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1 David Savage

‘We must not be enemies…The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart […] will yet swell with the chorus when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.’

– Abraham Lincoln, Inauguration Speech, 4 March 1861

David Savage has the surname of a warrior, but he has spent most of his life trying to quell the barbarism of the world and seek out what Abraham Lincoln called the ‘better angels of our nature’. There were many times when his work in international territories put him in harm’s way, but he always embraced his various roles because he was at the frontline of change. As he said to me, ‘You can’t change the world from behind a desk!’

David’s lifetime of service came to an abrupt halt in Afghanistan when the Taliban strapped a bomb vest packed with eight kilos of explosives to a 12-year-old child and sent him out as a suicide bomber, in what the evidence suggests was a targeted attack. The Taliban tactic of coercing children to become suicide bombers started because they knew there was less chance of them being stopped by soldiers or at checkpoints. The child bomber that targeted David had walked through a protective cordon of soldiers to within a few metres of David when the vest exploded, hurtling tiny ball bearings into the bodies of David and others close to him. The explosion threw David 10 metres in the air and left a cartoon-like black powdered starburst on the road. The child was essentially vaporised. David lay unconscious on the ground, parts of the child’s exploded flesh clinging to his body; other pieces of flesh were found a hundred metres away.

The bomb critically wounded David and two others in the patrol and another man, who was 20 metres away, suffered minor wounds. The details of this attack would later be used as an example of what not to do in regard to ‘close protection’ by soldiers. It was a miracle David survived – he stopped breathing twice ‘on the table’. Since that day, he has constantly struggled with the physical and psychological damage wrought.

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David had worked as a federal agent for the Australian Federal Police (AFP), as a peacekeeper with the United Nations (UN) and as deputy director of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. His work had taken him to Sri Lanka, investigating abuses during the country’s civil war, and to Myanmar and Thailand, battling human traffickers, as well as Mozambique, Cambodia and East Timor. In 2009, he went to Kabul and Mazar-e-Sharif in Afghanistan for the Afghan Independent Human Rights Commission and in 2011, at the age of 48, was working as a ‘Defence civilian’ in Afghanistan. As a stabilisation advisor with the Australian Agency for International Development (AusAID), he assisted locals affected by the conflict. The organisation aimed to employ as many locals as possible so that men were gainfully employed; the projects would be their own and money would flow into the villages. People doing community work in Afghanistan often became targets of the Taliban, local warlords and tribal leaders, whether they were locals or foreigners.

Australian military personnel were committed to Afghanistan in 2001 and, over time, the enemy often changed its tactics as coalition forces adapted to the various threats presented. One of the deadliest tools used by the Taliban against coalition forces was improvised explosive devices (IEDs), usually placed on roads and footpaths. These were the Taliban’s weapon of choice: crude, low-tech devices that gave an edge to the insurgents over the technical superiority of the coalition forces. It was reported that between 2008 and 2011, IEDs were responsible for half of the fatalities in Afghanistan.1 The peak of coalition fatalities was in 2010, with 368 deaths by IEDs. Walking presented the highest risk, followed by travelling in a vehicle, particularly on a main road, so transport between bases was mostly done by air, in craft such as Chinooks, large United States (US) Army cargo helicopters. However, helicopters were a target, so they would never stay long – they would always land and drop off or pick up their load, and take off again quickly.

David speaking to villagers in Afghanistan.

It was necessary for ground vehicles to vary their route; at times, they were required to travel through the dasht (desert) rather than on a road. The lead vehicles would pick a route and the vehicles following would drive in their tracks. Sometimes using the road could not be avoided and so the vehicles needed to be IED-protective. The Americans used military all-terrain vehicles and the mine-resistant ambush-protected carriers, which David sometimes travelled in. Australian forces used Australian light armoured vehicles, with a V-shaped hull to deflect the blasts of IEDs, and Bushmaster protected mobility vehicles, which were the most successful in protecting Australian troops. For example, on 27 March 2010, in the Chora Valley, Uruzgan province, five Australian soldiers in a Bushmaster were wounded when it was hit by an IED during a routine patrol. In a less fortified vehicle, it is likely that they would have died. Many Bushmasters were damaged beyond repair, but while some soldiers were seriously injured, no Australians were killed inside these vehicles.

