Stan Mitty. Kevin Colbran
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keep them?” Bert laughed, “I use bigger splinters to pick my teeth.”
“Better believe it, caught me by surprise that one did,” Bob said solemnly.
“Okay back to work, will we carry on or meet the recce force?” Bert asked.
“Carry on, or our involvement becomes too evident,” Stan decided.
“That is how my orders read, so let’s away. We visit another two likely spots and then camp for the night,” Bert agreed, “Besides if we want more than bully beef, we also need to wet a couple of lines.”
“This ordeal gets worse and worse, how much more can a bloke stand?” Stan fake groaned.
After surveying the last two sites and finding them undisturbed, a camp was set by the several junior soldiers, while the seniors dealt with the tedious job of catching fish for tea. It wasn’t long that the intrepid fishermen returned with enough fish to feed the party, coincidently as long as it took to set the tents and dig the latrine. As the bivouac was semi-tactical with potential insurgents in the area, piquet duty was set and lights out at sunset. This caution was necessary as the three vehicles, and associated equipment would be a valuable plum to pick. Because they were supposed to be on a regular patrol, they couldn’t hide so selected an area with plenty of open approaches so that surveillance was easy from the camp.
Settling back after a scrumptious repast of fresh fish, Bert commented, “I had heard rumours of the boy's prowess with a knife, hell if it is up to his fork standard, you have my total respect. Where do you put it?”
“Travis is the champion eleventh man at the mess tent,” Bob declared solemnly.
Bert’s eyebrows went up, “Why eleventh?”
“The first or the last ten get to fling the grub and then have to wait until everyone else has theirs before they eat,” Bob clarified.
That got a chuckle as all cleaned up and stored the gear away. And the rest of the setup of the Bivvy was completed. After digging several gun pits with the Piquet manning the LMG, which commanded the approaches. The night proceeded quietly, and when the party ‘stood to’ pre-dawn, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred; only a few kangaroos were enjoying the open grassland. Not a disappointment according to Bert though.
After packing up and restoring the campsite to the pristine condition they found it, the patrol moved off, for another two days trek to the point where the next patrol would be met to compare notes. At the next routine ‘sitrep’ included was ‘Bag of fruit waiting at base’ which was welcome news, indicating that their company was entertaining a group of ‘errant fishermen’, and no doubt having fun trying to explain their presence.
At the rendezvous, the two patrols compared notes and yes there was reconnoitre activity indicated at several points on both circuits. With a return trip to the base, then a weekend off before rerunning the same course, this meant that each site of interest would be visited four times in every three weeks. By the time the patrol had returned to base, Bob and Stan had grown the required moustache and now looked like their African tour.
“What’s up?” Stan asked Col Roberts when they were alone.
“It seems rumours have you here in the Aussie Army, so how would you like to be in three places at once?”
“What’s planned?” Stan asked
“That WO2 Artificer Mitty marches into 171 Sqn Holsworthy according to the Army Gazette, the mining company delivers the Colonel Mitty Security Company with suitable fanfare in a business jet, and there is no reference to you at this address.”
“So who is coming with me?” Stan inquired.
“Warrant Officer Samuels, Captain Isaacs and a couple of the senior serjeants to make up an inspection team. The party then tours the mining camps, drilling rigs and ports to provide security risk assessment and advice to remedy shortfalls. As a side event to the extravaganza, the military risk evaluation and recommendations could also happen; then after roaring around the countryside annoying the crap out of all and sundry, the party then exits stage right to great fanfare.”
“Sounds fun, we fly to the East at night, camp up in safari rig to return bright and early the next day?” Stan paraphrased.
“Yes, after a couple of days to finish preparations. The mining consortium having some problems with petty theft and appraised of the Orange threat, so their security is keen to co-operate,” Roberts said, “That bag of fruit turned out to be lemons, actually boat people aiming to enter the mining area after jobs or if sprung claim asylum. They found a food cache which they were enjoying when nasty army guys surrounded them. About halfway through your little performance, they will be handed over to immigration as a package found wandering on the track.”
“Oh, any info on the how and why?” Stan asked.
“Perhaps a test of our patrols using them as cats-paws, there was more gear hidden a bit better; experts rendered the ammunition dud and the site restored to original condition with tell-tales,” Roberts supplied.
“Well that confirms the likelihood that is one of the prime landing areas,” Stan commented, “I will go and round up my crew and give them the good news.” Saluting as he left.
Finding Bob at the mess hall, Stan asked him to gather the designated party and meet back at Stan’s office. Stan was waiting when Bob ushered Travis, Jones and Wallace into the office. “Take a pew, how would you like to take part in a little pantomime?”
“I doubt that choice is involved, what’s the deal?” Bob asked having been in the services for a long enough time.
“Just a couple of flights, step off the plane to thunderous welcome then tour around the area swanning at Mining Company expense,” Stan explained.
“And the catch is?” Bob asked.
“We all come out of the closet. Then tell the world that Colonel Mitty is here to save the day for the benefit of Big business,” Stan delivered with a poker face, “Captain Isaacs will need to dust off her heels and stick on a wig. The rest of us in safari/flying suits suitable for a super security firm.”
“What’s the game? I have had to work hard for this role,” Travis demanded.
“It’s an elaborate smokescreen to place all of us somewhere else rather than part of a unit with a covert purpose,” Stan explained.
“Who’s this Isaacs never heard of her?” Jones asked.
“That would be me; I hope this doesn’t spoil all my hard work?” Wendy grumbled, “And no way will I be in heels for fieldwork.”
At this Jones and Wallace were flabbergasted, even disturbed Bob.
“What?” Wendy pulled a face, “Could you think of a better disguise among you Neanderthals?”
“This little information doesn’t leave this room. Meet Captain Wendy Isaacs a.k.a. Corporal Wendell Travis,” Stan introduced her, “The real purpose is to muddy the waters for this operation and puts us in the best position to see all of the facilities.” Stan explained, “If the idea of good food and soft beds are against your principles, we can carry ration packs and sleeping bags. I will even throw in some sand, twigs and ants.”
“Wouldn't want to put you to that much trouble,” Bob said then asked, “So when and where, etcetera?”
“Two days from now we fly over to Townsville on the night gravel truck. Later the next morning, we then go to the international terminal, climb aboard an executive jet and fly back to be welcomed by the Mining mob. Next to be loaded up in suitable non-military 4x4s and proceed on the circuit of facilities,” Stan described the programme, “Should take about a week then we deliver an assessment of their security and where they need to lift their game. A copy plus a real-time intelligence assessment handed to Colonel George under the counter. Colonel Mitty et al. then flies out to create havoc elsewhere around the world.”
“Then