Join the Army. Get an Education

Superik to the rescue
Drawn by Erik in Grade Nine
During Math class.
Don't ask.

Guest Post by Erik Tolley

Upon first sight, the army looks real cool.
The recruiting posters depict big, brawny, attractive soldiers (and strong, beautiful women soldiers, too) all dressed up in their warpaint and carrying automatic weapons and squelching about in the mud as if they're doing something constructive and enjoying it, too.
The posters usually include some sort of catch phrase like "Join the Army  - See the World" and "Be a Part of the Armed Forces, and You Could Look Like One of These Attractive Young Soldiers, Instead of the Lumpy, Greasy, Smelly, Disgusting Couch Potato You Are", which usually makes you want to improve your lifestyle by joining the army and squelching about in the mud, wearing warpaint and carrying an automatic weapon.
Unfortunately, the thought that mud, grease, and gunpowder don't necessarily improve you lifestyle all that much usually doesn't occur to people until after they're actually in the army.
This is why most civilians think that soldiers are idiots.
They are.
I can speak from experience on this one.
I'm an idiot and I'm in the army.
Enough said.
I first decided to join when I saw an ad in the newspaper. If I hadn't seen it, I might have gone on to lead a normal productive life. I might even have been a manager at an A & W restaurant by now. (A management position at McDonald's being too ambitious for me).
But such was not my destiny.
Oh, well.
When you first go into the recruiting center, they ask you what trade you were thinking of.
At this point, you blurt out whatever first comes into your head, because the only part of the army that you've ever heard of is the Infantry, and you don't want to stand there looking like an indecisive idiot while the paperwork-person stares at you.
So, you say Infantry.
Fortunately, the paperwork-person has seen dozens of morons like you every day since he or she joined the army, and he or she will give you a cute little pamphlet with another attractive picture and catchy slogan on the front, which outlines the basics of all the different trades in the army.
This will help you to decide better what you want to be, otherwise the army would be made up thousands of Infantry soldiers, and one clerk named Homer.
Strangely, this little pamphlet doesn't point out the actual tasks that you would be forced to carry out in an actual war zone, such as getting shot and tortured.
For clarity, I have provided you with a little more information that will be invaluable in determining which trade to choose, or rather, which trades to avoid.
To be Continued . . .

Through the Eyes of Our Soldier

Erik, right and a colleague, Larry.
 On the back of the picture, it says: 'I'm the one in green'.

Remembrance Day.

A day set aside to think about all of the people who have served us by laying down their lives.

And who are risking their lives today.

The ultimate sacrifice.

My thoughts are turned to the times when my husband and I have toured memorials around the world.

The military cemetery in Cambridge, England, where we had to leave because I was crying.

The Vietnam memorial in Washington. DC, when we watched a worker do a 'rubbing' for the brother of a fallen soldier, before we had to leave because I was crying.

The bunkers on the beach in Normandy, before we had to leave because I was crying.

The tiny military museum in the English countryside that we had to leave because . . . I think I'm beginning to see a pattern.

My second son served for eight years as an engineer/mine specialist in the Canadian army.

Including a peace-keeping mission in Bosnia. (When he returned home, he walked over to the lawn and just stood there. When asked why, he said, "I haven't been able to simply walk over and stand on grass for 10 months. This feels wonderful!)

I thought it particularly appropriate to include excerpts from some of his letters home . . .

Be warned, he was a soldier and had a wicked sense of humor and . . . opinions . . .

14 June

Greeting, Earth Dwellers,

The average temperature is currently hovering around +34C, which it has been all week. My secretary, Aida, was translating the radio for me and told me that these temperatures are the hottest in 68 years. Boy, are we lucky. The humidity is about 10000000% on top of that, so as you towel off from your freezing shower, the water droplets are replaced by sweat droplets as fast as you can wipe them off. I'm drinking 10 liters of water a day. 4 of them during my workout alone. Just crazy.

*  *  *

I forget what the date is, July something.

Hi, everybody!

I hope you all had fun at camp this last week, You'd better have. I had a lot of fun diving on the island of Vis. Even without the diving, the scenery was unbelievable. Except for the old ladies on the beach without tops on. Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!! That sort of thing could scar me for life. It should be illegal. Fortunately, I spent lots of time under water. I even held an octopus. He wasn't impressed. His suction cups felt really neat, though. The laser vision burns, though. Who knew octopus could cook their own food? National Geographic had taught me nothing!

NOTHING!

Calm now.

