Ok, I am back again...
... This time with two videos (not porn if that is what you are thinking of)
Officer Cadet School Song Video - I made this for my friend initially, he is die hard about going to OCS. So good luck to him.
Standard Obstacle Course Video - I made this for those who are enlisting soon, and wondering what/how the hell the SOC looks like and what those obstacles are called.
Video are not totally "made" by me, please refer to the credits for more information.
...Oh well, that's all with the good ol' boring stuff.
Now back to UniformGirl's post.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
Excerpts from a Brunei Diary
Day 1 :: We arrive in base camp to discover, much to our surprise, that there actually are SAF barracks more rundown than ours back in Singapore.
Even if we did have to go to another country to find them.
Our longhouses are right at the top of the hill - joy.
There aren't enough lockers, so we are forced to keep our kit under/next to the double bunks. This does nothing to ameliorate the cramped conditions. What lockers there are have all been vandalised with ominous messages promising eternal suffering, ripping of hair and much gnashing of teeth.
And that's just the ones in reference to the camp food.
Discover the toilets are infested with giant cicadas with suicidal tendencies - they fly around blindly, hitting the walls, ceiling and you. All but the bravest lose inclination for a shower.
Day 2 :: Compass course. First impression - Ohmygod this place is hot.
Day 3 :: First navex (navigation exercise). Realise that an alarming number of knolls are of the variety which need to be climbed on hands and feet and sometimes even with the help of a toggle rope, and descended on the seat of your pants.
Despair of ever making it through 17 more days of this.
Thank God we'll probably never have to go to war in Brunei.
It starts raining torrentially just before we harbour, resulting in a cold, miserable night.
Day 6 :: Swamp topo. An assault boat (glorified name for what is essentially a metal bath-tub) drops us off along a river bank - not a river bank as in, picnic-on-the-river-bank, rather, the mangrove variety.
We hop off the boat and promptly sink waist deep in mud. Morale sinks exponentially. Wish we had brought money with which to bribe the boatman to drop us off nearer the endpoint.
Extricate ourselves only to find the morass extends quite some distance inland. Wonder what happens if everyone gets stuck at the same time.
Eventually reach dry ground (dry is an extremely relative term). Stinking mud is replaced with impenetrable thorns. Everyone gets a good workout with the parang.
Kick myself for not having bought full-finger gloves. My fingers resemble shredded meat more and more as the day goes on.
What appeared as a stream on the map has been swollen by rain into a fast-flowing river. With much trepidation we load the live rounds issued - purportedly to protect against crocs, but which are seeming more and more like a quick end to the misery - and combat-swim across the river. Someone is almost swept away.
Later we find ourselves waist-deep in a very large, stagnant pool of water. With water running low, the endpoint still an eternity away and no streams on the map, I attempt to strain the particle-filled brown water into my bottle with a wet tissue. The water can't get through, so i just fill the bottle and pop in a puritab. Drink some, constantly repeating "what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger". Try my best to ignore my traitorous brain placing emphasis on the first half of the phrase.
As the dusk cut-off timing for pickup draws closer we strike back out towards the river bank as we reach the endpoint. At one point we are neck-deep in water, with a soft mud bottom. Try to avoid thinking about sinking into the mud.
Eventually reach what we think is the endpoint - we can't get a GPS confirmation - with exhausted relief. Radio in for pickup. Blow our whistles wildly as we hear the boat approaching, approaching, approaching...Then it passes us and the sound of the motor fades in the distance. We've overshot the endpoint. Our point man suddenly takes an intense interest in the ground at his feet.
Part 2 coming soo...when i can get off my ass to write it.
Even if we did have to go to another country to find them.
Our longhouses are right at the top of the hill - joy.
There aren't enough lockers, so we are forced to keep our kit under/next to the double bunks. This does nothing to ameliorate the cramped conditions. What lockers there are have all been vandalised with ominous messages promising eternal suffering, ripping of hair and much gnashing of teeth.
And that's just the ones in reference to the camp food.
Discover the toilets are infested with giant cicadas with suicidal tendencies - they fly around blindly, hitting the walls, ceiling and you. All but the bravest lose inclination for a shower.
Day 2 :: Compass course. First impression - Ohmygod this place is hot.
Day 3 :: First navex (navigation exercise). Realise that an alarming number of knolls are of the variety which need to be climbed on hands and feet and sometimes even with the help of a toggle rope, and descended on the seat of your pants.
Despair of ever making it through 17 more days of this.
Thank God we'll probably never have to go to war in Brunei.
It starts raining torrentially just before we harbour, resulting in a cold, miserable night.
Day 6 :: Swamp topo. An assault boat (glorified name for what is essentially a metal bath-tub) drops us off along a river bank - not a river bank as in, picnic-on-the-river-bank, rather, the mangrove variety.
We hop off the boat and promptly sink waist deep in mud. Morale sinks exponentially. Wish we had brought money with which to bribe the boatman to drop us off nearer the endpoint.
Extricate ourselves only to find the morass extends quite some distance inland. Wonder what happens if everyone gets stuck at the same time.
Eventually reach dry ground (dry is an extremely relative term). Stinking mud is replaced with impenetrable thorns. Everyone gets a good workout with the parang.
Kick myself for not having bought full-finger gloves. My fingers resemble shredded meat more and more as the day goes on.
What appeared as a stream on the map has been swollen by rain into a fast-flowing river. With much trepidation we load the live rounds issued - purportedly to protect against crocs, but which are seeming more and more like a quick end to the misery - and combat-swim across the river. Someone is almost swept away.
Later we find ourselves waist-deep in a very large, stagnant pool of water. With water running low, the endpoint still an eternity away and no streams on the map, I attempt to strain the particle-filled brown water into my bottle with a wet tissue. The water can't get through, so i just fill the bottle and pop in a puritab. Drink some, constantly repeating "what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger". Try my best to ignore my traitorous brain placing emphasis on the first half of the phrase.
As the dusk cut-off timing for pickup draws closer we strike back out towards the river bank as we reach the endpoint. At one point we are neck-deep in water, with a soft mud bottom. Try to avoid thinking about sinking into the mud.
Eventually reach what we think is the endpoint - we can't get a GPS confirmation - with exhausted relief. Radio in for pickup. Blow our whistles wildly as we hear the boat approaching, approaching, approaching...Then it passes us and the sound of the motor fades in the distance. We've overshot the endpoint. Our point man suddenly takes an intense interest in the ground at his feet.
Part 2 coming soo...when i can get off my ass to write it.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
What to bring to BMT
Some idiot senior of mine, told me to bring pajamas to sleep in. i asked him if this was a joke, his response was "Joke? no lah! all my sections mates wear pajamas to sleep one!"
Thank god I ignored him and i seriously think he is gay.
