A character with a thousand stories.

A man with an unwavering smile.

This is a story from the incredible life of 80-year-old Mr. Collins.

One of the many hats he’s worn was serving in Australia’s special forces.

He described it as a “small group of 600 people doing the ‘dirty work’ for the Australian government.”

From the story he told, it’s likely he was involved in The Indonesian Confrontation.

Let’s set the stage.

Indonesia and Malaysia are in conflict.

Malaysia had just formed a Federation, and Indonesia was sneaking in along the border between the two countries, trying to destabilize the newly established territory. This typically surfaced in the form of Indonesia invading the island of Borneo and trying to convince tribes to swear allegiance to Indonesia.

Australia enters the picture as part of the British Commonwealth forces to support Malaysia.

This was all occurring around 1963-1966. Which means that Mr. Collins was likely in his early 20s when he was in the special forces, my current age.

There was a specific operation where Mr. Collins and four other special forces men had made contact with a Malaysian tribe’s Chieftain and witch doctor, the witch doctor being the one whom the chieftain sought counsel from and therefore the ultimate decision-maker.

Unfortunately for Malaysia and Mr. Collins, the witch doctor had been bought off with Indonesian money. Upon learning that, Mr. Collins needed to take both the witch doctor and chieftain out.

The strategy was to cause instability. If a tribe lost their two power figures, they no longer had a centralized decision-maker, and now the Indonesians would have to convince the 600 people under the chieftain to pledge their allegiance to their cause as opposed to two individuals.

Mr. Collins said “take them out” casually, leaving me to wonder what “take them out” means. Did they simply remove them from the situation? My question was answered when he next said, “After the shots were heard, panic ensued.” No one saw Mr. Collins as he descended from the tree where he had made the shot from.

Running with his group towards the beach when “35 blokes from the Indonesian government came into the area.” And by some stroke of fortune for the Indonesians, of all the straights to turn down they turn down the same path as the Australians. As the Indonesians start letting bullets fly, Mr. Collins and his group ran. As bullets buzzed past their ears, arms, and even snagging a hole in Mr. Collins’ pants near his ankle; they headed toward the beach. But they don’t make it to the beach before one of the men receives a shot in the shoulder. Collin binds up his arm, provides morphine, and they keep running. He asks his commander via the radio, “Can we engage?” Thinking if he can just turn around, let fly a few bullets to disyuad them, that’s enough to send a signal to the rest of them. That would have turned them around, he says confidently.

But he receives orders of a different mind, “Do not engage.” And you know what you do about orders Mr. Collins says, “You follow them.”

Of course, from a national security perspective, were it to become public knowledge that Commonwealth troops (Australia) were fighting on Indonesian soil, it might have forced Indonesia to declare full-scale war, thereby greatly escalating the conflict.

Precious minutes go by and he asks again, desperate, “Can we engage?” The captains on the other side can hear the bullets wizzing by but hold to their previous statement, “Do not engage.” And orders are orders, so he obeys them.

Mr. Collins and all of his group press on, and by some miracle, make it to the beach, get in the boat, and make it past the crest line before the Indonesians are at the shoreline shooting. They hear shots hit the water. Bullets hit the boat. But no bullets hit them. They make it past the second crest and are out of range.

They radio the submarine to come get them. The submarine refuses to come close for fear of intercepting an Indonesian ship and being found culpable. So the men paddle 5 kilometers out, sink the boat, tie themselves together with a rope, and wait for the submarine.

The submarine’s periscope spots them, and then using the periscope, drags them 8 kilometers away from the shore, almost drowning them in the process.

At this point, if my jaw were to drop any farther, it would be showing up in China.

Finally onboard, they receive medical attention. A doctor pumps the water from their lungs, addresses the wounded shoulders, and provides a bit of tea. Mr. Collins says they were “all right”.

Not exhausted enough to stay out of an argument, Collin launches himself at the captain who was on the radio giving orders not to engage. “When you’re on garden island,” Mr. Collins fumes “and I’m in the field, how are you supposed to know what’s going on? I need to be able to have the autonomy to make my own decisions, or I’m not going back out.”

He did not go back out.