Chronicles...
They say that there is no glory in the gas mask. It's true...
That's part of life in the MRF - The Medical Response Force. Elite of the Medical Corp, which i'm now part of...
But before the story unfolds... Here's the prelude.
Time does flies. As memory returns to me, i recall that fateful day, the 18th of August 2004. The day which i ceased to be a civilian. And into my hands was placed the M16 in a solemn and meaningful ceremony held in the tradition of cover under darkness. That feeling of holding your rifle, bearing it proudly, feeling the handgrip and trigger, my goodness, it's indescrible. I felt that power; it was a power that beat in my very veins - the power to kill. Suddenly you don't really feel like a kid anymore, the weapon steals all your illusions away.
And then BMT started, the mindless drilling and repetition of exercises initially took a toll on me, but as time flew passed, my masochistic side began to show it's true form and i enjoyed every minute of my BMT training. Not to forget the comadarie i shared with 49 other brothers. Being in an obese company, you get to hear really sad life stories of love, defeat, and ultimately rejection (ie by the opposite gender), and how they loved the platoon because everyone simply looked the same - no one was a Brad Pitt there; no one was a Einstein either. We were equal. In this cruel world when people judge you by the way you look, we were all victims more or less.
But we stood alone together...
I really miss my BMT days, it was the best time of my life. I simply didn't care about the outside world, problems and frustrations were surrendered at the checkpoint at Tekong, and once inside we were soldiers. That's the beauty in it. We trained together, suffered together, laughed and played together. Dug trenches and lasted together thru the coldness of the dark night rain out in the field. We charged together, leaping from tree to tree together, fighting invisible targets somewhere out in the dense vegetation of Tekong. That was the silent code of honour - "You shall aid thy brethren, and thy brethren shall aid you".
But i must admit, army has changed me. It brought out the best, and the worse of me. It fused them both together - faith and cynicism. I began to embrace the darker side of me, the rage, the anger, the pain which sterns from a life that had been tossed and thrown around like a plaything. Army was my sacred ground, my Mecca.
Struggle, survival, redemption, victory and defeat. The very essence of life. And mine was forged in mud, sweat and blood. Yet i do not deny that behind the bleeding and sweat laid a veil of tears. Tears from the fact that i had killed myself - the old me that everyone knew. And with blood on my face, i rise from the trenches where i was laid waste.
This is me, now.
Now, hey, i know i'm getting kinda scary here, but i simply can't find the right words to describe my BMT experience. It totally changed me, no joke.
Now, getting Company Best was seriously a surprise for me. Yeah, i admit i really worked hard in my BMT, but it was not our of ambition to be the best, but rather it was a result of my passion for all things military. I simply enjoyed the grueling sessions of training; it made me feel tough. I enjoyed my SIT test (tho i nearly died), especially the mission where i was 2IC of Team Alpha, and we took out a bridge flawlessly with C4 (simulated, not real ah...) . I enjoyed my grenade throw, and my Basic Assault Course (which i ran screaming like a madman, attacking targets made out of rubber tire.). Same goes for my Battle Inoculation Course, which i crawled on sand for what seemed like eternity. All in all, i was passionate about army (now whoa, before the guys stone me to death..), i'm weird okie? haha. So receiving the Company Best Award was really a surprise, tho a pleasant one i must admit. =P
And of course, like every aspiring NS man, i hoped to get into somewhere where i can train to become a commander of sort. Be it SISPEC, OCS etc. Or at the very least let me enter a combat vocation. POP was great, BMT was great, now i prayed that please let my posting be great... So you can roughly guess the look on my face when my posting read "COMBAT MEDIC". My goodness. My Gosh. My whole day was really ruined. And i admit, i actually shed tears in prayer and asked God why has it come to this? But like what Jesus prayed in the Garden... "Let not my will, but Yours, Oh God, be done..." i gradually accepted the fact that now, instead of pumping bullets into people, i'm trained to take them out. To seek, to save, and to serve was now the name of the game.