Thank god I ignored him and i seriously think he is gay.
Fuck you lah!
The day before we were to pass out from Basic Training, we were all in a really happy and relaxed mood. We were pretty much given free reign to just chill out and relax. All of the sudden, we heard swearing and shouting coming from inside the company line office. 2 minutes later, my platoon mate came out with a very dejected look on his face. This is what we found out had happened.
My platoon mate had gone in to the company line office to check on what time we were to fall in for lunch on that day. By this time, the Sergeants were really slack with us, and we were talking to them more like friends, even though we still showed them respect. My friend cracked a joke to my Sergeant who then retorted with a “Fuck you lah!”, which my friend quickly responded with a middle finger and a “Fuck you too!”. Both men were laughing all the time this was happening.
What they both did not notice, was just as my friend raised his middle finger, my CSM (Company Sergeant Major) walked in and saw him in the process. What followed was a very loud and gigantic dressing down by my CSM. 2 days later, while we were all packing up for our 1 week block leave, my poor friend was sweeping out the company line office as he had to sign 7 extra duties and so all his block leave was cancelled.
My platoon mate had gone in to the company line office to check on what time we were to fall in for lunch on that day. By this time, the Sergeants were really slack with us, and we were talking to them more like friends, even though we still showed them respect. My friend cracked a joke to my Sergeant who then retorted with a “Fuck you lah!”, which my friend quickly responded with a middle finger and a “Fuck you too!”. Both men were laughing all the time this was happening.
What they both did not notice, was just as my friend raised his middle finger, my CSM (Company Sergeant Major) walked in and saw him in the process. What followed was a very loud and gigantic dressing down by my CSM. 2 days later, while we were all packing up for our 1 week block leave, my poor friend was sweeping out the company line office as he had to sign 7 extra duties and so all his block leave was cancelled.
Commando vs runway
I have a cousin who was the squadron commander of the C-130 Herc squadron in the RSAF. In fact, I think if anyone was in the RSAF about 6 to 7 years ago might know of him, if was quiet a character and pretty infamous. This is one of the stories about him and his little games.
As we all know, the Herc is a transport aircraft used by the RSAF to carry big loads and also to air drop Commandos and their equipment. Although my cousin was a pilot, he incredibly has a phobia of heights. In fact, he always used to call the Commandos “Siao!” for wanting to jump out of a perfectly fine aircraft. As I am sure most of you also know, airborne jumps are always kinda risky things. If you land just wrong, you can easily break an ankle.
My cousin, being who he is, used to play this game while the commandos were out jumping. Upon hearing an ambulance driving onto the landing zone, he would move over to the squadron ready room white board, draw a line down the middle, and write a header of runway on one side and commando on the other, followed by a 1 under runway and a 0 under commando.
He would then announce “Ok runway 1, commando 0, anyone want to take bets on the final score?”
As we all know, the Herc is a transport aircraft used by the RSAF to carry big loads and also to air drop Commandos and their equipment. Although my cousin was a pilot, he incredibly has a phobia of heights. In fact, he always used to call the Commandos “Siao!” for wanting to jump out of a perfectly fine aircraft. As I am sure most of you also know, airborne jumps are always kinda risky things. If you land just wrong, you can easily break an ankle.
My cousin, being who he is, used to play this game while the commandos were out jumping. Upon hearing an ambulance driving onto the landing zone, he would move over to the squadron ready room white board, draw a line down the middle, and write a header of runway on one side and commando on the other, followed by a 1 under runway and a 0 under commando.
He would then announce “Ok runway 1, commando 0, anyone want to take bets on the final score?”
NS was soooo HOT!
It was a bright and sunny day, actually no, it was a freaking hot, humid and lazy afternoon in Nee Soon camp, 7BTS (Basic Training School). It was less then a week to our POP (Passing Out Parade) from BMT (Basic Military Training), and we are all in a very slack mood. I was down at the company line with one of my Sergeants drinking Coke and talking cock (See I told you damn slack) when all of the sudden we heard what sounded like a helicopter flying near us.
Hearing a helicopter in camp is not an unusual thing, especially considering my training school was a Guardsman training school (Guards = silly guys who like to jump out of helicopters) What made it REALLY unusual was that we saw the helicopter landing on the parade square in the middle of the camp. Now as many of you know, this is done only is extreme emergencies for the parade square is the sole domain of the RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major = big scary man you don wanna piss off). My Sergeant were very cuious about what was going on and so got up and moved in for a closer look.
I asked him “Got emergency exercise today huh?”
“No leh, nothing on the schedule” he replied.
Not long, we started seeing some recruits running from the canteen with what looked like bags of ice. This went on for quiet a while, and then before long we saw the main event, 2 medics carrying a stretcher. We thought “OK must be heat stroke” and started walking back, no big deal. However, just as were turning around, ANOTHER stretcher appeared from around the corner. Then in the space of 1 min, yet ANOTHER stretcher appeared. A total of 3 stretchers were being loaded onto the Super Puma helicopter! 3 heat stroke victims all at the same time!
After we soaked in the whole scene, we both said the same thing at the same time, “PTI (Physical Training Instructor) and the PC (Platoon Commander) sure die liao!”
Hearing a helicopter in camp is not an unusual thing, especially considering my training school was a Guardsman training school (Guards = silly guys who like to jump out of helicopters) What made it REALLY unusual was that we saw the helicopter landing on the parade square in the middle of the camp. Now as many of you know, this is done only is extreme emergencies for the parade square is the sole domain of the RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major = big scary man you don wanna piss off). My Sergeant were very cuious about what was going on and so got up and moved in for a closer look.
I asked him “Got emergency exercise today huh?”
“No leh, nothing on the schedule” he replied.
Not long, we started seeing some recruits running from the canteen with what looked like bags of ice. This went on for quiet a while, and then before long we saw the main event, 2 medics carrying a stretcher. We thought “OK must be heat stroke” and started walking back, no big deal. However, just as were turning around, ANOTHER stretcher appeared from around the corner. Then in the space of 1 min, yet ANOTHER stretcher appeared. A total of 3 stretchers were being loaded onto the Super Puma helicopter! 3 heat stroke victims all at the same time!
After we soaked in the whole scene, we both said the same thing at the same time, “PTI (Physical Training Instructor) and the PC (Platoon Commander) sure die liao!”
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Cable Guy
Nicholas Liu never fails to deliver some of the funniest lines about his stint in NS, which he's still serving:
Read more about Nick's week here.
This week was cutting wire, stripping wire, reeling wire, unreeling wire, untangling wire, knocking chopsticks into the ground with rocks (wonders of technology!) in order to tie wire around them, and bashing through vegetation carrying 20 kg of wire on my back.
I am getting a little tired of being what is essentially a combat electrician.
