Stories!

[Sakebomb]

My orders said Ft Jackson.
After week of inprocessing and "relaxin", the First Sergeant calls everyone out into a formation the day before we were supposed to start Basic.

"Ive got some bad news, all of our training battalions are full. So instead of having all of you sit around and wait for a month, this half of the formation is getting shipped to Ft Knox, this half is going to Ft Benning"


I was standing on the Benning side.......

[Exarecr]

Started basic training with the FNC1, the big old boy back in 73 at CFB Cornwallis. While standing in line before the weapons issue I was glancing at a wall poster of the Fnc1 which was displayed with all the moving parts visible. When i saw the phrase "gas-operated",I spent the better part of 10 minutes looking everywhere on that damn poster for the spot where the gas was hooked up to the weapon.Man was I clueless. I just thank the great unknown above I didn't ask one of the other guys in line to show me where it obviously wasn't.

[VarSity]

Not my story, but I have a cousin who swears blind that when he went through Royal Marine training he was repeatedly beasted by a quarter master for asking for a glass hammer his corporal has sent him to pick up for his barracks.

Story goes that my cousin had no idea what a glass hammer was, but he had been given a beasting when he told the corporal to "go **** himself", as he assumed it was a practical joke.

The quarter master then got him beasted for being a funny man, and the corporal and his sergeant gave him another beasting when he turned up back at barracks without said glass hammer.

Turns out they were talking about one of those little hammers that your supposed to use on those fire alarm break glasses (little red boxes)
They had just has a new fire alarm installed and the engineer who had fitted it wouldn’t sign off on it being working unless the hammers were provided.

Has to be the most confusing story in the world and my cousin still says it was the worst day of his life.

[ddog]

OK, here goes. DI Sgt. Gills. The guy had, shall we say, a peculiar look to him. Near my rack is a recruit named Stokes. Gills has Stokes' number and starts calling him 'Strokes' to get his goat. One night, just before hitting the rack for the night, we had to 'ad hoc' Field Day the Squad Bay.

Gills is just hammering Stokes to no end and you can see he's gone too far and Stokes is about to go to 'critical'! I guess it was inbred to Gills to be as big of a pain in the butt as he could be (he was new and dropped to our platoon in the middle of second phase so he had to: "announce his presence with authority!") and he got worse with Stokes.

Anyhow, Stokes was done for, it was all that he could do to keep from fighting Gills he was so mad (not to mention that Stokes knew if he fought Gills, Gills was going to eat his lunch!).

Gills ripped into him and said something to the effect: If you don't get that rack tight (keep in mind we were just about to get into it in about 10 minutes!) I am going to send you back to first phase! I am going to quarterdeck you till you puke! I will pit you until sand is coming out of your behind (or words to that effect)... Stokes had, up until that time, kept responding with 'Yes Sir!' and 'Aye Aye Sir!'. Stokes stops what he is doing (raking his rack) and has this very 'perturbed' look, stares DIRECTLY into Sgt. Gills' eyes (any former Marine will know that this is akin to murder in the Marine Corps!) and says: "Oh, big "f****n'" deal... I am really scared, 'specially since it is coming from a guy who looks like "ERNIE" on Sesame Street!"

I told you that Gills looked rather peculiar.

Now as an adjunct... Gills, for all his foibles, snapped to, did a parade ground quality right face, went behind the racks and went to the Duty Hut. The door slammed followed by something that we all swore was laughter. Stokes was never badgered again.

[Ray]

Because of what he did, he would become a personal enemy for life and I would always be on the lookout to trip him up.

No, that would be a wrong thing to do.

As an officer, you have to lead by example and appear above pettiness.

Remember, by doing nothing, it would make the man feel horrid about himself and that would be a fitting punishment.

[Ray]

LORDS GANAPATI (The Elephant God) AND HANUMAN (The Monkey God)


Is there a connection between a human being and a God?

There is, even if you don’t believe it. It happened before my eyes!