Combat medic course actually passed really quickly. We learnt basic healthcare protocols, clinical procedures, and not to forget the most important of them all - casualty management. We learnt how to drag casualty out from the battlefield UNDER ENEMY FIRE. How to stop the effects of a ravaging bullet wound, how to stop hemorrhages and treat comrades with limbs blown off. The worse of all medic training was the infamous intravenous infusion - buddies had to poke each other with needles at least once every week. And to tell you the truth, the needle really hurts man. ha. But somehow, to my disappointment, the comadarie i once experienced in BMT was lacking in my CMC (Combat Medic Course) training. I became more of a loner, quieter than usual, living in my own world of David L.Robbin's The Last Citadel novel. But yeah, i did make new friends, so it wasn't THAT bad... yet... =P
Then came the graduation, and the receiving of the Red Cross armband - looked down by many, but held high with honour among us. Hey look, when you're out there, shot in the stomach and all your guts are bursting out and you're in severe pain, guess who's the person who shows up and actually patches you up? I rest my case. =)
After CMC, came unit life. No, wait, what unit life? I was ushered into another term of a trainee life... in the MRF. Medical Response Force. Now, i can't really say much about it, but it's sort of like a Chemical Defence Medic. If Osama launches a chemical or biological attck on us, we're the guys who get activated (of coz there's HAZMAT too) and sent in. Training is really tough, you can't really think straight in a MOPP 4 chemical suit. And my hands and arms have been roughened and toughened by the constant punishment, half-left-downs and before meal chin-up regimes. Not to forget the FMCC lessons on chemical agents. Out of the 36 who took the test, only 4 passed. My Force Sarge was seriously pissed, and we thought that we were doomed. Not yet man, not yet. Yes we'll get it, but hey, we will survive. =)
So here's a sort of short summary of my National Service life. A glorious 7 months have passed; another 1 year 7 months awaits me. So for now, i'll train hard, excel, and be the best that i can be.
That's part of life in the MRF - The Medical Response Force. Elite of the Medical Corp, which i'm now part of...
But before the story unfolds... Here's the prelude.
Time does flies. As memory returns to me, i recall that fateful day, the 18th of August 2004. The day which i ceased to be a civilian. And into my hands was placed the M16 in a solemn and meaningful ceremony held in the tradition of cover under darkness. That feeling of holding your rifle, bearing it proudly, feeling the handgrip and trigger, my goodness, it's indescrible. I felt that power; it was a power that beat in my very veins - the power to kill. Suddenly you don't really feel like a kid anymore, the weapon steals all your illusions away.
And then BMT started, the mindless drilling and repetition of exercises initially took a toll on me, but as time flew passed, my masochistic side began to show it's true form and i enjoyed every minute of my BMT training. Not to forget the comadarie i shared with 49 other brothers. Being in an obese company, you get to hear really sad life stories of love, defeat, and ultimately rejection (ie by the opposite gender), and how they loved the platoon because everyone simply looked the same - no one was a Brad Pitt there; no one was a Einstein either. We were equal. In this cruel world when people judge you by the way you look, we were all victims more or less.
But we stood alone together...
I really miss my BMT days, it was the best time of my life. I simply didn't care about the outside world, problems and frustrations were surrendered at the checkpoint at Tekong, and once inside we were soldiers. That's the beauty in it. We trained together, suffered together, laughed and played together. Dug trenches and lasted together thru the coldness of the dark night rain out in the field. We charged together, leaping from tree to tree together, fighting invisible targets somewhere out in the dense vegetation of Tekong. That was the silent code of honour - "You shall aid thy brethren, and thy brethren shall aid you".
But i must admit, army has changed me. It brought out the best, and the worse of me. It fused them both together - faith and cynicism. I began to embrace the darker side of me, the rage, the anger, the pain which sterns from a life that had been tossed and thrown around like a plaything. Army was my sacred ground, my Mecca.