Read more about Nick's week here.
Friday, April 22, 2005
All World Leaders Should Read This
10 Dos for Presidents and Heads of State who wish to come to Singapore on official state visits. (So as to make life easier for us, the poor sods who have to mount the welcome honour guard.)
1. Please give ample notice of your arrival. By protocol, a Head of State or President will have a 72-man Guard-of-Honour to welcome him. So, for 72 men, not including the parade markers, Colour Ensigns and Colour Escorts, to get their drill movements to coordinate well is not easy at all. So rehearsals are needed. So we need TIME.
2. Arrive at the time you indicated. Reasoning is very simple, arrive earlier than the time you said you'll arrive, and the Aide-De-Camp will be scrambling to get the parade formed up the moment the advance warning is relayed by the CISCO duty personnel at the Istana main gate. Arrive late, and you'll have about 80 men standing in the hot sun waiting for your grand arrival. And don't forget, protocol also dictates that the counterpart will receive the guest. So if a President visits, our very own Uncle S.R Nathan will be the one who receives him. It is not nice to make an old man wait in the sun for you. No matter how dua bai you are, have some courtesy and punctuality.
3. Come with a small entourage. The Istana is landscaped like a park, not some multi-storey carpark. There's no need to come with a procession of more than 10 vehicles, with your Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, Deputy Foreign Minister, father, mother, wife, mistress, son, daughter, uncles, aunts or cousins tagging along. And really, there's no need for 5 vehicles to be filled with just personal bodyguards. Singapore's a very safe place, no one will actually attempt to assassinate you here. And if you're that dua bai to the extent that someone might actually assassinate you, Uncle Nathan will be the one visiting you, not the other way round.
4. Adopt a National Anthem that's short and sweet. Before visiting Singapore, kindly persuade your Parliament/Congress/Senate or whatever legislative council in your country to change the National Anthem to a piece that's less than 1 minute long. As protocol dictates(again), as the Presidential Salute is presented to the visiting President, the accompanying music will be of the guest country's National Anthem, followed by the host country's National Anthem. Readers out there, you have no idea how tiring it is to stand absolutely still in the Present Arms, or Hormat Senjata, for 4 mins (South African National Anthem, Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika), followed by another 1.5 mins as Majulah Singapura plays. Arms go numb, rifles start to wobble, and bayonets begin to rattle. How unprofessional-sounding.
5. Make your way to the dais fast. When you arrive, the Guard-of-Honour would probably have been waiting for more than 20 minutes in the sun. Refrain from making small talk with Uncle Nathan after you step out of the car. Just make your way to the dais for the Presidential Salute.
6. Make the inspection of the Guard-of-Honour a quick one. For a 72-man GOH, only the front rank (out of 3 ranks) will be inspected. That means a total of 24 men to walk past, plus the paying of compliments to the Regimental and State Colours. For that, it's only a quick salute (for military personnel) as you walk past the Colours, or a acknowledging nod (non-military personnel) as you shuffle past. And for goodness's sake, NEVER EVER stop to ask a guardsman questions, since you won't remember what you asked of him 5 minutes later. You know that, WE know that.
7. Don't act blur. After the inspection's completed allow yourself to be ushered back to the dais. After that, whatever the Parade Commander asks of you, just say yes. If you can't even say that in English, just nod. Please do not stand there and act blur. Logically the Parade Commander's asking for permission to carry on with the ceremony, and not, "how's the wife and kids?"
8. Just get on with it. After you give permission for the parade to proceed and the salute's presented, just acknowledge and allow yourself to be ushered away into the Istana main building. Please do not launch into a speech there and then thanking all and sundry about how honoured you are to be in Singapore and how impressed by the Guard-of-Honour that you just inspected blah blah blah (this happens, really). You ought to be anyway.
9. Disappear, fast. After you enter the foyer of the Istana main building and the 2 sentries present arms, kindly move quickly into the building and just disappear from our sight. As long as you're within view and earshot of the Guard-of-Honour, the parade cannot be dismissed. At that point of time, all we want is to fall out and get a well-deserved break. So just make yourself scarce.
10. Don't even visit at all. Enough said.
1. Please give ample notice of your arrival. By protocol, a Head of State or President will have a 72-man Guard-of-Honour to welcome him. So, for 72 men, not including the parade markers, Colour Ensigns and Colour Escorts, to get their drill movements to coordinate well is not easy at all. So rehearsals are needed. So we need TIME.
2. Arrive at the time you indicated. Reasoning is very simple, arrive earlier than the time you said you'll arrive, and the Aide-De-Camp will be scrambling to get the parade formed up the moment the advance warning is relayed by the CISCO duty personnel at the Istana main gate. Arrive late, and you'll have about 80 men standing in the hot sun waiting for your grand arrival. And don't forget, protocol also dictates that the counterpart will receive the guest. So if a President visits, our very own Uncle S.R Nathan will be the one who receives him. It is not nice to make an old man wait in the sun for you. No matter how dua bai you are, have some courtesy and punctuality.
3. Come with a small entourage. The Istana is landscaped like a park, not some multi-storey carpark. There's no need to come with a procession of more than 10 vehicles, with your Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, Deputy Foreign Minister, father, mother, wife, mistress, son, daughter, uncles, aunts or cousins tagging along. And really, there's no need for 5 vehicles to be filled with just personal bodyguards. Singapore's a very safe place, no one will actually attempt to assassinate you here. And if you're that dua bai to the extent that someone might actually assassinate you, Uncle Nathan will be the one visiting you, not the other way round.
4. Adopt a National Anthem that's short and sweet. Before visiting Singapore, kindly persuade your Parliament/Congress/Senate or whatever legislative council in your country to change the National Anthem to a piece that's less than 1 minute long. As protocol dictates(again), as the Presidential Salute is presented to the visiting President, the accompanying music will be of the guest country's National Anthem, followed by the host country's National Anthem. Readers out there, you have no idea how tiring it is to stand absolutely still in the Present Arms, or Hormat Senjata, for 4 mins (South African National Anthem, Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika), followed by another 1.5 mins as Majulah Singapura plays. Arms go numb, rifles start to wobble, and bayonets begin to rattle. How unprofessional-sounding.
5. Make your way to the dais fast. When you arrive, the Guard-of-Honour would probably have been waiting for more than 20 minutes in the sun. Refrain from making small talk with Uncle Nathan after you step out of the car. Just make your way to the dais for the Presidential Salute.
6. Make the inspection of the Guard-of-Honour a quick one. For a 72-man GOH, only the front rank (out of 3 ranks) will be inspected. That means a total of 24 men to walk past, plus the paying of compliments to the Regimental and State Colours. For that, it's only a quick salute (for military personnel) as you walk past the Colours, or a acknowledging nod (non-military personnel) as you shuffle past. And for goodness's sake, NEVER EVER stop to ask a guardsman questions, since you won't remember what you asked of him 5 minutes later. You know that, WE know that.
