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Real Problems. Real People. Real Solutions.
SMEAC – Veterans Helping Veterans
The stories below are from real veterans who came to SMEAC in crisis—many with nothing left to give.
Their experiences reflect just a glimpse of the hidden battles countless others continue to fight, often in silence.
Mental health breakdowns, family collapse, homelessness, incarceration, abuse, and the unseen wounds of service – this is the brutal reality far too many veterans face.
SMEAC doesn’t hand out empty promises or quick fixes. We provide a safe place where veterans are heard, supported, and equipped with the tools to rebuild their lives.
This is why we exist. This is why we fight. And this is exactly why your support counts.
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Thank You!
SMEAC, WHEN ATTACKING THE SAME HILL THE SAME WAY JUST DOESNT CUT IT ANYMORE
Soldier Bravo, (Click to read)
The story of “Soldier Bravo”.
Not his real name.
Backstory: “Soldier Bravo”
When “Soldier Bravo” first walked into the SMEAC Hub at Bowen Hills, he needed support from his care worker, a cane, and the wall just to stay upright. He was missing a leg, but also his confidence, his sense of purpose, and his voice. When he spoke, his words were barely intelligible.
“Soldier Bravo” was in a bad way—but he didn’t want to be. He wasn’t sitting at home feeling sorry for himself. In fact, he turned out to be an inspiration. He told us he wanted to volunteer with SMEAC, to come into the Hub every Monday and Thursday, and to be part of something—part of the SMEAC tribe.
That very Thursday, he showed up to a farewell for one of our volunteers. He was walking unassisted, speaking clearly, smiling—he was almost unrecognisable. He was cheery, engaged, and for the first time in a long time, he looked like a man rediscovering himself.
Just a few days later, around fifteen SMEAC members deployed to help a fellow veteran in crisis—“Soldier Alpha.” When his life unravelled, “Soldier Bravo” showed up without a carer, without a cane, and without a trace of self-pity. Hobbling around on one leg, handing out water, cutting scrap metal with an angle grinder, he was on fire. He had purpose again.
But trauma doesn’t follow a straight line. The following Tuesday, “Soldier Bravo” received a confusing letter from DVA stating his payments would cease in six weeks. Just like that, we were back to square one. He was incomprehensible on the phone—shaking, panicked, and broken. His RSL advocate was on leave, and after being bounced between DVA call centres, he was at the end of his rope—his words, not mine.
I told him to come straight to SMEAC HQ and bring the letter. Fortunately, Rod and Sarah from Veteran Law Group were already there for a meeting. Rod asked if he could make a call on Bravo’s behalf and got straight through to the DVA Secretary. “Don’t worry, mate—we’ve got this,” Rod said.
Instantly, “Soldier Bravo’s” demeanour changed. He wasn’t alone in the fight anymore—he had fire support. He was back in the trench, but this time, with his mates beside him.
Today, “Soldier Bravo” volunteers three days a week at SMEAC HQ. He’s got drive, purpose, and he’s become a trusted friend and valued team member. With help from Dr Judith and our advocate Dennis, he’s now supporting others—including “Soldier Charlie,” who was stuck in the RBH Mental Health Ward.
He’s not out of the woods yet. Not long ago, while working with Dennis on his case, he had an emotional breakdown—one of the most intense I’ve ever seen, complete with convulsions, confusion, and total distress. It was confronting. Thankfully, Dr Judith was just next door and knew exactly what to do. She stepped in and took control without hesitation.
Epilogue: “Soldier Bravo” has taken the first steps of his new journey, and we’ve been walking beside him the whole way. It’s been a rocky path with more than a few false summits, but SMEAC has been there to lift him when he’s fallen and to share the load.
I had plans for “Soldier Bravo.” Selfishly, I saw him becoming a key player in the SMEAC arsenal—and he has. He’s become a weapon of purpose, forged through pain and perseverance.
At SMEAC, we carry you until you’re strong enough to carry the next veteran. Because on our C130, there are no seats for non-combatants. Whatever your skillset, if you’re willing to serve again, there’s a place for you.
We are Warriors, Not Victims. We believe in a Hand Up, Not a Handout. And no veteran—no one—gets left behind.
ENDSTATE: SMEAC is a massive undertaking, driven entirely by volunteers. There are no salaries, no business-class flights, and no long lunches. We leave that to others.
Like any taskforce, we need reinforcements—organisations and individuals who genuinely want to make a difference.
