Omg: My Story, My Way

By Clive Andrews

There was a buzz all around camp; a new piece of equipment had
arrived. We all wanted to get at it and play. I had had a rough run of late,
which may be why I was picked as team leader that was to be first trained
on the new toy. It was a can, with a long barrel, we guessed it was a new
water cannon. The old ones looked similar and were effective, they were
96 Clive Andrews
just a high pressure hose that sprayed water over a rioting crowd, it cooled
them down and you could knock them down sometimes but that was
about it. This new toy was fantastic, it fired water, but in single shots, each
shot released a gallon of water at about 30 miles an hour. On the target
range, we smashed every target with one shot on each. So long as they hit
the target. I couldnt wait to use this little baby out on the streets.
I didnt have to wait long, the orange men marched regularly during
the summer season.
We were sent out to aid crowd control, I hoped it started going tits up.
As expected, it did. I had two sections covering me, armed with rubber
bullets and some real ones too. My driver swung in to range and I had a
perfect view from the flank. The only down side was to operate in comfort
with maximum accuracy, you had to be standing up in the turret, so was
open to be fired at.
I couldnt care less, I just wanted to use this huge water pistol. I took
aim and fired, just a single shot, fuck me, I thought. The paddy it hit, took
off. I got him square in the chest, and he landed about six feet away, on
his back then curled up in a ball to protect himself. He never knew what
hit him. The snatch squad went forward and grabbed him. They dragged
him behind our cover, cuffed him then threw him into the back of a police
van.
Me, I just opened up on the brick-throwing crowd. It was effective if I
hit the front ones and lifted them into those behind, this was better than
ten-pin bowling.
I had a hundred gallon water tank on board and was determined to
go back empty. I hit one after the other, sending them flying. The snatch
squad ran out of places to put those they arrested, so gave up. They just
watched, jealously. As I fired at the crowd.
I caught sight of a group of four or five youths, huddled together. This
did not look good, as I had stopped firing for a few seconds the troops
around me knew something was not right so everyone was looking to try
and see what was about to happen. A soldier who was up on top of my
mobile water pistol, screamed, Petrol bombs. That was all it took for hell
to open up on them. I fired three shots in quick succession at the group,
with two of the snatch squads firing two rubber bullets all pretty much all
at the same time.
The result was brilliant. The whole group took off and went through
the shop window they were standing in front off. We drove forward at
them to disperse the crowd, it made snatching them easier. The fuel
OMG 97
they were about to throw at us, split and ignited, There was a big fireball
that blew out the remaining sheet of glass in the shop front. One of our
potential attackers fell to the ground and not through the window, he was
now covered with broken glass and blood was running from a cut on his
face. From where I was sitting I couldnt see what damage had been done
and didnt really care either. The remaining four lads were now engulfed in
the fireball inside the shop. I did think about letting the fuckers burn, but
then the smell of burning flesh was nasty whether it was friend or foe, so I
fired several more shots into the shop. As the snatch squad raced in to cuff
and arrest the fire bombers they turned the lad on the floor over. He was a
mess, a shared of glass had gone into his right eye, another had gone into
his throat. He was not going to make it.
We tried but he was dead before the ambulance could get through
the stone throwing crowd. I suppose it was justice, their own man dead
because of their actions.
The remaining four

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jun 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477114797

Clive Andrews

I had a very ordinary childhood, no major dramas, traumas or abuse and certainly nothing to fill a book. Then my childhood dream of becoming a soldier became reality. If anyone had told me, what I would go through I would never have believed them or joined up. I am not alone in my experiences but when put all together they shaped and developed me in to the person I am today. Looking back, if I could do it all again, I would, and I would volunteer all over again. Since leaving the forces, I have found it very difficult to settle in employment and have three broken marriages. I do not blame the army but it has to be said, my time served moulded me in to the person I am.  Would I change anything? Well if I said yes, then I would not have encountered all the wonderful people I have in my civilian life, but mostly I may not have the beautiful children, stepchildren and grandson that I have. 

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Sharing with friends

3 Am. In a hole up to my armpits, wet boots, tin helmet and some dirty bastard has pissed in the trench. I hated getting the 3 till 7 stag, always pitch black to start with and a fucking stupid rule about no torches. As if it makes a difference, if we were really at war they would know we were there anyhow. So now, we have to risk breaking our necks to get to the stag pit. Mind it was easier to find if you pulled the shift after Chalky. Grinning black fucker, well happy to be going back to his cab, you just follow the shine of his teeth.

