Years and years ago, when I was a young soldier, I was based in Southern England and there was a summer exercise. Also known as Manouvres, it’s a training event designed to test every level of the military organisation as well as every aspect of a soldiers job. So the planners in the staff would be practising moving large numbers of soldiers from A to B, communications, command and control. The unit commanders would be practising moving from a barracks environment to a field environment, the junior commanders would be practising various aspects of fieldcraft based upon a training plan. The individual soldiers would be practising their own speciality, in my case, maintaining radar equipment in the field.
Everyone practised staying awake for days without much sleep, poor food and hygiene facilities, and water discipline.
What you probably don’t know is how these exercises conclude. They have a cost plan, i.e. the exercise will end when x million pounds worth of damage is caused, or when y number of soldiers are killed. As you will see, this impacted me directly , in tragic circumstances.
We were training on Salisbury plain, day 1 for us junior commanders was a rotation of ten tasks. We had to take our squad to ten locations, perform the task, get assessed then move on. So task one for me would be a map reading task, find your way to grid nnn,nnn in two hours. Task 2 would be a radio task, control your platoon by radio without bringing the net down, do your radio check properly etc. Task three, my speciality, a section attack on a fixed defensive position. Task four, a casevac , find a casualty, first aid then get him airlifted out.And so on.
When this was done, we went back to our proper job. We got about 2 hours sleep a night if we were lucky.
Next day was a 16 miler, not difficult but it weeded out the unfit, they were marked for extra PE. Next day, ten exercises, this time as an ordinary soldier while the 2 i/c took over. Succession plans are crucial in the military.
That night , tragedy struck.
There is a buddy/buddy system in the military, anything that is a two man lift is split, one day you carry the heaviest bit, next day, he does. When you go out on patrol, you check each other for shape shine and jangly bits. My buddy was Mick, a giant from Chepstow. Mick was a nice guy, truly pleasant, I always thought he would make the perfect dad and husband for some lucky woman, I, on the other hand was a total savage.
We shared a two man bivvy, when I was on guard, mick slept and vice versa. Because of the heat, we used to sleep half in, half out of the bivvie.
You have heard about internet etiquette of course, well there is something called net etiquette, which is a set of rules that govern radio chat. It is crucial that these rules are followed, one mistake can block the radio traffic and many lives can be lost. Screwing up the traffic was a serious offence and your mates would have you over, if not the high command.
That night I was on guard duty, on the radio, in a slit trench in a very small copse that we had found. We had pitched up in the dark and had no idea what the lay of the land was, Mick had pitched on the edge of the copse, to avoid the stumblers. If only he had known, it wasn’t soldiers bumbling around in the dark he had to worry about.
So there I was in my slit trench, with a vehicle mechanic for company. ‘Whats that’. I took the headset off to listen. A distant rumbling, getting louder. He put his ear to the chalky ground. ‘Armour’. Wow, this was getting exiting, we had been told we were doing combined services the next day, great I always wanted to see the chieftans in action. The rumbling got louder, I put the phones back on. The rumbling was now very loud, tanks within about 50m was my guess. Silence on the net.
Then a query on the net, in a strong jock accent. ’Where the fckng hell er we jimmy.over.’
Brummie reply ‘errr , don’t know . er over’
Scouser – ‘Wait one like, keep a lid on it like.over like.’
Silence. Minutes go by.
Jock – ‘its black as fck out there. Nothing.over’
Silence. Minutes go by.
Its clear to us that the tankies are lost and are looking for landmarks. They had not seen our copse. Two thousand set of ears were listening to their dilemma’
Then a voice came on. The most poshest plummy eton accent you can imagine.
‘I say chaps, I see some Panzers on the left’
silence.
Gobsmacked silence.
Then – uproar.
‘ACHTUNG MEIN FURHER-PANZERS UNT ZE LEFT’
‘FOR YOU ZE VAR IST OVER’
‘SURRENDER TOMMY VE EF YOU SURROUNDED’
and so on for five minutes. Two thousand lads all having a laugh. Much hilarity but against every single rule in the book
eventually it subsided, and a calmer voice was heard, ‘ok chaps , that’s enough, we have work to do’
silence
Brummie ‘jawhol’
Calm voice ‘Brigadier Simpson here, can it, do you know who I am ?’
Silence
Brummie – ‘do you know who I am?’
Brigadier – ‘no’
More uproar – ‘Then fcken ze off’
Etc
Eventually it subsided, order was restored and the tanks moved off, guns firing in a spectacular night time display of armoured might.
An hour later the sun came up and my duty was finished, I headed back toward the bivvie. Sh1 t, we were not on the edge of the copse, we were well outside. The guy ropes were down, tent collapsed, tank tracks had churned up the ground a foot away from the tent. Mick ???
I nearly threw up when I got there.