Apart from the constant threat of IEDs, a growing risk to coalition forces were ‘green-on-blue’ attacks. The term ‘green-on-blue’ comes from the military designation for standardised military symbols: blue for friendly forces, red for hostile, green for neutral and yellow for unknown. One green-on-blue attack in May 2011 resulted in the deaths of three Australian soldiers (Captain Bryce Duffy, Corporal Ashley Birt and Lance Corporal Luke Gavin), killed when an Afghan soldier opened fire on Australian and Afghan troops at the Sorkh Bed Patrol Base in northern Kandahar province.2

The other new and worrying threat was suicide bombers, including child suicide bombers. In December 2014, the BBC reported that children were plucked from the streets of low-income areas of Pakistan or from Pakistani madrassas, Islamic religious schools where poor families often sent children.3 One former student recounted that students were often abused and beaten by some of their religious instructors.4 After they were taken, some of these children were brainwashed and coerced into suicide bombing missions. Children who were successfully stopped from carrying out these attacks said that they were told that the bombs would only kill the Americans or, after being given an amulet of verses from the Koran, that Allah would protect them from the blast. Others were given keys to hang around their neck and told they were the keys to the gates of Paradise.

The Telegraph reported in June 2010, that children as young as five years old were being used by the Taliban. ‘ “We have child accessories not child soldiers,” said Major Ed Moorhouse, Commander of Charlie Company, 40 CDO. “They are entirely indoctrinated from an early age, very battle hardened and the Taliban know that our western values inhibit us from firing on children.” ’5 While the tactic of using children had been previously viewed as cowardly and anti-Islamic by Afghan forces when they were fighting the Russians, it was adopted after its extensive and successful use in Iraq. It became a reality of life in Afghanistan.

In 2012, David was working in Chora, 25 kilometres north-east of Tarin Kowt in Uruzgan province. David saw the region as both desolate and beautiful. His role was stabilisation advisor in the Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT). It was a NATO mission and part of the International Coalition Against Terror. Most of his work with the PRT was ‘outside the wire’ – outside the base – amongst the villagers, overseeing projects and meeting with tribal leaders. David’s team worked on wells, clinics, schools and canals to mitigate flooding from the snowmelt after winter. The transition between seasons in Afghanistan is very quick. One week it may be snowing and a couple of weeks later it’s suddenly 30 degrees Celsius (86 degrees Fahrenheit). Part of David’s brief was ‘winning the hearts and minds’ of the local population. It was a position that drew attention and, as such, put him at risk. In addition to this, outsiders might not be aware of local disputes between tribes that may have been going on for generations. Simply helping one group that another group despised could carry risks.

David after a meeting at a village. His security detail had searched an abandoned qala (housing compound) and found a cache of weapons and explosives.

David lived on Forward Operating Base Mirwais, on the outskirts of Chora. There were approximately 70 Australians and 30 Americans working from there. The Afghanistan National Army was also located in the base, which was a potential risk to coalition forces. Being inside a fortified base was not enough to ensure your safety from a green-on-blue attack. There were guards on the towers of the base at all times, as well as a roving picquet, a small unit of soldiers patrolling, ready to respond to any incident.

Forward Operating Base Mirwais.

Inside the base, David lived in one of two large tents joined together, in very close quarters with others. Through the clever use of materials, boxes, cloth and anything they could get their hands on, the soldiers carved out their own space and shielded it from others so that each individual managed to have a small private space. In between the two tents was a common living area. Soldiers would hang up their ballistic vests and weapons ready to go. They would not go anywhere without their guns. There were new modes of accommodation, called HABS, which were designed to protect from indirect fire such as mortars and rockets, with Hesco barriers for the walls and an internal metal frame, which was covered by earth. It’s interesting when you see the inside of these tents, that they look more like the inside of a cubbyhouse than a military base. For a force that spent billions on defence, the sleeping quarters on the frontlines were rudimentary. Seating was often made from pallets and interior partitions made from plywood. Everyone got to know each other pretty well in those circumstances.

