For Illustrative Purpose Only

“Yes, sergeant!” I sometimes have a death wish, tempted to say, “Yes, Sergeant, 3 bags full!” I just did not want to tempt fate. I guess I loved me. When the drill sergeant goes berserk, and the guy closes to him does not respond, he makes him open his mouth, coughs up phlegm and coolly spits the ugh! into the poor guy’s mouth who of course responds by throwing up enthusiastically in a typical military fashion.

Sometime the sergeant swings his swagger stick at us, by the time he is through us, normally a minimum of ten guys, his swagger stick is no more. In that situation, it is only normal that we should replace it by holding a collection after all it was our bodies that caused the poor sergeant’s swagger stick to break. The swagger stick is about two feet long, it has a big end which tapers towards the other end, has a large metal tip on one end and a smaller metal tip on the other end.

The metal tip is environmentally friendly as it can be recycled onto another stick. This perk, is also bestowed upon other lesser instructors by us. We are drilled day in day out under the hot sweltering weather, the fun starts whenever the Commanding Officer of the Recruit Training Center arrives to observe the training. This is showing off time.

“Listen here you bastards, I want every corpse (we had not even started making mistakes) here, to execute my every command just as I taught you, I will have you killed, barbecued, minced, stomped if anyone of you whose mother is of a diseased reproductive organ does in any way embarrass me and the good name of this company”. “Yes, sergeant!” A reverberating cry from us.

Short, terse commands are barked, we move dreading to make mistakes, everyone is alert, left turn, right turn, mark time, wheel, halt, present arms, shoulder arms, on and on it goes on for hours. It just takes one stupid twerp, there are many, he turns in the wrong direction, it makes the day. We are brought to an abrupt halt, the twerp is physically hauled out of formation, slapped, kicked, bludgeoned and placed sidewise into a drain.

The body can barely fit, not to worry he is stomped into this sewer, half his body is submerged in all the filth. One smart ass says out of the corner of his mouth, barely moving his lips but audible. “Swami do something; Nik Man is going to die”. “I know he’s going to die; why don’t you do something asshole” “He’s your friend”. “Since when?” “I saw him clean your rifle when you were hard pressed the other day”. “I believe you want me to clog up the drain alongside Nik Man”.

One of the sergeant’s henchmen moved so swiftly and struck smart ass, I nearly shitted, smart ass went down. “No talking in the files”, he bellowed enraged that anybody could hold a meaningful conversation. Out of the blue an Indian by the name of Karu fainted. He went down with a thud and the rifle with a crash on to the hard asphalt The commanding officer was beside Karu in two short strides,” Have him cremated, have him cremated”, he was jumping around immobile Karu like a crazed monkey, for the benefit of the rest of the Indians.

The Indians were referred to as “K******”. Most of us bristle with anger when it is used on us. The platoon sergeant, Mustafa was livid, he could not believe all this was happening in front of the commanding officer. He yelled at all of us to squatting positions, and ordered us to duck walk around the barracks, the heat from the asphalt and the sun was already baking our brains, we continued until we did not know the time of day.

Two containers of steaming tea were being carried by two guys who had reported sick, that elated me, break was not too far away, I had to hold on to savour the hot scalding tea. This is one of the little luxuries bestowed on us unfortunates. Karu meanwhile was carried off to the barracks, accompanied by a corporal who was berating him, “You want to extend your training for another three months”.

It’s normal for any one to have an extended stay when one is not performing to expectations, meaning instead of the normal six months of basic training it would become nine months. No sane person would like that unless one enjoys mental and physical abuse. A whistle was blown, it was sweet music to the ears, the body sort of let’s go knowing relieve is soon on its way.

We are ordered to fall out, we rush into our barracks to get our cups, we do that at a gallop and head towards the shelter where tea will be served. There’s Mr. Nightmare himself, Mustafa with the steaming containers of tea,” So you all want tea, you can drink it from the drain.” He tilts the two containers; all the lovely tea is in the drain. The thirst is gnawing, if I had the guts I would enjoy sticking the bayonet into him.

Next we rush for the pipes, they are dry, I wondered whether they did that on purpose. Break is over in twenty minutes. We are back again on the drill square. The first time I ever did repelling was while I was in Outward Bound School in 1969; it was done along a cliff side. For a kid then it looked real high. I managed to do the descent with my dignity intact. Here in RTC there was no tower to practice nor was there a cliff to descend from.

The Malaysian Army is very innovative, there was this big and tall rain forest tree on which a platform was constructed, one thing in RTC is that nobody can accuse them of lacking in ingenuity. From this platform we were taught the rudiments of abseiling. The tree was the notional helicopter from which we would descend from.

We were only given one precious lesson, as there were too many of us to make us adept in the ways of the rope. One fine day the real thing happened, all of us were lined up in files of three. “I want volunteers,” the sergeant said. None of us moved, “I want volunteers,” this time the tone was menacing. We were fidgeting, wondering what was all this about.

