Friday, September 03, 2004
--- I ---
What happens when your normally-tough and constantly-fucking-you commanders get screwed?
CSM's briefing for the day is at 0730. Most of the enlistees (corporal and below) are downstairs already. It's a few minutes to seven-thirty. The CSM has placed the company clock on the ground in front of him and is studying the minute hand as it crawls towards the large number 6.
A blue car pulls up on the parking lot, just behind our backs. Sergeant David gets out and walks casually but still briskly towards the staircase. He must have gotten the feeling that he is being looked at, for he turns in our direction, and realises that the CSM is looking at him. He returns a sheepish grin; then races up the stairs, two at a time.
Seven-thirty has come and passed. Still, no sergeants are in sight. CSM: "Where are all my specs [i.e. specialists]?"
Sergeant Henry's head pokes out from the fourth-floor corridor.
"Do you know what time it is now?"
"Seven-thirty, sir," comes the reply.
"Then? Where is everyone? Get everyone downstairs now!" he growls.
Sergeant Henry, like a lamb to a wolf: "Okay, coming." He turns to face the bunk: "Everybody come out now! Come out!" Then he disappears from sight.
The specialists descend upon the ground floor. The CSM notices that Sergeant Henry is wearing a shirt different from the rest of the specialists and not according to what instructions were stated. He begins to inquire in the fuck-you kind of tone. Sergeant Henry, again like a lamb speaking to a wolf, assures the CSM that he will go upstairs to change later.
--- II ---
One activity that a combat engineer deals with is the installation of booby-trap.
Somehow it seems our own unit compound has been booby-trapped as well.
A booby trap is designed to slow the enemy down by injuring or killing its men.
Casualties are created within our platoon.
Our platoon has been tasked to clean the road leading to our company line. There is a pair of iron gates that has never been closed before. As in, it has always been left opened.
The others begin to sweep the area close to the gate. I push the trolley to the water point just a few metres away.
Suddenly, I hear a shout; it comes from the gate. Looking towards that direction, the very first thing that I see is one of the huge metal gates collapsing like a sequoia being felled and Rakesh jumping like an athlete crossing hurdles to avoid being crushed by the falling structure. The gate hits the ground with a large bang.
Everybody goes forward to inspect the gate. We discover that the concrete on upon which the hinges are fixed has broken somewhere near close to the surface of the road. Like someone swiped his sword and cut the damn thing like how one would cut intestines. The freaking thing hasn't been touched for ages. Probably years even.
Everybody works to lift the gate out of the way of the road and onto the grass patch beside it. Two, three, four; on the last count we heave the entire thing up.
Abruptly Lee Seong cries out in pain. The concrete pillar, which has remained unsupported, has crushed his finger as we elevate the gate off the ground. We put the structure onto the ground again. Lee Seong pulls his hand out; blood drips onto the gate. His middle finger is in a pretty bad state. The rest of us quickly hands-on to lift the bridge away, then tend to our casualties. Lee Seong and Rakesh leave in search of the medic; Rakesh to check his shoulder, which had probably been struck by the falling gate.
Two things from the event: (1) the possibility of getting a downgrade; (2) everything is falling apart at our unit.
From (1): at first thought, you might think, what a waste. Should have been hit by the falling structure. Then they'll classify you as being unfit for combat activities because the injured part hinders your movement. But then again, if you're really unlucky, you'd probably downgrade to hell.
From (2): it's time for a new unit compound. Everything here is so freaking old already; it's a hazard to the safety of personnel. The news about a trainee getting killed because his head was doused in water a tad too far is bad enough. Think about the outcomes of news of a trainee getting killed by a falling gate in camp while doing sai kang.
--- III ---
The fucker of the CSM aka the Fat Pig is starting to get on my nerves. Not only mine, but almost everyone else's nerves.
Today the Chief Engineer Officer comes to our unit for a visit; at the same time, to conduct his "Ting" ("Listen" in Chinese) project. It's some sort of a forum where - only the regulars and the commanders - can voice out any concern they have, so that the CEO can try to solve it and create improvements. For those who study International History, it's a sort of Democracy Wall.
While the project gets underway in our lecture room, us lowly privates are sent to do sai kang to keep us occupied. We're being treated like kids who would possibly make a ruckus inside our bunks if left there to slack.
Fine, he asks us to go and sweep up leaves from the road. We do the job, return and expect some rest.
As we turn to climb the stairs to return to our bunk, Sergeant Dexter, who has gone off for the moment to check if there are any further tasks to perform, returns to inform us, "We have something else to do. We have to help Platoon One clear the grass on the fence."