There were 12 people in each tent. David shared his tent with 11 Americans who were his security detail or, as they call it, his ‘sec det’. He had an important job to do in Chora and the surrounding areas and it was their job to protect him. The American soldiers were young and already burnt out. One of the Americans who became a mate, Mike Wilcox, turned 23 in Afghanistan and was already on his fourth tour of duty, two in Iraq and two in Afghanistan. His most recent tour was for 12 months. This was a common experience for the Americans and while Australian special forces had a high number of rotations, its regular troops didn’t.

The base was on the edge of town so that most of the activities could be reached on foot. The roads in the town were so small that a vehicle was not only hard to manoeuvre but could be an easy target for potential attackers. Protocols were developed to ensure safety. Walking was the best option as long as they took different routes and did not tell anyone which way they were going, not even their interpreters. They’d go one way to the town and then a different way back. To have any behaviour resembling routine could have fatal consequences.

Once a week, there were meetings in villages that could only be accessed by walking. These journeys were four to five kilometres each way. As air support could be called in quickly, the Taliban often relied on a well-placed IED. These were a constant threat. Outside the village, the soldiers would walk through riverbeds to avoid the IEDs. Between 12 and 16 troops accompanied David. All but three were security. There was a patrol commander who was part of the PRT, a deputy and a medic, both from the navy. David would walk in the middle of the ‘security bubble’ and no one could come inside the bubble unless they had been searched. While it offered protection, it also served to single David out. Looking after a civilian was an uncommon role for the soldiers.

Captain Eric Suitor, head of US PRT in FOB Mirwais, US sniper Corporal Mike Wilcox and David.

A law and justice meeting.

David grew a beard because all the tribal and village leaders have beards. All defer to their elders, and those with the most knowledge and standing are called ‘grey beards’. A beard lent credibility to his role and showed that although he wasn’t military, he had seniority.

David’s role meant that he would assess what projects his team could do. David recalls, ‘Because it was on people’s land, you would consult with the district government officials and the tribal leaders at a shura, the name for an official meeting. Everything is always done over tea, a weak herbal tea. The more sugar you add to the tea, the more affluent you appear.’ Whenever David would visit officials, his American security detail would protect him. Even though the official government offices were secured, he would take his own security.

In January 2012, David was due to go on leave. His original security detail, a team of 19, had shared a great comraderie with him, but was now rotating out. The new team had arrived and were under the impression that they would be involved in combat operations and were ready to fight when, in fact, their role, as part of the PRT was community engagement.

One of David’s new team members said to him, ‘When are we going out to shoot ourselves some Taliban?’ David was disquieted and explained that as part of the reconstruction team, they built clinics and tried to get local support. He says, ‘[I thought] it was probably insecurity talking. They were full of false bravado because they might have been shit scared. If you saw how they responded when we were attacked, they might have been wiped out had we got in a firefight.’

Before returning to Afghanistan after his leave, David pulled aside both of his children – Belinda, 25, and Chris, 30 – and told them what they were to do if he was killed. He told them that their mother would have enough money to get through and she should not sell the house for at least a year. David had worked in many areas of conflict over decades and he was clearly spooked. His wife, Sandra, only learned of this conversation recently.

It was the beginning of what was called the fighting season in Afghanistan. At the end of winter, the Taliban would return from Pakistan and start their attacks. David’s instincts were well-honed and he had a bad feeling after a couple of incidents that showed that the Taliban were getting bolder in their actions around Chora.

He had met with tribal leaders to determine the number of men from each village who would work on an upcoming project. It was agreed that there was a need for 200 workers and so 50 workers would be sourced from four different tribes. A contract had been signed amongst the leaders but sometime later, one of the leaders, dubbed ‘Brown Eyes’, argued that the workers should all be from his tribe. All the men who worked on these projects were expected to pay their tribal leaders a portion of their earnings (patronage). Brown Eyes wanted it all and demanded that David change the arrangement. Not surprisingly, the other tribal leaders disagreed and Brown Eyes was thwarted. He was angry and let David know his displeasure. This was a week before David was attacked.