7. Don't act blur. After the inspection's completed allow yourself to be ushered back to the dais. After that, whatever the Parade Commander asks of you, just say yes. If you can't even say that in English, just nod. Please do not stand there and act blur. Logically the Parade Commander's asking for permission to carry on with the ceremony, and not, "how's the wife and kids?"
8. Just get on with it. After you give permission for the parade to proceed and the salute's presented, just acknowledge and allow yourself to be ushered away into the Istana main building. Please do not launch into a speech there and then thanking all and sundry about how honoured you are to be in Singapore and how impressed by the Guard-of-Honour that you just inspected blah blah blah (this happens, really). You ought to be anyway.
9. Disappear, fast. After you enter the foyer of the Istana main building and the 2 sentries present arms, kindly move quickly into the building and just disappear from our sight. As long as you're within view and earshot of the Guard-of-Honour, the parade cannot be dismissed. At that point of time, all we want is to fall out and get a well-deserved break. So just make yourself scarce.
10. Don't even visit at all. Enough said.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
"Psycho Theory"
As we know SAF comes out with lots and lots of “campaign” to reassures our citizens that our land is well-protected and to attract the youngsters out there to join the SAF.
1) The posters/media – They are all around Singapore, in practically every location possible. Advertisements better known as posters appear on the buses/trains terminal, and also on bus/train itself, advertisements clips on television/movies threatre and the modeling toys/recruitment postcards that they sent to your mailbox. They are working on something called, “what you see everyday can influence you.” These stuff are wonderfully crafted, and always have that very “cool” look. And one more thing is that, no obese personnel had been featured in the posters yet.
2) Uniforms – The uniforms, be it the common camouflage number 4 or the ultra smart looking number 1 uniform. SAF uniforms have made differentiation of many servicemen hard from far (provided they wear their head-dress too). But many women have certainly found uniformed man very attractive. Yes, I agree, all the uniform looks smart and cool. I personally hope to have a chance to wear that number 1…
3) Exhibitions – We have got all sort of open house, where the army/air force/navy exhibit their skills, technologies and equipments. They allow people to “play” with rifles, take a ride on the vehicles, put on camouflage cream on their face, allowing young kid to wear the different type of uniforms and so on… At the exhibitions most of the personnel there would be very friendly to visitors even the most unfriendly person in the SAF. Good public image achieved.
4) Songs/Music – You would have to agree that songs does affect people’s mood. I don’t know how to say it but the songs here but I kind of got sucked into the lyrics of the song…
Music played on certain/different occasion will have a very strong impact on someone feelings too. Here is a very simple example, when you go to school (primary/secondary school), the national anthem would be played, and you are “forced” to sing along, and you don’t like that at all. But if you are at the NDP, and when the national anthem is played, you would actually feel that “something special”.
Maybe there is more, but these are the few I came across.
I guess they are people out there that are immune to all these but I am not...
Again, pardon me for my bad language.
1) The posters/media – They are all around Singapore, in practically every location possible. Advertisements better known as posters appear on the buses/trains terminal, and also on bus/train itself, advertisements clips on television/movies threatre and the modeling toys/recruitment postcards that they sent to your mailbox. They are working on something called, “what you see everyday can influence you.” These stuff are wonderfully crafted, and always have that very “cool” look. And one more thing is that, no obese personnel had been featured in the posters yet.
2) Uniforms – The uniforms, be it the common camouflage number 4 or the ultra smart looking number 1 uniform. SAF uniforms have made differentiation of many servicemen hard from far (provided they wear their head-dress too). But many women have certainly found uniformed man very attractive. Yes, I agree, all the uniform looks smart and cool. I personally hope to have a chance to wear that number 1…
3) Exhibitions – We have got all sort of open house, where the army/air force/navy exhibit their skills, technologies and equipments. They allow people to “play” with rifles, take a ride on the vehicles, put on camouflage cream on their face, allowing young kid to wear the different type of uniforms and so on… At the exhibitions most of the personnel there would be very friendly to visitors even the most unfriendly person in the SAF. Good public image achieved.
4) Songs/Music – You would have to agree that songs does affect people’s mood. I don’t know how to say it but the songs here but I kind of got sucked into the lyrics of the song…
Music played on certain/different occasion will have a very strong impact on someone feelings too. Here is a very simple example, when you go to school (primary/secondary school), the national anthem would be played, and you are “forced” to sing along, and you don’t like that at all. But if you are at the NDP, and when the national anthem is played, you would actually feel that “something special”.
Maybe there is more, but these are the few I came across.
I guess they are people out there that are immune to all these but I am not...
Again, pardon me for my bad language.
In the mind of a “brain-washed” pre-enlistee
I was totally ignorant about national service a few years back. But now I am definitely better informed about it, and it all started with the mini series by Steven Spielberg, Band of Brothers.
I became so interested in military stuff after watching that show, it "made" me to start reading about soldier's gears, rank structures, ceremony procedures, uniforms/fatigues and more. I visited soldier’s blog, different military forums and read news article, and everything seems so “beautiful” and “perfect”.
I am now veryready interested to join the SAF. I can’t really comment about life in the SAF but I sense that it would be rather interesting (many would disagree). How I wish that I would be enlisted tomorrow, I am getting bored with school life already.
Maybe I am just being exposed to too much “SAF propaganda”. (Those “cool” looking posters and recruitment advertisements.)
But of course, they are the fears too, like
I became so interested in military stuff after watching that show, it "made" me to start reading about soldier's gears, rank structures, ceremony procedures, uniforms/fatigues and more. I visited soldier’s blog, different military forums and read news article, and everything seems so “beautiful” and “perfect”.
I am now very
Maybe I am just being exposed to too much “SAF propaganda”. (Those “cool” looking posters and recruitment advertisements.)
But of course, they are the fears too, like
- What isit like living with some other strangers. (Will we 'click'?)
- Can I cope with the training?
- Will something bad happen during training to me?
- Will I lose interest after I eventually see the real thing for myself.
Maybe life just got too bored for me…
…and maybe that why I wrote this.
And oh, sorry for my poor piece of writing, I am trying my best already, ;-) and oh don’t flame me.
The Misadventures of Encik L - Part Deux
We come to another accident-filled installment of The Misadventures of Encik L.
The names of people and companies in this blog have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent and of curse to protect my a** from being whooped by the not-so-innocent people if they find they have been named as the not-so-innocent… erm… hope you catch my drift.
Now, where were we? Ahh… the hills are alive with the sound of… BAM!!!!!!! Contact!!! Tututututututututut! Hostile at 12 o’clock! Tututututututututut! Cover me!
