at the East
s Rugby Club. Married with three children, he and his wife, Wendy, a schoolteacher, decided that age fifty-two was not too old for such a dramatic career change.

  ‘I went off to the New Entry Officers’ Course for six months with a whole bunch of twenty-year-olds,’ he says. ‘That was a fascinating experience because I was the peer of a bunch of people my kids’ age! It was hard work but it was good and I passed, so I got through it.’

  His experience was forged during a two-year posting to the patrol boat fleet in Darwin, at the tail end of the high-tempo counter-people-smuggling Operation Resolute. That was the busiest period in history for the Armidale Class patrol boats, when 40,000 asylum seekers attempted the perilous sea journey from Asia to Australia.

  ‘It was very challenging for [the sailors] because they had to deal with psychological trauma dealing with death,’ he says. ‘But then they also had cultural challenges, moral challenges. They tried to get women and children on first – and the men would fight that and wanted to get on themselves. That is the sort of moral challenge they had to face.’

  Quadrio says the rate of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) among sailors from Operation Resolute is much higher than for operations in the Middle East. ‘There were periods when they were taking bodies out of the water and as they were taking them out limbs were falling off. I had a young fellow on board one of the patrol boats and he said to me, “You know, the one big problem I have after all this is I can’t go to the movies.” I said, “You can’t go to the movies, what’s that about?”

  ‘He said that on one of the patrol boats they had a couple of deceased people in bags that leaked and the smell went right through the ship – imagine how terrible that was – so to mask the smell they’d make popcorn and now he can’t go to the movies because the popcorn smell just overwhelms him and brings back all that memory.’

  Quadrio’s time in Darwin is mainly taken up with matters such as homesickness, relationship breakdowns, troubled children and other family issues.

  ‘The chaplain’s role is an unusual one and it’s an historical accident in some sense,’ he says. ‘But one of the important things is, I have absolutely no role anywhere in command – I’m never allowed to command anything. I do assist command but my primary job is to assist the sailors and officers.’

  Whether the problem is the standard of food, number of days at sea, lack of a proper shore leave or a drama at home, the skipper hears the gripes warts and all from Quadrio, who says that judging morale is an inexact science. He might talk to four sailors who tell him they are having the worst day ‘in the history of the ship’ while another four say they are having the best day.

  Commander Bill Waters, a four-tour veteran of the Middle East who skippered Melbourne during the ship’s deployment in 2015, says morale was a critical management issue during patrols that lasted up to thirty-eight days between port visits. Two important components were keeping lines of communication open between himself and his crew, and maintaining everyone’s physical fitness.

  Just like Australian soldiers in remote operating bases in Afghanistan, who spent hours pumping iron and consuming vast quantities of protein supplements to build their bodies and overcome boredom, navy sailors kill a lot of time honing their six packs or pounding the deck or the exercise bike. The ship’s gym is one of the busiest places on board. In fact, almost any spare deck space on a crowded warship is used for physical activities ranging from yoga to weights and circuit work.

  Sunday sea days are also critical to morale. On those days the crew can relax, play deck games, have a barbecue and even try their luck at fishing if speed can be reduced enough for a lure cast over the stern to stay in the water.

  During Melbourne’s seven-month deployment Waters was determined that everyone who was able to achieve their next qualification would do so. Training has played an important role in his life ever since the time he learnt to sail and race yachts. His father was in the Royal Navy, and the boy from Box Hill in Melbourne was destined to follow in the footsteps of his dad and his maternal ancestors who also served at sea.

  ‘My father was at one stage an amateur professional yachtsman and so I got a love of being at sea from him and I grew up in boats,’ he says.

  Waters competed in several Sydney to Hobart ocean races, and after joining the navy he was sent to the UK to represent the navy in yacht racing. That, however, was a one-off and the ADFA graduate and young seaman officer was soon at sea in a markedly different environment.

  After some initial resistance to his idea for improving crew qualifications, he says the momentum in Melbourne built a head of steam. People were soon training those below them and ‘learning upwards’ at the same time. ‘That meant there was a constant flow of training going on, which was very successful and that kept them focusing.’

  Another strategy was to challenge each of the 240 people on board to achieve a personal goal. ‘I really didn’t care what that was as long as it was legal, appropriate and ethical.’