Struggle, survival, redemption, victory and defeat. The very essence of life. And mine was forged in mud, sweat and blood. Yet i do not deny that behind the bleeding and sweat laid a veil of tears. Tears from the fact that i had killed myself - the old me that everyone knew. And with blood on my face, i rise from the trenches where i was laid waste.
This is me, now.
Now, hey, i know i'm getting kinda scary here, but i simply can't find the right words to describe my BMT experience. It totally changed me, no joke.
Now, getting Company Best was seriously a surprise for me. Yeah, i admit i really worked hard in my BMT, but it was not our of ambition to be the best, but rather it was a result of my passion for all things military. I simply enjoyed the grueling sessions of training; it made me feel tough. I enjoyed my SIT test (tho i nearly died), especially the mission where i was 2IC of Team Alpha, and we took out a bridge flawlessly with C4 (simulated, not real ah...) . I enjoyed my grenade throw, and my Basic Assault Course (which i ran screaming like a madman, attacking targets made out of rubber tire.). Same goes for my Battle Inoculation Course, which i crawled on sand for what seemed like eternity. All in all, i was passionate about army (now whoa, before the guys stone me to death..), i'm weird okie? haha. So receiving the Company Best Award was really a surprise, tho a pleasant one i must admit. =P
And of course, like every aspiring NS man, i hoped to get into somewhere where i can train to become a commander of sort. Be it SISPEC, OCS etc. Or at the very least let me enter a combat vocation. POP was great, BMT was great, now i prayed that please let my posting be great... So you can roughly guess the look on my face when my posting read "COMBAT MEDIC". My goodness. My Gosh. My whole day was really ruined. And i admit, i actually shed tears in prayer and asked God why has it come to this? But like what Jesus prayed in the Garden... "Let not my will, but Yours, Oh God, be done..." i gradually accepted the fact that now, instead of pumping bullets into people, i'm trained to take them out. To seek, to save, and to serve was now the name of the game.
Combat medic course actually passed really quickly. We learnt basic healthcare protocols, clinical procedures, and not to forget the most important of them all - casualty management. We learnt how to drag casualty out from the battlefield UNDER ENEMY FIRE. How to stop the effects of a ravaging bullet wound, how to stop hemorrhages and treat comrades with limbs blown off. The worse of all medic training was the infamous intravenous infusion - buddies had to poke each other with needles at least once every week. And to tell you the truth, the needle really hurts man. ha. But somehow, to my disappointment, the comadarie i once experienced in BMT was lacking in my CMC (Combat Medic Course) training. I became more of a loner, quieter than usual, living in my own world of David L.Robbin's The Last Citadel novel. But yeah, i did make new friends, so it wasn't THAT bad... yet... =P
Then came the graduation, and the receiving of the Red Cross armband - looked down by many, but held high with honour among us. Hey look, when you're out there, shot in the stomach and all your guts are bursting out and you're in severe pain, guess who's the person who shows up and actually patches you up? I rest my case. =)
After CMC, came unit life. No, wait, what unit life? I was ushered into another term of a trainee life... in the MRF. Medical Response Force. Now, i can't really say much about it, but it's sort of like a Chemical Defence Medic. If Osama launches a chemical or biological attck on us, we're the guys who get activated (of coz there's HAZMAT too) and sent in. Training is really tough, you can't really think straight in a MOPP 4 chemical suit. And my hands and arms have been roughened and toughened by the constant punishment, half-left-downs and before meal chin-up regimes. Not to forget the FMCC lessons on chemical agents. Out of the 36 who took the test, only 4 passed. My Force Sarge was seriously pissed, and we thought that we were doomed. Not yet man, not yet. Yes we'll get it, but hey, we will survive. =)
So here's a sort of short summary of my National Service life. A glorious 7 months have passed; another 1 year 7 months awaits me. So for now, i'll train hard, excel, and be the best that i can be.
posted by DoMiniC at 3/11/2005 11:18:00 PM
2 comments