I was not touched by the sun, nor was I seized by religion. I was still far from having surrendered myself at his Lotus Feet! My tryst with the Maker too was nowhere in the offing. In fact, I was at the age where the worldly sins envelop the Man!

And, yes, that is right, this is not a anecdote about Gods.

This anecdotal reminiscence is about a man called Captain Ganapati and his extraordinary transformation into the Hindu Monkey God, Hanuman.

It is as simple as that!

It happened in the year just before the Indo Pak War of 1971.

Ganapati was the GSO 3 (Intelligence) at the Brigade HQs in the Rajauri Sector of Jammu and Kashmir. I was the Adjutant of my unit, which was deployed on the Cease Fire Line . We had to interact daily since he took the daily sitreps from the Adjutants of the units.

Ganapati was a pompous oaf. He was a Short Service officer and his appointment at the Brigade HQ had gone to his head; so much so, his attitude was as if he was the Brigade Commander himself! He was servility personified with his seniors and imperious with his peers and juniors – a veritable yahoo, he was!

One day he was not there at his desk. Hence, I passed the Sitrep to his Clerk.

An hour later he rang up.

“I have just gone through your Sitrep. What do you mean by FDL 507 ‘saw’ one rifle shot of the enemy from X to Y? How can anyone see a bullet? I think you people are stupid and you have no idea of the English language!”

That was the most stupid thing I heard. Not only I knew English, but my pronunciation was as good as the BBC, if not better. What is more was the fact that my CO, though an Indian, he drank, ate and slept British and we were being corrected constantly, day in and day out! Naturally, I was enraged and that too hearing such tripe from a person whose accent was so strong and unintelligible that there was no requirement to even use the Slidex key to ‘mask’ from the enemy!

“Look here, Gandphati” said I, distinctly being nasty by changing the intonation of his name to a Hindi cuss word meaning ‘a ruptured posterior’, since they were near similar; and having said so, I continued, “We were explicit in our Sitrep, old boy! You have never dared come to the front lines and so you won’t know about things that can be heard as also seen. One can see the enemy and his rifle. One can even see the flash from his rifle. Further, one can see the puff of mud where the bullet hits. Therefore, if that is not ‘seeing’, what is? A rifle shot can be heard from one point, but it can also be ‘seen’ as to where it hit. It requires only vigilant troops and not lazy ones that hug the desks in the rear echelons. Got that, old tyke? Don’t be an idiot yourself. But then you were always a chocolate cream soldier. Don’t bother to ask me what that means since you would not know GB, would you?”

Ganapati was enraged, especially since I had converted his name to a Hindi cuss word and more so, he did not know who GB was! I had no desire to educate him on Shaw either.

He banged the telephone down.

Soon I was called by the CO. He had been rung up by the Brigade Major. Obviously, Ganapati had reported to his boss. He was the type who could not fight his own battles!

“What happened with you and Ganapati?”

I told him the whole story including the fact that I had corrupted his name to a cuss word.

“Ah ha! No wonder the Brigade HQs is wild with you and wants me to change the Adjutant!”

I thought I was going to be changed since none likes to mess around with higher HQs!

But then, my CO was made of sterner stuff. “Stupid chaps! They think that I am a scared cat? Bullcrap that I will change you. No chance.”

I really felt good.

The CO continued, “Now listen to me.”

He told me what I had to do.

I rang up Ganapati.

I was at my pleasant best.

“Ganapati”, said I. This time I pronounced his name correctly. “Could I have your photograph?”

This was a ridiculous request. He smelt a rat.

“Why?” Ganapati queried cautiously.

“Actually, since you have forced my CO to rethink if I should be the Adjutant, a feat that God himself would not dare, could you as a parting favour give me your photograph?”

“My photograph?”

“Yep”, said I.

“Whatever for?” queried good old Ganapati.

“I want to install it in our Regimental temple, especially since you have such an uncanny resemblance to a God.”

