The Scorpion Dance

by Lieutenant Dave Sabben, 6th Battalion the Royal Australian Regiment, Vietnam

Lieutenant Dave Sabben was part of the first intake in 1965 of National Servicemen and served in Vietnam with 11 Platoon 6RAR from June 1966 until June 1967. Dave was a platoon commander during the battle of Long Tan. In the last three weeks of his tour his platoon was posted to the Horseshoe – at that time an undeveloped feature. They were tasked, along with three other platoons, to develop defences from scratch. With sentries posted, the order of the day was to dig and establish wire obstacles and defences. The following is a letter dated Tuesday 2nd May and was sent home to his then wife. The letter describes some of the more amusing (though not at the time, of course) events of his service and he explains this in some detail to her.

“Dear Sue,

“Dress of the day is floppy hat, shorts (no undies), sox, boots and dog tags. In my case, add a pistol belt with the Browning 9mill in its holster. No problem. It’s mid-morning, and I’m on the loo doing what a guy does on the loo mid-mornings. I’ve finished and the paperwork is completed. I stand, surveying the countryside over the hessian screen as I pull up my shorts and do up the buttons. Not a care in the world. I step out of the latrine enclosure. My pistol belt is over my shoulder. I’m doing up the last of the buttons.

“There’s diggers nearby working on their slit trenches in the hot sun. The blowies behind me sound pretty excited about lunch, but otherwise all’s well with the world. Suddenly an excruciating pain in my groin. First thought is that I’ve been shot, but there’s no noise and no one’s diving for cover, so the thought’s dismissed as soon as it arrives. But the pain’s still there, so I begin to drop my daks to investigate the territory. Ouch. Another pain, in the same area. The daks are off and I’m checking inside them for any thorn or stone that may have been picked up at the loo. Nothing.

“I’m aware of two things – the diggers have stopped work and are staring at this officer who’s standing there in a pair of boots and a giggle hat looking into an empty pair of shorts, and I’m aware that the officer in question is still in great pain, localised in the groin area. My second thought is gone as soon as the first – perhaps I caught myself in the buttoning-up process (we don’t wear undies, remember). But no, the shorts came off ok. Let’s check out the appendage. Ouch. A third “hit”. I glance down just in time to see a small transparent-brown scorpion extract his tail fangs from the tip of my most tender bit and drop to the ground. I must admit to a certain degree of hysteria at this point, in that I drew my pistol in my rage at that bloody insect. Checking my instinct to shoot the little bastard (it’s just not done to discharge a firearm except at bonafide VC), I satisfy myself by stomping the critter to death.

“After two feeble one-footed attempts, he’s still weaving around with not much more effect. It’s then that I realise that my Size 10s aren’t going to get at the little bastard down there in amongst the pebbles. I need something finer to get down between them. At least I have the presence of mind to make sure it isn’t my finger. I instantly realise I have just such an instrument in my hands already – my pistol. It’s not cocked. There’s no round in the breach. Safety’s on. All of this is instinctively known, so I grab it by the barrel and go hunting scorpions. It takes only a couple of whacks with the butt to do the job, but it seems to me like I spend the next few minutes finishing the job, swearing at the little bastard with every stroke, and assuring myself with each whack that he’s getting more and more deceased.

“Slowly, it dawns on me that this is as deceased as he’s going to get. With the slow cessation of the pistol-whipping comes the growing awareness of the audience. I look up to see that the circle of diggers has grown. They’re all standing there, wide-eyed, silent and absolutely still. As the rage declines, the pain increases. But even thru the pain, I can see the funny side. So far as they’re concerned, they’re witnessing a rare event – an officer caught in the very act of going troppo. He’s had too much. He’s thrown off the uniform, jumped up and down on the same spot for a while, then he’s grabbed his weapon and has just belted the living daylights out of the very ground of Vietnam itself. Poor sod. And still they stand, watching in silent disbelief as the officer in the boots, giggle hat and dog tags drops his pistol, grabs his genitals, curls up and rolls over onto the ground. The magic of their moment is broken only when, thru a dark grey curtain of nauseous pain I manage to say: “F***in scorpion”.

“I don’t remember much of the next 24 hours. They got my shorts on, took me to my tent and lay me on the stretcher. I told them not to fetch the medic – I’d sleep first and call him when I woke up if I needed help. After all, I wasn’t going to have some part-time-medic-come-bandsman putting it in a splint or tying a tourniquet on it, was I? I slept the rest of the day and overnight. In fact, they did send the medic, who just made sure I was sleeping ok, but I didn’t know that until today (Tuesday). So here I am. Nibbling breakfast. More numb than hurting. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning but I’ve emptied two water bottles between interrupted sleeps overnight. There’s a red mark where he got me last, but no swelling. The first two bites were in amongst hair, and I can’t find the marks. The whole general area is tingling numb, so I can’t localise what pain there is. I feel a sort of numbness down the inside of my right leg too, but it doesn’t really hurt. I can walk. My Batman, Barry Vassella, delights in informing me that the word has been spread that “Sir” has been bitten on the dick, and the call is out for volunteers to suck the venom out. No takers yet.”