Military

A subject I have not touched on before on this blog, I think, has been my stint in the armed forces. This happened in 1991. My military career started off basically as a militarised camping holiday, living in tents, eating out of a messtin, peeing and pooing in a ditch and going for marches round the countryside. Temperatures were at a roasting 34C / 94F at the time, so one afternoon we were marched off to the local natural pool. Instructions were to overtake dog turds on the left, as the pool was also in use by dogs. I was a reasonable shot with a semi-automatic Uzi submachinegun (I think you call them) and a disaster with a 9 mm handgun. This was all of 6 weeks of real soldiering, after which I disappeared into the offices of the Ministry of Defense. I was in the logistical arm of the Medical Supplies Division, drugs, bandages and all sorts of "sterile" medical aids.

I had to apply my technical expertise (look at me screenie) to ensure these goods were fit for use in the army etcetera. After the first year, I reverted to civvies as the Commanding Officer made sure that this First Lieutenant would never be called up again. Nonetheless,
I enjoyed my stint in the army for the great sense of comradeship and unquestioning loyalty. In the years following my departure from active service, I was involved in medical support for troops serving in Bosnia during the conflict there in the mid 1990s.

Again, I have not seen active frontline duty, but supported the guys who did. The real soldier will not readily question any mission he is sent out on, and neither will he baulk at the inevitable risk of death. To the professional soldier, death is an occupational hazard.
At the end of the day, the politicians take the decision to go to war. The military has to carry out those orders. Anyone disagreeing with a war has a ballot box at his disposal. You don't fail the guys who are doing the dirty work.