Curiosity got the better of him.

“God? Which God?” The bloke was real conceited. He actually imagined that he resembled a God!

“Hanuman, the Monkey God”

The second time he banged the telephone down.

This time the Brigade Commander rang me up.

The Brigade Commander was actually rather fond of me. Yet, to be fair, he queried me as to what had transpired.

I recounted the whole incident. Though he did not take sides, I never heard about this incident again!

But I did hear a wee bit of a snig-ger.

And yes, the Gods were kind. They indeed ruled the day and I still remained the Adjutant!

[dave lukins]

I was enraged and that too hearing such tripe from a person whose accent was so strong and unintelligible that there was no requirement to even use the Slidex key to ‘mask’ from the enemy!

It made me laugh out loud last time too;) more from the book please

[Ray]

so sorry, did I post it earlier?

Yes, in those times, we did use the Slidex and Unicode! ;)

[Ray]

Have I posted this earlier?

SAMNE DEKH (Eyes Front)

I had just joined the Army and had been posted to my battalion.

After a few months, the unit went out for its Annual Training Camp. It was my first touch of the “real army”. I was excited as any greenhorn would be.

We were exercising and training in an area called Shankargarh, near Allahabad. The area was desolate with scanty population, marginal cultivation but had orchards and village ponds. It was a quiet and quaint countryside, and for an urban person, it was heavenly quiet. Paradise!

We were all under canvas and there appeared to have been some flap regarding the field commodes and so the junior officers had to use the Deep Trench Latrines (DTL) with no flaps to cover!

Not a pleasant experience, but then who cared?

We were in the initial stages of setting Camp and so there was whole lot of hustle and bustle with no regular schedule.

The setting up of the Camp was left to the junior ranks while the seniors were busy checking up the exercises and training areas and ensuring that the training would be done under as realistic an environment as the surroundings permitted.

Life was fine and we were getting used to the regimen and it was but a few days more to go before the real thing started. Hence, one did not have to wake up before dawn to get cracking. So, instead of awaking with the sun and then going through the morning ablution, it could be done at a leisurely pace without any pressure of a formalised schedule.

One day, I was a bit late for the “morning routine”.

I sauntered to the DTL, and without worrying about the world, sat down to perform.

The breeze wafted gently and the birds chirped on the trees just above. It was heavenly. The only thing that worried me was that no bird dropping should fall on me. The birds had to show some decorum after all, since an officer was performing and it was not correct to perform together, no matter how high they were above me!

I could see in the distance that soldiers were going about their duty for the various chores assigned to set up the camp. They were in the far distance! It was nice, as a greenhorn, to observe the ways of the Army – all efficiency personified!

Then suddenly footsteps seem to approach in the distance.

Even before one could say “Jack Robinson”, a column of soldiers, with pick axes and shovels, emerged from the left from behind the bushes. They were marching across, ahead of where I was “performing”. I was stark naked to the world and as all could observe, the world was at peace! Lest one forgets, there were no flaps to the DTL to cover my “modesty”.

I was non plussed. I did not know what to do. I could not get up, nor could I cover my nakedness. And yet, as per the teaching, officers had to be ‘on parade’ all the time, especially if troops were anywhere in the vicinity.

It was a serious quandary!

I sat mesmerised. I braced up all the dignity that an officer can muster in total nakedness.

I hoped like hell that the column would pass without observing me.

But no, the column commander suddenly observed me.

Without batting an eyelid, he puffed up his chest in the best of NCO training smartly yelled, “Party, Dahine Dekh (eyes right!)” and executed the smartest of salutes!

The whole column executed “eye right” with total parade ground precision.

I sat frozen!

I squirmed but maintained the required officer like stoic.

I wished the earth would open up and swallow me whole.

But nothing of the sort happened.

True to military training and reflexes, I found that I had stood up!

All I could do was yelling, “Samne Dekh (eyes front)”.

My military training had got the better of me and maybe that saved the day.