*  *  *

I'm doing well, since you asked. I just drove here for the first time yesterday, and I had a lot of fun. The road signs are just a vague suggestion to the motorists here, so I had to adjust my driving doctrine to suit the conditions. Basically, we speed everywhere, and pass when we want to. Even driving like a maniac, my boss, Major Thelwell, says that I'm the safest driver she's seen here. I can't wait to drive around with her at the helm. Apparently I'm in for an exciting trip.

Later this week, I get to drive to Banja Luka on Tuesday, Zgon on Wednesday (it's right beside Kluc on the map, if you're looking for it), and then we go to Sarajevo by way of Tuzla on Thursday, returning on Friday by going through Kakanj. Basically, I get to see the whole country in a week. Sarajevo will be fun, I think.

Please send pictures of the dogs. I told my assistant, Aida about them and she wants to see them. There are a lot of dogs around here, but most are the end result of decades of hasty, unplanned dog sex. There was a cute little puppy who lives in the entrance bunker at the camp in Zgon, though. He was there with all the guards who were dressed in their fighting gear, and he was inspecting our vehicle while we talked to the guards. What a little cutie. I think he was a little Doberman without a docked tail, and no doubt he gets away with murder at the guard bunker. Fortunately, everyone seems to like Canadians.

*  *  *

The Book of Bosnia

Chapter One

1. And it came to pass that the soldiers of the Queen did go forth into the land of Bosnia, to bring a lasting peace unto the land.

2. And the soldiers did look about them and did see many peoples throughout the land, and behold, the land was bountiful, and beautiful to be seen.

3. And it came to pass that there was a spirit of contention throughout the land, causing much death and destruction.

4. And the soldiers dwelt in a tent.

5. Now the soldiers went forth unto the people, saying:

6. What is wrong with you people?

7. Lo, these words were heard by many, and the people did listen. But the people did not speak English, so they did continue to fight, and ignored the Queen's soldiers.

8. And there was no air-conditioning to be had.

9. Now the soldiers were angry, because the people were fighting among themselves, and many people had died. Plus one leg had fallen off their foosball table, which did enrage them.

10. Therefore, the soldiers did cry out to their Lord:

11. "Oh, Lord, why hast thou forsaken this land?"

12. And the Lord did hear the cry of the soldiers, and did pity them, and did say unto them:

13. "Quit whining! For crying out loud. You sound like a bunch of little girls!"

14. And many great and glorious things did the Lord speak unto the disgruntled soldiers in this manner, until the soldier's hearts were softened and they did fall to the earth in amazement.

15. Lo, their parachutes had not opened.

16. Now the soldiers were of the mind that the Lord had played a rotten trick on them, what with the parachutes and all, so therefore the soldiers did decide to bring peace unto the land of Bosnia by circumventing Him.

12. And it came to pass that the soldiers did cry unto a false god.

18. And this false god was called Chrétien, the father of lies, the ancient enemy of all men.

19. And Chrétien did speak words unto the soldiers, but the soldiers were deceived, and did misunderstand his words, since Chrétien cannot speak any mortal language.

20. And it came to pass that the soldiers began to wander aimlessly throughout the land, and their faith did diminish, and they forsook the false god Chrétien, and did end their days as wanderers, eating berries and kittens and other nasty stuff.

21. And peace was brought by Superman, and there was much rejoicing.

More Music

Our Engineer - far right.

Our son, an army engineer, was on his Combat Leadership course.

It was gruelling.

Months of training.

An adrenaline rush of enacting scenarios.

Strategizing.

Analyzing situations.

Digging in and getting dirty.

Gruelling.

And added to the daily duty roster, morning inspections.

Not only must they learn how to survive, even thrive in battle situations, they had to look good while they did it.

So each evening, after dinner, was spent in cleaning oneself and one's gear in preparation for inspection directly after breakfast the next morning.

For the most part, the soldiers enjoyed it.

It was a chance to unwind.

Kibitz around a bit.

Laugh and joke.

And keep their adrenalin up with pounding, exhilarating music.

At least that was what they called it.

Loud. Fast. Heavy.

Followed immediately by bed.

Needless to say, it took some time to wind down.

Except for our son.

Whose choice of music was a little more . . . conservative.

He would drift away almost immediately to the soft, soothing strains of Loreena McKennitt.

Or Enya.

One evening some time after lights out, the men were restless.

Knowing that their morning would come fast, not to mention early, they were anxious to get some needed sleep.

And it was proving elusive.

Again, except for our son, who had his stereo by his ear and had already drifted away.

To Enya.