The mundane sounds of GST, no not your 5% tax but group and section training – that wonderful opportunity for a soldier to get to know his fellow sufferers out in the smoldering heat of the dense lalang forest of Singapore’s premier integrated resort island, Tekong Country Club.
Of course GST, feels just like the 5% we pay for everything – not worth it, all for nothing, and occasionally bloody painful. “WTF! Eh bruddah! 5cents extra?!? Kacang putih also got GST!?!”
In our case of course, GST out in the middle of Tekong sets the scene for our hero Encik L. Encik L, well, what can one say… you either love him or just laugh the hell at him.
So here we are, a hot stifling day. The men have been through rounds of tekan…ah I mean loving attention… by the friendly people who just happen to have squiggly lines on their arms or crabs on their shoulders (often a result of illicit partnerings at the near-by Changi Village… aiyah… wrong type of crab).
Encik L was sitting in the shade of the three-toner, feeling a tad lost in thought, which in layman’s terms means he can’t remember what he was trying to remember to remember.
In a moment of inspired genius, Encik L decided to become fully involved in the training! EEEE-ORRRRR! EEEE-ORRRRR! EEEE-ORRRRR! Alarm bells rang in all our collective heads… better take cover just in case he blows up the island.
In the most garang voice that an over-sized hamster can muster, he shouted: “Oi!! Men!! Let me show you what real GST is! All you coo-coos like bleeding sissies!” (to provide the context for the sound effect his shouting induced, imagine Mickey Mouse speaking after inhaling helium…)
So, all of the squiggly lines and bars and crabs retreated to the relative safety of the nearest shade to watch the Encik L Sideshow unfold.
The recruits by now have grown to fear every time Encik L decided to take matters into his own hands and many were beginning to look as if they wanted to wet their pants…
Our brave and intrepid Encik L put on his gear and sauntered to the front of the men, leading them to the edge of the lalang patch.
For those who have no clue about military matters here is a not-so-accurate but sufficient primer to set the scene. If I tell you more then it will compromise national security and I will have to kill you by making you laugh too much: In combat situations out in the field, if the lead man or in fact any man spots the enemy/hears the enemy/is tragically shot by the enemy, he/she/it shouts in the loudest manly-voice he/she/it can muster: CONTACT!!!!!! Which in the army is not pronounced as it should, and this will be made apparent to you shortly.
Back to Encik L. There he is, poised, ready for combat, ready to pounce like… a giant green hamster!!! Oooo… cuddly… and so, with men spread out, the tension in the air grows thick, the suspense builds to a crescendo, and violins screech out a dramatic tune in the background…………… the men follow their leader into the dense lalang, not knowing what awaits them…
Then, all of a sudden, the giant furry green hamster goes down flat into the undergrowth. In an instance, a well-trained-sharp-eyed recruit sees the danger… he turns his head sharply and shouts like he’s never shouted before: KOTEX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We pause for a commercial… Voiceover: “Kotex – the solution to the sophisticated woman’s solution problem.” And no back to the show.
The men react in an instance to the shouting of the name of a sanitary napkin and react as all men do - they jump for cover and cower in fear. The entire company hits the ground and sends up a collective cloud of smoke that is bound to attract the attention of the imaginary enemy (if the sanitary napkin has not caught their attention already.. doh!!!)
At this moment, Encik L begins to take his leave of his intimate liaison with Mother Earth and clamours onto his feet. He turns and faces the troops, and then it becomes apparent to the collective cluster-f**k of squiggly lines, bars and crabs what had happened…
Standing there in the middle of lalang-lalang land was a giant green furry hamster with with with… a line of bright red streaming down his protuberance.
In a moment of inspired brilliance, Encik L has tripped over dead lalang and had fallen flat on his nose!!!! It hadn’t occurred to him that the wet trickle down his face and neck was not sweat and so he heroically turned round to praise the men for “reacting quickly and remembering their training well.”
Again with "well-trained" men, not a single one wanted to be so disrespectful as to interrupt their garang Encik to let him in on the fact that there was BLOOD running out of his NOSE.
At this moment, the scene pans over to the old cluster-f**k of squiggly lines, bars and crabs, who are suffering the most cruel and worst possible military torture allowed under the Geneva Conventions – laughing themselves to death.
When the group recovers enough, an unfortunate medic is arrowed to quietly break the news to Encik L. Thereafter, no more extra GST…
More Encik L coming soon!
- zayam
"Malay guy cock picture"
I recently got this search referral on my blog, Balderdash. Such brought back unpleasant memories and induced me to wax lyrical about the last time I was faced with such a sight, like so:
Everyday now I thank Allah on bended knees and with my forehead pressed firmly to the floor that ever since passing out from the School of Military Medicine (SMM), aka the 'School of Many Malays' - as someone dubbed it, I have never had and hopefully will never have to see this awful sight again, after having to see such most nights for 3 months running. Having people walk around the bunk naked almost every night does nothing for your sanity, especially when their members all look oddly shrivelled ('peanuts', as someone else described it). Luckily only one non-Malay ever walked around in bunk naked, and even then it was infrequently, otherwise I think I'd have gouged out my eyes long ago.
At the time, we were housed in the Ulu Pandan campus of SMM and indeed were the last batch to graduate from that wretched place. Well, actually it wasn't that bad a place - quite slack actually, except for four things. In no particular order:
1) The food
Being a small camp, Ulu Pandan had but one cookhouse, which combined the worst aspects of Muslim and Non-Muslim cookhouses, being a compromise between the two; the Muslims complained that the food had no taste, since unlike in Non-Muslim cookhouses, the food in Muslim cookhouses is liberally dosed with chilli and curry to mask the bad food (both in quality of raw materials and quality of cooking). Meanwhile, the Non-Muslims could not eat pork, and some of us weren't fond of chilli.
One thing both groups were agreed upon, though, was that the food sucked. Indeed, a contract slave (Regular) who had done his Full Time Slavery when NSF cooks were still making the food commented that the Ulu Pandan food was of about the same standard. Breakfast and Night Snack were the best meals the cookhouse could provide, simply because they were not prepared by them, but instead came pre-prepared (For example, Paos [chinese buns], lor mai kai [glutinous rice with chicken] and above all, the heavenly 'tau sar delight' [a pastry with sweat black bean paste]). Despite this, and despite our constant rating of their food as 'poor', they always managed to get satisfaction ratings in the high 90s (as is the case with most SAF cookhouses). Either SFI and NTUC Foodfare rig the polls or they have a really unique way of measuring satisfaction (eg A 'good' is worth 5 points, a 'satisfactory' 2 and a 'poor' deducts 0.5 points)
On the upside, SMM was (and probably still is) also known as the 'School of Many Makan', since 2 canteen breaks a day were the norm. The canteen wasn't anything to write home about, but hey, at least you had the illusion of choice (after 3 months there we were all bored of the limited variety of food available - I don't know how the permstaff survived) and could supplement the cookhouse diet with something at least mildly more palatable.
