Mate pens poem in memory of Lieutenant Michael Fussell

DEFENCE Force veteran Brett Sprague never forgets the passing of his mate Lieutenant Michael Fussell in Afghanistan on 27 November 2008.

Lieutenant Fussell, aged 25, was serving with the Special Operations Task Group when he was killed in action by an improvised explosive device (EID) detonation while conducting a dismounted patrol in Uruzgan province.

Born in Coffs Harbour on 17 November 1983, he served with the Sydney-based 4th Battalion of the Royal Australian Regiment (Commando).
His family remain living on the Coffs Coast to this day.

“Michael, or ‘Fuss’ to us, was part of our small cohort of new Artillery Officers in 2005,” Mr Sprague told News Of The Area.

“At the School of Artillery in Puckapunyal, Victoria we trained to be Artillery Officers together, intensely, in 2006.
“As a result we were very close and his loss is felt very deeply.

“There were about 20 of us in the wider Artillery cohort, but Fuss and I were of an even smaller cohort of 11 Field Gunner specialists who spent nearly every waking minute together for three months on our Regimental Officer Basic Course and then another month together later in the year learning to become Gun Position Officers.”
Each year as the date nears, Mr Sprague finds himself looking for new ways to remember his mate.
This year Mr Sprague has written a poem, with the help of Tasmanian editor and poet Susan Scott.

An Elegy: Short of Summer

A Call for Fire – for Michael, our Gunner

 

We were the Queen’s young Anzac pride,

Staunch mates – whose hearts and fates collide,

Roden Cutler’s bravery our guide –

We came from Burke and Wills’s rich dirt,

From coastlines where the beaches skirt,

In our leisurely time – long before limbs hurt,

…Short of Summer.

 

We rode that officer – commissioning high,

The lads in their Arty ties,

Daring missions were dreamt for distant skies –

Puckapunyal, Delta Blues cup year,

We left the rear with all their gear,

With Fuss’s resounding cheer in our ear,

…Short of Summer.

 

A Manly trip for a history course,

Melbourne weekends on the sauce,

Centuries-old customs to enforce –

Cigars and port over games of chess,

A cocktail party, dressed our best,

With stunning girls, our fleeting guests,

…Short of Summer.

 

We studied doctrine, fought to pass,

Evals on guns, exams in class,

Then Anzac Day with polished brass ̶

Our Fuss was sharp, with charming wit,

So keen and kind,

so bright and fit,

A gunner striving, bit by bit,

…Short of Summer.

 

The scent of cordite, recce runs,

Now fully qualified on the guns,

The pinnacle skill was yet to come –

Michael – the first to breach the lip,

He was rapier-fine, and like a whip,

A Forward Observer, he’d reached the tip.

 

Then came the call – training done

 

Facing down the terror’s hue,

The shock of 9/11’s due,

The Bali atrocity included too –

With danger in Afghanistan,

He headed fearless to the sand,

To stand with U.S. allied command.

 

We lost Michael on his own,

Returned to his mountain home,

Cheated of chance to marry Joan,

You were our hard-charging best,

Thoughtful and caring,

Chaplains blessed,

Your brilliant laugh still rings the Mess.

 

Shot, over…

…Shot, out.

 

Our silenced gunner,

We lost you short of Summer.

…So very short of Summer.

 

Rounds complete, over…

…Rounds complete, out.

By Andrea FERRARI