A man with something to hide: The day I put tough questions to Ben Roberts-Smith

In the fading afternoon light of April 12, 2017, Australia’s most decorated soldier was unmistakeable as he surged through the front door of Canberra’s Hyatt Hotel, not only because of his conspicuous height and tailored business suit. The awarding of the Victoria Cross six years earlier had turned Ben Roberts-Smith into a towering public figure.

Work on my book on the Australian special forces’ 13-year tour of Afghanistan was in its final stages. The interview I had at last arranged with Roberts-Smith would plug a few gaps. It was later claimed that I was on a mission to “tear down a hero”, but that was a long way from true. Any challenge to Roberts-Smith’s reputation would have required a lot of evidence, which had not materialised up to this time. Any negative commentary from his detractors was countered by praise from his supporters. I shook hands with him and, to avoid turned heads, we settled in the empty rose garden.

Ben Roberts-Smith loomed large in the public imagination after he was awarded the Victoria Cross in 2011.Credit: ADF

Under thinning tree cover, there was no mistaking an autumn chill in the air – and a degree of tension. The former SAS corporal had been hearing for some time that I was aware of negative commentary from some of his former brothers-in-arms, and that I had been asking questions. We’d already met a few times and, after the obligatory small talk, got down to business, tracking through his Afghanistan rotations, the Victoria Cross action, his ideas about junior leadership and the loss of comrades.

When I broached the subject of bullying, he bristled: “I am hard. I get that, but there is no one I beat up harder than myself. You are supposed to be better; if not, you should not be there. Because if you make a mistake, someone is going to die.”

A waiter appeared. Ben ordered red wine and I settled on a mineral water. “I love battle,” he went on. “I have a pure passion for soldiering and that is why I have this trouble.” This mirrored something one of his officers had said to me: “Ben is one of the bravest, dedicated, hardworking soldiers out there. The whingeing about him happened only after he got the VC.”

While I was obliged to ask difficult questions, which is the job of a journalist, I was in a mood to mediate. As to a prime minister or president, respect has to be accorded to a recipient of the pre-eminent award for valour, the Victoria Cross, irrespective of personality.

And there was much to impress in the early stages of this interview. Shining through an overcast demeanour were moments when Roberts-Smith revealed himself as articulate, measured and persuasive. But the more we spoke, the more his guard appeared to slip. I later noted: “For the first hour he reasoned, for the second hour he ranted.”

I also came to glimpse what one of his detractors described as the “frill-necked lizard”. What unsettled Roberts-Smith most was any mention of those he saw as “rats in the ranks”, as happened when I began to ask the questions I needed to ask about the action that had earned Lance Corporal Ben Roberts-Smith and Sergeant Matt Locke Medals for Gallantry in June 2006.

On June 2, a coalition patrol on a mountain called Koran Ghar observing the Chora Valley below to report enemy movements were located by the Taliban. A swarm of enemy then attempted to overwhelm the six-man patrol. While holding them off until air support arrived, two patrol members experienced weapons failures.

Chris Masters’ book on the unmasking of Ben Roberts-Smith.

But I had heard the perilous gunfight had been triggered after Roberts-Smith and Locke pursued and shot a single unarmed adolescent Afghan, potentially giving away the patrol’s hiding place. And I had detected serious inconsistencies in Roberts-Smith’s account of how the battle began.

Roberts-Smith and Locke would later claim that one of their bullet strikes had triggered smoke from a device hidden in the Afghan’s chest webbing. But other patrol members saw no webbing or smoke; nor, for that matter, had they sighted a weapon, though it was presumed the young male was a likely spotter for the ACM (or anti-coalition militia as the Taliban were described at that time).

As he had done back at Koran Ghar, Roberts-Smith went on the attack. He condemned The Redhead (later known in court as Person 1) as a coward, and both him and The Sig (Person 2) as incompetent, telling me they had not properly prepared their weapons. Roberts-Smith and Locke were forced into action because “on that actual patrol those two guys failed ... when the enemy walked into our position, they failed to fire their weapons ... I got the MG because they did not do their job”.

I will confess to disappointment. Being drawn into a dispute with a national icon was not on my wish list, but I was also far from convinced. The stories from the two troopers were consistent and plausible. Roberts-Smith’s account of one (or was it two?) insurgents entering the perimeter, and a gunfight being triggered when a chest rig detonated, did not so readily stack up.

Still, there was no clear evidence of a war crime. In the overall narrative, the action was revealing for the moral dilemma it posed, which was emblematic of the Afghanistan conflict. The decision to hunt the Afghan down and to kill him was callous, but war is callous. The soldiers had a moral duty to apply vigilance in the use of lethal force, but they also shared an ethical responsibility to defend themselves.

I saw no value in the dominant narrative becoming an unedifying blame game, and I faced additional concern about the legacy of Matt Locke. Roberts-Smith told me it was Locke who shot the teenager, and Sergeant Locke was no longer able to speak for himself, having been killed the following year on his next deployment to Afghanistan.

But the rose garden interview soon degenerated. Roberts-Smith was equally vicious towards other soldiers he suspected had spoken to me. His troop sergeant from 2012 (Person 7, The Sergeant), by now a known opponent, was, Roberts-Smith claimed, inexperienced and jealous. A patrol sergeant from the rotation, who had written a formal complaint about Roberts-Smith being awarded a Commendation for Distinguished Service (Person 6, The Veteran), was “toxic”.

Another soldier from Roberts-Smith’s own patrol (Person 10, The Trooper), “should have been sent home”. “I love the SAS, but it is full of people with grievances,” he railed. “That is why I got out. I left because of those individuals.”

It was nearing 7 pm and Roberts-Smith was running late for a dinner appointment. I offered to drive him to the Ottoman restaurant, but the ex-soldier said he would get a taxi. He told me I was the first person to “ask me about this stuff”. He offered to show me patrol reports and to take me through the detail of the Koran Ghar action if I came to Brisbane. His phone rang. He had to go. In the crisp Canberra air, his anger was like steam.

The staff, the guests and I watched him leave. My overwhelming impression, reinforced in the coming months, was that Ben Roberts- Smith VC, MG was not behaving like a man with nothing to hide.

This is an edited extract from Flawed Hero, Truth, Lies and War Crimes by Chris Masters, published by Allen & Unwin, July 12, rrp $34.99

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