Home Soil

By Doug E Diamond

We’ve all seen the movies and the TV series’... U.S. Marines, Navy SEALs, CIA, Homeland Security; Delta Force; the list goes on. The common theme here is that they are all American. That’s not a bad thing, but now there’s also an Australian Version. HOME SOIL is the first in an upcoming series of books. The characters display a unique sense of humour and dry wit. These aspects, combined with professionalism, tight mateship and ferocious loyalty, help make parts of the story sad, funny, and very serious...sometimes all at once. At almost each stage of the book there is one constant feature...action. Readers will frequently ask themselves ‘what’s going to happen next?’ While serving overseas with an elite Australian Special Forces unit, LOGAN BLAKE shouts his father and sister a holiday in Bali. Little does he realise that his last two remaining relatives are about to become victims of a devastating terrorist attack. With one member of his five man patrol nursing a wound in hospital, BLAKE and the other three return to Australia. LOGAN’S mates refuse to leave his side as he buries his loved ones. The four soldiers are then sent on leave and, due to mixed family circumstances, decide to embark on a tropical holiday together. As they try to enjoy some beer drinking, gambling and other social activities, trouble manages to find them. A fist here, an elbow there, and a couple of knees thrown in, soon sorts that out. A phone call from their Commanding Officer brings the party to an abrupt halt. It has been discovered that senior members of the terrorist organisation responsible for the Bali attack have made their way to Australia. Intelligence seems to suggest that they are hiding out, with an already established cell, not far from where the soldiers have been holidaying. As procrastinating politicians duck for cover and try to pass the blame, BLAKE and his men are tasked with covertly investigating the situation. The investigation soon becomes a man hunt as well as a race against time. Plans for a catastrophic attack on Australian soil have been discovered. But how, when and where remains a mystery. A select few ASIO officers and Federal Police agents are called upon to provide assistance, as one drama after another begins to unfold. LOGAN BLAKE has his mental strength and self-discipline tested to the limit, as certain aspects of the extremist leader’s past are revealed. Thousands of lives are at stake and some very important choices need to be made; one wrong decision could spell disaster... The clock is ticking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadOnTime BV
• Release date: Aug 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781742844756

Doug E Diamond

I left school at the age of fifteen and commenced my trade as a panel beater. Nine years later I joined the Australian Army where I enjoyed many magnificent years. I’ve had a short foray into life as a quarantine inspector, tried my hand at running a couple of small businesses, and worked for a major energy supplier. I’m a rugby league fan and support the North Queensland Cowboys. I love to play golf and I don’t mind a beer on any day that ends in ‘Y’. Back in the day, I certainly found my fair share of strife; mostly just ‘boys being boys’ type stuff. I am happily married with two grown up children and I currently reside in North Queensland. Some people have asked how I pieced this story together. If I had to give a rough estimate, I would say it’s one third life experience and personal knowledge, one third research, and one third vivid imagination. At this stage, HOME SOIL (Team Blake pt1) is intended to be the first book in a five part series. Happy Reading Doug

Book preview

WARNING: Advocates of

futile immigration policies may be offended.

Home Soil

‘Team Blake’ pt1

Dry Humour…Boys Being Boys…The Odd Beer Or Two.

Unyielding Mateship…

Soldiers of the Highest Calibre…

And …

A Terror Cell In Our Own Backyard.

Doug E Diamond

Home Soil: Team Blake Part 1

Copyright © 2014 Doug E Diamond

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Smashwords Edition

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN:  978-1-742844-75-6 (pbk.)

Published by Book Pal

www.bookpal.com.au

This book is dedicated to my grandfather, Reg Lee, who served with the 2/6 Australian Commando Company (The Purple Devils) in World War Two. Australia’s current Special Forces units were originally based on the deeds and exploits of men such as these.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people for their support during the writing of this book.

Brighty --- Your words of encouragement not only gave me the confidence to proceed, but to aim even higher than I originally intended.

Ron --- The feedback you provided and your requests for further instalments helped my confidence more than you realise.

Janelle, Vicki and Christine --- I needed to know that women from different walks of life would be interested in the subject matter and that my style of writing was acceptable to a female audience. Thank you all for your time and your positive opinions.

To Trevor and Gail Simpson; thank you for allowing me to use both your names and also the Goondi Hill Hotel in the story.