You might find nothing wrong with such an instruction. Let me brief you on an orientation of the place. Behind our building is a grassy slope that ascends about three stories above the ground. At the top of the slope is the perimeter fence, which marks the boundary of our camp. We are instructed to clear the vegetation on this fence, which is rusting like nobody's business, and NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER BOTHERED ABOUT THE PHYSICAL ATTRACTIVENESS OF THIS STRUCTURE. So now, I don't know for what fuck reason, he wants the fence clean of weeds. In fact, nobody understands the whole objective of such a task, let alone the sergeants, who try to pacify us and urge us to do the job fast so that all of us can go and relax. Sergeant Ma asks me: "What are you all supposed to do now?" I tell him, clear the vegetation on the fence at the top of the slope; for whatever reason I simply have no idea.
He agrees.
We set up the hill wearing T-shirt and shorts. Changing to slacks and boots are too troublesome. I scramble up the slope, clutching the grass and pressing my body close to the ground so that I don't slide off. Then I see the rest of the platoon making their way across the training shed to the neighbouring building, where there are stairs leading up to the top of the slope.
Fuck.
What the hell, I'm done halfway, so I just continue to push myself further. Anyway I can't turn my body to face the direction of the bottom of the slope, and I don't like the idea of descending in the present manner that I am at.
The moment I arrive at the top, I realise it's all a bad mistake not to change clothes. Long, wild blades of grass lick at the skin of my legs. It itches horribly. I have to bend down constantly to scratch my legs. It becomes irritating when you are trying to concentrate on plucking leaves while easing your discomfort at the same time.
Everybody surrenders. We all head back to the bunk to change into long pants. For some reason or another, Sergeant Dexter remains in shorts throughout, slapping his thighs now and then to soothe himself.
To satisfy our discontented souls, I pick "They Say That in the Army" as the first song to sing as soon as we are out of the sight of the company (the big shot is still there with his audience, so we have to be as quiet as possible). One of the stanzas has been specially improvised on the spot as a demonstration of distaste towards the Fat Pig.
"They say that in the Army
Your CSM very nice
You ask for early book-out
He ask you DO SAI KANG!"
Then our favourite chorus, commonly sung together in unison:
"I don't want to lead an army life!
I just want to lead a simple life!
PC don't let me go
OC said, 'No, no, no'
Mommy I want to go home"
P.S. The Fat Pig will not be around the company for about two months as he is involved in army tournaments. It's been reported that he's very happy to be out.
And so are we. We're so terrifically at the top of the world to learn that he's not going to be around the company.
¶ 9/03/2004 09:57:00 pm What happens when your normally-tough and constantly-fucking-you commanders get screwed?
CSM's briefing for the day is at 0730. Most of the enlistees (corporal and below) are downstairs already. It's a few minutes to seven-thirty. The CSM has placed the company clock on the ground in front of him and is studying the minute hand as it crawls towards the large number 6.
A blue car pulls up on the parking lot, just behind our backs. Sergeant David gets out and walks casually but still briskly towards the staircase. He must have gotten the feeling that he is being looked at, for he turns in our direction, and realises that the CSM is looking at him. He returns a sheepish grin; then races up the stairs, two at a time.
Seven-thirty has come and passed. Still, no sergeants are in sight. CSM: "Where are all my specs [i.e. specialists]?"
Sergeant Henry's head pokes out from the fourth-floor corridor.
"Do you know what time it is now?"
"Seven-thirty, sir," comes the reply.
"Then? Where is everyone? Get everyone downstairs now!" he growls.
Sergeant Henry, like a lamb to a wolf: "Okay, coming." He turns to face the bunk: "Everybody come out now! Come out!" Then he disappears from sight.
The specialists descend upon the ground floor. The CSM notices that Sergeant Henry is wearing a shirt different from the rest of the specialists and not according to what instructions were stated. He begins to inquire in the fuck-you kind of tone. Sergeant Henry, again like a lamb speaking to a wolf, assures the CSM that he will go upstairs to change later.
--- II ---
One activity that a combat engineer deals with is the installation of booby-trap.
Somehow it seems our own unit compound has been booby-trapped as well.
A booby trap is designed to slow the enemy down by injuring or killing its men.
Casualties are created within our platoon.
Our platoon has been tasked to clean the road leading to our company line. There is a pair of iron gates that has never been closed before. As in, it has always been left opened.
The others begin to sweep the area close to the gate. I push the trolley to the water point just a few metres away.
Suddenly, I hear a shout; it comes from the gate. Looking towards that direction, the very first thing that I see is one of the huge metal gates collapsing like a sequoia being felled and Rakesh jumping like an athlete crossing hurdles to avoid being crushed by the falling structure. The gate hits the ground with a large bang.
Everybody goes forward to inspect the gate. We discover that the concrete on upon which the hinges are fixed has broken somewhere near close to the surface of the road. Like someone swiped his sword and cut the damn thing like how one would cut intestines. The freaking thing hasn't been touched for ages. Probably years even.
