No Need for Heroes. Sandy MacGregor

      P/B

      The official Royal Australian Engineers hat badge.

      Then I went to the School of Military Engineering for a sixmonth course and got my first posting into 17 Construction Squadron. By the end of that year we were in Papua New Guinea and I – a bright eyed young lieutenant – was literally up to my neck in it.

      17 Construction's base was at Wewak and the squadron was there to build a road to Lumi. I was a lieutenant in charge of 10 Troop, a unit of about 40 men. Everyone else was sent forward into the jungle, but we stayed back at base.

      The troop's main task was to maintain the road, but they also had a major project at Wom Point Bridge. A point of interest is that this is where Lt-Gen Hatazo Adachi of the Japanese Army surrendered in the Second World War by handing over his sword to Maj-Gen H Robertson of the 6th Australian Division – I have a photo of the obelisk erected to commemorate this.

      Indonesian incursions into East Timor and western New Guinea were raising fears that Jakarta might not be satisfied with what is now Irian Jaya, and try to take the whole of the island. It was decided to extend the airport at Wewak, making it a major air base from which to fight off any invasion that might ensue.

      It was fundamentally a civil engineering job. We had the men and the equipment but we lacked a basic necessity: huge amounts of gravel. However, it just so happened that Wom Point – a virtual mountain of the stuff was only a short way offshore. My task was to pull down the old bridge, which had fallen into disrepair, build a new one across to the point and make a road through the swamp so that trucks could take the gravel to the airport.

      The whole operation meant living on the beach and working in swamp often up to our waists. It was tough, difficult and demanding. But it was fantastic, just to be working as an engineer. It was here that the Engineers of the Strategic Reserve – 21 Construction Regiment came to do their 14 day camp and complete the building of the bridge.

      Later on I had to take some of the troop to Vanimo, near the northern border with Irian Jaya, to build a 300 tonne shipping wharf. It was great.

      Now, I would be the first to admit that's not as exciting as men in balaclavas abseiling from helicopters and crashing through windows. It's not as glamorous as jumping out of aeroplanes with a parachute and landing behind enemy lines. But in peacetime, the SAS spend a lot of time and expend a lot of energy chasing their own shadows. And there are no enemy lines for paratroopers to land behind – just a theoretical front in a hypothetical battle.

      Even though this was essentially peacetime, what my men and I were doing, was real. Firing blanks is a bit like playing soldiers, but a bridge is still a bridge. That's one of the things that makes sappers special.

      Another is that they may be a little bit smarter than your average footsloggers. There are many reasons why young men volunteer to join the armed forces. It could be the opportunity to travel, the appeal of comradeship or perhaps a simple lack of options; the army being preferable to the dole. In my case, I came from a family with a long military tradition. The Army was a serious career option and, in fact, was the only thing I wanted to do. But for a young man who's never going to rise above buck private, it's a shortterm solution with few longterm benefits.

      Unless he's a sapper.

      Anyone who joined the Engineers did so knowing they were going to learn a trade or perfect a skill they already possessed. They could have been carpenters, plumbers, truck drivers or electricians. It didn't matter – they would all have something that would stand them in good stead when they left the forces. There isn't much demand for tank drivers and artillery gunners in civvy street. So maybe that spark of ambition, that practical streak, is another vital element in the sapper's makeup.

      Whatever the reason, I was glad to be able to command them in peace time, and, when it came, seized the chance to lead them to war.

      1

      CALL TO ARMS

      I was barely 25 years old when Australia's involvement in Vietnam became a probability rather than a possibility. It was late in 1964 when the Prime Minister, Sir Robert Menzies, announced that military conscription was to be introduced. For those who had chosen to join the armed forces, it meant that it could not be long before we were marching on foreign soil. You cannot fight a war with raw recruits. It takes several months, not weeks, to make soldiers out of undisciplined and often unwilling conscripts. So they knew that when the call came, those already in uniform would be the first to go.

      As early as February 1965, detailed plans had started being made for Australians to go to Vietnam. But it wasn't until the end of April that Menzies made his historic offer of an infantry battalion to fight alongside American and South Vietnamese forces.

      It must have been around that time that they called for volunteers and I can't think of a single man I knew who didn't step forward. This was, after all, why we had joined up.

      The first troops committed to Vietnam were, appropriately, the First Battalion Royal Australian Regiment, better known as 1RAR. It was an infantry battalion, but no army survives on foot soldiers alone. There have to be support units, like medics, signals, transport, artillery, air reconnaissance, logistics, mechanics and many others.

      These all have highly specialised tasks, but they also have to operate as an integral part of the larger unit – and none more so than the engineers. The Australian Regular Army had two field squadrons of engineers each with three troops. With the impending deployment to Vietnam, it was decided to establish an independent troop known as 3 Field Troop, with cooks, mechanics and plant operators.

      In July 1965 I was ordered to leave my unit, 7th Field Squadron, based at Enoggera in Brisbane, and return to the School of Military Engineering to take command of 3 Field Troop, Royal Australian Engineers. I was overjoyed, despite the slight disadvantage of having been given command of a troop which did not exist. 3 Troop, from 1 Field Squadron, became 3 Field Troop, and the personnel came from all over. But that didn't matter. The important thing was that I was going to be given the chance to do what I'd been trained to do – lead men into battle, do a job, and hopefully lead them back out again.

      I admit, however, that I was a little daunted at the prospect of putting together a troop from scratch and having only a few weeks in which to blend them into a coherent fighting force. To use a sporting analogy, I was being asked to coach a football team comprising players of different skills and abilities, most of whom had never met, let alone played together. That was challenge enough, but I already knew from previous experience that these were no ordinary players. Sappers are special and I would have my work cut out.

      It was winter time in Liverpool and the mornings had that crisp edge to them that makes the British homesick. My life had taken on a whole new perspective since I'd left Brisbane. That fairly distant anticipation of setting forth to Vietnam on some unknown day had become an acute awareness of an impending and definite date by which I must have myself and my men ready. They would go, ready or not, but the consequences if they weren't prepared would be fatal.

      For all that, I was generally too preoccupied to worry. Raising a troop from scratch means you have to order everything from blankets to trucks, tents to toolboxes. And every day another truck would arrive or a bus would pull up and a handful of travelweary soldiers would clatter on to the parade ground and march halfheartedly to their billets. These were my lads, coming in dribs and drabs, in all shapes and sizes. There may have been as many as 10 different Engineer units operating in Australia at that time, and I was sent a few men from each of them, whether they were field engineers, dock workers, construction engineers, drivers or plant operators. A small nucleus of men came from 1 Field Squadron – at least they knew each other, having just returned from service in Borneo.

      No officer has ever been more proud of his men than I was of 3 Field Troop. But I have to say this: they