Thank you to my children, Nicholas and Hayley, for their support. Hayley, I would have been lost if it weren’t for your assistance with regards to computer usage.

Finally, to my darling wife, Kathy; you allowed me the time to write this book. You allowed me to use you as a bouncing board; sometimes several times a day. You put up with me being a pain in the arse for eight months or more. You helped me steer the story straight whenever I drifted off course. Without you as my rock, this achievement would have been impossible.

Thank you so much. I love you dearly.

Doug.

Contents

Operation Final Closure

The Devil Wears White

On The Run

The Colonel

One In All In

Surprises

Thunderstorms And Mudcrabs

Cane Toads And Hooligans

The Party’s Over

Spy Games

Tropical Cell

Fears And Visions

Not On My Watch

The Promise

Chapter 1

OPERATION FINAL CLOSURE

URUZGAN PROVINCE – AFGHANISTAN --- Unconfirmed information and false leads had led to nothing for months now. This is why Sergeant Logan Blake still felt the slightest hint of apprehension as he strode across the dusty Tarin Kowt compound. Blake had just received orders for a mission that would take him and his team into the heart of Taliban controlled Northern Afghanistan. Colonel Brandon Peterson had previously been in discussions with U.S. and British Area Commanders, and it had been decided that the Australians would be best suited for this operation. Peterson was the current Commander of Australian Special Forces in Afghanistan. As a patrol leader in Three Squadron, Special Air Service Regiment (SASR/SAS), Blake knew Peterson well. The Colonel was also the Regiment’s Commanding Officer (CO). ‘Alpha Three’ was the standard call sign used by Sergeant Blake’s five man patrol.

So what’d be happenin’ then Blakey? Sean Macnally was first to look up from the fold out field table. He was casually tidying up some remnants from the previous evening; mainly brew mugs, chocolate wrappers, and cards. His Irish accent was still very noticeable after fifteen years in Australia. The common room he was sitting in was used by all unit members who bunked in the immediate vicinity. Sometimes this area seemed like an abandoned old building, and at other times it was like an overcrowded bee hive. Earlier on today it had been the latter, and the smell of recently brewed coffee still filled the air. The adjacent sleeping quarters were sand bagged and fortified in case of enemy rocket or mortar attack. As Blake replied to Macnally, he wondered where his youngest soldier had got to.

We’re up boys, so refill your brew mugs and put your cards away; where’s Robbie?

He’s just gone to the canteen to get some change; he reckons he’s going to win back his money after we cleaned him out last night. Merv Davis shook his head with a slight chuckle, as he referred to the poker game the night before in which Roberto Lascone couldn’t seem to take a trick. Not that anyone would have admitted to gambling of course; that wasn’t allowed.

Righto, as soon as he gets back we’ll have an orders group and sort ourselves out ready to go. Logan stepped outside for a quick cigarette and was joined by Des Baker.

This sounds big Boss; I wish Robbie would hurry up.

Ah well, might as well enjoy a quiet smoke now Dessy; we’re going to be out for a couple of days. Logan smoked, but not that much, maybe a half a dozen or so a week. Des was much the same. They were still both ultra-fit men, and they never took cigarettes with them when they went ‘out’.

Here he comes now. Des spotted Robbie approaching and patting his right side cargo pocket, which was clearly weighed down with coins. You’re not going to need that for a little while now.

What’s going on? Robbie could see the ‘go-time’ expression on his Sergeant’s face.

Game on mate, Blake said, as he stubbed out his smoke on the bottom of his boot. He then put the butt in the bin outside the door. Des did the same. Let’s grab a brew and pull up a seat, Logan added.

The five men moved to a table in a separate room. Blake left a home-made ‘do not disturb’ sign hanging outside. There was an unwritten rule within the squadron; if that sign was up, the others knew not to interrupt.

Gentlemen……… firstly, welcome to ‘Operation Final Closure’. Blake was holding the orders he’d written down, while the other four scanned the map up in front of them with curious anticipation. Next to the map were a couple of enlarged photographs of two very much wanted men. We are going to provide some belated relief to a lot of Australian and American families.