I could not salute. I was bareheaded!

The moment passed.

The military preciseness may have been upheld, but not the Langar gup (cookhouse gossip). It was said that they had caught an officer pants down!

[dave lukins]

so sorry, did I post it earlier?

Yes, in those times, we did use the Slidex and Unicode! ;)

No No I had a private reading a few months ago..Slidex was my era also:)

[dave lukins]

The breeze wafted gently and the birds chirped on the trees just above. It was heavenly. The only thing that worried me was that no bird dropping should fall on me. The birds had to show some decorum after all, since an officer was performing and it was not correct to perform together, no matter how high they were above me!

These are the funniest words I have read in a long long time. I couldn't stop laughing for ages and in the end had to have a heart spray

[Officer of Engineers]

MEDIC! MEDIC! I cracked a rib!

Sir, my sides are hurting!

[Ray]

THE GURKHA AND THE STAFF COLLEGE

This is a story that I heard when I came to command my battalion.

Naturally, since this had happened before my time, I cannot vouch for its veracity. Nevertheless, it is worth retelling.

This is about a hardworking, diligent, sincere and a soft spoken Gurkha officer, called G, who spoke very little since he was told in his childhood that “A wise old owl sat in an oak, The more he heard, the less he spoke; The less he spoke, the more he heard;
Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?

He wanted to be a wise old bird, if nothing else.

He studied hard and as the story goes, some say he won a Gold Medal in Academics in his school. I can, however, with authority say that it is a fact that he passed the NDA examination, went through the rigmarole of cadets training in the IMA and lo and behold!, he was commissioned and given the finest regiment of the Indian Army – my Regiment. Of course, he didn’t know it then that is the finest regiment, but hopefully he knows it now!

He slogged through the initial years with quiet fortitude and he reached the magical rank of a Major. The rank is magical since that is the first time one understands what the Army is all about because till then, it is mere running around the countryside the monkey chasing the weasel!

He did well in all ranks and appointment he held, but since he was the quiet and overtly silent stereotype of a Gurkha, hardly anyone realised it to acknowledge his contribution. Nonetheless, he was satisfied since he believed in Vivekananda who believed that satisfaction was not doing what one likes, but liking what one does. Of course, it is true that Vivekananda had not told him so personally; but then his teacher had told him so. Being the good Gurkha, who never question what he is told, he never asked his teacher who told the teacher so. He took it as the Gospel truth and he believed in this Gospel.

As is wont, there is this hullabaloo in the Station amongst the Majors whenever it is the time for applying for the Staff College exam. It being the time for applying for the Staff College examination, the hullabaloo was on, right as rain! Major G, too, had heard about this Staff College exam but being the regimental officer that he was, he went about his duties and without fanfare went about to submit his application for the examination.

He may have been an unobtrusive type, but it did not mean that he was not aware of the surroundings. He knew that this examination was for surefire career enhancement more than the Retention, Part A,B,C and D exams. He knew that any Tom, Dick and Harry could become a Colonel so long as he passed the exams and yes, he knew that Staff College was an important input too, if not the most important of them all!
.

Diligent that he was, he looked about the AOs (Army Orders) on the Staff College exams and the AIs (Army Instructions) too (lest something was there too since the Army was a mysterious organisation that was bent on complicating the simplest of things). Fortunately, the Queens Regulation was not there, or else he would have read that too, lest someone felt he was not a diligent and a sincere chap. He had to keep up with his reputation, after all.

He read it all and then he filled the application and put it up through proper channels to the CO. He forgot all about it thereafter, knowing that the CO was an equally diligent, sincere and hardworking soul, who would forward it to whoever it concerned and the whole process would have been set into motion.

But, what happened?

The application reached the CO, who that day was distraught since the Commander had been a bit prickly and unfair. So, the CO was not in the best of moods and was hunting for some excuse to let off steam.

The CO flipped through the dak (mail) and then jumped out of the CO’s chair!