Sentry duty they call it and by fuck it seems like your there for a century. Don’t know which one done it but once again they pissed in the pit. Moan about it to yourself for 10 minutes then when you need one, you realise just how fucking cold it is out here. Now its decision time, do I climb out and stand in the freezing wind, do I just piss in the pit like someone else has or should I piss in my long johns and enjoy the warmth while it lasts. This early in my shift I had not lost the plot or frozen solid so out I climbed.

All done and back in the pit. According to the training, we have to spend all night looking out in case the enemy came. What a load of bollocks, you’d think you would hear a bomber flying over or a 52 ton tank creeping up. In any case, if we camouflaged up properly they would go straight by. Spent the rest of the first hour moaning like a bitch about the stupid things we have to do to please those pricks that are tucked up tight in their duck down sleeping bags in their namby pamby pyjamas.

What the fuck was I moaning about; I was there because I wanted to be. I clearly remember when I was 9 and asked in class what I wanted to be when I grew up. A solider I proudly sang out. Not once did that ever change.

Memories of child hood are few and far between in the early years. Not because it was a bad one, but because I’ve had too many knocks on the head now and forgot most of it. I remember being the milk monitor when I was 7 or 8, or rather I remember falling down the steps with a crate of milk, not plastic ones either. These were the real thing, glass, 1/3 of a pint. Yes, I am that old, now. Smashed um all over the place, never thought milk could flow so far so fast. Within seconds it was flooding under classroom doors, down the corridor and in to the hall. The sound of shattering glass seemed to echo around the corridor forever, stopped only by the screams of young female teachers, not sure to this day why they screamed. It was me laying on the floor turning the milk around me into something that resembled strawberry milk shake. As I started getting to my feet, I remember thinking, detention and grounded forever. The two teachers finally helped rescue me from the milk river, hauling me to the toilets and striping me off. Now a days I would have played on that a bit. But I was more concerned about telling mum and dad then getting a stiffy. By the time they had me down to my pants the head master was there, rightly so, they were concerned about the strawberry milk shake stuff forming a pond at the bottom of the steps. Checking me over with a puzzled look on their faces, it turned out that falling down three steps, smashing a full create of 24 bottles and rolling around in it caused no damage, all I did was hit my nose on the handrail and had a nose bleed. Turned out ok, was looked after all day by the secretary, sweets, lollipops, oh and a bottle of milk. Couldn’t go home early cos mum worked so I had to sit around in trousers that would fit a 10 year old and a jumper even bigger. Got a ride home with the head master who told mum what happened and what a result, not grounded or detention.

Next memory was a couple of years later, told you I can’t remember much, 9 years old and omg. A new girl arrived at school, not just any new girl like all the others. This one was black, well actually brown, quite a light shade. The first one in our school, only spare seat in the class was next to me. The whole class was buzzing, but I bet I was the only one thinking, what is wrong with her, is it catching? As the days passed Cheryl and I became friends, I remember thinking even then, she is pretty and she was as tall as me, tallest 2 in the class we were. In those days the polite term was coloured, Cheryl was actually half cast, I was invited to her birthday party and grew to become good friends with her for the next 5 years, then her mum died and her dad took her away somewhere.

It seems one good memory followed by one not so good, is in order. Well the next one is during this same time period. From the sports field to the play ground is a steep bank, Andrew and I, Andrew was my best mate and at that age we never used nick names or shortened names otherwise he would probably have been called Andy or big ears. Well he ran at me playing a wrestling game and we ended up rolling down the bank entangled together like a nun riding a bucking bull. By the time, we hit the bottom it looked like Andrew had been in the ring with Giant Haystacks. His arm was broken, not a simple fracture but a real brake and his nose was oozing claret. Thankfully, no one including Andrew and his mum ever blamed me, so friends we remained.

Why oh why do you need to piss so much when on stag duty? Twenty minutes to go before first light stand too and I’m stiff with the cold, do I? Don’t I? Yep I topped up the puddle in the trench. I know, but I couldn’t wait.

The whole site comes alive at first light, silently everyone gets up and combat ready creeping to their fox holes to watch for enemy movement. I don’t know what prick thinks these things up but everybody who’s anybody, knows the British army stand too at first and last light so why would they attack at these times? Ours is not to reason why just do or die, as they say. So 15 minutes later we all stand down and breakfast starts to unfold. Now if I was the enemy guess when I would attack.