The situation is as follows: Intelligence has finally received a positive sighting, and accurate location, on Ahmed Al Qazim. Blake pointed to one of the photos and continued on. As we all know, Al Qazim hails from Syria and has close ties to al-Qaida. He disappeared from Iraq about twelve months ago and hasn’t been seen since. It was first feared that he may have hooked up with Fakhir Abdul-Barr, and taken to hiding in Yemen. The other photograph was now also in play. Intelligence sources on the ground in that area are starting to wonder if Abdul-Barr is still even alive. Well the good news of the day is that Al Qazim has somehow managed to turn up here. Blake pointed to an area in the north eastern part of Afghanistan. It’s believed that he has received assistance from both the Iranians, and corrupt elements of the Pakistani Security Agency (ISI). He is now on the ‘twenty most wanted’ list. The bombing of the Australian embassy in Turkey, as well as the brutal, public, torture and murder of four American prisoners, are some examples of his handiwork. He has been identified right down to the scar under his left eye and his missing left index finger. He is currently in Nangarhar Province, and must not be allowed to get over the Pakistani border.

Our mission… is to kill Al Qazim…….. I say again, our mission… is to kill Al Qazim…….We’ve also been instructed to treat any other non-friendlies in the area with extreme prejudice.

The mission is to be executed over a thirty six hour period from the moment we leave here. That will be at 1900 hours this evening. So it’ll be dark when we get there, and dawn when we get out. Extraction is scheduled for 0700 hours the morning after tomorrow. We’ll decide once where on the ground, how and when to make the hit. Two American Blackhawks will take us in; one to put us down and the other to provide landing zone (LZ) protection. All eyes had now turned back to the map, which covered an area from Kabul in Afghanistan to Peshawar in Pakistan. Al Qazim is in a small village called Hazztub el Zaabi, which is roughly thirty five kilometres south west of Gandamak, and forty kilometres west of Tora Bora. Blake was pointing to various positions he had pre-marked. He has eight to ten armed men with him, all Taliban. The village population is roughly fifty, not counting Al Qazim and his men. We’re pretty sure the civilians are not armed, but they’re not likely to be friendly either.

We’ll be dropped in about twelve kilometres west, south west, of the village and then we’re on our own; we hump it in, and then hump it out to pick up. I’ll cover extraction shortly. As you know, the area heading up towards the border with Pakistan is quite mountainous, so it could take six or seven hours to cover the distance. There are no known inhabitants in the immediate area of the LZ so it should be a safe drop off. We won’t read too much into that though. You know what this place is like, there seems to be someone sneaking around behind every second rock. Needless to say, it’s a very hostile part of the country, so we can assume that anyone we do see wandering around between the landing zone and the village is also not friendly. They’ll more than likely be Taliban, or they’ll be sympathetic towards them. The Americans are well aware that the extraction may be ‘hot’ and there will be a third chopper for that. We’ll have all of tomorrow’s daylight hours to lie low, conduct a reconnaissance (recce) of the area, and work out the hit. We should be able to run a short sleep roster during that period as well. Blake continued on…….weapons, administration and communications. He covered extraction points, both primary and secondary, as well as escape and evasion (E and E) routes.

Once the orders were complete, Logan gave his team a minute to have a think about the information.

Right, are there any questions?

Merv Davis was first to speak. He was subconsciously rubbing his thumb back and forth over the upper most round inside the magazine he was holding.

Hey Logan, just in case we need to get up close and personal, the boys from ‘Bravo Three’ found a couple of escape tunnels last time they cleared a small village. There were civilians taking cover in one of them and it caused no end of drama. Do we have any idea on whether this lot has any?

Nothing was mentioned Davo. He’s only been there for about a week or so; so unless some of his offsiders arrived in advance I would probably say no. Anyway, hopefully we can top him before any sort of shit fight arcs up, and then it’s all about getting the fuck out of there. If we do have to give chase and it causes collateral damage, then so be it. The mission needs to be carried out regardless.

Roberto Lascone was hoping for a quick, clean exercise.

Well hopefully we can take him out without getting too close anyway; one shot then piss off sounds good to me.

Well Robbie me boy, best ya be getting me into a fuckin’ good position to take the shot then. You do that lad, and I’ll go ya double or nothin’ on last night’s fifty that I can slot it roit between this pricks eyes. Macnally’s accent, and ‘stir up the young fella’ attitude, nearly always gave the men something to have a bit of a laugh about. Robbie didn’t want to get drawn into another bet after the night he’d just had.

Oh give us a break will you; you bastards took all my money last night, and now you’re trying to sucker me into parting with more; no bet.