There had also been two ‘night letters’ – written letters left at the mosque that only the mālik (religious leader of the village) could read. In these letters, the villagers were threatened if they cooperated with the PRT.

The morning of the attack, before they ‘stepped off’ (moved outside the base), Brad Fulz, a US marine, asked if he could join the shura they were attending that day at the district governor’s office, known as the White Compound. Permission was granted from the coalition headquarters in Tarin Kowt, and David asked if he needed an interpreter. Brad replied, ‘No, I speak fluent Pashto and Dari.’

The brown sandy camouflage gear that David had been wearing for his time in Afghanistan had just been changed to a bright navy blue, the new AusAID shirt. Unfortunately, this made him stand out.

After the meeting with the district governor, David and his security detail readied themselves to leave the relative safety of the enclosure and return to the base, just 700 metres away. Amongst them was Michael Hunter, a medic from the navy. It was reassuring to always travel with a medic. The officer in charge of the sec det was navy (not infantry-trained in security). The third navy member of the team was supposed to be David’s close protection and stay within a few metres of him at all times. As they walked towards the external gate and past the Hesco barriers, he was already some distance away from David and called out to those behind, ‘You’ve got Dave, right?’

‘Roger,’ came the reply.

He should have been right beside David.

Perhaps there was something else on their minds; perhaps they had forgotten just how dangerous this country was. ‘We are going to go through the market. Think we’re going to pick up some bread,’ said the close protection soldier. For a trip back to the base that would normally be done at a brisk pace, this already sounded far too casual. In the very street they would be walking down, there had previously been bomb attacks. To stop at a bakery for bread could be a nice social thing to do with the villagers, but it would also increase the risk.

The sec det moved through the bazaar on the main road through the centre of the village. On either side of the road was guttering to help prevent flooding when the winter snows melted. The guttering was part of the work that David was doing with local villages. The predominant colour of the village was sandy brown; the camouflage the soldiers wore was perfect as they blended in so well. The brightest thing in the village that day was David Savage. He wore his cargo pants and a ballistic vest, but his newly issued blue shirt made him very easy to spot. The street was only about 10 metres wide and the patrol slowly meandered down the road. The pace was far too slow and the approach far too relaxed.

The sec det stopped at the bakery at the main intersection in town. The bread was cooked in the traditional way, placed on the side of a hot plate. While most trips back to base would take around seven minutes, the detail stayed for 15 minutes at the bakery alone. This was a potentially fatal mistake. They had only stopped in the past if the bread was ready, so they could grab it and go. If there were people looking to attack the detail, this would give them enough time to make it happen.

Just prior to the attack, the near-fatal wait for bread.

Clearly, the word went out. David passed by the son of Brown Eyes, who was glaring at him. One of the soldiers commented on his presence and demeanour.

They walked past parked, unattended motorbikes but these were not checked. On that very road, motorbikes had previously blown up and killed Afghan soldiers. After walking another 10 metres, a four-wheel drive passed right through the security bubble – a major breach of security. It is believed that a local had approached the patrol commander and his translator about three minutes before the blast, and asked, ‘Who is the man in the blue top?’

The interpreter (an Afghan) said, ‘I don’t think you should say who it is,’ but the patrol commander replied, ‘Oh no, it’s okay; it’s Dave, the AusAID guy.’

Another missed sign that something was not quite right was the sight of local workers leaving early from their PRT-sponsored drainage work. In hindsight, it is clear that someone had ordered them to get out of the area.

On the side of the road, an Afghan was drinking tea. Tea is a ceremonial drink consumed at meetings and not something you have by yourself in a ditch in the dirt. David recalls, ‘After two tours of Afghanistan, I’d never seen a guy sipping tea on the side of the road.’ Brad Fulz, the marine who’d joined the shura that morning, said that the man looked suspicious and suggested a photo be taken of him. David replied that they needed permission, so Brad asked the man in Pashto. He agreed but at the last minute pulled his shirt up and covered his face. It is thought that he was either the lookout or he might have detonated the bomb vest from afar.

