"Recruit Lee, where's your bloody Pack 4?" my Sergeant Major screams in the middle of the parade square, drawing hundreds of eyes on me. He is a rough man, my Sergeant Major - the only soldier in the battalion who voluntarily completed the Ranger course twice. And now, for the first time since my enlistment, I am on the receiving end of his harsh dressing down - something we recruits actively try to avoid every day.
"It's... It's err..." I stammer, scanning around my open field pack, half hoping I could find my Pack 4, half certain I had forgotten to pack it. I clench my jaws, bracing myself for his rain of profanities. My Sergeant Major is exactly how you'd picture an elite soldier. Rugged built. Biceps the size of my thighs. A face so coarse, he could make sandpaper smooth. The only thing one may find comical is his voice - he has the pitch of an adolescent girl. You would think that hampered his masculinity but it only made him more terrifying. Every time his shrill vocal darts pierce through the air, my scrotum would tighten a little harder. Now that I'm the target board, my testicles have drawn straight into my body, seeking refuge from his verbal acid.
"Recruit Lee, you useless sack of swine shit. Do you think this is your father's army? Do you need your fuc-"
"Sergeant Major, it's here" my buddy, Lam, holds up a Pack 4 before tossing it to me. "It was just beside his field pack."
My Sergeant Major shoots me a look of suspicion before walking away, holding his tongue for now, scouting for a new target. Staring at the Pack 4 in my hands, I realise that it's not mine. I turn to Lam who gives me a thumbs up and continues aligning his field pack items.
This guy. How does he do it?
I met Recruit Lam 6 weeks ago, while we were shaving our heads for Basic Military Training (BMT) induction. I was impressed by the way he spoke about his military aspirations. I was impressed when he did 28 chin ups on the bar. And as he planned our fire movement during the 5-day field camp, I had no doubt that I was in the presence of an officer in the making - an officer worthy, even back then, of the sword of honour.
I couldn't be more different from Lam. From the linguine arms that fail me during obstacle courses to my defeated disposition every morning as the alarm clock rings, I am his complete opposite. I'm not cut out for the military. Unlike Lam, it wasn't passion that brought me through the gates of national service. It was duty.
As luck would have it, a random assignment of bunk beds led to Lam being my buddy. And the guy has been picking up my slack ever since.
I thank him for passing me a Pack 4 for our field pack inspection as we prepare to move out. The mission for the next two days is a navigation exercise (navex for short) and possibly one of the few times I may be of any assistance to my section. I can read maps fairly well and during my time with the boy scouts, I honed on my compass skills. A small smile breaks out on my usually despondent face as I realise I'm actually looking forward to contributing to the section.
We move out in a 5-tonner, stealing one last glance at the concrete building that has offered respite these last 6 weeks. As hard and uncomfortable as our beds were, we would miss them these next two days as we lie spread eagle on the barren ground, unwelcomed Gullivers to the native critters of the jungle.
Full story at https://www.prolificcrap.com/forum/...ers-don-t-train-on-thursday-nights-here-s-why
"It's... It's err..." I stammer, scanning around my open field pack, half hoping I could find my Pack 4, half certain I had forgotten to pack it. I clench my jaws, bracing myself for his rain of profanities. My Sergeant Major is exactly how you'd picture an elite soldier. Rugged built. Biceps the size of my thighs. A face so coarse, he could make sandpaper smooth. The only thing one may find comical is his voice - he has the pitch of an adolescent girl. You would think that hampered his masculinity but it only made him more terrifying. Every time his shrill vocal darts pierce through the air, my scrotum would tighten a little harder. Now that I'm the target board, my testicles have drawn straight into my body, seeking refuge from his verbal acid.
"Recruit Lee, you useless sack of swine shit. Do you think this is your father's army? Do you need your fuc-"
"Sergeant Major, it's here" my buddy, Lam, holds up a Pack 4 before tossing it to me. "It was just beside his field pack."
My Sergeant Major shoots me a look of suspicion before walking away, holding his tongue for now, scouting for a new target. Staring at the Pack 4 in my hands, I realise that it's not mine. I turn to Lam who gives me a thumbs up and continues aligning his field pack items.
This guy. How does he do it?
I met Recruit Lam 6 weeks ago, while we were shaving our heads for Basic Military Training (BMT) induction. I was impressed by the way he spoke about his military aspirations. I was impressed when he did 28 chin ups on the bar. And as he planned our fire movement during the 5-day field camp, I had no doubt that I was in the presence of an officer in the making - an officer worthy, even back then, of the sword of honour.
I couldn't be more different from Lam. From the linguine arms that fail me during obstacle courses to my defeated disposition every morning as the alarm clock rings, I am his complete opposite. I'm not cut out for the military. Unlike Lam, it wasn't passion that brought me through the gates of national service. It was duty.
As luck would have it, a random assignment of bunk beds led to Lam being my buddy. And the guy has been picking up my slack ever since.
I thank him for passing me a Pack 4 for our field pack inspection as we prepare to move out. The mission for the next two days is a navigation exercise (navex for short) and possibly one of the few times I may be of any assistance to my section. I can read maps fairly well and during my time with the boy scouts, I honed on my compass skills. A small smile breaks out on my usually despondent face as I realise I'm actually looking forward to contributing to the section.
We move out in a 5-tonner, stealing one last glance at the concrete building that has offered respite these last 6 weeks. As hard and uncomfortable as our beds were, we would miss them these next two days as we lie spread eagle on the barren ground, unwelcomed Gullivers to the native critters of the jungle.
Full story at https://www.prolificcrap.com/forum/...ers-don-t-train-on-thursday-nights-here-s-why