If that’s you, head to smeac.org.au. Read what we’re about. Spread the word. Buy some merch, donate, volunteer—or do all four.
Just do something. Be part of the solution.
Cheers,
Stomps
Soldier Echo, (Click to read)
The Story of “Soldier Echo”
Not his real name.
“Soldier Echo” began his career as an infantryman and excelled in the trade—but he wanted more. A few years at university and an in-service transfer saw him trying to convince the likes of me that the pen really is mightier than the sword. For the record, when staring down the barrel of a T72 Main Battle Tank, I’ll take a Javelin weapon system over a biro any day. Maybe that’s just me.
Long story short, “Soldier Echo,” like many veterans, was a proud soldier who found it nearly impossible to seek help. Over time, the pressures of life ground him into the dirt, leaving him unable to stand on his own. A broken marriage, worsening mental health, no income, and mounting bills pushed him closer to the edge. Eventually, a mutual friend concerned for his wellbeing reached out to SMEAC on his behalf.
When I first spoke to “Soldier Echo,” the man was a mess. Yet toward the end of our hour-long conversation, he admitted—almost sheepishly—that he was actually grinning on the inside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way.
We got him to SMEAC HQ, though he ran late—he’d spent the morning visiting two different GPs trying to secure his diabetes medication, only to be told there was none available in Queensland due to demand from weight-loss seekers.
On arrival, “Soldier Echo” apologised profusely. I called across the room to Dr Judith, asking if she could squeeze him in. Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from her office, relieved—his essential medication was being express posted from Sydney.
Every battle—and every war—is won through the combined efforts of many, each bringing their unique firepower to bear. This situation was no different. “Soldier Echo’s” financial crisis was the result of a perfect storm: family breakdown, medical emergencies, and mounting stress that nearly broke him. But he was still in the fight.
In this moment, I turned—without hesitation—to our trusted allies at Aussie Veterans. Mick, Fiona, and Dave consistently go above and beyond for veterans in need. Whether it’s guidance, emergency support, or financial help, they are hands down my go-to organisation.
Did we win the war? He’s still alive.
ENDSTATE: “Soldier Echo” is now back on his feet—resupplied, refocused, and rearmed. And because of his training, background, and experience, he’s bringing more firepower to SMEAC’s battlefield than a regiment of 155mm howitzers.
These are real veterans—not curated photo ops for social media feeds. We’re running on the smell of an oily rag, building Camp SMEAC from the ground up to help people just like “Soldier Echo.”
If you want to be part of the solution—donate, volunteer, share the story. Help in any way you can.
Cheers,
Stomps
Soldier Foxtrot, (Click to read)
The Story of “Soldier Foxtrot”
Not his real name.
SOLDIER FOXTROT IS NOT OK
At the time of writing this, we were being told by those “in the know” that, thanks to the Government’s ongoing commitment to the veteran community, no veteran in Australia should be homeless.
A quick look at the 2021–22 DVA budget figures told us that not only should no veteran be homeless, but if you cut out the middlemen, the $302.8 million allocated to “Additional Resources” should’ve had veterans living in penthouses—not crashing in the spare bedroom of my house, which is exactly where “Soldier Foxtrot” ended up.
“Soldier Foxtrot” was blown up in Afghanistan. He sustained a Traumatic Blast Injury (TBI), among other things. Covered in tattoos, he may have looked intimidating to some—but not to us. He’d been dumped in the “too hard” basket by the very organisations tasked with supporting him because he didn’t fit their neat little veteran box. Let’s face it—it’s easier to avoid responsibility than risk someone not surviving on your watch.
Tip for young players: if you’ve got a TBI caused by service in Afghanistan, make sure you comb your hair, hide your tattoos, and keep your temporary hotel room spotless. Appearances matter… apparently.
You won’t see “Soldier Foxtrot” on any glossy ESO promo wearing his medals—because they were stolen while he slept rough in a public park. And as for popping down to the RSL for a yarn? Probably not a good idea—booze and “Foxtrot” don’t mix.
So we started making calls. First stop: the ESOs tasked with fixing this. With $302.8 million behind them, it should’ve been easy, right? Wrong. They told him to go to the Salvation Army’s Veterans Homelessness Program (funded by the RSL), who passed him to Open Arms (whose rep refused to take or return calls), who handed it off to something called “Connect 4” (whoever they are).
Eventually, he ended up as a case number in DVA’s Wellbeing and Support Program—funded to the tune of $23.3 million over four years for “highly vulnerable veterans.”
