Satire: Adventure tourists missing in the Nullabor

Adventure tourists missing in the Nullabor

Police hold grave fears for the safety of six men and a woman missing in
desert terrain in the Nullabor Plain in south-western Australia.

No word has been heard from the group, which set out more than a week ago on an adventure trek organised by Trojan Horse Tours and led by retired British army major and former mercenary Jeremy Billycock-Smythe.

Three helicopters and two fixed-wing aircraft scoured portions of the
260,000sq km barren desert plateau yesterday but no trace of the group was found. Several parties, led by Aboriginal trackers, are expected to join the ground search today.

"I reckon they're goners," the last man to see the group said.
The man, who declined to be identified, said he stopped his truck six days ago when he saw the group walking along the Eyre Highway which traverses the Nullabor.
"They said they didn't want any help. Idiots. It's 110 degrees out there.
If the heat doesn't get them, the snakes will."

But police search and rescue chief Inspector Randolph Birtwistle held out
more hope.

"Yes, we're very worried about their safety. But we know if anyone can
bring this group out alive, Major Billydick-Smith can.
"I have never met the man, but by all accounts he is a great survivor. Not
only was he trained by the British army, he has also fought as a mercenary in six wars on three continents and survived the rigours of nine prisoner-of-war camps."

Major Billycock-Smythe outlined his Nullabor Plains plan in a blaze of
publicity when he arrived in Australian from Chechnya less than six weeks
ago after a failed battlefield adventure tour in which his whole party was
captured and imprisoned.

Major Billycock-Smythe escaped, but was buoyant about his new venture in
Australia.

"I am very excited about this new adventure project," he said at Sydney
airport.
"We are offering the chance of a lifetime.
"We're not going to take four-wheel-drive vehicles, or camels. That's been
done. We're going to walk them across the desert in flip-flops.
"We will sleep under the stars, just like the early explorers. We will show
them how to catch their own food and how to be at one with nature with the
land, just like the original inhabitants of this land, the Aborigines."

Three Australian men, a New Zealand woman and two American men signed on.

They were driven to the South Australian edge of the desert last Tuesday and set forth from there, heading west.

"Fair dinkum, I didn't know what what the hell they were doing when I saw
them," the truckie, a veteran of Adelaide to Perth crossings, said.

"They were walking along the fringe of the road carrying heavy back packs.
They were wearing thongs!"

"I stopped the truck and asked them if they were out of their tree.

"This pommy bloke thanked me but said everything was 'spiffing'

"'Mate', I said to him. 'You'll fry out here dressed like that.'"

""Don't worry,' he said. 'We have plenty of 15-plus sunscreen.'"

"'Sunscreen! That won't be much help. Do you know how hot it get here?
Look around you. Can you see any trees? Any animals? Anything? There's a reason for that,' I said. 'Where do you think you are going?'"

"'Perth,' he said."

"'Perth! Do you know how far that is!'" I said.

"'Yes,' said the man. 'I have a map.' He shuffled around in a bag but the
only thing he could find was a Latin phrase book. God knows why he needed that!
'Blast. I must have left it at home,' he said. 'But it's all right. I studied it before I left. I have committed a
shortcut to memory.'"

"You're kidding me, mate, right?" I said.

"'Oh no,' said the Pom, turning to the others. "We're serious. Deadly
serious, aren't we chaps?'

"'It's going to take you a long time,' I said. 'There isn't hotel for days.
We are you going to sleep?'"

"'We have tents,' said the dickhead. 'We imported them from Europe. We
bought them at the Plaka flea markets in Athens. They were the latest in
canvas technology in World War II.'"

"'Bugger me!" I said. 'What are you going to do for water?'"

""Oh, don't worry about that,' said the Pom, patting the hip flask on his
belt. 'I never run the risk of running out of water. I can't abide straight scotch.'"

The truckie shook his head in anguish yesterday.

"I offered them a ride. I did. I had room in the truck. But they said no. The poor fools.
"I couldn't do anything else, could I?.

"The last I saw of them was in my rear-view mirror. They were heading away
from the road."

©December 20, 2000, John Martin. All Rights Reserved

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