Lieutenant Williams was a little man, only just made it through the height restriction; however, that didn’t stop him being a big prick. He used to go out of his way to find something to shout about, I suppose we made it easy for him though. He had a voice as popular as a fire alarm in a brothel, and liked using it. You fucking dirty bastards. Bellowed out across the congregation, everyone that was on stag last night get to my tent now. Shush, you’ll wake the ruskies, whispered from deep within the troop. Do you want a bacon butty boss? Came from Soggy Chips, that’s what we called our troop cook. No I fucking don’t came the reply as he turned and headed off to his tent. Quick as a flash I slipped off to the side as the rest of last night’s stag attendees drifted towards the dreaded tent. Waiting a respectable four minutes I headed over, on the double Andrews and where do you think you’ve been? Sorry sir, I had to go for a piss cos I was on last stag and haven’t had chance to go. So I take it you never used the trench as a toilet then? No sir not I. So was it used before you got in it? Don’t know sir, It was dark whilst you were asleep. There are fag ends in there as well, he still felt the need to shout and we were only a few feet from him. Not from I sir, I don’t smoke. Don’t act the fucking angle Andrews you were probably swigging Asbach. Did I drop the bottle, I uttered in a very low voice only audible to Speedy standing next to me. Well I’m telling you, actually he was shouting it, If I catch any of you smoking on duty you’ll be on stag all exercise. Ain’t got enough fags for that whispered Woody. Just not quite, quiet enough. Woodrough you are on last stag tonight and I will be inspecting at first light. If I find one thing in there, I’m holding you responsible. Now go and get ready to move out. Any chance of a nap first sir. Fuck off Andrews and your number one section. The general consensus of opinion between us was simple. Prick.

Ten hours driving around with a truck full of ammo boxes full of stones and we return to camp. Give us a lift, Jimmy Mac calls out. When I got to his truck I shit myself, from over the side of his load deck came this huge furry lump. Jimmy managed to hit a deer whilst driving around with his selection of stones. I feel sure it was no accident it smacked me in the head and knocked me arse over tit. Even though Jimmy said sorry. You dirty cunt was my immediate response, as I rolled over to get up and continue my barrage of insults I noticed the side of the deer was gashed open and I looked like I’d just got my red wings. Obviously, this could not end here, I pushed my hand into the open wound, it still felt warm and slimy, and my fist clenched around whatever I could grab and in one swift movement I gripped, pulled, jumped up and launched a hand full of fresh intestines at Jimmy’s head. Being a marksman not only in firing weapons, I hit him full in the face, bonus as well as he was still laughing at knocking me down. After a bit more disembowelling, fun and frolics we carried the deer over to Soggy Chips, strolling into the catering tent and unceremoniously dropping it to the floor, Jimmy said we got dinner, can you cook it. Get me a knife Soggy replied. Then from over our shoulders Staff sergeant, Evens chirped up, where the fuck did that come from. Just wandered in was Jimmy’s response. Better get it cut up and cooked before short arse sees it. Short arse was his way of referring to Lieutenant Williams. Short arse could have meant any one, almost, as Staff Sergeant Evens was six foot five, built like a brick shit house and black. For some reason we never had a nick name for him, we just called him staff. He had been a bit of a boy in his time and had a few stories to tell. He had a six-inch scar down the inside of his right arm, his arm split open and the mussel popped out during a shot put competition. It was widely thought he could wrestle an adult grizzly bear and win, none of us gave him any shit.

Tim Bloor was a bit of a lightweight, he used to join in with us but he would always pull out first. It made him a bit of an easy target. When he returned to his truck cab after dinner he found a heart hanging up, well we had no furry dice. Bit of a dramatic scene follows, all he had to do was pull it down and throw it at one of us, but no he had to start running round shouting like a three year old with a splinter. Good luck has never played much of a part in my affairs, and today was no exception. During all the song and dance act, the prick turned up. He immediately played all the parts of judge, jury and executioner. Jimmy Mac and I were found guilty and sentenced to an extra stag duty. He had already been told we were responsible for bring in the deer. I did feel a bit hard done by as you can imagine, I also never had anything to do with the heart. What the hell, I am use to it now. Bloor knew it wasn’t over, what he didn’t know was what would happen and when. Nor did we yet.

