THE NEXT DAY . . .

Somewhere in the Great Outdoors . . .

The temperature has dropped to some crazy number which could fit the conditions of Beijing or Moscow in the winter. I have to curl myself up like a worm to warm myself a little. It is probably the longest night I have ever spent outfield. Worse than those outback trips in BMT. This morning, I have to contend with insect bites and the resultant itches, as well as chilling temperatures that could probably bring about hypothermia.

I am very anxious: are they going to begin the mission at the time stated (about three in the morning or so)? The previous experience of constructing obstacles in the middle of the night has put me off. It is dark; everyone is tired; the only thing on our minds is sleep. Nothing but sleep.

Thank goodness there is nothing for us trainees. The commanders are called for a briefing in the middle of the night.

Day begins to break. Everyone is called up. Everything on. Move to the tonner to board. Breakfast will be a concurrent activity as we head off for the first site where we will construct our obstacles.

* * *

Fast forward till afternoon. Ten minutes before one (the deadline, after which we are supposed to have lunch and switch roles and vehicles), we are all dead tired from constructing our obstacles. The weather is extremely hot. Think of those pictures of American troops in the Iraqi desert, trying to do a good deed based on their manifest destiny for those once-oppressed people. We're like them, minus the second part.

We are the first to arrive at the stipulated training shed. We unload the tonner to prepare the switch to tanks, and eat our lunch. Everyone is fussing over the menu. Some types of combat rations are infamous for being ill-tasting, while others are reputed to be high-grade cuisine. Instant noodles are eaten like the snack MAMEE. The MSG packet is torn open and its contents poured into the pre-fried noodles. The block of noodles is crushed and shaken to spread the seasoning. Then we simply eat whatever that is the product of our preparatory work.

Almost everybody drops off to sleep after the meal. Some of us are still hungering for more. Like me, the ever greedy pig. So the few of us share the extra food. I consume another noodle packet and another combat ration, and half of the dessert. You could say lunch times two. Thereafter, feeling drowsy, I drop off to sleep like the others.

* * *

I wake up hours later with a terrible headache. Like someone played a prank on me while I was asleep and wrapped a rubber band around my brain. I'm outfield and I have two missions to complete ahead of me. The wrong time for the wrong thing to happen. I'm tasked with one of the heavier responsibilities in the mission. It includes a lot of running. I am not sure if I can tolerate all the strenuous activities that are to come with my present condition. I tell Sergeant Elson. I cannot keep it quiet, fuck the whole thing up, and pull everybody in the section down the drain. Sergeant Elson is a little shocked; he tells me to see the medic. I ask for two Panadols. Back to sleep, with the hope that the headache can cure off.

I wake up; the rest of the company has arrived. There is only a slight improvement in my condition. I'm half-concussed and half-awake. I feel sick. During the talk by the conducting officer the only thing on my mind is to go to sleep. The "twenty-seconds-assemble-outside-the-training-shed" thing by the conducting captain seems to help.

But on the tank, on the trip to the mission site, I concuss again. Honestly I cannot figure out what happened during the journey. We are supposed to return to the site of the obstacles which we created. The trip from the training shed is a mere five minutes. We find ourselves stuck on the tank for what seems like hours. The tank moves, stops for ages. Sergeant WH keeps getting off and on the tank. Half-conscious, I barely make out the signal set onboard being in an unfit condition, like this sick fellow on the tank, almost dying but still trying to work. The sky outside darkens gradually. From the considerable brightness of the late afternoon, the sky dims to the darkened hues that of the evening. At the beginning I cannot lean my head against the headrest properly; the helmet acts like some obstacle. I keep shifting positions. I am fine with the tightness of leg space in the cabin, but for the upper part of my body I must find one which allows me to hold my weapon safely, and to lean back comfortably. I finally settle leaning towards my right of the seat, where the fattest part of the SBO (which is directly behind me) pushes itself through a gap between the seat and a wall of the cabin compartment. The helmet is also suspended through this gap, which makes sleeping less of a pain. My weapon I place it in between my legs. One hand grabs the rifle; the other holds onto the handle of the door (not the operating lever, which could fling me to disability if I accidentally opened it in my sub-conscious state). I do not belt up for the purpose of rapid dismounting.

Somewhere in the darkness, I hear the shout of "Exercise cut!" from Sergeant WH. Sergeant Henry (who is in the driver's seat) screams "RTU (Return to Unit)!" It is the one thing everybody loves while being out in the field. Like ORD, it is a loved and highly-respected acronym in the army.

Suddenly I'm awake. Alive. My eyelids are thrust open. Zhiwei (sitting in the seat opposite me) and I are celebrating in our hearts. The mission has been cancelled even before it begins. I have no clear idea of what really happened in the planning side, but then the tanks all got lost on their way from the training shed to the obstacle site and a lot of time was wasted. Nevertheless, we speed past what was the place we built our obstacles earlier in the day (and what was supposed to be our destination) and back to the camp.

So that's it for our first ever exercise. Quite relaxed, if you look at the schedule. With the appropriate conditions, such as the lack of treacherous insects, the availability of a tank and cool weather with clouds in the sky, the exercise would actually have been a breeze for us. We had ample resting time. The only thing we really did was to build the obstacles, and that is the hardest and most draining component of the entire event. Think about doing construction work with helmet, SBO and rifle on at all times. Even the Bangladeshi worker performs his task with only a lightweight helmet, and the most comfortable clothing of his choice. He doesn't have a stupid bag on his body, and an even greater elephant: a rifle (which is supposed to save our lives in case we get attacked while working, but what can it do against an artillery or plane bombardment at our worksite?).