An Afghan policeman drove though the security bubble on his motorbike. Immediately after he passed, one of the soldiers saw a small child walking towards the road and his helmet-camera tracked his progress. The child was unusually dressed. Every other child they passed in the village was dressed in dark colours but this young boy was in pristine white clothing from head to toe. We now know these are the clothes of a martyr. For those soldiers who saw the child, and David’s close protection person certainly captured this on his helmet-camera, he was clearly walking towards the group for around 30 seconds.

The suspected lookout or detonator.

Even from 20 metres away, you could see that the child very clearly had a bulge around his stomach where the suicide bomb vest protruded. The child walked up and down a mound of earth beside the drainage ditches and past soldiers, walking towards David. The evidence shows that David was clearly the target even though Defence officials would later argue otherwise. The child’s fists were clenched as he walked towards David, perhaps terrified about what was going to happen. He may have been thinking that Paradise awaited him or that he would survive the blast, or he may simply have been brutalised into following orders. The boy’s outfit was too big and the white fabric made him a ghostlike figure.

The soldier who was meant to be close protection for David was at least 40 metres away and turned his head towards the base when suddenly a massive explosion erupted and a huge plume of smoke rose from the road. At first no one knew that it was a suicide bomb attack and amongst the confusion, swearing and shouting, David, Michael and Brad were now lying seriously wounded and bleeding heavily on the ground. David was thrown 10 metres in the air and landed on his back. He had shrapnel in his legs, left arm and buttocks, the side of his chest and above his left arm and left hip. While the ballistic vest protected his back, he had a metal pellet in his chest wall next to his heart, one in his left lung and another in his lower stomach. His left eardrum was blown out and his right ear was also badly affected so he couldn’t hear much. On opening his eyes, his first vision was of some hair and gore. ‘I thought this must be part of my scalp but this was part of the child and then to the right there was a chunk of flesh and I thought it might have been part of one of the Americans. I could see the soles of Michael Hunter’s feet.’

Michael almost bled to death from leg wounds and Brad sustained multiple injuries, including a number of serious wounds. The security detail radioed the command post within the base, who made immediate contact with Tarin Kowt, Australia’s largest army base in Afghanistan. Injuries are classified as A (alpha), B (bravo), C (charlie) and D (delta). Alpha is the most serious – if the patient does not get surgery within an hour, they will likely die, or lose eyesight or limbs. This was an alpha ‘mass-cas’ (mass casualties). Medivac choppers were called, as well as Apache helicopters for security. Some of the security detail added to their mistakes and put their weapons on the ground while attending the wounded. They came under fire a short time after the bomb attack, just as the Navy SEALs arrived to assist.

Australians from the base came out to secure the incident scene, to protect evidence and to also ensure that there were no other threats. As soon as David heard the Aussie voices, he felt more secure. A couple of quad bikes came out from the base and David was put onto a stretcher on the back of one. He was conscious at this time and already angry at what he now thought were obvious warning signs along the route. ‘I thought, why the fuck didn’t I see all of those signs?’

He hadn’t seen his injuries at this stage and thought it must have been an IED and knew that most of those victims lose their legs. David was rushed to the regimental aid post and as it was a mass-cas event, all those trained in combat first aid rushed to help. The medics were working on him, as well as ordinary soldiers putting drips into his arm. He recalls, ‘It was all hands on deck to try and stop the bleeding. I remember seeing lots of faces gathering around. These were guys that I lived with and they looked pretty grey so I knew it was bad.’ The medics were later praised for their quick work, as well as the engineers and the Quick Reaction Force for securing the site.

Thirty-five minutes after the blast, David was in a Black Hawk helicopter. The way it took off and sped through the passes confirmed to David the critical nature of his condition. He remembers the crew, ‘They wore helmets and masks looking like Darth Vader. I remember feeling pretty lonely as all the Aussies were left behind. You could tell that those strapping you in were Yanks as they called you sir, whereas if it were an Aussie, they would call you mate. I thought I was about to die and after taking off, I remember asking a combat medic if he would hold my hand and he replied, “No sir, we don’t do that.” I later found out that they weren’t allowed to have physical contact if they think someone may not make it.’