It wasn’t often you could get one over on Woody, but tonight was a given. With him being on last stag he knew we would get him. I got the 11 till 3 shift in the hole with Jimmy Mac doing 7 till 11. When I arrived for stag Jimmy had already been busy, half the pit was stacked with fur and bones with the head sitting on top. Good one on Bloor mate, I greeted him, just a shame we got this shity job. I thought it was you was the response I was not expecting, we would never turn each other over so we knew someone else was involved and laughing at us now. All would become apparent in time.

My first hour was filled with thoughts of how to get Woody, After that, I as usual became trance like, thinking about past events or future plans, tonight was no different. For some reason my thoughts of late regularly drifted to my school days, a scrotum sack called Albert Copeland came to mind. The first time I ever lost the plot and became the aggressor involved Albert and two other kids.

They had a stray kitten tied to a tree on an area near our homes that was a playground for everyone in the area. It didn’t stop there, what caught my attention as I passed was a haunting high pitched whining scream. As I approached, I could see through the trees so I knew what ever was going on involved three lads, at this point I had no idea what was happening or what I would do about it. As I stepped into view of the game they were playing, I was mortified; the kitten couldn’t have been more than 4 or 5 weeks old, secured to the tree with cello tape bound around its tummy facing out towards them. They had been taking turns to throw darts at the kitten, Albert had just taken his turn and one out of the three darts was sticking out the kittens head. I was about 15 feet away from them as the whole scene sank in, the following 20 to 30 seconds were a blur, without thinking I throw myself at Albert, fists clenched and arms swinging like a windmill. As all three were bunched together, they had hardly stopped their laughter before contact was made. Several punches, pushes and kicks later and all three were suitably assaulted, two were now rolling across the ground to scramble to their feet and join their friend fleeing the scene. Run you fucking wankers! Came from my lips as I was still gasping for air after the extreme outburst of energy. The adrenalin had kicked in, now it was all over. My heart was pounding in my chest feeling as if it was about to burst out of my rib cage. As my attention diverted to the tree and the kitten secured to it I could tell even at my young age that I was too late to save it, the whining scream had stopped and life had drained away. I knew I could not leave the lifeless kitten where it was, at any moment kids younger than me could have appeared, the loss of life was pointless and cruel, the last thing it needed was broadcasting. By now the tears were flowing, rolling down my cheeks falling heavily to the ground. I wept openly as I withdrew the dart from the little ball of fur. Using the retrieved dart to cut through the binding, I released the dead kitten, not knowing at this point what to do with it. Still crying and thinking as fast as I could I decided to take it home and bury him in the garden. Having completed the task and saying a few words, I stopped crying and decided not to tell anyone about the incident. Why? I don’t know, but it was a decision I stuck to, Albert, his friends nor I mentioned it again, they did give me a wide birth from then on.

I had better get a move on, I thought. Quiet as a mouse with hobnail boots on I made my way back to my truck to collect what I needed or rather didn’t need. Along with the remnants of the deer, Woody was greeted with a collection of empty cans and bottles. So as to not have an issue with woody at the pit, I put my watch forward 10 minutes and woke him up from deep slumber in his warm comfortable cab. Waking with a jump he never even checked his own watch, I simply made sure he was on his way and said my good nights, making my way to my cab as quickly as I could, as I arrived and was climbing in I could hear the low mumblings from Woody travelling through the still night air. I locked myself in and snuggled down not knowing for sure what I would find outside in the morning. Woody must have spent most of his stag shift cleaning up the debris. By morning, he had hidden all the debris deeper in the woods and written bastards in blood on mine and Jimmy Mac’s windscreens.

Every solider knows, whenever weapons are issued it is vital you look after them. Keeping them clean and never letting them out your sight are two rules you never brake. Unless your name is Bloor that is. Shortly after evening meal, I was heading to the communal toilet, what a pleasure that isn’t, It would almost certainly be my last visit of the exercise, for some reason nobody has a dump after day three, something they put in the food. Rumour has it they put something in the tea as well.

