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ASSAULT BY SEA ...
BY LT Peter Martinelli
Edition 1171, July 26, 2007 |
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BATTLE PREP: Troops from 2RAR make final preparations aboard USS Juneau the night before the beach assault.
Picture: Cpl Chris Moore |
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FIRST WAVE: An Amtrac surfs into the shore.
Picture: Cpl Chris Moore |
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INVASION FORCE: A flotilla of US Marine Corps’ AAVs make their way towards Freshwater Beach inside the Shoalwater Bay Training Area after leaving the USS Juneau.
Picture: Cpl Chris Moore |
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ON THE BEACH: An infantry section consolidates the beachhead after exiting an Amtrac.
Picture: Cpl Chris Moore |
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IT IS 2am. The amphibious ship USS Juneau sits a few kilometres off the coast of Shoalwater Bay, a grey smudge against the pre-dawn skyline.
In the stuffy corridors, one, two then tens of bleary-eyed Australian soldiers shuffle from their berths in the lower decks.
The bushland hues of their disruptive pattern uniforms are rendered shades of grey in the cold light.
The previous night had been a frenzy of loading magazines for rifles and belt bags for light support weapons and machineguns.
Through the green-tinged lens of night-vision scopes, the diggers duck their heads through low hatches and climb down to the well deck, where their dark-green, tracked transports wait.
Up to 14 soldiers cram into these 8m long and 3m high machines – called AAVs and Amtracs by the Marines – which bear more than a passing resemblance to their island-hopping precursors from World War II.
Wedged between packs, weapons, life jackets and assorted hard-edged and heavy equipment, the soldiers of 1 Pl struggle to get comfortable aboard their track, callsign Alligator 13.
Minutes pass and the diggers shift their weight from one side to another, pumping blood back into sleeping limbs.
Then, one by one, the engines wake. Soon the metal confines of the well-deck echo with the rumbling of Detroit diesel.
With a lurch and screaming howl, Alligator 13 charges into the choppy Pacific. The diggers grin at the carnival ride start to the day.
The Amtrac pushes through the water like a bus wading through molasses.
Through a small speaker in the hull, tinny voices of other AAV crews can be heard.
“Stuff is going on … they can’t find the beach,” someone mutters from the darkness.
The AAV drivers jockey for position in the surf as their machines churn through the waves like wind-up bath toys.
The soldiers snatch sleep as they wait. Ninety minutes later Alligator 13 touches the beach and dawn breaks on a crowded scene.
Humvees, Amtracs, tanks and artillery jostle for room as a Marine raiding force, launched the night before on Zodiacs, sleep in Goretex cocoons aboard their rubber craft.
The Amtracs gun their engines and nose forward along a narrow sand track from the beach. It’s H Hour. |
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