Oh come on mate, don’t go getting all precious on us over fifty bucks or so; there’ll be plenty of time to win it back later, replied Blake with a half grin. That grin soon reverted back to serious face. But yeah, you’re right Robbie; in and out with one shot would be the perfect scenario. There’s no way anyone would bet against Macnally anyway. Once he had a 7.62 millimetre round in the chamber of his ‘baby’, and one of his bushy red eyebrows against the telescopic sight, it was like he and his sniper rifle were as one.

Well is that it then? I’ve really got to take a shit. Des Baker had been looking a bit uncomfortable for the last ten minutes or so.

That’d be the best part a you gone then Dessy. The Irishman was getting into one of his stirring moods and that meant no one was safe.

Oh go and get fucked; a not so original comeback from Baker.

Ok boys, back here ready to go at 1800 then. It’s now 1255, so do what you need to do. Blake gathered up his notes and shredded them. He then went outside to burn the pile of shreds.

BALI - INDONESIA --- In an outer district of Kuta, on Indonesia’s beautiful Island of Bali, an extremist mullah was preaching for the last time to four youths in their late teens. He was emphasising the glorification of dying for Allah, and bringing death and destruction to all enemies of Islam.

Amatt Wahid was a good looking man in his fifties, who was maybe just a touch above average height and fairly trim. Due to some mixed family heritage, he appeared more Persian than South East Asian, and his skin tone was on the light side of brown. He had an ever so slightly receding hairline and was always quite clean cut, if not clean shaven. He tended to only wear traditional Muslim clothing whenever he was conducting religious related activities. At other times he was generally very well dressed in Western attire.

Wahid had used unfortunate circumstances in these boys’ lives to offer them comfort and purpose. He had managed to taint their minds to the point that they believed only him. He had convinced them that the only sure way to rid the world of the infidel was to take your own life along with as many Westerners as possible. They were to clothe themselves in white, and then after correctly cleansing their hands and face, they would be presentable for their next life. Wahid had convinced them that making this ultimate sacrifice would please Allah, and it would surely bring heavenly rewards and eternal pleasures.

The carefully made, explosive under vests were ready to be armed, and Amatt Wahid was ensuring that his violent plans would be adhered to. The youths would operate in pairs. If any of them backed out at the last minute, then the result would be the same; if no one backed out, then all the more death and destruction. In any case, Wahid would have over riding control.

The target was a hotel owned by an ex-pat Australian, which was mainly frequented by Australians and other Westerners. The popular bar and restaurant was in Bali’s busy night club precinct. With two suicide bombers just inside the front entrance, and the others near the rear bar and dance floor, maximum results could be achieved. The four ‘martyrs to be’ had enough explosives on them to destroy three or four buildings. Wahid had calculated around 9.30 pm to be the best time for inflicting the most chaotic damage.

Come on dad, you’ll enjoy yourself. You can’t sit in the room all night. We’ll have something to eat and just a few drinks. I don’t want a late night either; anyway, this holiday is for you as much as it is for me. Sarah Blake was trying to convince her father that you can be in your fifties and still enjoy Bali’s night life. Alex Blake knew that Indonesia was a beautiful and enjoyable place; he just wasn’t so sure that at fifty five years of age he should be attending nightclubs…. anywhere. He had actually been to this part of the world before, on business, about ten years ago. On that trip he’d even caught up with a dear old colleague of his. Both he and Amatt Wahid had been good friends during their years at England’s Oxford University. Among other things, they had studied physics and chemistry together. Alex even had a photo of the pair of them in an album at home. Somehow they had lost contact with each other over the last decade.

Dad, I’ve been to this place before; until about nine o’clock or so it’s just an ordinary restaurant. It’s not till later that it gets a bit loud, and we’ll probably have left by then.

Logan Blake had bought his father and sister a six night holiday in Bali. It had been seven years since his mother had been killed in a car accident, and it was the least he could do for his last remaining blood relatives. He also felt a bit guilty. Living in Perth, with them in Sydney, not to mention the job he did, he didn’t get to see them very often.

After some more persuasive nagging, Alex gave in.

Fine Sarah; it’s still a couple of hours before dinner time yet and I could do with a nap. Why don’t you go down to the shops for a bit while I lie down?

Yes, I knew he’d come around. Sarah knew she would win, she always did. So off she went, twenty two years old and clothes shopping in Bali, it couldn’t get much better.