2) Injections
Every week, the guys would have at least 1 16G (16 Gauge) needle (cannula, rather - a hollow needle inside a plastic shaft) shoved into them by their buddy or some such person. This was done to train us in the art of Infusion (aka IV) - setting drips.
In real medical settings, nurses and doctors get trained by poking patients. However, in the good ole SAF, we had to practise on each other. Since I had a phobia of needles, and had a reaction to them dividable into 2 categories: crying and screaming, this was undoubtedly the part of Medic School I hated the most. Oh, and it didn't help that 16G cannulas are the size of Yakult straws (no, I'm not kidding), being much larger (~1.4mm in diameter) than the 23G (~0.7mm), 22G (~0.8mm) or at most 20Gs (~1.0mm) used in real medical settings, since the SAF is kiasu. Hell, even other armies don't make their medics use 16G cannulas. So, yes, this was much more painful than your average injection. If normal injections are mere ant bites, 16G IVs feel like a soldier ant has bit into your flesh and won't let go. And the scars are pretty much permanent, or at least semi-permanent. At least I have big pores, so it's not that obvious. The females, incidentally, got a slight concession and used 20G needles, supposedly because their veins were finer.
3) Handphones
For some weird reason, trainees were not allowed to bring handphones into camp. At the time, well nigh every other SAF camp allowed handphones, even Obedience School (BMT). So this was puzzling. The official reason was that since the camp was falling apart as we spoke, handphones were prone to be stolen, and this measure would reduce incidences of theft. If previous batches, we were told, could survive without handphones, so could we. Of course, we all knew that this was in line with the SAF's policy of torturing Slaves, and probably also to make the camp appear less slack that it actually was.
This handphone policy was enforced with occasional raids and searches (even a strip search, once). Most of us put our phones on a small ledge just above where our drawers slotted into the cupboard; a casual opening of the drawer would not reveal the handphone's location, ensconced as it was. I wager that all of our instructors, having been trainees before, knew of this, but closed an eye and a half, in deference to unofficial SAF ethics.
One time, though, there was a massive raid and search carried out after, IIRC, someone lost $50, and just before a night off to boot. All of us were cursing, especially since the person would never see his money again; the raid and search were just for show, and any thief worth his salt would've long spirited the money away to an undetectable location. My platoon had a small squad of Bruneians, so most people sent their handphones to the Bruneians' bunk (which presumably was protected by diplomatic immunity, or something). I, however, somehow missed the boat, perhaps because the Malays (who were the link to the Bruneians) were not very fond of me, even mummifying on one occasion the soft toys I brought to camp (though that didn't stop many of them from stealing my food, of course). And so I was left wondering what to do, when I hit upon a solution that to this day I am still exceedingly proud of - I sealed my phone in a ziploc bag, and stuffed it into a bag of Ruffles, then tied it up and shook it around a bit. My phone, needless to say, was never found, despite a thorough search.
Luckily, midway through our course we were allowed to bring phones in, and subsequent batches have similarly enjoyed this self-styled 'privilege' granted by SMM: they have been returned one more of the rights so unjustly snatched away from them on their enslavement.
4) Accommodations
"You're right. It's a dump" - Tim on his impression on passing by Ulu Pandan camp.
"Looks like a mental hospital" - A fellow trainee
At least after SMM Ulu Pandan, no accommodations, however bad, could faze me anymore. Hell, I wasn't even very fazed by Brunei (Lancer).
The camp was sited right next to the forest, so not only did we have no wind to cool us during lessons in the fan-less training sheds, we often had monsters coming into our bunks, including giant spiders and all sorts of mutated insects (SMM also stood for 'School of Many Monsters'). It didn't help that the foam mattresses we slept on were bedbug infested, with each morning bringing an ugly rash of itchy welts on our legs.
All in all, SMM wasn't the worst time of my indenture, in part thanks to the efforts of one of my instructors - a Sergeant Feroz (fittingly and amusingly called 'Fei2 Rou4' - Fatty Meat - by some of my platoon mates) - who helped look out for me and prevented me from getting bullied too much. He acted tough, but was really a nice guy.
For more stories of the old SMM, including imaginatively named food, SAF-sanctioned cross-dressing, someone eating a grasshopper and a snake in the training shed, do browse my April 2002, May 2002 and June 2002 Archives - search for the words "Restored Post".
Choice excerpt: "Something very disgusting happened on Friday. Fortunately, I did not witness it as I was slumbering, but from what I was told, Khairul, who always likes to parade naked in the bunk, went in front of Steven and started spanking his monkey. Steven proceeded to spray his anti-blister spray on Khairul's genitals and buttocks. Apparently they wanted to do it to me, but were sure that I'd cry and complain to the CO."
Quotes from my time in SMM are also available.
"[On many people not bringing their water bottles for Last Parade] Nevermind, later go down and drink 2 cups of Milo." - SMM Instructor
Everyday now I thank Allah on bended knees and with my forehead pressed firmly to the floor that ever since passing out from the School of Military Medicine (SMM), aka the 'School of Many Malays' - as someone dubbed it, I have never had and hopefully will never have to see this awful sight again, after having to see such most nights for 3 months running. Having people walk around the bunk naked almost every night does nothing for your sanity, especially when their members all look oddly shrivelled ('peanuts', as someone else described it). Luckily only one non-Malay ever walked around in bunk naked, and even then it was infrequently, otherwise I think I'd have gouged out my eyes long ago.
At the time, we were housed in the Ulu Pandan campus of SMM and indeed were the last batch to graduate from that wretched place. Well, actually it wasn't that bad a place - quite slack actually, except for four things. In no particular order:
1) The food
Being a small camp, Ulu Pandan had but one cookhouse, which combined the worst aspects of Muslim and Non-Muslim cookhouses, being a compromise between the two; the Muslims complained that the food had no taste, since unlike in Non-Muslim cookhouses, the food in Muslim cookhouses is liberally dosed with chilli and curry to mask the bad food (both in quality of raw materials and quality of cooking). Meanwhile, the Non-Muslims could not eat pork, and some of us weren't fond of chilli.
