Finn walked over to the desk, not really knowing what to say. ‘Finn Hunt reporting for service, err… sir.’
‘Hunt,’ he grunted, looking down at his papers. ‘Right. You’ve been assigned to Tiger Battalion, report to tent 456, which is on the southeast corner of the base. Once processed, you will report to your tent and make yourself known to Sergeant Higgins who is in charge of your squad.’
When the corporal had finished his long list of instructions, most of which Finn barely took in, he directed Finn to a door on the right of the bunker. Here Finn was issued with his uniform and equipment, given a medical examination, a haircut and an information pack regarding the camp. After four hours of being processed, Finn emerged back into the sun and heat of the late afternoon, rubbing his freshly buzzed head. It had been years since he last shaved his head, and he couldn’t stop rubbing it.
Finn was stunned by the level of activity in the camp. It was as if everyone had a specific job they were focussed on. They all seemed to have a purpose here, everyone except him. What the hell was he doing here? He was a trader, a city boy who used face creams and wore designer clothes. His whole image had been carefully constructed from magazines and movies. Finn had to will himself on, telling himself the panic he was feeling was good, it meant he was out of his comfort zone — actually challenging himself.
Finding tent 456, Finn walked in to find it empty of people. There was plenty of gear lying around in a tidy fashion. He spotted a bunk bed that looked empty, threw his bag and gear on the end and sat with his head in his hands. The self-doubt was now really kicking in and the voice in his head continued to tell him he didn’t belong. He lay on the bed and tried to get himself under control.
It was dark by the time the others got back to the tent. In they streamed, all six of them. Dirty, smelly and exhausted. No one paid any attention to Finn. They were silent, perhaps too exhausted to talk.
‘My name is Finn Hunt. Is Sergeant Higgins here?’ Finn said to no one in particular.
No one in particular answered him. They all just carried on silently shedding their dusty equipment and stripping off clothes that were heavy from sweat and grime. It was as if they were all deaf and blind — or was it that Finn was mute and invisible?
Coming up behind a large man who wore the stripes of a sergeant, he said, ‘Excuse me, sir. My name is Finn Hunt and I’ve been ordered to report to Sergeant Higgins.’
The man, who was bent over his rucksack, raised his torso slowly but did not turn to face Finn. ‘Private Hunt, welcome to the war. Welcome to the Tigers. Are you sure you’re in the right place though? I heard that the admin corps is looking for secretaries. You look like you’d fit right in over there.’ A stifled snigger resonated throughout the tent.
Finn had to smile at that. He knew he looked out of place. ‘Ah, no sir, I’m in the right place. I was injured in the field of typing — paper laceration to the middle finger meant I could never type again, sir, so they transferred me to the infantry to see out my time.’ He looked solemnly at the sergeant’s back.
Still facing his bunk, Sergeant Higgins asked the rest of the men, ‘What do you reckon, boys? Sounds like we’ve got another wannabe action hero in our midst.’
‘No room for heroes around here,’ came a voice behind Finn.
‘No room for pussies either,’ said another.
Higgins turned now to face Finn. He was a big man with big features. His face had handsome proportions and structure, but he was battle-scarred and creased — he looked like an old campaigner from way back, but he was probably only in his thirties.
‘So, Hunt, sounds like you don’t fit in around here. We don’t want pansies and we don’t need any more heroes,’ said Higgins. ‘You’ve got some work to do to prove yourself around here.’
Finn’s face was serious. ‘Yessir, I’ll do my best.’
Moving closer to Finn now, Higgins leaned in. ‘“Your best?” Your best won’t do, Hunt. Not at all. You’re going to need to tap into your worst.’ Higgins’ face was so close to Finn’s that he could smell the stench of his breath and see the red veins in his eyes. ‘You’ll need to bring out the worst in yourself, the part of you that you haven’t met. But you will, and when you do, you may not like who you are.’
Finn just stood, staring straight ahead.
Higgins continued staring him right in the eye, not moving but breathing heavily. ‘Tomorrow you start learning about who you really are, Hunt. Dismissed!’ And with that Higgins turned and got back to his unpacking.
Finn turned and went back to his bunk. The tent was silent and the rest of the men went back to busying themselves with their gear.
Following the initial battle for Australia, Higgins, like most of the surviving soldiers, had been promoted and posted to training camps. The theory being that Australia needed to train a small elite group of soldiers that could disrupt and cause as much havoc for the Chinese as possible. Higgins’ extensive experience and training as a US soldier made him a valuable asset for the military. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of training young men and women to go out and fight, to see the things he had seen, but he followed his orders to the letter like the professional soldier that he was.
The next day Finn was woken by the sound of the alarm, which was a piercing siren broadcast across the camp. In a repeat of last night, everyone silently busied themselves, getting their equipment together with a minimum of fuss. Finn had no idea what to do. He just started stuffing his kit into his rucksack. Leaning over to his right, Finn tried to get the attention of a young guy who looked remotely approachable. ‘Hey mate, what do I need? I’ve got no idea what to pack. What the hell am I supposed to do?’
The soldier looked over at him and resigned himself to help Finn. Without saying a word he grabbed bits of kit from Finn’s bed and stuffed it into his rucksack, stuffing it as full as possible. Finn noticed that he put all the heavy items into the bag and that the other rucksacks looked half-empty, while his was brimming over the top.
What an arsehole, Finn thought.
The men were now bantering between themselves and filing out of the tent, leaving it looking tidy and orderly. Finn followed them out and joined the line. All the way down the row of at least 100 tents, men were standing at attention.
Higgins was at the front taking orders from a lieutenant. Afterwards, he turned and faced the men of Finn’s squad and relayed the orders, which consisted of the day’s training program.
At first, Finn thought it strange that he had been placed in a squad of men who seemed to already be well into their training. It didn’t make any sense to Finn, but there didn’t seem any sense in complaining — he was simply expected to learn it quicker and make up for what he had missed. It was in fact a tactic used by the army in order to fast-track the training of new recruits who had previous military training and demonstrated the right qualities and abilities. Finn ticked all these boxes. His reserve training and the fact he had aced his aptitude and physical entry tests made him the perfect recruit to the new Australian army.
So began three months of hell. The training from day one was gruelling, a mixture of barbaric exercises and training runs, weapons training, hand-to-hand combat, communications, IT warfare, bush survival, and basic interrogation.
It took several days for the other men to let Finn into their group. He made the breakthrough during a particularly tough training run along a muddy trail. Higgins was leading the men and Finn was behind him. Finn had always been a naturally good distance runner and didn’t mind the long runs they were subjected to every day. At one point on the trail a fallen tree had to be used to cross a shallow, muddy gully. Higgins leapt onto the fallen tree trunk, with his arms stretched wide to help keep his balance. He started to move quickly across the trunk. Finn was only a second or two behind, looking down at the trunk about two metres ahead to help him stay focussed.