In front of him lay the Gurkha officer’s application for the Staff College exam. He picked it up, felt it, smelt it, re-read it, checked the name again and then yelled, “Maj G ko bolao” (Call Maj G).

It was the turn of the stick orderly to jump. He had never heard the CO ever yell since this CO was the “command by persuasion and sweetness” type of leader who spoke softly but carried a big stick and was known as “Roosevelt” by those who did not know him, but had heard of him.

Sure enough Major G arrived, all smartness and the personification of Gorkha robotlike precision, right down to the click of his heels.

Clicking his heels, he saluted.

The CO waved, indicating that he should be seated, since in the opinion of the CO, it was so extraordinary a situation that it would take long time to apply the persuasion and sweetness style of his.

Maj G was taken aback. The CO asking that an officer sit down? That an officer had been called, in itself was more than extraordinary, and to sit down would mean that the sky was about to fall on his head. So, he decided to maintain military protocol as per the Rules and Regulations and not sit down, but stand ramrod straight, breathing ever so gently to maintain the decorum and dignity of the hallowed office!

The CO had come from a different regiment and so he knew all about Gurkhas. He realised that this would be a tricky nut to crack and so he had to apply the third degree, which to him was yet another yell, “Sit down, Bacche”.

Maj G winched! Not because of the yell, but because the yell and the word Bacche was incongruous and this command by persuasion and sweetness style was becoming real ridiculously ridiculous! But, he said nothing and instead sat down.

“Bacche (son), what is this I see before me?” the CO asked in the most mellifluous of tone and thrust Maj G’s application into Maj G’s hand.

Maj G looked at it. Obviously it was not Banco’s ghost. It was his application. He was thunderstruck as to how the CO seem to have forgotten the English language and the alphabets! Even those who used the word Bacche knew English!

“Sir, it is my application for the Staff College exam”.

“That I see”.

Maj G decidedly beamed hearing that; at least the CO had not forgotten English! But doubts crept into his mind. If the CO saw and understood what he saw, where was the problem to sign the document? Or did he wanted a certificate for the CO to sign which read, “I have read it and sign it as correct” as they do for Cs of I. The CO was a bit of a legal chap and so it was not beyond his wanting such a certificate.

Some Mother have funny children, Maj G had nearly blurted!

Some more silence ensued.

“Maj G, are you serious about this?”

“About what, sir?”

“About applying for the Staff College, Bacche”, replied the CO.

“Yes sir, I am” replied Maj G.

The CO was a mathematics oriented man. He loved statistics too. Now, what if Maj G failed? After all, Gurkhas were not known to be too hot in studies, his statistical mind informed him. It would not look good in the Annual Inspection Folder. The CO was also a regimental soul. He could never let the regiment or the unit down! The unit uber alles was his motto. And yet, it would be unfair to not let the officer’s application go through, Gurkha or no Gurkha.

More silence ensued as the CO pondered.

The CO switched on his glassiest of smiles (which was so rare since his normal demeanour was like brass monkey weather , being a serious soul) and called in for two cups of coffee and literally mewed in the true “command by persuasion and sweetness” style.

The coffee came and the CO warmed up to the pep talk session.

“Maj G, Gurkhas make fine soldiers. Nowadays, they are also making fine officers. Yet, statistically not many make it to Staff College and higher education. Why press your luck? Aren’t you satisfied and thankful to God that you, amongst so many, are an officer and a damn good officer at that?”

Maj G sat back and blinked his eyelid and gazed back blankly as if in meditation and said nothing, and continued to say nothing, and instead gaze as blank as ever, just to rub in the stereotyped Gurkha image that the British had injected into their successors.

Minutes ticked and more of the blank gaze continued.

More minutes of blank gazing and the CO had enough of this blinkity blank silence and the beatific gaze in total serenity from this Gurkha.

It was enough of tomfoolery for the day for the CO.

He hollered, “OK, so that’s it?”

