Heroic act of bravest Saint of all Roger Mackley works on a carrier. ROGER Mackley is crawling through a minefield for the badge. Inching cautiously forward on hands and knees, the young Digger precedes every advance by gently pressing his bayonet three, four, five times into yet another patch of sandy soil that could kill him. A Dubbo menswear salesman only months earlier, Mackley has no idea how many Jumping Jacks now lie buried between him and an upturned Armoured Personnel Carrier which, still metres away, is his destination. No, all he knows is that the smouldering vehicle - which moments earlier was flipped, twisted and set alight by a Vietnamese anti-tank mine - is right now on top of driver David Kirkpatrick. Its 11 tonnes slowly crushing the Moree farm boy whose right sleeve, like Mackley, bears that unmistakable patch of the mighty St George Dragons. "Which is why," Kirkpatrick recalled this week, "Roger not only came into the minefield, but dug me from it with his bare hands." So who do you think is the bravest man to ever wear the Dragons logo? For 93 years it's a question which, debated from front bars to backyard barbecues, has tossed up heroes like Johnny Raper, Kevin Ryan, even Billy Wilson playing with that broken arm. But not anymore. No, after they've spent almost five decades in anonymity, The Daily Telegraph can today end all debate by unveiling the surviving members of 3rd Cavalry Regiment, 1st troop, A and B Squadrons. A group of Vietnam veterans who, distinguished by patches meant for St George jerseys, spent the bloodiest war years navigating M1113 vehicles through a swirl of landmines, rocket-propelled grenades and who knows how many infantry ambushes. "Basically, when someone was in the shit, we got 'em out," retired troop leader Geoff Auhl explains. You know, here comes the cavalry. Roger Mackley had to crawl under a personal carrier to rescue his mates. Like at the Battle of Coral and Balmoral - arguably the most underrated Australian conflict - where Auhl not only disembarked from his vehicle in the middle of a fierce firefight, but walked 80m to locate a group of retreating infantrymen as machineguns clattered. Asked his recollections, Auhl shrugs: "Well, it's not Sylvester Stallone storming the jungle with guns blazing ... but my sphincter has never puckered up so tight." And all for the Saints patch. One of so many heroic acts that, from a jungle camp in '68, prompted Lance Corporal John Flood to write home to St George secretary Frank Facer, asking if his boys might paint the Dragons logo on to their vehicles. "During the war, patches were a real source of pride," A-Squadron crew commander Brien Plunkett said. And with St George having won those 11 premierships ... well, we thought we were also doing better than average in the South East Asian war games. Touched by the request, Facer not only permitted use of the logo, but mailed 56 badges that - meant for Raper, Graeme Langlands and co - would instead be worn by this group for the next five years. Despite being small in number, 3rd Cavalry not only boasted among the most kills per capita, but were also targeted so specifically that of the six serviceman interviewed this week, five were in vehicles blown up by landmines. And yet were it not for an ageing photograph, discovered only recently by league historian Terry Williams, these anonymous heroes would remain just that. Lance Corporal John Flood of Inverell, NSW (right), checks the position of a St George Rugby League Club emblem on the sleeve of the civilian jacket of Trooper David Pirie of Taralga, Vic. The men of 3rd Cavalry, A and B Squadrons have been largely written out of history. "Even when Canberra finally recognised the Battle of Coral and Balmoral a couple of years back," one shrugs, "the army mentioned everyone but us." When asked about the picture in which he appears with Flood, Dave Pirie says: "You know, I never even remember it being taken. But it's nice to know the league are recognising what we did. And so we go back to Mackley who, after reaching that upturned APC and digging, like a wombat, to free Kirkpatrick, then prodded his way to Shorty, the radio operator, and brought him from the minefield too. Then it was over to Billy Mason, the crew commander, and after that prod, prod, prodding to Jock Cooper, who had a skull fracture, one foot missing and blood bubbling from his back. Which then left only the second lieutenant. "But," Mackley recalls softly, "well, I found a boot with everything up to his calf." Enjoying a quiet beer at his East Maitland local, Plunkett, too, recalls how it was during the chaos of Coral when his APC got "bit" by a Vietnamese RPG. "Should've taken my legs and killed the driver," he says. Instead, it lodged in our five jerry cans. Over the ensuing chaotic minutes, as his cabin filled with smoke, Plunkett, first, aided the wounded before moving to check engine gauges, driving sticks and that dirty great hole in his ride. And then? "Well, then," he shrugs, "you get back to the fight."