One thing both groups were agreed upon, though, was that the food sucked. Indeed, a contract slave (Regular) who had done his Full Time Slavery when NSF cooks were still making the food commented that the Ulu Pandan food was of about the same standard. Breakfast and Night Snack were the best meals the cookhouse could provide, simply because they were not prepared by them, but instead came pre-prepared (For example, Paos [chinese buns], lor mai kai [glutinous rice with chicken] and above all, the heavenly 'tau sar delight' [a pastry with sweat black bean paste]). Despite this, and despite our constant rating of their food as 'poor', they always managed to get satisfaction ratings in the high 90s (as is the case with most SAF cookhouses). Either SFI and NTUC Foodfare rig the polls or they have a really unique way of measuring satisfaction (eg A 'good' is worth 5 points, a 'satisfactory' 2 and a 'poor' deducts 0.5 points)
On the upside, SMM was (and probably still is) also known as the 'School of Many Makan', since 2 canteen breaks a day were the norm. The canteen wasn't anything to write home about, but hey, at least you had the illusion of choice (after 3 months there we were all bored of the limited variety of food available - I don't know how the permstaff survived) and could supplement the cookhouse diet with something at least mildly more palatable.
2) Injections
Every week, the guys would have at least 1 16G (16 Gauge) needle (cannula, rather - a hollow needle inside a plastic shaft) shoved into them by their buddy or some such person. This was done to train us in the art of Infusion (aka IV) - setting drips.
In real medical settings, nurses and doctors get trained by poking patients. However, in the good ole SAF, we had to practise on each other. Since I had a phobia of needles, and had a reaction to them dividable into 2 categories: crying and screaming, this was undoubtedly the part of Medic School I hated the most. Oh, and it didn't help that 16G cannulas are the size of Yakult straws (no, I'm not kidding), being much larger (~1.4mm in diameter) than the 23G (~0.7mm), 22G (~0.8mm) or at most 20Gs (~1.0mm) used in real medical settings, since the SAF is kiasu. Hell, even other armies don't make their medics use 16G cannulas. So, yes, this was much more painful than your average injection. If normal injections are mere ant bites, 16G IVs feel like a soldier ant has bit into your flesh and won't let go. And the scars are pretty much permanent, or at least semi-permanent. At least I have big pores, so it's not that obvious. The females, incidentally, got a slight concession and used 20G needles, supposedly because their veins were finer.
3) Handphones
For some weird reason, trainees were not allowed to bring handphones into camp. At the time, well nigh every other SAF camp allowed handphones, even Obedience School (BMT). So this was puzzling. The official reason was that since the camp was falling apart as we spoke, handphones were prone to be stolen, and this measure would reduce incidences of theft. If previous batches, we were told, could survive without handphones, so could we. Of course, we all knew that this was in line with the SAF's policy of torturing Slaves, and probably also to make the camp appear less slack that it actually was.
This handphone policy was enforced with occasional raids and searches (even a strip search, once). Most of us put our phones on a small ledge just above where our drawers slotted into the cupboard; a casual opening of the drawer would not reveal the handphone's location, ensconced as it was. I wager that all of our instructors, having been trainees before, knew of this, but closed an eye and a half, in deference to unofficial SAF ethics.
One time, though, there was a massive raid and search carried out after, IIRC, someone lost $50, and just before a night off to boot. All of us were cursing, especially since the person would never see his money again; the raid and search were just for show, and any thief worth his salt would've long spirited the money away to an undetectable location. My platoon had a small squad of Bruneians, so most people sent their handphones to the Bruneians' bunk (which presumably was protected by diplomatic immunity, or something). I, however, somehow missed the boat, perhaps because the Malays (who were the link to the Bruneians) were not very fond of me, even mummifying on one occasion the soft toys I brought to camp (though that didn't stop many of them from stealing my food, of course). And so I was left wondering what to do, when I hit upon a solution that to this day I am still exceedingly proud of - I sealed my phone in a ziploc bag, and stuffed it into a bag of Ruffles, then tied it up and shook it around a bit. My phone, needless to say, was never found, despite a thorough search.
Luckily, midway through our course we were allowed to bring phones in, and subsequent batches have similarly enjoyed this self-styled 'privilege' granted by SMM: they have been returned one more of the rights so unjustly snatched away from them on their enslavement.
4) Accommodations
"You're right. It's a dump" - Tim on his impression on passing by Ulu Pandan camp.
"Looks like a mental hospital" - A fellow trainee
At least after SMM Ulu Pandan, no accommodations, however bad, could faze me anymore. Hell, I wasn't even very fazed by Brunei (Lancer).
The camp was sited right next to the forest, so not only did we have no wind to cool us during lessons in the fan-less training sheds, we often had monsters coming into our bunks, including giant spiders and all sorts of mutated insects (SMM also stood for 'School of Many Monsters'). It didn't help that the foam mattresses we slept on were bedbug infested, with each morning bringing an ugly rash of itchy welts on our legs.
All in all, SMM wasn't the worst time of my indenture, in part thanks to the efforts of one of my instructors - a Sergeant Feroz (fittingly and amusingly called 'Fei2 Rou4' - Fatty Meat - by some of my platoon mates) - who helped look out for me and prevented me from getting bullied too much. He acted tough, but was really a nice guy.
For more stories of the old SMM, including imaginatively named food, SAF-sanctioned cross-dressing, someone eating a grasshopper and a snake in the training shed, do browse my April 2002, May 2002 and June 2002 Archives - search for the words "Restored Post".
Choice excerpt: "Something very disgusting happened on Friday. Fortunately, I did not witness it as I was slumbering, but from what I was told, Khairul, who always likes to parade naked in the bunk, went in front of Steven and started spanking his monkey. Steven proceeded to spray his anti-blister spray on Khairul's genitals and buttocks. Apparently they wanted to do it to me, but were sure that I'd cry and complain to the CO."
Quotes from my time in SMM are also available.
"[On many people not bringing their water bottles for Last Parade] Nevermind, later go down and drink 2 cups of Milo." - SMM Instructor
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
"Who you talking to?"
In my full-time NS unit, duty armourers were scheduled for duty on the same day as their guard duty - especially where there were trainees in our unit. When our Armourer IC and 2IC do guard duty, they will also stay in. On such a "joyous" occassion, our Armskote office would become the refuge of trainers wanting to chill after night training.
One night, I was scheduled as the duty guard together with my Armourer IC. One of the trainers, a regular, returned early from training, looking very pale and frightened. This was a bad sign - he was one of the most "bo-chap" and fearless trainers we had, as well as one of the friendliest. After being fed a few warm milo's he finally told us the source of his fear.
Apparently, he had taken his trainees out for a night orientation course as usual. As was usual for him, he was chatting away with the trainees. This night, he had been chatting away with one particular trainee. He yakked and yakked until this trainee suddenly became quiet, which prompted this trainer to turn around. No trainees were in sight! He had been so engrossed in the conversation that he didn't notice that his trainees had disappeared!
Our intrepid trainer did the only thing he could - he backtracked until he found the trainees. He eventually found them cowering away under some undergrowth. The strange thing was, they all refused to say anything to the trainer, until the trainer threatened to recommend them for charge.
