In the Interim.

I shall proceed to recall my SISPEC days later.

For now I shall ruminate over some very old issues. And some very old acquaintences.

Yes. I have met you before.

Out of the past, that glorious past, you've returned.

Amazing.

And you've taken the glory of the past (our past?) and made it yours, I can see it in your face.

In your eyes.

Glory and glory upon more glory.

Not that kind that shines from the Almighty.

But more human, more wonderous, and all the more... glorious for that.

It is strange, this evocation.

Why is this happening

again? Out of the past, out of the past.

It is far away. You've travelled a long way.

And I even further

From that past.

But the now is different from the then.

So.

We meet again.

Until you go into the west.



What does God want with me?

Dreams and plans lie shattered.

If only His Will matters and not ours, why then do we have this capacity to think for ourselves?

It would be so much easier to be automatons.

So much safer.

And with much less hate, hurt, and hinderence.

Enough of this sentimental mush.

Enough.

I am troubled.

By that glorious past.

posted by baron at 8:50 AM

3rd Iteration: Culmination

The weeks preceding Graduation Parade were routine. About the only enjoyable events were the live grenade throw and the shooting range.

The SFG87 fragmentation grenade- now that’s a nasty piece of work. It seems to be such a small little metal ellipsoidal canister, almost inconsequential, yet it contains so much raw elemental power. The damn thing spews two thousand red hot ball bearings in every direction when it explodes, ensuring instant death for whoever is within 5 meters of it. Not exactly what I wanted to hear when I had taken the safety ring out and was squeezing the safety lever for dear life.

Then came the throw, and the big BOOM!!! which shook the known universe. That was about the biggest explosion I have ever experienced. Massive. Shock and Awe. Thunderous.

But apparently the C4 demo charges used to clear the unexploded rounds packed an even greater bang. And the demo expert was damn funky. Clad in his orange vest, he would calmly walk right up to the grenade and set up the charges. Then, as the rest of the world lay cowering in the concrete bays, he would stand up, completely exposed, his only actions being covering his ears, and smiling with satisfaction as the explosion went off.
What a guy. I bet he sleeps to the sound of banging.

The live shoot was good too, especially the night shoot. Tracer rounds really made the whole thing seem like Star Wars, red bolts blazing their way across the range to their targets. And due to some temperature difference in the air, they made this “tieuuu” sound just like the lasers in Star Wars.

But the rest of the time was spent cleaning the damn rifle and sleeping on the dusty floor of the training shed, while the OC spent his time hunting for copies of FHM and Maxim. White Horse Welfare got us a TV with some Cantonese VCDs, and one Sergeant Juandi got so fascinated by the films that he began to name himself Hong Heng after one of the heroes in them. Since then Hong Heng became the main cheer of his platoon.

Then there was the 24 km Route March, which was one continuous undifferentiated hell from start to finish. White Horse Welfare tried to lighten the load on our backs by stuffing shoe boxes and newspapers in lieu of metal tools and clothes, but the jealous Jaguar folk tipped off the commando RSM who majorly screwed us and our sergeants. So we went through the whole thing on low morale and 20 kilos on our backs. I got a blister covering half my ankle. But heck, once it was over, it was finally over.

Grad parade summed everything up. What a fantastic relief to fling my cap up in the air and head home. I had thought the worst was over, and didn’t really think about the future save for block leave.

And that saw an end to Basic Training. I thought it weird when people told me that I would miss those days, but subsequent events would show me that weirder things would happen.

As it was, I would later miss the days in Basic….. badly.

posted by baron at 8:34 AM

2nd Iteration: Field Camp and Situational Test

Nowhere in the known universe does so fine an example of relativity exist as in the SAF. If Einstein and his fellow cranks were still alive, they'd be singling out Tekong for special mention as the Theory of Relativity Incarnate.

Allow me to explain. The key to all this lies in one's own perspective.

We thought our bunks were uncomfortable and made us sleep-deprived.That was until they made us sleep in the tents (called Bashas) and the trenches.

We thought cookhouse food was swine-feed.That was until we tasted our first DSTA-manufactured combat rations-ESPECIALLY the "Braised Chicken Rice with Mushroom".

We thought doing Combat PT was useless and exhausting.That was until they forced us to dig the trenches.

We thought sitting in a 5-Ton truck made for rock-bottom morale in the sweltering stench of each other and the jolts and bumps of "Tekong Highway".That was until we were halfway through the 8km Route March to our first campsite.

You see, whatever the nature of the experiences one has had, be it "good" or "bad", all will be simply reclassified as "better" or "worse" after one's tenure in the SAF.

Those military folks have developed foolproof methods of making an extra 5 minutes worth of free time seem like 5000 hours worth of block leave, or using a stay in the run-down FIBUA village in the middle of Field Camp to elict thunderous roars of approval from many an enlistee. In many ways Field Camp made the rest of BMTC life seem like Shangri-La. Camo on your face 24/7, humiliating (but fun in a twisted way) powder baths, eating combat rations, and doing the route marches was quite simply entirely degrading. I could actually feel myself adopting the persona of one of those filth-encrusted Orc warriors in the dust pits of Mordor, complete with black mottled face and rusty weapon and the stench of a thousand bathless days.

But it was good fun doing the combat movement drills. And the firing of blanks. And the talk cock sessions with the OC and the PS.

SITEST was better in a way. Was a Navigator, which meant that I carried a miniscule compass and map whilst the rest of the world struggled under the burden of 6kg Light Anti-Tank Weapons, Stretchers, Demolition charges and the like. Not that I slacked off, though. Felt morally obliged to carry my detail mates' LAWs or stretchers and stuff (the LAW, or Light Anti-Tank Weapon, has what looks like a prismatic/laser/holographic aiming and range sight like those high-tech weapons in the sci-fi flicks, but its actually just a piece of plastic).

And we got to execute cool missions like blowing "enemy" stuff up and rescuing hostages and defending "installations". And thank God for 3SG Raziff the Big Friendly Bear, who turned our supposed leopard crawl through mud into a 2-second prone on the side of the road. What a great guy. All Sergeants should be like him.
He was telling us a bit of his life story, wanted desperately to be a driver and instead ended up as a trainee in Foxtrot Company of SISPEC, the hell of hells. Well it didn’t really dent his sense of humanity; instead he became renowned as “the driver in a Sergeant costume”.

One thing that I hated, though, was the route march through the sandy dusty tracks. Made your mucus turn brown, as if your nasal cavities suddenly morphed into dual anal orifices.

In any case those weeks saw my taking of the PSC Interview in place of the Battle Inoculation Course, and then my rejection from the hallowed halls of that famed bureaucracy. From thence BMT would turn out to be a formality.

posted by baron at 7:38 AM