Recently it seems that whenever I go outfield I have the tendency to meet up with some sickness.

The last time during our first exercise (see the entries on 7 and 8 August) I develop a headache on the last day of the event. Thank goodness the final part of the mission was cut and I enjoyed rather adequate sleep in the tank for the two hours or so that we remained in there.

This time the case differs slightly. I go outfield with a mild sore throat and running nose. Symptoms of flu. I feel quite dead, lack of energy. Anytime I just want to drop onto the floor and go to sleep.

As the day wears on, I feel worse, particularly while wearing the helmet under the crazily hot sun. We are working in the open plain, with no trees about. It is a chore to move about. Once I finish an activity, I immediately sit down under the shade and close my eyes. That feels much better.

The last straw arrives while working on the mine cluster. Even making chops on the ground to mark out the digging spots becomes hell. My footsteps become staggers. I feel terribly weak.

With no choice I fall out. I sit at the store dump with the helmet still on, and try to sleep with my back bent forward and head crouched around the stomach area. There is no way I can take the helmet off with the OC and CSM walking around; the OC had just ordered me to wear back my chin strap, which I had removed given permission from Sergeant Wenhao.

Finally, Platoon Sergeant Teng tells me to see the medic. I'm thankful for that. I don't think I can take it further sitting down without any assistance on my condition.

Basu is sitting in the tent, reading a book. "I've got a fever," I announce as I enter the tent. "Oh my God" comes the response.

He makes me take off everything, then sit on the bench. He hands me a thermometer, which I place under my tongue. I close my eyes while waiting for the beep that signifies the conclusion of measurement. I just want to sleep . . .

The thermometer beeps. I take it out. 38 degrees Celsius. I let Basu take a look.

Apparently my case is one which gives the medics a dilemma: whether I should be sent back or not. It is only a temperature of 38.5 deg C that I may be delivered to the medical centre. Otherwise I would be stuck here in the open.

Basu tells me to water parade. Half an hour later, he takes my temperature again. 37.5. The water has brought the figure down.

After the second personal water parade, Basu tells me to go back to my tent to rest. He will come and find me at intervals to take my temperature and to water parade me.

Back at the tent, the others ask me to eat despite my loss of appetite. I finish my food, then lie down on the ground to rest. I heard that since everybody finishes their job early, we are permitted to go back to bunk to spend the night. In the meantime, I try to sleep.

The vicious mosquitoes make their attack once again. In the glare of the picnic lantern, I spot about two or three of those pesky little black things land on the surface of the light, only to fly away soon after. Those things are damn fast. I am only able to kill two that night. Very quickly, my entire body is covered with itches. Everywhere. The arms, the hands, the necks, the fingers, even the thighs and buttocks. I don't know which of them are mosquito bites and which are heat rashes and which are whatever insect attacks. The fabric of my uniform isn’t much of a hindrance for the predators of my skin.

Suddenly, the guys report that two dummy mines are missing. I am glad to get up and walk around in assistance. I don't want to be lying down there anymore to be a sitting target for the insects to feed on me.

I am only too glad when we finally get out of there. I shall go and report sick tomorrow.