I digress, after dropping the kids off at the pool, slang for having a dump, although in this case there was no water, just a hole in the ground with stinking stale piss in the bottom and a toilet of sorts placed over it. I was heading to Jimmy Mac’s truck for a secret beer, when I spotted it, glimmering in the early moon light, a clean shiny 7.62 SLR. Army issue and without doubt issued in this case to Bloor, this was based on the fact that it was leaning up against his truck. A chance not to be missed, so without giving it a second thought I relived Bloor of the responsibility of looking after his weapon. Lifting the rifle as quietly as I could, I continue my journey over to Jimmy Mac’s truck. When I explained where my second weapon came from Jimmy passed me a bottle saying beers on me, what a result.

We hid the rifle in the engine compartment and settled down in the load deck area for a few beers. We had been left of the stag rota for tonight, so we got to task on what to do with the rifle. From our vantage point we could see young Tim looking all around his truck for something, As woody was passing he asked him if he had any beers, Tim replied, no, were not allowed to have um on exercise. Oh yea, Woody replied, have you seen Jimmy Mac or BDC anywhere? Was his next question. Not since dinner, was the response mumbled from under his truck. Woody would have been surprised if he did know as we usually got out the way so to avoid sharing the beer. What you lost? He asked. My er um torch Bloor replied. Woody wandered off on his way to where ever he was going prior to interrogating Bloor.

Where’s your weapon Woodrough? Lt. Williams asked. Hanging up, he was interrupted at this point. You know the rules Woodrough, fetch it and get to my tent on the double. On my shoulder sir! Woody continued, noticing Bloor had disappeared completely under his truck. Well where are you going? For a dump sir, is that ok? Well hurry up and let me know when you’re done cos I need one as well. Will do sir. Woody chirped. Hearing this, our plan formed within seconds, Jimmy and I could have been brothers, we thought so much alike. Except he was a sweaty sock from Kirkintillock and I am from the Midlands. We first met as new postings to the unit in Germany, there were a lot of new postings at the time and everyone needs friends and it seemed like natural selection, splitting into smaller groups of like-minded people. Our little group was Jimmy Mac, Speedy, and Titch, all Jocks, Woody and I from the Midlands and Taffy. A strange bunch but it worked for us.

Retrieving the concealed weapon, our own of course and little else we made our way to the rear of the communal toilet. Not the most pleasant of places you wouldn’t want a picnic there, but that was where we went, all part of the plan you see. Listening to Woody huff, puff and strain to drop his load was an experience not to be missed. It sounded like he was trying to pass something this size of a beer can. There was certainly a sound of achievement as it splashed to the bottom of the hole. After a while, woody vacated the area so now it was time for stage two. We nipped in and placed Bloor’s rifle in the corner, quickly disappearing into the dark. Taking the long way round to Jimmy’s truck laughing and sniggering all the way. At this point we hadn’t realised we would score a double whammy. Just time for another beer before the show. Bang on to plan, Lt. Williams entered the toilet, uttering obscenities about dirty stinking bastards, interrupted only as he sat down and would have seen the rifle, so positioned as to be impossible to miss. I can only imagine the pleasure he had in thinking he had Woody on a major one. Emerging from the toilet with what can only be described as a smirk across his face and carrying both his own and the stray weapon. Calling across the compound to Staff Sergeant Evens, Staff, get Woodrough and both report to my tent. Hearing this we realised we had the double and Williams would look a prick again. Staff Evans located Woody round the back of the catering tent having a fag with Soggy. What have you done now? Staff asks. Fuck all! Woody said, perhaps my shit stinks or something. Come on Short arse wants us.

Entering Lt. Williams’s tent, neither Staff nor Woody had a clue why they had been summoned. They didn’t have to wait long, in his usual shout he asked Woody where his weapon was. Is this a trick question sir, he replied. No it is not a fucking quiz, where is your weapon? Same place as last time you ask me sir, said with a hint of sarcasm. Opening his camouflaged top to reveal his SLR. hanging limply over his shoulder. So who the fuck does this belong to, still bellowing out his words. As he grabs the rifle, he had leant against a pile of boxes. Thought we weren’t having a quiz sir. It was an obvious response but it had to be said. Woody could see Staff grinning like a 12 year old getting a glimpse up the art teacher’s skirt. He had wormed his way around, so was standing to the side and just behind Lt. Williams. Staff, call a stand too and bring the weapon list. Instructed the officer.