Maj G replied, “Sir”. The CO could take it anyway – yes or no.

And that ended the interview………

The application was signed.

It proved that Gautama the Buddha was indeed a Nepali. Nirvana could only be achieved through silence and meditation!

But that is not the end of the story.

When the results came, it was only Maj G who had passed the Staff College exam in the Station and everyone else had failed!

So, Looks can be deceptive. Stereotypes are also fallacious. Statistics are like a bikini. What they reveal is suggestive, but what they conceal is vital.

And Maj G had the last laugh!

He, who laughs last, laughs the best

And he is still laughing all the way up the ranks!

[Ray]

Did I post this before?

COLONEL K AND THE PARTRIDGE SHOOT


Those were the days when Maneka Gandhi, the energetic Indian animal activist, was unknown.

Hunting was encouraged in the Army. It honed the art of stalking, taught stealth, imbibed survival instincts, and primed the science of use of ground and jungle craft. These qualities success in battle! A faux pas at a ‘shoot’ meant, at best, a ‘Last Post’ , the three volleys and a two inch paid obituary in the Press. The only negative aspect of shikar was that a Tiger did not comprehend that a General was poor quality meat – old, decaying, and guaranteed to be boneless! A unique process that was associated with promotion, extraordinarily contributed, in a large number of cases, to the vanishing of the bones including the spine!

Major General KS, our Division Commander, was a keen shikari especially since he was a minor North Indian squire. Shikar was a propensity deemed necessary for Squires to exhibit their God gifted macho-ness, even if one was frail and withered, which the General was. However, his devotion at shikar restricted itself to partridge and small game since small game like partridges could only increase the pulse rate but not stop it! In addition, a partridge tasted better than a Tiger.

It happened in May 1982.

We were out for our annual three-month Collective Training camp at Oda Nala near Rewa. Brigadier MML, our Brigade Commander, was supervising the training for war. We were doing magnificently.

Word came officially over the wireless that the Division Commander would arrive in the next two days for a ‘surprise visit’. His mission was to check if the training was as per the directive!

This was a bolt from the blue. It is a universal fact that all bosses are ‘pains’ in the ungodly part of the anatomy. Major General KS was no exception. He was more so since he was an artilleryman – a sect of the army, which excel themselves in being awkward to the point of being obnoxious. Adding to the agony, it was mentioned that Major General KS was to stay with us for three days even though one day was adequate for the inspection!

It was decided unanimously that the General had to be kept ‘on the hop’. What could be better than pandering to his macho fad of partridge shooting?

Paratroopers are a resourceful lot. However, they are a type of folks who are expected to be untamed and chockablock with idiosyncrasies. Fortunately, the Brigade had a Parachute battalion. The Commanding Officer [CO] was Lieutenant Colonel K.

K was tasked by the Brigade Commander to keep the General ‘busy’ for one complete day with a ‘shoot’! Others would have thrown up their hands in despair at this task, but not K. As his unit too would be under inspection he could not spare all officers. Therefore, he wanted assistance from other units. The Brigadier readily agreed to this and since I was also a ‘wild’ category, even though not a Paratrooper, I was more than willingly ‘donated’ by my Commanding Officer.

Without a rehearsal, nothing is done in the Army. Therefore, the rehearsal for the ‘shoot’ was organised. The scenario was that the General would be ‘guided’ to a ‘spot’ ‘abundant with game’ by the ‘expert’ shikari, Colonel K. Thereafter, the ‘action’ would start.

The action went something like this.

With military precision, a whistle would be blown by the Regimental Police Havildar. This would indicate the commencement of the ‘shoot’. It would also indicate that the General was at the correct ‘spot’. My task, along with two paratroopers, from deep inside the woods full of brambles, would be to release four partridge and three rabbits from a basket at that precise sound! The plan was perfect and very military-like.

