K83, two of us were deployed with a bunch of Yank Green Berets to recon, then we were to raid Learmonth Airbase at Exmouth. We bent a Rover in half and had to leave it and others behind. After the raid I was sent back from Port Headland with five others to pick up our LRPVs and tow the other bent one back.
The order was there and back. We got there late and missed the mess so decided to go to town to eat and grab a drink. We took one of the LRPVs and headed off. After dinner we hit the pub. We met the Ice Cream Girl, as she was known by her nickname. Anyway, Paul Gukilau (spelling?) and I were trying our chat; neither of us would give in. This went on for a couple of hours. When we decided to head back, she needed a lift so we took her with us.
We were in 11 x 11s on the apron at the side of the runway. Paul made the mistake of going to get something from the tent. I grabbed her hand and dragged her off down the slope and to the dunnies. Well, we got into it and were fair at it when the door burst open and the RAAF cops were there. The bloody dog was growling two inches off my arse. She was shitting bricks, trying to crawl away. I turned and looked up to see one guy and a sheila. “Get that fucking dog away from my arse,” I shouted. All they could do was laugh.
We were arrested and taken to their HQ tent. The sarge, another sheila, got up me and revved the Ice Cream Girl. She sent her packing then proceeded to tell me she was going to charge me. I told her to go for it. This slanging went on for a bit. She threatened to call the OC and that was when I lost it and burst out laughing. She stood there, stunned and demanded an explanation. I told her that if she thought I had an attitude, wait till she spoke with him and she’d have a new one. The other guy typing sprayed his coffee all over his work and lost it, pissing himself. She relented and had a laugh. She wrote me up and handed me a bit of paper, which I tore up and tossed in the bin.
“You can’t do that. It’s an official military document,” she said.
“Your military, not ours,” I replied and walked out. I ended up getting the snake’s name and number over at Amberley. When I got back, the boss went ballistic, not for rooting the chick but for not coming straight back and getting caught.

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