Fast forward to 1500h on a Friday afternoon in downtown Bowen Hills. We’re sitting in SMEAC’s office, watching the system collapse in real time. Liam, a decent bloke from NDIS, was desperately trying to find emergency accommodation—even though NDIS doesn’t actually do emergency accommodation. Meanwhile, RSL told us they couldn’t help in this instance and suggested we “call 000.” Seriously.
To be clear: they made it very clear they wouldn’t be responsible for “Soldier Foxtrot’s” health or wellbeing if anything happened. Oh—and could we please call back later and let them know how it all turned out?
Another tip for young players: if you’re suicidal and spiralling during 2021–22, you should’ve flown to an overseas ANZAC Day ceremony—Turkey, France, Thailand maybe. The Government allocated $16.68 million (as part of a $32.1 million package) to support ceremonial events abroad. The only catch? You’d need to afford the flight.
In the same year, DVA was given $28.9 million toward veteran suicide. Finally—support! But wait… that $2.6 million was for data analysis on veteran suicides. Another $3.7 million was to “improve information capability.” And $22.5 million? That was to help DVA produce more records and evidence. Not support. Just paperwork.
Meanwhile, SMEAC—who was actually picking up the pieces—received exactly $0.
So here’s the breakdown:
-
$12.1M – Expanding Support for Veterans and Families
-
$55.4M – Veterans’ Health Care
-
$60.7M – Wellbeing and Support Funding
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$32.1M – Commemorations and Ceremonial Activities
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And the rest tied up in suicide prevention frameworks and response capabilities
But at SMEAC, none of that mattered. It was Father’s Day weekend, and a million bucks says that if left to his own devices, “Soldier Foxtrot”—a father—wouldn’t have survived until Monday.
Thinking on my feet, I told him to get in my car. He spent the weekend at my place. We arranged for his four-year-old son to join us for Father’s Day, and we had a strange but meaningful weekend together.
Was it a perfect fix? No.
Is he still alive? Absolutely.
Is his war over? Not even close. But today, he’s doing better. Living independently. Seeing his boy.
SMEAC still runs on the smell of an oily rag. If Camp SMEAC had been operational back then, we could’ve housed him straight away through our own Veteran Crisis Accommodation.
If you can help—do. Whether that’s donating, volunteering, or just spreading the word.
Two years on, this story is still unfolding.
TBC.
Cheers,
Stomps
Soldier Juliet, (Click to read)
Soldier Juliet
Homeless veterans… (Yep, another Stomps Rant)
YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS S#@T UP
‘Soldier Juliet’ has been homeless since July—booted from his home after receiving marching orders from his ex. He’s not the first, and sadly, he won’t be the last. Motel stays, a blown engine, and storage fees have drained his bank account. Despite submitting over 35 rental applications and attending 70-odd open homes, he’s spent the last few months couch-surfing with mates just to get by.
After roughly 25 years in the battalions, ‘Soldier Juliet’ is a private and proud man. He didn’t come to SMEAC asking for help—others reached out on his behalf. And honestly, that’s how it should be. We look out for our own.
So I followed the process. I visited the QLD RSL Homeless page—where you’re promised the world, complete with a glossy photo of a digger reading a real estate magazine out the back of his ute. I sent a detailed SITREP to our contact at the Salvation Army’s homeless veterans section, outlining Juliet’s situation, including contact numbers and the very clear detail that he had two days left at his current location.
An hour later, RSL rang him—not me—and proceeded to ask him every question that was already outlined in the SITREP. After going through it all, they said they couldn’t help and told us to call Open Arms.
So we called the Open Arms Crisis Line—supposedly the people who provide crisis accommodation. They said they’d call back in a few days. When they finally did the next day, they told us, hand to heart, they couldn’t provide emergency accommodation because Juliet had “nowhere to go afterwards.” I repeat: they couldn’t provide emergency accommodation if he had nowhere to go after that. They did, however, offer to ring an organisation called Rent Assist—whoever they are.
We followed up again with the Salvation Army, who rang the RSL… and then nothing. Radio silence.
That was enough. Time to activate the old boys’ network. Because here’s the honest truth: based on multiple recent experiences, these bloated, overfunded bureaucracies are about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike.
Last time it was ‘Soldier Foxtrot’—on the Friday before Father’s Day. Now, it’s Juliet—right now, in real time.
