One Hundred and Sixty-Eight Hours.
June 1978 marked the beginning of a transformative chapter in my life. I enlisted in the Royal Australian Army, committing to six years of service. My journey commenced at Kapooka Army base, nestled outside Wagga Wagga, NSW, where I underwent 82 days of rigorous basic training. We were forged into soldiers, learning the fundamentals of marching, marksmanship, survival, and resilience. The training was comprehensive, encompassing biological gas training, grenade handling, foxhole construction, and topographical map reading.
Upon graduating, I was assigned to the Armoured Corps, where I specialised in driving tracked vehicles, radio operation, and mastering the 30 and 50-calibre heavy machine guns. After nearly eleven months of intensive training, I was finally deployed to my unit as a Driver Signaller. Within a year, an opportunity arose that aligned perfectly with my aspirations: the chance to become a Physical Training Instructor (PTI). My athletic background drove this ambition, and I saw it as a path to contribute significantly to the Army’s physical readiness.
The PTI course was a formidable challenge, a six-month gauntlet designed to identify the elite. Each month, the cohort of 50 was whittled down, leaving only the most resilient and capable. I persevered, earning my graduation as a Sub-Unit PTI in December. Returning to my unit, I assumed responsibility for the fitness of 250 soldiers, from the kitchen staff to the Commanding Officer. Shortly after, I was promoted to Crew Commander, entrusted with my own vehicle and Driver Signaller while continuing my duties as PTI.
Through the years, I earned the respect of my peers and superiors. My Christian faith, a cornerstone of my identity, remained unwavering amidst the rigours of military life. While it sometimes drew scrutiny, my steadfastness ultimately fostered respect. I openly expressed my desire to one day attend bible college, even with over two years remaining in my service.
Then, unexpectedly, my troop sergeant encouraged me to apply for an early discharge. He assisted with my application, and then I waited, a period of growing anxiety. Weeks turned into months, and my spirits began to wane. I discovered that my application had been stalled on my troop officer's desk, a deliberate attempt to retain me.
In a moment of youthful hot-headedness, I regrettably decided to go AWOL. Though driven by a desire to pursue my calling, this act was a clear breach of discipline. I was apprehended and faced a disciplinary hearing before my CO, resulting in a 168-hour detention in a military prison. It was a long week of reflection. And not very pleasant.
Upon my return, I anticipated further disciplinary action. However, the CO revealed that my troop officer had been reassigned to another unit for his part. My CO offered me a remarkable proposition: no further punishment, and if I withdrew my discharge application, he would be honoured to have me as his personal driver. This was a prestigious corporal position and a promotion, a symbol of trust and loyalty.
Despite my mistake, I felt a sense of divine intervention. Even though I had acted rashly, my commitment to my faith and my future calling was acknowledged. The 168 hours of detention were a necessary consequence, but the subsequent years were marked by a profound sense of purpose. Serving as the CO’s driver, I witnessed the inner workings of leadership and earned a level of trust that transcended rank. I learned that even in the most structured and disciplined environments, faith and integrity could find a way to flourish, and that sometimes, even mistakes can lead to unexpected blessings.