At this threat, one of them said...
"Sergeant ah...li ah chua ka ka ki kong we?" (Translation: Sergeant, why were you talking to yourself?")
Monday, April 18, 2005
played CounterStrike the whole week and it SUCKS!
I've always enjoyed playing Counterstrike. A memorably fun game for many guys. Yes, CS is very fun. Until that unfortunate week. That week of training was dedicated to urban warfare. In particular its called Fighting In Built-Up Areas(FIBUA).
Indeed it was a week of running into rooms, kicking doors, climbing up stairs and ladders, jumping from windows to windows, camping at rooftops, etc.
For one it was a much awaited change from fighting in the jungles for once(goodbye u stoopid mosquitoes!). We arrived at FIBUA village at Lim Chu Kang area with much anticipation and excitement. 5 days of urban warfare definitely sounds better compared to 3 days of jungle training.I am definitely not going to bore all u ppl with the details of my training. But allow me to highlight some of the things i learnt in FIBUA training.
Fact#1: It is never possible to do a 'Jackie Chan' and storm a building full of terrorist alone.(Ever wondered why you only see it in movies?)
Fact#2: Never fire blanks in an enclosed area without your earplugs on. I nearly went deaf after the first day.(forgot my friggin earplugs! Grrr.) Sheesh.
Fact#3: Your buddy is your only key to survival in urban warfare. Dun leave home without it!(unless u got eyes at the back of ya head too)
Fact#4: It is irritating when you storm from the first level to the fifth storey only to hear your instructor shouting 'semua'!(redo the whole thing from ground floor) because you forgot to shout 'House Cleared'! at the end. You will die from all the running. Trust me.
Fact#5: Check every corner of every room. If not check and checkmate to ya.
Fact#6: Of every Urban Warfare operation, less than 20%(according to instructors) of the troops will survive. God willing, may we never have to fight in one.
Fact#7: Better clean ur weapon, if it screws up, you'd get screwed too.
All in all, it was a good experience that week. Was literally playing CS. Sigh. If only I can train permanently in urban warfare. Good bye grass, hello concrete. Oh well.
Indeed it was a week of running into rooms, kicking doors, climbing up stairs and ladders, jumping from windows to windows, camping at rooftops, etc.
For one it was a much awaited change from fighting in the jungles for once(goodbye u stoopid mosquitoes!). We arrived at FIBUA village at Lim Chu Kang area with much anticipation and excitement. 5 days of urban warfare definitely sounds better compared to 3 days of jungle training.I am definitely not going to bore all u ppl with the details of my training. But allow me to highlight some of the things i learnt in FIBUA training.
Fact#1: It is never possible to do a 'Jackie Chan' and storm a building full of terrorist alone.(Ever wondered why you only see it in movies?)
Fact#2: Never fire blanks in an enclosed area without your earplugs on. I nearly went deaf after the first day.(forgot my friggin earplugs! Grrr.) Sheesh.
Fact#3: Your buddy is your only key to survival in urban warfare. Dun leave home without it!(unless u got eyes at the back of ya head too)
Fact#4: It is irritating when you storm from the first level to the fifth storey only to hear your instructor shouting 'semua'!(redo the whole thing from ground floor) because you forgot to shout 'House Cleared'! at the end. You will die from all the running. Trust me.
Fact#5: Check every corner of every room. If not check and checkmate to ya.
Fact#6: Of every Urban Warfare operation, less than 20%(according to instructors) of the troops will survive. God willing, may we never have to fight in one.
Fact#7: Better clean ur weapon, if it screws up, you'd get screwed too.
All in all, it was a good experience that week. Was literally playing CS. Sigh. If only I can train permanently in urban warfare. Good bye grass, hello concrete. Oh well.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
The Misadventures of Encik L
Enciks, a rare breed in the army, men folk who make it their life work to be the eternal torment of every NCO and the occasional officer as well. Who can say that they’ve never heard of those giants of RSMs and CSMs like CPT (Ret) ‘Tiger’ Hong Seng Mak and CPT (Ret) Shamsudin bin Shadan (CPT Sham incidentally is now a senior grassroots leader in Buona Vista).
The RSM/CSM (Regimental Sergeant Major/Company Sergeant Major for the uninitiated) are perhaps what I would describe as Ministers without Portfolio, i.e. they had to do anything and everything, Cantonese call this yat kiok tek or one leg kick.
From regulating drills and disciplining errant soldiers, the RSM/CSM usually commanded the respect of their men, even junior officers have to rely on the acumen of their Enciks in making the right decisions. There have been many a time when my first CSM, Encik A, saved my glute’s skin and the collective backsides of the company and its permanent staff.
"Misadventures of Encik L" is a series of stories of one unusual CSM who will ever reside in my memory.
The story begins when Encik A transferred out of the company into the Training Office, there was great contention as all of us weren’t exactly excited with a new CSM – the infamous Encik L. When he did arrived, he was immediately caricatured as being a ‘no-hoper’ (he looked a little like a plump giant balding hamster) who wouldn’t last the competitive spirit that governed our company.
As if to confirm our predictions, Encik L wasn’t the most inspiring example of garang-spiritedness when he took the company out on an introductory run.
“Early in the morning sun, we’re out running having fun, wayyy-looooww, wayyy-looooww, wayyy-looooww…” The plaintive cry of the snaking column of men and their sergeants wafted through the humid dawn air of Tekong as we keep a measured jogging pace.
Yes, not exactly an inspiring moment, no red rising sun in the background, no hazy mirage, no chirping of song birds in your ears (but helluva lot of giant mosquitoes and other blood-sucking Tekong mutants buzzing around). But this uninspiring moment was just about to take a turn for the worse…
I swear this is true… as the company turned back into the camp, Encik Y turned round and sort of ran backwards so that he could “inspect” his men and scream some vague vulgarity that would inspire the troops to respect him. The moment he finished that and decided to turn round, BAMMM!!!!!!!
WAHH KOWWWW!!!! He ran SMACK into a parked three-tonner!!!!
It was one of those arm flailing, head twisting, Stephen-Chow-moments. Steady dah! Must hurt like hell man. But with all the coolness Encik L could muster, he did some sort of awkward ballet (POI: Encik Y isn’t your model of litheness, rotund is the kindest word to use here) and steadied himself before nonchalantly half-run and half-stumble forwards.
All the platoon sergeants had to whisper sternly to the men “dounch u dare to laugh or u all sign extra” before all retreating behind a pillar to laugh their lungs to hell. At this point, I think Coy 2IC looked as if he was prepared to commit hari-kiri to redeem the company’s near miss with shame.
Seeing a three-tonner now will probably bring on a guffaw from everyone who was there that day…
More “Misadventures of Encik L” akan datang!
- zayam
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