One of the soldiers noticed.

And commented.

It had given him an idea.

The next evening, the group completed their usual day-end tasks.

To their usual music.

Then crawled into their bunks.

Lights were doused.

Then, out of the darkness, a voice.

“Hey, Tolley. Play us some of your music.”

Our son turned up the song he was currently listening to.

Only Time.

Enya.

Within seconds the sounds of snoring filled the dorm.

After that, immediately following lights-out, the strains of choice were something soft.

Soothing.

And sleepy.

The magic of music.

The Language Barrier

Our Engineer - the one on the left

Our second son, Erik, enlisted in the army corps of engineers.
For a boy from a devout Christian home, it . . . took some adjustment.
He enjoyed the brother/sisterhood that sprang up around him the moment he walked in the door.
He loved the work and the action.
And disassembling/cleaning/reassembling guns.
I know, he's weird.
But the one thing he really had to adjust to was the language and personal habits of the men and women he was now associating with.
Most particularly the language.
Although I have had my moments in the past (see here), we are not, as a whole, a cursing family.
Neither are we anxious to push our beliefs/customs on anyone else.
He would just have to learn to deal with it.
And he did.
Without following.
Which he also did.
Let me explain . . .
Erik and several other soldiers were changing the tracks on one of their squad's tanks.
A heavy, though not necessarily complicated task.
It required brute force and patience.
Both of which my son had endless experience.
He was manipulating one of the wrenches, trying to loosen bolts which had obviously become a part of the track and/or frame.
Failing to budge them by normal means (repeated pressure and positive thinking), he resorted to harsher methods.
Body weight and periodic jumping up and down on the wrench.
The results were negligible.
He continued on, undaunted (good word).
Grasping the wrench, he threw his whole weight onto it.
The wrench slipped.
And caught his finger between it and the track.
Between a hard and a harder place, so to speak.
Something had to give.

One of the culprits . . . with some buddies

Let's just say that neither tempered steel member of this meeting was about to.
Give, that is.
That left his finger.
The world went purple.
Then plaid.
It does that.
Erik dropped the wrench, grabbed his sadly assaulted finger and did the dance of pain.
For several moments, he hopped and jumped, cavorting gracefully around the yard.
"DZE! DZE! DZE! DZE!"
I'm not really sure how to spell it, but that's how he describes the sounds he was making.
Moving on . . .
Minutes later, with the pain at more or less manageable levels, he returned to his task.
He lifted his wrench.
Only noticing, then, that the entire yard full of soldiers has stopped what they were doing and were staring at him.
Speechlessly.
He looked at them. "What's the matter?"
One of the soldiers stepped forward. "Geeze, Tolley, even then you didn't swear!"
Erik had no idea anyone had noticed his expressions of choice.
Obviously, they had.
Even a good thing gets noticed.
Sometimes.

Music Says It All

Son and Grandson

My second son is a large man.

Large.

Six foot eight in his stockinged feet. When he puts boots and a hat on, considerably taller.

And he is a body builder.

He works as a cop in our fair city.

Let me put it this way . . .

No one argues with him.

They just nod politely and do as he asks.

His very first day on the job, he and his partner responded to a knife-wielding incident. When he got out of his car, the 'perp' took one look, dropped the knife and spread-eagled himself on the sidewalk.

Size is important.

But the man inside the uniform is a gentle, loving person.

And tons of fun.

Before he began to serve with the police, he spent eight years with the armed forces, reaching the rank of Sergeant.

And he drove a big truck.

These two points are important.

Moving on . . .

One day, he was on his way home from the army base driving the aforementioned (good word) truck. It was a beautiful, warm day, and his windows were opened wide.

His head was shaved and he had his army kit on.

He looked every inch the soldier he was.

He was 'in the zone'. Listening and moving to his favourite music, blaring from two powerful speakers.

I should mention here that his favourite music probably isn't what people expect to hear from a head-shaved, muscular, giant of a man in army fatigues.

And sunglasses.

In a monster truck.

But pouring from the speakers were The Archies.

And they were singing their hit song, "Sugar, Sugar".

He stopped at a stoplight.

Still grooving.

Then he glanced to his left.

A small pickup was just pulling up beside him.

With three teenage boys in the seat.

All of whom were staring at him.

Up at him.

Their expressions were . . . interesting.

My son grinned at them and nodded. Still bobbing to the rhythm.

The light changed and he drove on.

But the small truck stayed where it was.

I think he frightened them.

Who says you need a weapon to intimidate?

Sometimes all it takes is the right music.