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Authors: Neryl Joyce
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country, but I remained positive. I gathered up my equipment and headed to our accommodation. They were small rooms, but they were air-conditioned. I slept like a baby.
At 6 a.m. everyone was up for breakfast. We were scheduled to depart for Malaysia at 10 a.m. I feasted on pancakes, Coco Pops and strong coffee – I didn’t know when my next decent meal would be. Feeling full and slightly sickened by what I’d eaten, I headed back to my room to pack up my kit. It was there I heard that only twenty personnel from the army contingent would now be going to Cambodia to assist with the evacuation. The rest would remain in Malaysia to help with the processing of the evacuees. Murphy told me that he and I would be the only MPs going to Cambodia.
Ten o’clock came and went. Our kit was put on and taken off the aircraft until the RAAF loadmasters (‘loadies’) were happy with the weight displacement on the aircraft. At about 1 p.m. the media turned up and their cameras started rolling. Operation VISTA had finally been announced to the Australian public.
The commanders dealt with the media while the rest of us boarded the aircraft. Things were getting exciting again. We were finally on our way. God, it felt good. I savoured the feeling and walked onto the plane with my head held high.
Now, a Hercules aircraft is not like your conventional Qantas jet. There are no comfortable seats, the lighting is limited, and the toilet is hidden only by a flimsy curtain. Everyone sits squashed up together on cargo-netting seats, wearing hearing protection because of the engine noise. That didn’t stop me from sleeping the full nine hours it took to get to Malaysia. As soon as we were permitted to remove our seatbelts, I found a vacant bit of real estate and crashed out.
By the time we arrived at Butterworth it was 10 p.m., but the night was not over. There were still intelligence briefings to be given, official passports to be issued and deployment administration to complete. We were also told the news that the detachment would be downsized again. Now only three army personnel would actually deploy to Cambodia the following morning. I didn’t know why they kept decreasing the number, but I didn’t care too much at the time: I was one of the three selected to go ‘into country’.
Although I didn’t understand what was happening, I was in no position to air my concerns. I was only a lance corporal. This was a RAAF-led operation and the boss was a wing commander. I just accepted that he was my superior and knew what he was doing. That’s how it goes in the defence force. Still, I couldn’t comprehend how three army personnel were going to screen, search and contain all the evacuees.
*
The next morning I was up before dawn. I met with the rest of the contingent going into Cambodia: there were medics, loadies, air defence guards, communications personnel and miscellaneous RAAF people. From the army, there was an artillery sergeant and a corporal who’d be accompanying me on the deployment. None of us could wait to get onto the aircraft.
We were standing around, checking our equipment and stores, when we were informed that our numbers had been slashed again. Now only one of us would be deploying. At this stage I had to ask why. It was explained to me that the Cambodian government thought a large-scale army operation would create panic. They wanted a small ‘footprint’: for all relevant civilians to be evacuated quietly.
So our trio was cut to a solo act. Only one person, from a detachment of forty, would be deploying to Cambodia – and that person would be me. They wanted me because of my security and policing skills, and because I was female. Civilian women and children were our primary concern. Who better to help them through the ordeal than another woman, especially one who could deal with security issues? That day, I thanked my lucky stars for being a woman.
When it was time, I stepped onto the aircraft. I was wide-awake.
At 6 a.m. everyone was up for breakfast. We were scheduled to depart for Malaysia at 10 a.m. I feasted on pancakes, Coco Pops and strong coffee – I didn’t know when my next decent meal would be. Feeling full and slightly sickened by what I’d eaten, I headed back to my room to pack up my kit. It was there I heard that only twenty personnel from the army contingent would now be going to Cambodia to assist with the evacuation. The rest would remain in Malaysia to help with the processing of the evacuees. Murphy told me that he and I would be the only MPs going to Cambodia.
Ten o’clock came and went. Our kit was put on and taken off the aircraft until the RAAF loadmasters (‘loadies’) were happy with the weight displacement on the aircraft. At about 1 p.m. the media turned up and their cameras started rolling. Operation VISTA had finally been announced to the Australian public.
The commanders dealt with the media while the rest of us boarded the aircraft. Things were getting exciting again. We were finally on our way. God, it felt good. I savoured the feeling and walked onto the plane with my head held high.
Now, a Hercules aircraft is not like your conventional Qantas jet. There are no comfortable seats, the lighting is limited, and the toilet is hidden only by a flimsy curtain. Everyone sits squashed up together on cargo-netting seats, wearing hearing protection because of the engine noise. That didn’t stop me from sleeping the full nine hours it took to get to Malaysia. As soon as we were permitted to remove our seatbelts, I found a vacant bit of real estate and crashed out.
By the time we arrived at Butterworth it was 10 p.m., but the night was not over. There were still intelligence briefings to be given, official passports to be issued and deployment administration to complete. We were also told the news that the detachment would be downsized again. Now only three army personnel would actually deploy to Cambodia the following morning. I didn’t know why they kept decreasing the number, but I didn’t care too much at the time: I was one of the three selected to go ‘into country’.
Although I didn’t understand what was happening, I was in no position to air my concerns. I was only a lance corporal. This was a RAAF-led operation and the boss was a wing commander. I just accepted that he was my superior and knew what he was doing. That’s how it goes in the defence force. Still, I couldn’t comprehend how three army personnel were going to screen, search and contain all the evacuees.
*
The next morning I was up before dawn. I met with the rest of the contingent going into Cambodia: there were medics, loadies, air defence guards, communications personnel and miscellaneous RAAF people. From the army, there was an artillery sergeant and a corporal who’d be accompanying me on the deployment. None of us could wait to get onto the aircraft.
We were standing around, checking our equipment and stores, when we were informed that our numbers had been slashed again. Now only one of us would be deploying. At this stage I had to ask why. It was explained to me that the Cambodian government thought a large-scale army operation would create panic. They wanted a small ‘footprint’: for all relevant civilians to be evacuated quietly.
So our trio was cut to a solo act. Only one person, from a detachment of forty, would be deploying to Cambodia – and that person would be me. They wanted me because of my security and policing skills, and because I was female. Civilian women and children were our primary concern. Who better to help them through the ordeal than another woman, especially one who could deal with security issues? That day, I thanked my lucky stars for being a woman.
When it was time, I stepped onto the aircraft. I was wide-awake.
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