The lucky turd had rolled off his pillow during the night. His head had gone one way, his pillow(a tin hat filled with socks) had rolled the other, it was flattened.
He woke up and saw me standing there white as a sheet. ‘what is it ?’
I kept me gob shut and beat a hasty.
Everyone practised staying awake for days without much sleep, poor food and hygiene facilities, and water discipline.
What you probably don’t know is how these exercises conclude. They have a cost plan, i.e. the exercise will end when x million pounds worth of damage is caused, or when y number of soldiers are killed. As you will see, this impacted me directly , in tragic circumstances.
We were training on Salisbury plain, day 1 for us junior commanders was a rotation of ten tasks. We had to take our squad to ten locations, perform the task, get assessed then move on. So task one for me would be a map reading task, find your way to grid nnn,nnn in two hours. Task 2 would be a radio task, control your platoon by radio without bringing the net down, do your radio check properly etc. Task three, my speciality, a section attack on a fixed defensive position. Task four, a casevac , find a casualty, first aid then get him airlifted out.And so on.
When this was done, we went back to our proper job. We got about 2 hours sleep a night if we were lucky.
Next day was a 16 miler, not difficult but it weeded out the unfit, they were marked for extra PE. Next day, ten exercises, this time as an ordinary soldier while the 2 i/c took over. Succession plans are crucial in the military.
That night , tragedy struck.
There is a buddy/buddy system in the military, anything that is a two man lift is split, one day you carry the heaviest bit, next day, he does. When you go out on patrol, you check each other for shape shine and jangly bits. My buddy was Mick, a giant from Chepstow. Mick was a nice guy, truly pleasant, I always thought he would make the perfect dad and husband for some lucky woman, I, on the other hand was a total savage.
We shared a two man bivvy, when I was on guard, mick slept and vice versa. Because of the heat, we used to sleep half in, half out of the bivvie.
You have heard about internet etiquette of course, well there is something called net etiquette, which is a set of rules that govern radio chat. It is crucial that these rules are followed, one mistake can block the radio traffic and many lives can be lost. Screwing up the traffic was a serious offence and your mates would have you over, if not the high command.
That night I was on guard duty, on the radio, in a slit trench in a very small copse that we had found. We had pitched up in the dark and had no idea what the lay of the land was, Mick had pitched on the edge of the copse, to avoid the stumblers. If only he had known, it wasn’t soldiers bumbling around in the dark he had to worry about.
So there I was in my slit trench, with a vehicle mechanic for company. ‘Whats that’. I took the headset off to listen. A distant rumbling, getting louder. He put his ear to the chalky ground. ‘Armour’. Wow, this was getting exiting, we had been told we were doing combined services the next day, great I always wanted to see the chieftans in action. The rumbling got louder, I put the phones back on. The rumbling was now very loud, tanks within about 50m was my guess. Silence on the net.
Then a query on the net, in a strong jock accent. ’Where the fckng hell er we jimmy.over.’
Brummie reply ‘errr , don’t know . er over’
Scouser – ‘Wait one like, keep a lid on it like.over like.’
Silence. Minutes go by.
Jock – ‘its black as fck out there. Nothing.over’
Silence. Minutes go by.
Its clear to us that the tankies are lost and are looking for landmarks. They had not seen our copse. Two thousand set of ears were listening to their dilemma’
Then a voice came on. The most poshest plummy eton accent you can imagine.
‘I say chaps, I see some Panzers on the left’
silence.
Gobsmacked silence.
Then – uproar.
‘ACHTUNG MEIN FURHER-PANZERS UNT ZE LEFT’
‘FOR YOU ZE VAR IST OVER’
‘SURRENDER TOMMY VE EF YOU SURROUNDED’
and so on for five minutes. Two thousand lads all having a laugh. Much hilarity but against every single rule in the book
eventually it subsided, and a calmer voice was heard, ‘ok chaps , that’s enough, we have work to do’
silence
Brummie ‘jawhol’
Calm voice ‘Brigadier Simpson here, can it, do you know who I am ?’
Silence
Brummie – ‘do you know who I am?’
Brigadier – ‘no’
More uproar – ‘Then fcken ze off’
Etc
Eventually it subsided, order was restored and the tanks moved off, guns firing in a spectacular night time display of armoured might.
An hour later the sun came up and my duty was finished, I headed back toward the bivvie. Sh1 t, we were not on the edge of the copse, we were well outside. The guy ropes were down, tent collapsed, tank tracks had churned up the ground a foot away from the tent. Mick ???
I nearly threw up when I got there.
The lucky turd had rolled off his pillow during the night. His head had gone one way, his pillow(a tin hat filled with socks) had rolled the other, it was flattened.
He woke up and saw me standing there white as a sheet. ‘what is it ?’
I kept me gob shut and beat a hasty.
I enjoyed that, when is the book coming out EO?
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