VC hero Cameron Baird's mum and dad remember their fallen son - the last Australian soldier to die in Afghanistan
THE parents of VC hero Cameron Baird talk for the first time about their son’s extraordinary bravery and how they would give his medals back if they could see him again.
KAYE and Doug Baird, the parents of VC hero Cameron Baird, talk for the first time about their son, his extraordinary bravery under fire and how they would give his medals back if they could only see the broad crease of his smile again.
IT was a Saturday night less than a year ago when Kaye Baird heard the doorbell ring.
She hadn’t been expecting visitors, and husband Doug had already settled on the couch to watch the footy.
She can’t recall exactly what she’d been doing - but what happened next is something they will both never forget.
Three men in military uniforms stood on their front porch. The dark security screen hid their grim faces.
The trio didn’t have a chance to say anything when the door opened. They didn’t have to.
Mrs Baird stumbled back, her hands to her face.
“No, no, no, no, no. Not Cameron. Not my boy.’’
It was June 22, 2013. The 4274th day of the Allied campaign in Afghanistan.
The day the 40th and last Australian soldier was killed in the conflict.
The day Doug and Kaye Baird lost their youngest son to the madness of war.
Hours earlier, the boy who should have been an AFL star had forged his way into an enemy compound amid the chaos of crossfire in the Khod Valley.
When the sounds of munitions ceased and the dust and smoke settled, a hardened cast of Aussie commandos spotted the body of their team leader slumped on the ground. Cpl Cameron Baird had only just turned 32.
IN THE blur of days and weeks that followed, Mr and Mrs Baird and their eldest, Brendan, would learn far more about the bravery of their son and brother. There would be stories delivered between warm greeting and comforting embrace, in their own living room and across the vast open space of Parliament House.
ANZAC TO AFGHANISTAN: 100 YEARS OF UNTOLD STORIES
Not just the staggering examples of his courage that began on a footy field and continued in Iraq and Afghanistan.
But also the kind of anecdotes that stood as a testament to the Anzac spirit.
Their boy hadn’t just become a selfless soldier. He was a respected leader who always seemed to have a smile on his face, loved a joke and could strum a guitar like nobody’s business.
Born in Tasmania but raised in Melbourne, sport was his earliest passion. By his mid-teens, Baird dreamt of becoming an AFL player, earned a senior spot with the Calder Cannons and had caught the eye of recruiters at Geelong and the Adelaide Crows.
His 6ft frame and ability to launch himself above the pack earned him comparisons with some of the game’s greatest footballers. But he was plagued by a nagging shoulder injury and in the end no club was willing to take the risk.
The family hosted a barbecue to watch the 1999 draft. But when he wasn’t selected, nobody quite knew what to say.
His parents recall their son’s disappointment. He felt like he had wasted his potential and still wanted to prove himself.
He withdrew but not for long. Just weeks later, he announced his intention to join the armed forces.
His ascent from infantry rifleman to commando was a relatively fast one. Squad leaders spotted his potential early and tried to break him in training.
But the 18-year-old stood his ground. He was an imposing recruit - the only soldier to ever break a bayonet during gruelling drills.
At the passing-out parade, he was named the most outstanding soldier.
By 2001, he was on peacekeeping duties in East Timor and a year later arrived for his first tour of duty in Iraq. Cpl Baird was part of a new generation that knew little of war but was suddenly surrounded by it.
It was during the “shock and awe” invasion of Iraq that his parents became far more anxious. There had been talk of Scud missiles and sarin gas attacks and each morning they would flick on the TV for news and hope for an end to it all.
By then, the experiences on the ground had already started to shape the young infantryman.
He was standing just metres away as angry Iraqis famously pulled down the statue of Saddam Hussein.
He was among a squad who would discover the dictator’s secret fleet of fighter planes hidden in the desert.
By the time he was deployed into Afghanistan, he was one of an elite few who had completed more than 135 separate military-based courses. He was qualified to use or fire 25 different weapons or firing systems and became an explosives expert.
Though he hated it, he finally understood the complexity of war, the decisions that had to be made and the anguish so often associated with it.
THE actions leading up to his death were, according to those beside him, typically extraordinary.
As part of a special operations task group, he was embedded in the most dangerous regions of the country and under almost constant attack.
The brutal exchange of fire across the breathtaking mountain ranges and gleaming green valleys had already claimed 10 lives from the same unit.
Cpl Baird had shared experience and conversation with each of them. He was not ignorant to the danger. He knew his limits but he could make decisions under remarkable pressure.
It was a skill that had already earned him a Medal for Gallantry in 2007 after he braved machinegun fire to recover the body of a mortally wounded mate. On his last day alive, he was part of a helicopter assault into Ghawchak village in Uruzgan.
As soon as it hit the ground, the entire commando platoon came under attack.
Cpl Baird and his team “neutralised” several enemy positions before an adjacent team came under heavy fire.
Bullets struck the ground around him as he tried to draw fire away from his mates. In his final moments, Cpl Baird launched an astonishing assault, charging an enemy-held building three times under sustained fire.
He pulled back once to clear his weapon after it jammed, and at the second attempt in order to reload.
He was still firing as he finally edged through the targeted doorway at the third attempt. It was his final act of valour.
ACCORDING to the Defence Force’s official citation, Cameron Baird died how he lived - at the front, giving his all with no hesitation or indecision.
But finding reason behind it isn’t easy for his family and friends.
That Cpl Baird was the last Digger killed in the campaign - and the 100th recipient of the Victoria Cross - isn’t lost on them. His death marks an end to the tragic roll call of lost names and families who will never be the same.
This Anzac Day, like every day, Doug and Kaye Baird will remember their son.
But they will also be thinking of the other Aussie families dealing with the greatest loss of all. There are 41 in total - 40 men killed in action and one who died before his deployment.
The Bairds have Cameron’s medals for service and gallantry, but they would give them all back for one glimpse of his smile again.
“It is rare to see a photo of Cameron not smiling,” Mr Baird said.
“His positive attitude was his greatest distinction.’’
Mrs Baird said: “We always knew there was a chance that something could go wrong.
“But Cameron made it clear the things you can’t control in life didn’t just unfold in the heat of conflict. They could happen to anybody, on any day.
“We could see Cameron loved what he was doing and that put us at ease. He had found purpose.’’
It was early in his army career, during a short stint home, that Mrs Baird recalls a quiet conversation.
“Cameron, this is your mother talking,” she said, her hands on his face.
“We don’t want a dead hero. We want you to come home.’’
He told her not to worry. It wouldn’t come to that.
Mrs Baird is pretty sure it’s the only promise her son ever broke.
aaron.langmaid@news.com.au
What’s open on Anzac Day?
The public holiday has brought in changed trading times, with many businesses shutting up shop to honour the Anzacs.
How to use your free Virtual Candle
Australians will commemorate Anzac Day from home on Saturday. This is a step-by-step guide to using your free Virtual Candle and other content to Light Up The Dawn.