David was taken to Tarin Kowt Military Base Hospital, where he was immediately taken into surgery. The surgeons did a laparotomy, where they cut from under the breastbone to the pubic bone and checked for internal bleeding as well as performing a wound clean. He woke from the anaesthetic to see an army priest standing over him, praying. David called out, ‘That better not be the Last fuckin’ Rites.’

The priest replied, ‘I see that you’re not a regular churchgoer, son. This is the Lord’s Prayer.’

David was then flown to a bigger hospital in Kandahar. While in the intensive care unit (ICU), he suffered acute respiratory failure. As he came to, an American woman in military uniform said to him, ‘Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again!’ David says, ‘I really thought I was dying. I felt guilty about it for a long time because at the time I wasn’t trying to fight it. I thought, oh well, this is it. When I was drifting off, I thought about Sandra. I didn’t know it was a suicide bomb, I thought I’d stood on a mine and lost my legs. I always associate death with pain, but it was very peaceful, so I was at ease with it.’

Both his legs were in splints and his whole body was massively swollen from the blast waves. His right arm had so many drips attached that he couldn’t move. A doctor explained to him matter-of-factly, ‘You were blown up by a child suicide bomber, so you’ll have to be careful because there are 60 or so pieces of shrapnel that have gone through you. They often put faeces or Ratsak in the bomb to cause infection and you’ll have to be tested for quite some time for HIV because the little “chai boys” are often sexually abused.’ He added, ‘Some of the shrapnel could be parts of the child’s blood and bone.’ Chai boys will often dress as girls and dance (because girls aren’t allowed to) and are used by rich and powerful men in Afghanistan.

Prior to David’s attack, there was intelligence that suicide bombers had been moved into the district, but they didn’t know who the targets were. Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders) said that the Taliban considered civilians working within the reconstruction team to be the enemy, which not only ignored the Geneva Convention but also saw civilians as important targets.6 After David was bombed, special forces raided Brown Eyes’ compound. He had fled but weapons and explosives were found. It’s been said that those who put the vest on the child were later ‘dealt with’.

Back in Australia, David’s wife Sandra was in bed at around 11 p.m. on Monday, 26 March 2012, when her mobile phone rang. She thought it was David calling to apologise to her. They had fought on the phone the day before as David wanted to extend his mission, which meant he would be away for more than a year. Sandra recalls it had been one of those ‘go fuck yourself, no, you go fuck yourself’ conversations.

The voice on the other end of the phone wasn’t David, but the acting head of AusAID in Australia, James Batley. Over the years, Sandra had received calls to say that David had broken a tooth or had dengue fever, so she wasn’t overly concerned until he said, ‘There’s been an incident in Afghanistan. David was critically injured.’ He then spoke about a marketplace and a suicide bomber and Sandra thought that David must be dead. James said that David was still alive but that they didn’t know much more. It had happened at 5 p.m. Australian time and Sandra was later told that they waited those hours before calling because they didn’t expect David to live.

Their daughter, Belinda, hearing Sandra ask, ‘But he’s still alive?’ started to scream and collapsed to the floor, crying. They sat together for an hour and then the doorbell rang. Belinda got up and suddenly switched into being the responsible one. James Batley arrived with a psychiatrist from AusAID and someone from the Australian Civilian Corp. All they knew was that there was damage to David’s lungs and legs, but nothing beyond that. Sandra spoke about getting to Germany, where it was planned David would be transferred, and said that if they couldn’t assist, she’d get herself over there. Their son, Chris, arrived. Sandra recounts, ‘It was like waiting in an airport lounge in the middle of the night, deadly silence between stilted conversation. Chris was saying, “Dad’s pretty tough; if anyone can survive it’s him,” and then joked, “Oh my god, if he dies, we’ll have to clean out the garage!” ’

One of the American chaplains, who had stayed with Dave in Chora, managed to get on a helicopter and visit him in Kandahar. He held a phone up to David so that he could speak to Sandra, ‘I just wanted you to know that I’m fine. I’ve just got a couple of cuts and bruises, so I think I’ll be in hospital for a couple of days.’ Sandra had just spoken to the doctor in Kandahar who had listed his injuries. ‘I was writing them on a piece of paper and it went around and around the paper. So, I told David, “I’ve just spoken to the doctor and you’ve got far more wrong than that!” ’

Within 36 hours, Sandra, Belinda and Chris were on a plane to Germany. Before flying out, the doctor from Kandahar called to say that David was no longer ‘life threatening’. It was news to Sandra that he had been.