URUZGAN PROVINCE - AFGHANISTAN --- Logan Blake had all his kit sorted and ready to go; he’d checked, double checked, and checked again. As he was dozing off, the veteran of nine years with the elite Special Forces unit was reflecting on how much respect, admiration, and trust he had for the men on his team.

Sean Macnally was the oldest at thirty seven. The Irishman had moved to Australia at twenty years of age and joined the Army two years later. His fair skin and red hair were often the brunt of a friendly jibe or two from his mates, but he was one tough customer. He passed his SAS selection about eight years ago after already becoming a top class sniper. Give Sean Macnally the right weapon and he could put a bullet through a matchbox from nearly a kilometre away. Macnally settled in Perth once he moved to Australia, and it was there that he called home. Now that he was in the SAS, he found himself back there. He owned an inner city apartment and some land outside the city.

Merv Davis was the geek of the group without really being a geek. The thirty year old was an IT, electronics, and communications specialist, and had been in the Regiment for five years. He joined the team from the unit’s Signals Squadron. Logan had once referred to Merv as ‘the world’s toughest nerd’. Give Davo some wire, a battery, and a few more odds and ends, and he could just about build a satellite. He was quite tall and rangy, and already fairly bald. Although he hailed from Melbourne, Davis’ grandmother was Maltese, and he had inherited some touches of her Mediterranean, vaguely Middle Eastern appearance. Merv also had an above average aptitude for languages. He was fluent in Pashto and Farsi as well as having some basic knowledge in a few other Arabic dialects. He also had a very good grasp on some Central and Southern European languages. Davis was a thinker; he was always working things out.

Roberto Lascone was the baby of the group. His family owned sugar cane farms outside the town of Innisfail in North Queensland. At twenty six years of age, Robbie had only been on the team for a bit over a year. He was slightly shorter than average at around one hundred and sixty five centimetres, with a very well-toned and proportionate build. His relatively smaller size belied his mental and physical toughness. He was much stronger than he appeared. Robbie had this thing about working on his core strength and he was always doing some form of extra training. It may have come from growing up in the country, no one really knew, but Lascone had some sort of freakish sense of direction. If you took away all the available navigation equipment, somehow he could still find his way in or out of anywhere. He had turned his back on the third generation family business to pursue a career in the military. As well as already being fluent in Italian and French, Robbie learned to speak Indonesian at school. He then pursued the language further and could now speak it quite well. Lascone had a desire to complete sniper training at some stage. He was already an extremely good shot, but he knew there was so much more to learn about the tactical art of being a sniper.

Des Baker was the same age as Blake at thirty three. Their paths had crossed several times throughout their careers, going back as far as recruit training. Des had joined the Regiment about two years after Logan. Baker’s Israeli grandmother had taught him her native languages from a young age, which made him fluent in Modern Hebrew as well as some of the Arabic dialects from around that part of the world. He had a reputation for being one of the best medics going around. If you were in need of vital first aid treatment, Des Baker was your man. His advanced knowledge and skills in this area made him extremely valuable to the team. He and Blake were both around one hundred and eighty centimetres tall with average to solid builds. They both had wavy, slightly thinning hair; Des’ nearly jet black, and Logan’s a light sandy, off blond colour. Both men hailed from Sydney’s northern suburbs.

Logan was one of those men who could comprehend anything he was taught, and would then constantly strive to be the best at it. This enabled him to learn various Afro-asiatic dialects, including some forms of regional Arabic and Berber. He could visit several North African or Middle Eastern countries, and hold his own linguistically. Blake had an incredible inner strength, which enabled him to handle pressure situations in ways that others could not. This was quite evident to all concerned as he was put through the harshest of tests.

The Australian SAS selection course is meant to be difficult. It is meant to test every part of a man’s being. There is nowhere to hide. It is an elimination process, not an instructional course. Anyone who lacks what it takes will be found out. If only one or two percent pass then so be it. There is no set number, only set standards; extremely high standards. A few great warriors are better than countless average men. Even if you are physically and mentally tough enough to complete the course, you still have to be selected; hence the term ‘selection course’. Some sort of characteristic or standout feature could render you unsuitable. Maybe you’re too heroic and put others at risk; too full of yourself; you’re way too tall; good soldier, but not the right attitude; far too talkative; anything. One needs to be ‘grey’; able to blend in unnoticed; able to ‘live in the shadows’. Once you’ve passed selection, you are now one step closer to becoming a member of the SASR. … Then the training begins!