  Personal fitness dominated, but some learnt a language or a musical instrument and others even undertook cooking classes. Fortunately, alcohol was not a major problem and just one sailor was sent home early for blowing over the limit.

  Chaplain Quadrio loves the fact that he doesn’t have a formal workspace on board the ship.

  ‘If I’m sitting at a computer and a chief walks past me and I say to him “How’s the new pup [baby]?” because I know they’ve got a pup [and] his son’s got some issues, the conversation turns out to be a forty-five-minute conversation about his concerns,’ he says.

  He is also amazed by the capacity of young sailors to spend money. Retail therapy during port visits is a huge spirit booster. One junior rating purchased a $3000 rug in Bahrain, while a leading seaman parted with $13,500 for a Rolex watch. During a charity auction on night eleven of Darwin’s fourth patrol in the southern Indian Ocean, $14,000 was raised from the sale of seventeen sporting items, including $3000 for a NSW Blues rugby league jersey. The atmosphere in the junior sailors’ café was electric as each bidder was urged on to greater heights with comments about everything from their favourite team’s honour to their manhood. Richard Quadrio simply shook his head and laughed along with his competitive shipmates.

  Phill Henry rates the incredible depth of support from home as a key ingredient of good morale – from RSL care packages to Jan-Maree Ball’s ‘Aussie Hero Quilts’ campaign, where teams of people make quilts for deployed defence personnel. Henry himself has a quilt on his rack featuring his beloved All Blacks rugby team, and there are some 110 quilts and hand-stitched laundry bags on board the ship. A dozen of the quilt-makers would later be on the wharf at Garden Island to welcome Darwin home.

  A helping hand for families left at home is also important, particularly when a parent with children has to juggle family life alone for seven months. ‘About two weeks out, you notice that the family starts to switch off to dad or mum,’ Henry says. ‘The walls go up around emotions and you try to avoid conflict – it is tough.’

  There is nothing worse than a sailor calling home, only to be told about a long list of problems that he or she is powerless to fix. The navy and the defence force have support networks in place, but such factors can still have a profound impact on navy personnel at sea.

  ‘We can’t do it without the friends and families and the people back home,’ Henry says.

  Social media is a double-edged sword at sea because it can generate operational security problems and feed personal anxieties. The ship runs a Facebook page that relays information and receives messages of support, which can be a big boost to the spirits.

  ‘When we did our weapons seizure early on, within the space of a couple of days there was a couple of thousand “likes” and “comments” about what we did and to be able to relay to the crew some of those messages of support from home is just fantastic,’ Henry says.

  But XO Tina Brown had an unpleasant social media experience after the ship’s departure from
Sydney. An image on Facebook of Brown with her husband Ken, two-year-old son Mason and Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull generated some nasty and unfair ‘trolling’ about her suitability as a mother.

  Comments on the Prime Minister’s Facebook page such as: ‘Where are your mothering instincts? That poor baby boy! Won’t her husband have fun! Why would you even have children if you knew you were going away in a job like this?’ were upsetting when she was asking herself some of the same questions.

  ‘It hit a little bit of a sore spot,’ she admits. ‘It was tough because every other experience I have had with the navy, I have never felt anything but pride from the public.’

  Everyone employs different methods to cope with the inevitable down times during a long stint at sea and for Tina Brown that can be a simple flick through family photos on her phone or laptop.

  ‘The best way for me to overcome it is not to ignore it and to acknowledge how I am feeling and to always think about the light at the end of the tunnel and dream of the reunion and the next posting that may be a bit less busy,’ she says. ‘I really do love my job, and you can justify being away from your family when you love your job and believe in it and the job is extremely busy and is a legitimate distraction. Men have been doing this for a very long time and miss their families as well.’

  Women in the navy do have different challenges, the most obvious one being children. Tina Brown finds herself mentoring younger officers and sailors on both a professional and personal level, and many of the personal conversations centre on children.

  ‘I have felt well supported every step of the way,’ she says. ‘There was no pressure and they [the navy] revisited me when I was ready. I wasn’t punished or put behind my classmates due to my maternity leave.’

  She does not feel any great pressure from being a female in what was traditionally a very male dominated job, but there are still some expectations. ‘There is always the expectation that as the senior female you have to be beyond reproach with everything whether it be your technical mastery of whatever job you are in, or even just behaviour and appearance. Had you asked someone in this position ten years ago they might have felt more pressure than I do.’