Enter the legends at Aussie Veterans—from Melbourne, mind you—who are helping with storage and vehicle repairs. The Grey Men (I can’t tell you who they are, or I’d have to kill you) stepped up again, covering emergency accommodation. And all of it? Coordinated by SMEAC—an organisation that hasn’t received a single cent in government funding.
In a perfect world, I’d take ‘Soldier Juliet’ to the local RSL, and they’d walk him through the minefield of support services, straight to safety. But in the real world, the RSL gets millions of dollars to maintain their ivory towers and pump out polished PR campaigns, while doing F/A for guys like Juliet when it really matters.
So to Aussie Vets—especially Dave and Fiona—and to the Grey Men, thank you. Thank you for forming a taskforce with SMEAC, again, when the shit hits the fan.
And no—I’m not out here just bashing the RSL or Open Arms. I’m simply calling it how I see it. If you’re given the responsibility—and the cash—you need to get the job done. And if you don’t? You’ve made your bed.
To ‘Soldier Juliet’—sleep tight, mate. It’s been a big couple of days.
Cheers,
Stomps
Soldier Kilo, (Click to read)
Veteran X-ray
Veteran X Was Not OK
And that’s exactly why this needs to be said.
To be honest, I thought long and hard about writing this—and whether I’d actually go through with it. But the message is too powerful, too important to ignore. So here it is:
Veteran X was not OK.
Day in, day out—wearing twenty hats, solving one crisis after another, trying to keep SMEAC moving forward—it’s a grind. Two steps forward, one step back. And sometimes, it’s easy to lose sight of the bigger picture.
But then something happens that brings everything into sharp focus. Last night (Sunday), around midnight, I got a video call from an old mate. Let’s call him Veteran X.
Now, when the phone rings at midnight on a Sunday in this game, you answer it. So I did.
The face on the screen was ashen. He looked completely spent—mentally, physically, emotionally. And as we spoke, it became clear he was at the end of the line. Disconnected. Depressed. Self-medicating. Spiralling.
“Who are you hanging with, mate?”
“No one.”
“What are you doing each day?”
“Getting up, doing X, then getting pissed.”
(Out of respect for his privacy, I won’t name what ‘X’ is—but let’s just say it revealed a lot about where he was at.)
Somewhere during our 40-minute conversation, it hit me like a freight train. Veteran X still has so much to offer. His knowledge. His experience. His skills. All of it could be shared—passed on through SMEAC workshops, helping other veterans regain purpose through real, hands-on activity at our Veteran Hub.
But in that moment, he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see his value.
And that’s the problem. It’s not about us—it’s about the others. That’s what we’re taught from day one in the military. We put others first. That’s why we run toward the danger. Why we risk injury, or worse, to protect our mates. It’s who we are. It’s what makes us belong.
ENDSTATE:
I called Veteran X today to check in. I was talking to a different person. He had hope in his voice. He had plans. He was re-engaging.
Be like Veteran X.
If you’re heading down a slippery slope—reach out.
We need you.
Your family needs you.
SMEAC needs you.
Reconnection. Rehabilitation. Reintegration. Retraining for Purposeful and Meaningful Employment.
Soldier X—you’re a bloody legend. So glad to have you on the team.
Cheers,
Stomps
ENGAGEMENT MODEL
SMEAC’s Engagement Model is built on trust, consistency, and veteran-to-veteran connection. We meet individuals where they’re at—without judgement—and guide them through a structured support journey focused on reconnection, rehabilitation, retraining, and reintegration. It’s a hands-on, relationship-driven approach that delivers real results.
WELLBEING COACH
The role of the Wellbeing Coach is to educate, guide, and empower veterans to take ownership of their journey—supporting them to navigate the DVA process and broader life challenges with confidence and independence.
Mobile Overwatch
SMEAC will extend its regional reach through mobile teams based in or deployed to remote areas—providing localised overwatch and ensuring that veterans in isolated communities receive consistent, face-to-face support when and where it’s needed most.
Rapid Response
SMEAC deploys teams of veterans to support fellow veterans in need and families in crisis—delivering timely, practical help grounded in trust, shared experience, and solidarity. These teams provide more than just assistance; they offer reassurance, peer connection, and a reminder that no one has to face hardship alone. This model strengthens purpose, reinforces community, and ensures help arrives when it’s needed most.
SMEAC
A place for veterans and their families to get help, support & access the services they need.
2315 Steve Irwin Way,
Landsborough, QLD, 4550
