IT’S A MAN’S WORLD

IT’S A MAN’S WORLD

By Bob French

The noise, that seemed to come from nowhere was deafening.  It shook my body until it ached all over as I was thrown down to the ground where I lay. My eyes stung, my ears and sense of direction was sent into complete confusion.  I frantically tried to remember where I was, felt the cold wet mud sticking to my face as I gasped for breath.  Then my eyes slowly focused as I looked up into the face of Corporal Fellows.

          “That son, was bloody awful.  If you’d been in the streets of Aden, they would have robbed you by now, then slit your throat.”

          He leant down and grabbed my combat jacket and un-ceremonially dragged me to my feet. “What did I tell you?  The second you are hit, or you go down, roll away into shadow or find cover, don’t lay there enjoying the bloody sunshine.”  I was doing my best to hear him, but the sounds around me seemed muffled and I couldn’t quite get my balance.  I suddenly felt a clout around the back of my helmet and turned.

          “That son, was a dog’s breakfast.  Do that again and I kick you from here to the bloody horizon, got it?” 

          I nodded, “Yes Sergeant.”

          As my platoon sergeant stormed across to the next recruit who was having his rite’s read to him, my balance and hearing started to return and the smell of CS gas started to sting my nose and throat.

          “Well, don’t stand there, pick up your bloody rifle and get moving!  You’ve got another six miles to go yet.”

          I leant down to pick up my rifle, only to continue my forward momentum and fall headlong back into the mud again.  As I tried to scramble to my feet, I could feel the closeness of Corporal Fellows as he began to scream at me again.

          The smell of CS gas increased as I stumbled towards the low beam, then fell to my knees and scrambled under it and into some tunnels.  The last tunnel was underwater and by this time, I was shaking with exhaustion. 

As I was dragged from the water, I saw the six-foot walls and wondered how I was going to get over them.  My surroundings were filled with men screaming death threats into my face and pushing me towards the walls.  Suddenly Brian, a mate from Liverpool, who had joined the same intake as me, was on my shoulder, and as I glanced across at him, he was grinning at me as though this was a walk in the park.

          We both hit the barbed wire scramble nets at the same time and, on our hands and knees we crawled and scrambled for about fifty yards under this wire netting with thunder flashes and hose pipes hitting us from both sides.  When we cleared that obstacle, we were staggering around like drunks.

          I saw the end of the assault course and together we started to run towards the end gate.  As we cleared through it, my body seemed to suddenly give up and I saw stars flashing in front of my eyes, then fell forward onto my hands and knees and vomited my breakfast all over my rifle.  Corporal Fellows appeared from nowhere and started to scream more verbal abuse at me. 

“This is a man’s world you little turd, if you want to be part of it, you’d better bloody well get up and move your bloody arse.”  But I just ignored him.  Sitting back, I took a couple of deep breaths and took a quick compass bearing then nodded over to the left of the horizon. Brian heaved me up and we began jogging.  As we started to climb, Jenkins came up on our shoulders we nodded to each other, fully understanding what lay ahead.

          The huge hilltop seemed miles away and I knew this run was going to hurt.  As I started to push, I turned back to see Williams, a Welsh lad, standing in front of our Platoon Sergeant sobbing his heart out.  The Sergeant didn’t seem to care and just pointed to the hilltop yelling at him to get going.  Strange I thought. Couldn’t all Welshmen climb hills; their country is full of them.

          An hour or so later, after three false horizons, I reached the top of the mountain.  There were about five of us on the top and the Platoon Sergeant pointed to a four-ton vehicle in the distance.

          “Right you lazy bunch of tossers, if you want your lunch, you had better reach that four tonner before it pulls away, which should be in about twenty minutes time.”

          No one moved for an instant, then he yelled at the top of his voice "move your useless carcasses."

          My thighs were burning from the climb, my knees ached and the weight of the rucksack, now soaking wet, seemed to have increased as I started to jog unsteadily off towards my promised lunch.

It took me about a hundred yards to get my body to move in sync with the moving weight on my back and the heavy rifle across my chest.  As I stumbled towards the truck, the rain and wind seemed to increase and for the first time, I cursed the God who had watched over me.  It was then, out of the blue, I recall the words of wisdom from Jim Faraday, a mate of mine who had already joined up.  At the time I didn’t understand what he had meant, but his words came back to me on that sodden, wet and windy hilltop.

          ‘Remember, it’s not the fit guys that get through training, it the ones with mental strength.’ 

          I could hear the heavy breathing around me from those left from the original intake as we drew near to where the four tonner was parked.  Then, as i expected, the driver started her up, then slowly drove off into the mist.  Several of those around me collapsed onto the wet ground sobbing, but my sixth sense had told me the Platoon Sergeant was going to do that. This is what Jim had meant.

          “Come on you lot, we got to keep going.” I yelled and turned, quickly glanced at my compass and started to jog off towards the slope that lead down to a river.  I could hear Brian come up on my shoulder, as we started to slip and slide down the hillside. 

          By the time we had reached the river the afternoon was started to close in and the clouds were getting darker by the minute.  It looked like it was only Brian, Jenkins, Jes and Big Frank, the comedian of our intake from Jamaica, that had made it this far.

          “How we gonna cross this?”  No one seemed to have the answer.  We all turned to look up the hill, expecting to see if Corporal Fellows charging down towards us, but he wasn’t there, only the sound of the wind in the trees, the rain and the rushing water. 