The Taliban released a statement saying that David’s attack was retaliation against the American atrocity where an American soldier, allegedly suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), went out one night in Kandahar province and killed 16 civilians. Incredibly, the survivors were in the same ICU ward as David in Kandahar Military Hospital. ‘You don’t really know,’ he says. ‘Anything that happens they’ll jump on to claim as their own, like ISIS [Islamic State in Iraq and Syria] do now.’ Through sources, David later heard that, as a result of his incident, the American security detail were grounded and retrained by the Australians in patrolling, counter-ambush and first aid. It was a couple of weeks before they were allowed outside the base again.

Jason Byrne from the AFP was a great support in Kandahar, sitting and talking to David for 24 hours until he was flown out. Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) nurse Jess Sullivan arrived in Kandahar and travelled with David on the plane to Bagram Air Base in Kabul where he had his third wound-cleaning. He was then put on an American C-17, set up for medical purposes. It had dozens of wounded soldiers on it, three high and down the centre. David felt comforted having Jess there. They landed in Ramstein Airport, adjacent to Landstuhl US Military Hospital, in Germany, where he was placed in another ICU.

Sandra was worried about what she would see when she arrived, but says, ‘He had no marks on his face, just a little bit of blood on his beard. Despite being medically cleaned, he hadn’t been washed. He was like a starfish and couldn’t put his legs together. He had three limbs bandaged, drips and oxygen. I was too scared to even kiss him. I didn’t want to hurt him and I wasn’t sure if I could touch him. The first thing he said other than, “Hello,” and “Are the kids here?” was “Have they told you the truth about what happened? It was a child.” He kept saying, “It was a child, it was a child.” Sandra didn’t know how to address this, so she asked if she could see someone from the psych department. An American psychiatrist told her, ‘Just run with what David wants to talk about, don’t avoid it but don’t go too deep.’ There was a PA system in the hospital and every time a certain female made an announcement, David would become highly distressed, as the voice was exactly the same as the early warning voiceover at the Forward Operating Base that said, ‘Incoming, incoming,’ when there had been rocket attacks in Afghanistan.

For the 11 days they were in Germany, Sandra and the children stayed at Fisher House, an American house set up for the families of the injured. One bathroom had kangaroo stickers on the doors for ‘our Aussie friends’ and they were given a phone with international calling cards, some clothes for David and a laptop. ‘It was amazing,’ Sandra remembers fondly. ‘Volunteers came and cooked food and restaurants would donate meals.’

The trip back to Australia was organised by the Australian military. They turned the rear five rows of a regular plane into an ICU and David was lifted up onto the plane via a scissor lift. David recounts, ‘They had to go back and forth to get in; I was thinking, don’t let me go, I’ll end up on the tarmac.’ He was flown to the American hospital in Dubai and was then put onto an Australian C-17 with one other patient, some stores and equipment and four medical staff. Due to his extensive wounds, he slept with a cage over his legs during the 24-hour flight from Dubai to RAAF Base Richmond, north-west of Sydney. He was then transferred via a military ambulance to the neurological ward at St Vincent’s Hospital in Sydney.

As he was a civilian the military, having returned David to Australia, saw their role as nearly complete. Two psychiatrists assessed and assisted David, one noting that he was highly stressed about the use of a child in the attack. The other psychiatrist said, ‘While it is normally a long process to identify PTSD, it’s clear that he has it.’ David was having horrendous nightmares, screaming out as though he was back there in the moment. In the nightmares, David relived the incident and dreamt he had lost both legs and was dying. He also had memories of the child’s remains on him and these continue to this day. Sandra explains, ‘With some of his nightmares, his eyes are open but he’s not awake. It’s like I’m on one side coaxing him out of it, and the devil is on the other side saying, I’m not finished just yet! He’s moaning and there’s a look of total fear on his face. When he does wake, he’s terrified and sweaty.’

