contractors were an everyday part of the military landscape in Afghanistan. Most were known to have their fingers in many pies, but at least one had crossed the line and branched out into crime. Beyond Borders Strikeforce, or BBS, had a high profile, right up alongside Blackwater Security. While the USA military used Blackwater to protect its assets in the early days of the war, several other countries contracted BBS for similar roles.
The way Nick saw it, having a guard dog was fine provided you kept it on a leash. If you let it out at night then it was going to skulk around in darkened alleys and that’s where the trouble lay. BBS had forged alliances with several warlords in opium producing districts. Those regions were some of the most peaceful. What Nina had uncovered was the reason for that peace. Drug trafficking meant money and stability for people wearied by decades of war. They were less likely to take up arms if their bellies were full and their families housed.
It pained him that men and women who’d served in their country’s defence force, even a few Australians, would be lured by the higher pay scales to work for these contractors. The financial rewards were higher, but so were the risks. And then there was the whole moral dilemma. He knew of at least two good men who’d been embroiled in the operation.
It made his decision to leave the army more difficult in so many ways. He hadn’t walked away from his career lightly, having spent years working his way up the chain of command. Bringing out the best in his men and women was something he enjoyed, something he’d worked hard at achieving. It rankled that there would be those who saw his resignation as an admission of guilt, of being complicit. He’d sooner cut off his arm than traffic drugs. But his resignation allowed him to follow up this investigation in a way he couldn’t before, tied as he was by defence force protocols. It allowed him to slant his evidence so no blame or shame came to rest on the shoulders of his men or Nina’s family. He’d chosen what he deemed to be the honourable path rather than toeing the government line. People’s lives were more important than a truth that would be distorted by the media.
Being portrayed as someone who’d not taken as much due care as he should have would always needle him. It was important to make sure he used that anger to keep him vigilant. He would not lose anyone else on his watch.
It took a deliberate effort to slow his pace, loosening tense muscles with a roll of his shoulders. He had to get a grip. Now was not the time to go rushing headlong into some of O’Sullivan’s colleagues with a scowl on his face.
To the rest of the world he was just an urban engineer, here to see that a development was given council approval. He needed to hold it together for another week, two at the most. The assignment should be completed by then, the evidence watertight. The next shipment would be here and he’d move onto the clean-up phase. The reconstruction task would sit more comfortably than his current role.
He could remember vividly his first attempt at building. It was a kennel for his dog. On a freezing cold Sydney night it seemed impossibly cruel to an eight-year-old to leave the family dog outside. His father had laughed at his efforts and the dog didn’t know what to do with it either, but it was the beginning of a desire to build things. That desire grew stronger with age. Being a combat engineer in the Australian Army meant he had the opportunity to protect and create, make communities stronger; empower them to work towards a better future with vital infrastructure.
This current subterfuge left a sour taste in his mouth. But he also understood that it could be necessary to knock down crumbling buildings, replace pylons and dig up shoddy road foundations if it meant a safer future. In Half Moon Bay he needed to clean out the council corruption and end the drug trafficking, no matter what the
The way Nick saw it, having a guard dog was fine provided you kept it on a leash. If you let it out at night then it was going to skulk around in darkened alleys and that’s where the trouble lay. BBS had forged alliances with several warlords in opium producing districts. Those regions were some of the most peaceful. What Nina had uncovered was the reason for that peace. Drug trafficking meant money and stability for people wearied by decades of war. They were less likely to take up arms if their bellies were full and their families housed.
It pained him that men and women who’d served in their country’s defence force, even a few Australians, would be lured by the higher pay scales to work for these contractors. The financial rewards were higher, but so were the risks. And then there was the whole moral dilemma. He knew of at least two good men who’d been embroiled in the operation.
It made his decision to leave the army more difficult in so many ways. He hadn’t walked away from his career lightly, having spent years working his way up the chain of command. Bringing out the best in his men and women was something he enjoyed, something he’d worked hard at achieving. It rankled that there would be those who saw his resignation as an admission of guilt, of being complicit. He’d sooner cut off his arm than traffic drugs. But his resignation allowed him to follow up this investigation in a way he couldn’t before, tied as he was by defence force protocols. It allowed him to slant his evidence so no blame or shame came to rest on the shoulders of his men or Nina’s family. He’d chosen what he deemed to be the honourable path rather than toeing the government line. People’s lives were more important than a truth that would be distorted by the media.
Being portrayed as someone who’d not taken as much due care as he should have would always needle him. It was important to make sure he used that anger to keep him vigilant. He would not lose anyone else on his watch.
It took a deliberate effort to slow his pace, loosening tense muscles with a roll of his shoulders. He had to get a grip. Now was not the time to go rushing headlong into some of O’Sullivan’s colleagues with a scowl on his face.
To the rest of the world he was just an urban engineer, here to see that a development was given council approval. He needed to hold it together for another week, two at the most. The assignment should be completed by then, the evidence watertight. The next shipment would be here and he’d move onto the clean-up phase. The reconstruction task would sit more comfortably than his current role.
He could remember vividly his first attempt at building. It was a kennel for his dog. On a freezing cold Sydney night it seemed impossibly cruel to an eight-year-old to leave the family dog outside. His father had laughed at his efforts and the dog didn’t know what to do with it either, but it was the beginning of a desire to build things. That desire grew stronger with age. Being a combat engineer in the Australian Army meant he had the opportunity to protect and create, make communities stronger; empower them to work towards a better future with vital infrastructure.
This current subterfuge left a sour taste in his mouth. But he also understood that it could be necessary to knock down crumbling buildings, replace pylons and dig up shoddy road foundations if it meant a safer future. In Half Moon Bay he needed to clean out the council corruption and end the drug trafficking, no matter what the
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