Possibly because we were in a convenient place, or not, but the inspection started with us. By us I meant Jimmy Mac and I. Requesting to see our weapons, we resisted the urge to suddenly drop our trousers, we handed over our rifles, one at a time. Briefly inspecting each weapon in the light from his torch, he called out the serial number to Staff Evans. As expected, both were correct and ticked from the list. Is there a problem? I dared to ask. Yes there is, stay there until told otherwise, he said turning to move on. As he left, I asked Jimmy, did you see his gun? No, I never, wonder if it is in there as he beckoned to the tent. Nip over and have a gander, I urged. Jimmy disappeared into the tent and was back out in less than 30 seconds. Lt. Williams personal weapon in hand. What do we do with it? He asks. Slip through there and give it to Bloor. Tell him to say they must have picked up each other’s at dinner. Off Jimmy went to do the deed. Bloor was a bit apprehensive at first; Jimmy’s persuasion was to throw the weapon at him and say, just fucking do it.

Dropping quietly back into his foxhole, next to mine, we couldn’t help but chuckle. All we had to do was wait. It didn’t take long, Where’s your weapon Bloor? We could hear coming through the trees. I don’t know sir. Was his response. Then both speaking at the same time, Lt. Williams saying. I fucking do. As he lifted the SLR into view. Bloor simultaneously saying. Must have picked up the wrong one at dinner sir. Showing the other weapon.

We would have given a case of beer to have been there to see his face. Jimmy and I being the only ones with the knowledge of what was unfolding was a warm feeling on such a cold night. The two personal weapons were passed to their correct owners, Did you lose it when Woodrough passed your truck earlier? No sir it was at dinner! Sir. How do you explain him having your weapon? Don’t know yet Staff. But it was no accident, I picked the SLR up in the shit house, and for fuck sake mine is an SMG, only two foot difference. So how did you lose yours sir? Came back from Staff Evans.

Bloor you’re on last stag tonight and Woodrough I don’t know how but your involved somehow so you’re on 11 till 3.

Jimmy and I went back to my cab for a couple of beers, laughing like a couple of schoolgirls.

When everything had calmed down Staff Evans made his rounds. Andrews you in there? Yes Staff as I emerged from the cab, Our troop was an amphibian troop, so we drove Stalwarts, 6 wheel trucks that can swim as well as being one of the best off road vehicles available. The only way in and out is via the two hatches on the top of the cab. As my head and shoulders emerged he asked. Is Mc Mahon with you? Staff, Jimmy called from within. Drop me a beer. We wouldn’t dare lie about having any to Staff so Jimmy passed one up to me. I tossed it down to Staff who caught it, called me a cunt, and opened it in my direction. He noticed I spun it as it went. I’d already shook it said Jimmy. Should have guessed really.

Staff climbed up for a while, this was not unusual, so no concern was shown. While we sat consuming the next 6 beers, Staff was trying to quiz us about the incident with the weapons. True to form, we both said absolutely nothing! Funny though ah? Certainly shut the short arse up. Must have been Woody somehow, Staff offered. No more was said on the subject for the rest of the evening. Instead our conversation turned to anticipating the night on the piss when we got back.

It’s usual that the last night on exercise the whole squadron is in the same location. This was no exception, 4 troops, totalling around 60 vehicles of various types, all fully camouflaged to the max. The only explanation we could come up with was that it gave the officer’s time to debrief before returning to ensure all stories about incidents matched. Fore warned is fore armed. This would have been an interesting one, Lt. Williams and his weapon, and Plankton driving his Foden fuel tanker through a farmers shed. Plankton was one of the boy’s, well almost. So called cos he was the size of a baby whale and at one time claimed he was a vegetarian. The name was adopted on a Sunday lunch in the Pigs bar. He said he was starving and could murder a salad. That was followed by several people claiming to have seen him munching on a Jaggerwurst. A fat German sausage covered in a mouth watering mushroom sauce. The name stuck.

The last night was a bit slack, more laid back, there was still a stag to do, but each of the unlucky ones only did an hour. In addition, there were two on at a time. Knack was to get lost or breakdown on the way, so as to arrive late. Hoping the rota had already been written. In addition, it would have meant you were farther away from the control section. The most important task for us was to finish the beers. It is not as easy as you think. You see you have to have enough to last the night, you never know if your mates have any or if Staff calls round. They need to be totally consumed and the empties disposed of. When we get back to camp, it is like an anthill with everyone buzzing around, especially officers. The last thing you want is to get caught unloading empties.