After the initial, critical phase of survival, the long, slow process of rehabilitation began. There were times when there was no progress or it was glacially slow. Sometimes David’s condition regressed. For a man used to being a competent problem solver, initiating projects and finding answers in difficult situations, David was now in a situation where solutions were very hard to find.

***

Years later, I’m sitting opposite David in a rented flat in Canberra. The eight kilos of explosives that threw him in the air and the subsequent blow to his head caused a brain injury and he lost the bottom quarter vision of one of his eyes. His brain injury has some lasting manifestations. He’ll go to touch hot things. If you pour him tea, he might grab the hot pot instead of the cup, or he’ll pour the kettle into the cup in his lap. Making a decision is tough and many things confuse him.

The confluence of the bomb attack and a lot of drugs to treat his pain and injuries have affected him. He forgot his birthdate. He couldn’t write words for a while, and had to learn how again. He couldn’t remember some words to describe simple objects and so now attends speech therapy. He lost his connection with his right side, thinking he was moving his right foot but wasn’t. When I first met David, he used a crutch for balance but, as some of the shrapnel lodged in a dangerous area around his spine, he now sits opposite me in a wheelchair. David and Sandra can no longer live in their beautiful multilevel home, which is full of mementos from his decades of service overseas.

His nightmares are still present so he avoids sleep. He leaves the lights on, watching TV deep into the night. His hearing was damaged in the blast and he still does not like to talk on the phone. Everyone wants to know how he is but he says, ‘I don’t always want to talk about it.’ If he can’t cope, he shuts down and closes his eyes. His experiences before Afghanistan certainly add to the challenges he now faces. Sandra says, ‘All those things from his past service in different conflict zones bubble away. The human rights atrocities in Sri Lanka and Timor. When he was in the AFP, a mate shot himself and David was there with the body. Those things add up.’

David’s career prior to Afghanistan was with the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. He was seconded to AusAID, the parent organisation of the Australian Civilian Corps. His role was in the PRT, which is a part of the International Security Assistance Force, but it was a NATO mission. He was classified as a ‘Defence civilian’ as they needed access to bases, military transport and so on. David asks now, ‘Who owned me?’

With shrapnel lodged in a dangerous area around his spine, David is now using a wheelchair.

Sandra explains, ‘While he was offshore, the ADF [Australian Defence Force] had responsibility even though he was technically a civilian. Everything overseas was handled so well, but on his return, he got put under ComCare [the Commonwealth Government Insurance scheme for public servants] and they didn’t know how to deal with someone like David with such profound injuries. Once he was out of hospital, he had to see 21 specialists! It just seemed to me that the department didn’t want to set a precedent for civilians.’ Sandra sighs, ‘At nine months, only halfway through his surgeries, they said, “We didn’t think it would take so long.” ’ If he was a soldier he would have been covered by the Department of Veterans Affairs for injuries in a theatre of war.

Because David was a civilian when he was working in Afghanistan, it’s been a long struggle for proper assistance. At times, dealing with bureaucracy has been like talking to characters out of Alice in Wonderland. Sandra is his full-time carer, but has also had to act as his advocate in many situations. David is frustrated, ‘Having a strong spouse is a great thing. With my brain injury, I get confused and you can be bullied into things, but Sandra would speak on my behalf and do what’s best for me. You need an advocate but you shouldn’t need an advocate. I’ve gone from travelling the world, speaking to members of parliament, getting asylum for witnesses to not being able to book a taxi.’

While he hopes that his compensation-related matters will be resolved in the near future, in 2016 – more than five years after he was blown up – David, in his wheelchair, had to spend a week in Sydney seeing specialists to prove that he was still suffering from his injuries.

It would appear that our war-dead are appropriately mourned but our wounded are not as well looked after.