          Brian started to unsling his rucksack.  “Ay Brian, if you thinking of swimming man, you got another thing coming.  That’s got a really strong current.”  Frank’s voice sounded serious in the dark.   “I suggest we split up; half go upstream and see if you can find a boat, the others go downstream.  Fifteen minutes, then turn around ‘n get back here, OK.”  No one argued with Big Frank. 

          Thirty minutes later we all staggered back to our start point on the side of the river bank.  “Nothing, not even a canoe.”  Brian’s voice was starting to break and I knew we all had to try and cheer him up. 

          Suddenly, Jes yelled out and started to wave and point.  We all turned and looked down the river to where he was pointing.  A cabin cruiser was gently making its way down the river towards us.  We all screamed with joy as the lady who was at the controls waved back at us, then started to steer her little boat towards the bank.  

          “Are you alright?” She smiled as she slowed, then stopped her craft. Jes stepped forward. 

          “I am sorry Mama, but we are involved in a race and need to cross this river.  Would you be kind enough to give us a lift across please?”

          She laughed and waved us towards the bow of the craft with a warning to be careful as we climbed aboard.

          “Where would you like to be dropped off?”

          Jes, having taken off his rucksack stepped forward.  “Anywhere along this stretch please where we can jump off.”

          She steered the craft downstream for about a hundred yards then pulled into a small peer.  “This do?”

          We all thanked her as we clambered onto the little peer, and waves as she moved off into the centre of the river.  I took a quick compass bearing and pointed to the hilltop over to our right.  Without a word, we started to climb. 

          Big Frank looked back at Brian, who had fallen off the pack and was now limping and called a halt.

Without a word, Big Frank took Brian’s rucksack and threw it over his shoulder.  Jenkins leant forward and took his rifle and received no protest from Brian.  It was getting dark and cold now, and according to my reckoning, we had about three miles to go to the next checkpoint.         

“I’m starving. Anyone got any choc bars?”  No one spoke.  I thought there’d be something to eat at the next checkpoint, but Jim’s words of wisdom kept creeping back into my mind, so I pushed my hunger aside and staggered on. 

Corporal Fellows stood by the big oak tree in the middle of a field that started to rise up into the heavens behind him.  The Hurricane Lamp behind him lit him up like a ghost. 

          “Where the hell have you lot been?”  I quickly glanced down at my watch and saw that we had reached the checkpoint with ten minutes to spare.

          Big Frank dropped Brian’s rucksack then turned to Corporal Fellows. “Ear, Corporal, Brian here has done his ankle in real bad man.  He needs a doctor.”

          Brian started to protest, but Corporal Fellow pushed Big Frank aside, knelt down and quickly undid his laces to take a close look at Brian’s ankle.  Brian screamed as the budding doctor prodded and twisted Brian’s ankle around. 

          “Sorry lad, you’re off the course.  Go stand over there.”  He nodded to where six or seven figures sat in the darkness.  Probably been failed by Corporal Fellows during the day. 

          “Is there anything to eat?”  Jenkin's voice sounded frail but we all knew what the answer would be.” 

          Corporal Fellows glanced around at us all and shook his head.  “You lot got here too late.  You got a choice. Get your heads down or leg it to the next RV.”        

          Jes raised his head in surprise.  “But it’s dark Corporal.”

          Corporal Fellows grinned as he turned and faced Jes.  “Show me in the Geneva Convention where it says that the enemy will stop fighting when it gets dark lad.” 

          We all seemed to move at the same time.  My compass bearing showed me that we had to head over to the East and without another word, we walked silently out into the darkness.  We walked slowly, regularly changing direction at each checkpoint until the early morning rays of dawn lit the field in front of us.  In the middle of this filed was the Marshal’s tent.

          Big Frank turned to us.  “Right everyone, straighten up, don’t let the bastards see that we’re knackered, and let’s keep in step and rifles at the high port.” 

          A week later on a bright sunny afternoon on the parade ground of the recruit selection camp, twenty-five of us stood to attention and with proud parents sitting on the sidelines of the square, the Brigadier stood and began to praise us for making it through the four-week Army Selection Course. 

          “You stand here before your officers and parents, proud that out of the one hundred and sixty-four recruits, you twenty-five have faced and overcome adversity, hardship and degradation to make it to the end.   There is a great future ahead of you; of travel, excitement and comradery.  Feel proud. You have earned it.  Many of you will look back on these past four weeks as sheer hell.  Believe me, it is only the begging as when you join your regiments, so your schooling will continue.  And when you are deployed to Northern Ireland, Afghanistan or the Balkans the training you have been subjected to here will have put you in good stead.  So well done.”

          The Recruit Center Sergeant Major screamed ‘three cheers,’ to which we all yelled our heads off, then as silence descended upon the square,  the Commanding Officer stood and moved to stand next to the Brigadier.  The Brigadier took the piece of paper, then nodded.

          “It pleases me to announce that the best recruit for intake 35 is Recruit Amanda Margaret Jenkins of six section.  Big Frank and Jes jumped, screamed then turned and hugged her from both sides. I smiled as I turned to Corporal Fellows, who stood behind me. 

“What did you say Corporal.  it’s a man’s’ world?”       

Copyright Bob French