Experience shows and we have enough for the night, enough for Staff, and a couple of spares. Staggering around we all found our own trucks, it was about 1 am. A good night’s sleep and we were up at seven, we all knew the drill, it was approximately a 10-hour drive back to camp. As sections reported in as ready to leave, they were put on the list and allowed to go at 15-minute intervals. Everyone in the section had to be ready so it was a better-organised operation than the rest of the exercise. Teamwork was the name of the game. A lot of time was spent the night before to see if there was a quicker way back than the route card that would be issued. Before we went to sleep, I nearly said bed then, but the cab was far from the comfort of even a barracks bed. We rolled up the skirts and dropped as much camouflage as we could. Don’t matter how much beer was drank, it had to be done. I don’t think anyone in our section was still in his cab at 6am. We did it again, we were first ready to leave. Departure time set for 8am. We were ready, lined up, engines revving and inching forward at 7:00. Lt. Williams like most others couldn’t understand how we always managed to be first ready to leave and at least an hour before anyone else.

According to the route card, we should arrive back at camp at 7pm.But that included several stops that we would not be having, we had also worked out a short cut. This would cut another hour off the time, so long as there were no light bridge weights or no one around if there were. We would be well in the shit if anyone broke down as well. Anything up to three hours work when we get back, and its Friday night. Now you understand why the urgency to be first to leave. Not just first to leave but first to arrive back. Our section was 6 vehicles, there were 8 of us, so if any one got tired and needed to rest we just swapped drivers. Minimising stoppage time was vital. 60 Vehicles heading to the refuelling point, most of them with a fuel tank that holds 100 gallon with only two pumps. Being at the front of the cue and teamwork was all that counted. The spare drivers cleaned all the weapons on the way and time was beer. No one faltered. We were once again first to return. Weapons returned to the armoury, trucks refuelled, parked up and personal belongings removed. Still not 7pm.

As 7 o’clock ticked by we were as a section heading to the block, now it was shower, still with hot water, shave, dress and bar. Dropping my gear on the floor, kicking it under the bed was normal so that’s what happened. My dirty stinking combats followed, washing day was Sunday, that’s the rules. Unwritten as they may be. Right-hand back corner, top shelf, I always left it in the same place. A trick I had been told in my early days, having been on several exercises, always the same. Down town clubbing and where ever you went, the toilet was busy. Usually blocked with loggers the size of babies arms. There was no chance of holding it in., so it didn’t, matter, Ladies, gents, disabled of the restaurant next door. Locals must have hated us. Not our fault, blame the Army.

I had followed advice on this, tried and tested it for myself, without telling anyone of course. I had the comforting feel of it in my hand, What, I half shouted, as I pulled away from it. Ran out of shower gel, Woody said. That’s all it needed, no request, I just threw him mine. Off he went, my hand returning to grasp the familiar shape of the package that was the remedy. No more would I panic waiting for a toilet. I had hardly retrieved it from the corner of my locker before Jimmy came in. I forgot to get one, can I share yours?

Jimmy was the only one at that time that I had passed the trick on to. Neither of us felt at ease talking about it to the others, although we both knew the time would come. Ok, I’ll give you a third. My hands were shaking as I bit the end of the packaging, tearing it open. The aroma drifting up and into my nasal passage was a pure delight, knowing what was coming just seemed so wrong. However, it was a necessary measure to prevent the situation that most of the lads would find themselves in tonight. Snapping off a third, I passed it to Jimmy and off he went. Snapping what remained into two. I finished undressing, what a stink. Rotten feet, sweaty bollocks and I just farted. Putting the middle section back into my locker, I prepared myself as much as one could. Ensuring I had control and the rounded end was aimed, I bent over and pushed the cure right up my bum. It had to go past the point where it would not drop out. The feeling is strange, wrong but right at the same time. It does not matter how much you tell yourself at this point that it’s for the good, it still feels wrong. No time to waste. Get your clothes out for tonight, iron them, have a coffee, and wait. Never more than 20 minutes. Towel round, shower kit in hand and it’s off we go. Never a queue for the toilet at this point so no problem. Enter the cubical, sit down and bam. There it is your very own babies arm. All manner of other shapes followed, along with some strange noises. A couple of people walking through to the showers made comment. Mainly along the line of, how the fuck do you do it. I reckon I won’t shit for a week, they meant 6 hours.

I know I can hear you asking, what’s the medical cure for such a problem? Well this isn’t