“Has no one here a pair of balls?” To my horror my feet responded to this baiting and stepped forward, immediately there were ten other jerks who followed suit. Basically, most recruits were like sheep, they just followed. The thinking in a recruit’s mind is, at least there are few guys to share whatever they are going to throw at us, no one person will be the point of attention, in RTC nobody wants to be the point of attention.

“Today you eleven lucky gentlemen will have the honor to represent this platoon in abseiling from a helicopter. Only eleven of us, as the other platoons too were sending their representatives. The ones not involved were to be spectators. We were given hip sheets, of course we did not know how to tie them around us, after all we had only one lesson, the instructors took over, rigged us up, snap links were issued.

Now my experience with helicopters was limited to waving to them when they passed high up in the skies, pictures in the newspapers on troop deployment especially when we were thrashing the territorially greedy Indonesians during a limited war known as Confrontation. We were waiting, when the silence of the early dawn was broken by the chop -chop sound of a Sirkosky helicopter, an American made helicopter.

It was big, it’s payload was thirty fully equipped combat troops. It came in fast on to the short take off airstrip, which also doubled as our physical training ground. The huge rotors were chopping the early morning mist, sending them swirling mingled with other debris. The chopper was painted in olive green, landed heavily on the pier steel planks that were already overgrown with grass, probably the pilot was fantasizing being a fighter pilot.

A group of soldiers were already moving drums of avtur (aviation turbine fuel) with pumps to refuel, even as the chopper was being shut down. We were given a final briefing, which did not make much sense as we were already filled with anxiety. Coming down from a perfectly flying aircraft using a rope, the thought can be terrifying.

After the chopper was refueled, it was rigged up with an assortment of ropes, the engines were started up, above the noise we were screamed at with orders to get into the aircraft, we were hustled into the aircraft, we went in, left, right, left, right as was the drill in boarding the chopper. The chopper took off very fast, the contents in our stomach heaved.

It took two rounds, sharp ones at that as we were trying to hold on to the seats which were a crisscross of nylon straps, made into seats. It finally started hovering above the airstrip. The first guy nearest was hauled up, he looked like a zombie, the rope was looped around his snaplink and locked. He was made to take up the L position, he looked like a pro, left arm straight, forefinger and thumb around the rope, right hand behind bent at the elbows holding the rope to control descent.

An order was given for him to descend, nothing happened, the instructors were gesticulating telling him to bend his knees for him to thrust out for the descent, still nothing happened. He just plain refused to move. My ever innovative sergeant saved the day, he booted the guy out, out of sight he went, I could only see his flailing arms as he disappeared from view.

“I don’t want to die”, the voice beside whimpered, it was asshole. “So don’t die, only god can save us from Satan over there,” I, with the little bit of bravado left replied. The sergeant was looking very pleased with himself; some of the other instructors were tapping him on his shoulders congratulating him. Asshole looked as though he was going to faint, probably too much shit and chicken in him.

My hands were getting cold and clammy inside the two layers of gloves I had on. I was hoping nobody noticed my knocking knees, to disguise that, I put on a smile every time my dear Satan looked in my direction. Soon it was asshole’s turn, he went the same way the first guy went only that this time we could hear the scream above the rotor’s down wash.

I mumbled the Lord’s Prayer twice followed by two quick Hail Mary’s, shot off another quick Lord’s Prayer just for insurance, in case of after life. I was going to repeat my prayers again just to make sure on my insurance, when my turn came up. I did not know why my knees became stiff and my legs weighed like lead. The way I walked was forced and firm, forced because of fear and firm so as not to collapse like jelly.

I was standing at the entrance, me facing inwards with my back towards the entrance. The instructors were looking at me wetting their lips like I was a wiggly morsel waiting to be tasted. They rigged me up, I was leaning out waiting for the thumbs up, and the down wash of the rotors was already pushing me down. I was faltering when the thumbs up came; I kicked with all my might for my own self respect and commended my soul.

The slide down was very fast, mistake I made was I bent my left elbow; the nylon rope took off some of my facial tissue as it came into contact with the right hand side of my face. I did not feel the searing and burning sensation which I by right should have felt; I was too terrified to feel anything. The ground was coming up very fast to meet me.

I was trying very hard to slow down, by yanking the rope behind me with my right hand, failed, I looked down I saw a bunch of instructors hanging on to the rope to slow my very fast descent. I landed, ran backwards until the rope ran out of the snaplink. I was wobbly but on my feet, a familiar voice greeted me, “I did great didn’t I, you were not in control like I was”, asshole was rattling off.

“Do you make an effort to be obnoxious or is it natural”, I answered him. “You were bad; you looked panicky, paah what a bad example.” He responded, always wanting to have the last say. I disappointed him. “May I suggest to you, you piece of shit, that you do the impossible act of self impregnation”, that got him tongue tied.

All the guys who were pushed out came to group around me, all the guys were alive as their descent was all controlled by the instructors, my knowledge on abseiling needs more enlightening.