These animals were to be scurried off in the direction of the ‘spot’ where the General would be obliged to halt by Colonel K, the ‘expert’ shikari, who it was claimed, could ‘smell’ game. The partridges and the rabbits would then ‘spring’ towards the General and his team. The General and his team would then fire their 12 bores and get the birds ‘on the wing’. Then, they would swivel and get the rabbits as they scampered past! A great picture postcard shoot it would be.

That was not all! What if the General missed?

That, too, was catered for.

I was also to carry three partridges and two rabbits. These were to be previously shot with the same 12 bore the General would use. These would be then ‘discovered’ by the bush beating party as they beat through the bush! Efficiency was the second name for the Army after all!

Major G, the second in command of the Parachute Battalion, emphasised repeatedly ad nauseum to us that our ‘action’ was to take place only after we heard the whistle. Anything otherwise, would have been premature or too late. He warned that any error on our part would adversely affect our career and our health! It was an ominous warning since all those who were detailed including me were ambitious and also keen to be in the ‘pinkest of health’.

Then, came the day of the shoot.

We were positioned six hours before the General was to arrive at the ‘spot’.

The spot was miserable. It was swampy. The mosquitoes and insects were making life miserable. The partridges and the rabbit too were uncomfortable and were waking up the dead. Foolish things. They did not know stealth was the watchword for shikar; be it for the hunted or the hunter.

Time ticked. Mosquitoes buzzed and bit. The stink of the swamp burned the nostrils. Yet, the General had not arrived at ‘the spot’. There was no whistle from the Regimental Police Havildar. The time for the arrival was well past! It was agonising. What was up?

There was no sign of the General or his shikar party. This was getting ridiculous. I was in a state of panic, as were my helpers. The mosquitoes were no longer on my mind even though they were having a field day!

Suddenly, in the distance, we saw Major G rushing in, as if pursued by Banco’s ghost! Pushing the bramble, bruised like badly loaded tomatoes, he came panting and in a state of total collapse, chaos and consternation.

‘Release the birds you idiot’, he choked and raved, repeating the same like a deranged and hallucinating lost toad.

‘Release, sir? But, we haven’t heard the whistle’.

‘Don’t be an idiot. I order you to release the %*** birds and other muck….. Immediately…… This instant……… You stupid posterior of a donkey’.

Catch me being a posterior of a donkey! I didn’t like this one bit; but you don’t argue with a deranged Sikh in a forest, talking of posteriors. The consequence could be very dangerous.

And so, I released the ‘muck’.

The partridges took off like George Bush’s mouth. There was no sense of direction. The rabbit released from the stings of the mosquitoes jumped up like Blair and took off into the blue. One rabbit bit the nose of a jawan. He yelped pain crazed. Major G froze……. The yell of the jawan would give the game away! The man had totally violated Army Act Section 63 of maintaining ‘good order and military discipline’ in that he was not to make noise!

However, the yelp was drowned for, at that very instant guns boomed, in all direction. The effect was better than the 1971 war.

Scowling at the jawan, Major G, with total presence of mind, snatched the dead partridges and the rabbit from the cage and followed like the rabbits and into the blue!

We waited as per the orders till the second whistle blew after three quarters of an hour to declare ‘all clear’. We thereafter returned to our respective units.

None knew how the shoot went. Junior officers are not supposed to know these higher aspects of war. I, too, didn’t venture to ask also, because of the fiasco. It would invite trouble. Discretion is the better part of valour and all that.

It was only after a week that I came to know how the shoot went.

I had, per chance, met the Regimental Police Havildar. I queried him as to why he had failed to blow the whistle to indicate that the General had arrived.

The story is sad and typical of all army actions the world over. At that critical moment, the poor man had gone to answer nature call since it was a pressing requirement and he felt that it was more important than a General!

He will never do it again. He his learnt his lesson – he lost his stripes because of this faux pas.

It must never be forgotten – A General’s is most important; even if it means wetting your pants – which anyway you’ll do!

[Officer of Engineers]

Sir!

You've Got To Be Pissing Me! :-)