Free Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard by Neryl Joyce Page B

aircraft and settling them in, I found my seat and sank into it. As we took off, the aircraft began to fill with smoke. Something was up. I looked around the cabin, but no one else seemed too worried. The smoke eventually dissipated. Hmm, I might have to enquire about that once we land.
    We arrived in Malaysia late that night. I was released from duty shortly after landing, as I wasn’t needed for anything else that night. I returned to my quarters, pulled out my sleeping-bag, and crashed.
    I woke feeling the sun on my face. It was a lovely morning. After brekkie, my day was filled with briefing commanders, intelligence officers and other members of the detachment on what had occurred in Cambodia. I was told that the white smoke I’d seen on the aircraft was in fact the result of the pilot’s releasing flares. The pilot believed that a foreign force had targeted the aircraft and that there was a missile lock on the Hercules. He engaged the anti-missile defence system to release flares, and some residual smoke had entered the aircraft. It wasn’t known whether the C-130 had truly been a target or if the pilot was just a little jumpy and acted prematurely. Whatever the explanation, it was going to make my story more interesting.
    Later on, after a few beers, I started regaling the others with my glory stories. Instead of my jumping off the RAAF aircraft as it slowly started to roll, the story changed to my commando-rolling off the aircraft as it was lifting off into the air. The story about the tough guy pointing his RPG at us changed to a maniacal super-villain trying to take us prisoner and threatening to blow our brains out. And then there was my great escape on the last flight out of the country: the Cambodians were trying to shoot us down and the pilots were forced to release anti-missile flares so we could escape. All very exciting (and untrue), but what’s a war story without a little gloss?

BRUCE AND I EVENTUALLY got engaged and, in due course, I became pregnant. I was also selected to undertake officer training at the Royal Military College (RMC) in Canberra. Things were going great, both professionally and personally.
    Bruce and I eagerly awaited the arrival of our baby. I was amazed and fascinated at what was going on inside me. I was creating life: a new little person who would come into the world. I couldn’t wait to be a mum; Bruce couldn’t wait to be a dad. We were going to be the perfect little family.
    As the months went by, I no longer fitted into my camouflage army uniform and had to start wearing a maternity dress. I’d expected my stomach to grow, but I was shocked to find it wasn’t my only body part that changed. Suddenly I had a huge arse. My ankles swelled up, my face ballooned and ugly stretch marks appeared on my stomach.
    I maintained a good fitness program throughout most of my pregnancy, but eventually I had to let it go. I couldn’t walk even the short distance between my desk and the office printer without having to take a detour to the toilet. But as soon as I felt my son move inside me, I knew it was all worth it. What was a little discomfort compared to getting to hold a little baby boy in my arms?
    I worked right up until I went into labour. Bruce and I had just finished decorating the nursery. I collapsed into bed, and lay there for about ten minutes before I suddenly felt myself gushing liquid. My waters had broken! Straightaway, Bruce and I left for the hospital. Eight hours later our son was born.
    Kane – ‘son of the warrior’ . I was a warrior. Bruce was a warrior. The name was perfect for our son, my gorgeous little boy. I really took to motherhood. Having watched my mother breastfeed Naomi, I was completely comfortable with nursing my son. It was an intimate and special thing we shared: an experience that is hard to put into words. In the hospital bed, I held my baby in my arms, kissed him gingerly on the check and welcomed him into the world.
    After that, life became a