Stan Mitty. Kevin Colbran
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etcetera turned up here the next day,” Stan finished with, “Any problems?”
“Apart from my secret being out, no dramas,” Wendy commented. Everyone else nodded.
“All settled, Caribou inter depot departs 1700 hours Wednesday. See you then,” Stan announced.
The men left leaving Wendy with Stan, “Just whose bright idea is this one?” Wendy accused.
“Not me,” Stan said raising his hands in mock defence, “Roberts dropped it on me half an hour ago; the only hint was the moustache.”
“Well it is going to take more than a week’s wandering eyebrow to carry this off, I can hardly go to Target then buy frillies and war paint, looking like this?” Wendy stated.
“I believe that your old civvies’ kit will be waiting in Townsville,” Stan offered.
“I should have known once the uniform was on there goes common sense out the window for the powers that be,” Wendy flung over her shoulder as she stalked out.
A little diversion.
The party arrived at the air force section of the airport and climbed aboard the Caribou, pointed at the luxurious business class, these being canvas jump seats. The loadmaster yelled a couple of directions regarding safety and to stay put unless told otherwise and no he wasn’t a bloody Hostie. “When I say it’s OK, you can make a brew and have a couple of bikkies, clean up after; and yes this is the invite that the general gets.” He waited expectantly for the applause which consisted of fake groans and chuckles, with the comment, "A real Hostie doesn't have hairy legs." He then stomped off to his take-off position up forward.
Imagine the noisiest, roughest and boring flight you have ever had and rest assured that that was luxury compared to the ‘Gravel Truck’ officially known as a Caribou. All good things come to an end, and the party disembarked and boarded the cars waiting at the air force base which whisked them to an ordinary hotel. All formalities completed, with each assigned a room. Stan settled into his room and scouted the wardrobe. Hanging in its glory was a tasteful pilot’s flying suit discreetly emblazoned with Mitty security surmounted with Rhodesian pilot’s wings on the left breast and name tag reading Lt Col Stan Mitty attached to the right. It was a functional upper-class bush pilots rig. ‘That will do the trick.’
Once settled in for a good night’s rest it didn't seem long before announcing breakfast was in 15 minutes.
Quick shower, shave and moustache trim later, Stan resplendent as the modest executive descended into the dining room to the whistles of the men; while hardly peacocks the serjeants were dressed for the task. As Wendy was now filling the role of femme fatale; she made an entrance, in stunned silence as the boys wouldn’t have recognised her without prior knowledge. Dressed in a stylish flight suit with requisite name tags, she filled all the right places far better than Corporal Travis. To a man, all surged to their feet and practically ripped the chair apart to provide a seat for the damsel.
“Thank you, kind sirs,” giggled Wendy entirely in character, “Brush up OK when I put my mind to it, eh?” This display brought school boy awkwardness to hilarious heights, suddenly tongue-tied, then firmly said, “And just in case anyone gets ideas,” Wendy’s hand moved and became full of a wicked looking knife, disappearing as quick. “Marvellous what you can hide in this rig.”
Having settled into breakfast, Stan laid out the day’s programme. In an hour’s time, limousines would arrive, which would take them to the domestic terminal where they would board the jet. After an hours flight would arrive at Darwin Domestic Terminal to be greeted by the entire mining executive. From then we form a convoy and start the tour. “All laid on, won’t even have to think until we are in the cars.”
After breakfast Stan escorted Wendy back to her room, mainly to comment on her new disguise. “Pardon me for mentioning it; you seem to have put a little weight on in just the right places?” Stan offered.
“Extraordinary kit I have, to be technical I have to pad just a little, here and there, though I will never make Twiggy jealous,” Wendy laughed, “Danny La Rue taught me a couple of pointers to hint rather than overdo.”
“And you have Israeli pilot’s wings? Just don’t upstage the boss,” Stan advised.
“A girl of many talents, but there is no danger of doing that to the Great Stan Mitty in all his glory,” Wendy said straight-faced.
“Touché. This little tour is going to be great fun with two of the troupe carrying pins to deflate my ego. Bob takes every opportunity as it is,” Stan responded then with a dramatic pose, “The secret to my success is to surround myself with the greatest talent and expertise. Not hard to look good when everyone gives you a boost and mind you no one has ever suffered from doing so as I ensure all get the credit they deserve.”
“So you say; my talent is to remain invisible, even being glammed up hides my brain,” Wendy returned, “Hence the discreet blond wig.”
“OK see you out front in ten,” Stan finished.
“I’ll be there with bells on,” Wendy assured.
When the party had assembled in the foyer replete with luggage and berets carrying the CMS logo; no bells were evident, her beret tilted at a cute angle. With no dramas, limo and jet transported the team to the Darwin terminal for the formal welcome. Once officially greeted they were assigned cars to form the convoy. Awarded the second Land Cruiser, Wendy, Bob and Stan relaxed for the drive to the first checkpoint in the programme. As a surprise, the driver was Sgt Bert Domige in civvies.
“I see that I have real Celebs today?” Bert had commented as he loaded the kit bags in the back. “You look just like a particular WO that I drove last week.”
“Yep and you’re in drag today as well?” Stan riposted.
“My day job between reserve tours. I get some strange passengers at times, who’s the cutie?” Bert asked pushing his luck.
“Your favourite knife and fork boy; O man of the forested chin,” Quipped Wendy sweetly.
It was a good thing that Bert wasn’t driving yet as said whiskers nearly hit the ground, peering closely he commented, “Yeah and a captain yet? Should I address you as Ma’am?” He asked.
“Only if you want a close shave; which is well overdue,” Wendy grinned wickedly, “Wendy will do as I am only that by courtesy here; yes, I have held the rank.”
“Well beats me, and Bob is now a warrant officer. Well, well, the strangest sights when you don’t have a gun,” Bert said shaking his head, “Should be an exciting week or so, all aboard let’s get this rock show on the road.”
The convoy proceeded first to the docks in Darwin, then gradually worked the way to the south-west via the main roads directly to mine heads and associated ports. As the Norforce patrols used the rough roads on the coast, this expanded the survieled area. The prime task was assessing the security of the infrastructure and possible approaches. Typically each was set up to facilitate production and thus was very vulnerable to insurgent attack. The security personnel concerned mainly with preventing petty theft and unauthorised persons entering dangerous areas.
From the conversations with Bert, it became plain that he had two jobs going, one as a driver and the other providing clandestine reconnaissance reports to Col. George. After completing the rounds taking ten days, the convoy returned to a hotel where after refreshing they settled into writing reports to all clients. Most of it bad news and sure to be perceived as an impossible task to implement; still the primary aim had been met, that is the approaches, and possible intercept points were mapped and potential ambush sites located. The bad news was that the facilities were indefensible by any determined attack.
Consulting with the two colonels, Stan suggested that regular patrols were needed in the area to maintain a buffer zone around the more vulnerable facilities. Having delivered the reports to their respective clients, Stan gathered the team waved goodbye to his ‘adoring’ fans