Everybody works to lift the gate out of the way of the road and onto the grass patch beside it. Two, three, four; on the last count we heave the entire thing up.
Abruptly Lee Seong cries out in pain. The concrete pillar, which has remained unsupported, has crushed his finger as we elevate the gate off the ground. We put the structure onto the ground again. Lee Seong pulls his hand out; blood drips onto the gate. His middle finger is in a pretty bad state. The rest of us quickly hands-on to lift the bridge away, then tend to our casualties. Lee Seong and Rakesh leave in search of the medic; Rakesh to check his shoulder, which had probably been struck by the falling gate.
Two things from the event: (1) the possibility of getting a downgrade; (2) everything is falling apart at our unit.
From (1): at first thought, you might think, what a waste. Should have been hit by the falling structure. Then they'll classify you as being unfit for combat activities because the injured part hinders your movement. But then again, if you're really unlucky, you'd probably downgrade to hell.
From (2): it's time for a new unit compound. Everything here is so freaking old already; it's a hazard to the safety of personnel. The news about a trainee getting killed because his head was doused in water a tad too far is bad enough. Think about the outcomes of news of a trainee getting killed by a falling gate in camp while doing sai kang.
--- III ---
The fucker of the CSM aka the Fat Pig is starting to get on my nerves. Not only mine, but almost everyone else's nerves.
Today the Chief Engineer Officer comes to our unit for a visit; at the same time, to conduct his "Ting" ("Listen" in Chinese) project. It's some sort of a forum where - only the regulars and the commanders - can voice out any concern they have, so that the CEO can try to solve it and create improvements. For those who study International History, it's a sort of Democracy Wall.
While the project gets underway in our lecture room, us lowly privates are sent to do sai kang to keep us occupied. We're being treated like kids who would possibly make a ruckus inside our bunks if left there to slack.
Fine, he asks us to go and sweep up leaves from the road. We do the job, return and expect some rest.
As we turn to climb the stairs to return to our bunk, Sergeant Dexter, who has gone off for the moment to check if there are any further tasks to perform, returns to inform us, "We have something else to do. We have to help Platoon One clear the grass on the fence."
You might find nothing wrong with such an instruction. Let me brief you on an orientation of the place. Behind our building is a grassy slope that ascends about three stories above the ground. At the top of the slope is the perimeter fence, which marks the boundary of our camp. We are instructed to clear the vegetation on this fence, which is rusting like nobody's business, and NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER BOTHERED ABOUT THE PHYSICAL ATTRACTIVENESS OF THIS STRUCTURE. So now, I don't know for what fuck reason, he wants the fence clean of weeds. In fact, nobody understands the whole objective of such a task, let alone the sergeants, who try to pacify us and urge us to do the job fast so that all of us can go and relax. Sergeant Ma asks me: "What are you all supposed to do now?" I tell him, clear the vegetation on the fence at the top of the slope; for whatever reason I simply have no idea.
He agrees.
We set up the hill wearing T-shirt and shorts. Changing to slacks and boots are too troublesome. I scramble up the slope, clutching the grass and pressing my body close to the ground so that I don't slide off. Then I see the rest of the platoon making their way across the training shed to the neighbouring building, where there are stairs leading up to the top of the slope.
Fuck.
What the hell, I'm done halfway, so I just continue to push myself further. Anyway I can't turn my body to face the direction of the bottom of the slope, and I don't like the idea of descending in the present manner that I am at.
The moment I arrive at the top, I realise it's all a bad mistake not to change clothes. Long, wild blades of grass lick at the skin of my legs. It itches horribly. I have to bend down constantly to scratch my legs. It becomes irritating when you are trying to concentrate on plucking leaves while easing your discomfort at the same time.
Everybody surrenders. We all head back to the bunk to change into long pants. For some reason or another, Sergeant Dexter remains in shorts throughout, slapping his thighs now and then to soothe himself.
To satisfy our discontented souls, I pick "They Say That in the Army" as the first song to sing as soon as we are out of the sight of the company (the big shot is still there with his audience, so we have to be as quiet as possible). One of the stanzas has been specially improvised on the spot as a demonstration of distaste towards the Fat Pig.
"They say that in the Army
Your CSM very nice
You ask for early book-out
He ask you DO SAI KANG!"
Then our favourite chorus, commonly sung together in unison:
"I don't want to lead an army life!
I just want to lead a simple life!
PC don't let me go
OC said, 'No, no, no'
Mommy I want to go home"
P.S. The Fat Pig will not be around the company for about two months as he is involved in army tournaments. It's been reported that he's very happy to be out.
And so are we. We're so terrifically at the top of the world to learn that he's not going to be around the company.