Even in this sort of company, Logan Blake was different. … He was different for all the right reasons. He had training staff as well as superiors admiring his natural leadership ability and his mental toughness. Nothing he was put through seemed to faze him. No matter how hairy the situation, Blake remained clear and composed. From privates and troopers through to colonels, everybody had the utmost respect for this man. Like the soldiers he served with, Logan Blake would put his men and his country first, regardless of the situation.

Righto then Skipper, we’re all set. Sean Macnally gave Blake a poke. It’s 1750; everyone’s packed, rested, and ready for kick off. Logan jumped to life.

Thanks mate, the rovers should be here in about twenty minutes; get the boys in for a quick chat hey. He gave his eyes another quick flicker and he was up.

Ready when you are Blakey. Macnally had the others assembled; they had all slept for a bit and were ready to roll.

Dressed in desert coloured cams and armed to the teeth, Logan’s men were ready for anything the Afghan countryside, or indeed any Afghans themselves, may have waiting for them. This was to be an ‘in and out’ mission. Plenty of ammunition and warm clothing were required; and water; heaps of water. The dehydration and hypothermia risk was very high.

The minutes passed by, and just after 1810 two land rovers came to a halt outside, their diesel exhaust clearly visible in the cold night air. Blake and his men climbed into the rear vehicle and off they drove. Once at the airfield, the boys had ten minutes or so before boarding. The Blackhawk Helicopters had already sprung to life and Lascone noticed something different.

What’s the go here Boss? He was looking at Blake inquisitively. They sound a bit odd; it’s like they’re quieter or something?

Yeah, they’ve been modified a bit. Less noise; this is good for us considering the proximity we’ll have to a couple of populated areas. They’ve also done something so that it’s harder to be detected by any Pakistani radar which may have coverage stretching over the border. Blake had satisfied Robbie’s curiosity. Macnally wanted to stir the pot a bit though.

I tell ya boy, these things aren’t meant to fly as it is, and now they’re goin’ around fuckin’ with ‘em. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it, that’s what I always say.

He had Robbie shaking his head in quiet amusement.

Oh piss off Irish.

Righto fellas, we’re outa here. Blake led the way and he and his men took their places in one of the choppers. Except for the faint glow of some internal red and green cabin lights, the four men now sat in darkness. A thick Alabama accent was heard loud and clear through all their headsets.

How ya’ awl doin’ back there? The American pilot was doing a quick check. Logan gave him a firm thumbs up and off they went; two dark figures rising up into the Afghan night sky.

Chapter 2

THE DEVIL WEARS WHITE

BALI - INDONESIA --- With three shopping bags in her hands, Sarah Blake was struggling not to drop anything as she entered the two bedroom motel suite. Alex had already showered and was ready for a drink. He’d thrown on grey cargo shorts, a maroon and white Manly Sea Eagles polo shirt, and a pair of slip on grey shoes.

You took your time love, hurry up; you can show me what you’ve bought later.

Sorry dad, I got carried away; you know how it is. I’ve got like the best stuff. She was now figuring out what she would wear out. I’ll be real quick in the shower and then we’ll go.

Yeah, real quick my arse. Her father knew that girls her age didn’t know the meaning of quick when it came to getting ready to go out. About half an hour passed and Sarah emerged in a denim skirt and peach coloured top, with flat blue sandals on her feet. As she flicked at her honey blond, mid length hair with her fingers, Alex couldn’t help but be reminded of his wife. Sarah looked very much like her mother did at that age.

You’ll never guess what happened at the shops dad. There was this other Australian lady who I started talking to.

Here we go again, thought Alex.

She looks about your age and it was like the most amazing thing ever; you know that new younger mate of Logan’s that he told us about; the one who comes from Queensland?

Yeah…. Robbie Alex was sounding a bit cautious; he was already starting to realise what his daughter was up to.

Well, Jemma, that’s the name of this lady, she’s like his aunty.

Well I’ll be buggered hey, Alex replied, knowing there was a crunch coming. Sarah continued, quite excitedly.

Well anyway I thought it would be nice if she joined us for dinner.

Oh bloody hell Sarah. He had been through a similar scenario before.

No dad, I’m not trying to play match maker this time, I just thought it would be cool. Anyway, we’re meeting her at Blinky Bills Bar and Grill at seven thirty. Alex Blake shook his head and sighed. He was a defeated man. Daddy’s little girl had