24/04/2025
I have felt the searing heat of an Iraqi summer and the bitter cold of an Afghan winter.
I have witnessed life coming into the world and I have held the hand of the wounded when they breathed their last.
I’ve bunkered down under 107mm rocket fire and I’ve run under the weight of body armour and weapon, to the field hospital to receive casualties.
I’ve witnessed what an IED does to the human body, what a GSW does to a child and what war does to mates.
I’ve tourniquet the amputated limbs, cooled the burns, treated the pain, stayed with those who were staunch to the end.
I’ve lived the RAANC moto of “pro humanitate”, for humanity, and battled the moral injury that comes with the reality of the colour of the camouflage dictating the level of care provided.
I’ve stared at the evil in the eyes of a taliban insurgent, and treated his wounds. And my memory is seared by the kind brown puppy eyes of a military working dog as I fought to save him after he gave his life detecting an IED to protect his section.
I’ve experienced mateship that only those who have served would understand, and, I’ve lost mates.
I’ve laughed when an Aussie solder with a GSW looked up at me from his stretcher and said with a larrikin smile “you should have seen the other bloke sister”. I’ve fought the lump in my throat as I’ve told a father we did everything we could but his son would not be coming home.
I’ve marvelled at the advances in trauma and evacuation care and been frustrated at the slow uptake of these medical lessons learnt at home.
I’ve triaged the mass casualties, decided who most needed the blood and forever wondered if my best was ever good enough.
I’ve prepared the dead for burial, lined the ramp when they were brought home and witnessed a shattered family at a military funeral.
I’ve felt the nervous anticipation of the next AME bird landing and watched the sun set over the battlefield.
I’ve hurried up and I’ve waited. I’ve been bored and terrified.
I’ve eaten the E pack for a month straight and been a guest at an Iraqi banquet.
I’ve smelt the burned flesh, I’ve washed the blood from my hair and I’ve been proud to wear the uniform of our Army.
I’ve been constantly reminded that the things most worth doing in life are rarely easy, the intelligence report only partially accurate, the resources always limited and the orders hard to deliver. I’ve relied on my team, my training and my God.
I’ve seen first hand the brutality of an enemy who r***d women and boys, blew up children on their way to school and sent a su***de boomer into a maternity unit. And I’ve watched in anger back home in Australia as some of those who have never seen, heard, smelt or felt the realities of war crucify the integrity of our strongest soldiers. Those whose courage, self control and endurance has protected our nation against that same enemy.
I am just one story amongst thousands of veterans.
I’ve seen ordinary Australians do extraordinary things.
The faces of the dead remain ingrained in my memory forever.
I have experienced the very best and the worst of humanity.
I have worn their blood.
And for that I am grateful
Grateful to be an Australian
Grateful to have served
Grateful to be alive
Grateful for those who have paid the supreme sacrifice
Grateful for my family
Grateful for our freedom
Grateful to have walked in the steps of our forbearers
Grateful to be a custodian of the ANZAC tradition.
And when my pulse will one day grow weak and thready, and its my time to meet my maker, I hope I can say I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race and I have kept the faith.
This ANZAC day and always I urge you to commemorate the fallen, thank those who have served and those who are still serving. Thank those who have worn the uniform but despite their willingness to fight were never called into the frey, support those forever changed mentally and physically and, remember the families. Be proud to be Australian and to call this land home. Remember freedom does not come for free.
Courage, endurance, mateship, sacrifice.
Lest we forget.
