Alright, let's see, quick rundown of what all I've been horking about with...
I got out of the hospital late at night that Tuesday, after having been stuck in that bed for over 50 or so hours with nothing to do. As part of my checking out, the staff naturally needed to inform my platoon commander that, hey, you have a soldier who has now been deemed healthy enough to walk among the living. Better give him something to do so he doesn't get away with any free time.
After a short exchange, I get handed the phone and am put in contact with my platoon leader. Or, rather, the next-in-command... Who is still something of an idiot.
"Good evening, second lieutenant."
"Private, you have exactly one hour to get back to the barracks, change into uniform, pack for the field maneuver and present outside and ready for duty with full combat loadout"
"Uhh... What? But it's the middle of the night, and I need to be back here tomorrow evening to take the plane for my leave. I'd be out there to sit around uselessly for a few hours before being driven back. What's the point?" (Note: My leave was never officially confirmed. I just got a message on my phone earlier that day informing me that the tickets had been ordered by the company staff)
"Well, you're not allowed to sleep in the barracks tonight. Load up."
So I got my stuff together and hobbled back to base as fast as I could in the middle of the night with a bum knee. I hustled as hustly as a hustler can, and got my "sensible" pack together and all other preparations taken care of (I hadn't showered or shaved for four days, but who really cares about that anyway?) with a few minutes still left on the clock.
I of course had to make all these preparations inside the barracks I apparently wasn't allowed to sleep in. So sitting is fine, sleeping a no-no. The only reason I could think of that could explain that rule was the fact that a number of chaps had gotten bacterial infections with some nasty yellow icky stuff, and were quarantined inside the barracks. Obviously, you want to keep as far away from gunk like that to avoid being infected.
It starts raining. Three minutes past pickup time, still haven't heard anything. I try calling the platoon commander. No answer. Try again. Still no go. Send a text message, asking why exactly it was that I was being picked up again, seeing as my position warranted me both sleeping space and shower facilities that were far away from the infected barracks.
No answer.
Time passes.
I try contacting him again.
More time passes.
FOUR AND A HALF GODDAMNED HOURS LATER, my transport arrives. I've been standing around doing absolutely dick for ages, and my platoon commander has been completely and utterly impossible to contact, despite the fact that he touched his phone long enough to send me a message telling me to get my ass outside because my pickup was there. This was of course sent roughly an hour before it actually did.
So I sit and wait out the hour-long drive up to Skjold, where we'd set up. I make it into camp and get settled a little past two in the morning, and ask around to see what my team is doing.
Well, not that much. Team Charlie was set to bunk down at 0400 hours, which means I had arrived just in time to go to bed. Whoop whoop.
Long story shorter, I spent a whopping 16 hours in the field before being driven back to base. Eight of them were spent sleeping, and two others were spent just slacking about. So that's roughly 6 hours of actual "work", which was just enough time to let the squad leader make a whole new shift overview that included me.
Then I got back to base and slept in the same barracks that I still apparently wasn't allowed to be in. Yay for military planning.
Then I took off into the wild blue/black yonder very early in the morning and fled the land of the northern barbarians for a lovely extended weekend. Extended because it went from Thursday to Sunday, and lovely because I spent most of it with Pumpkin/Sugar/Sweetness/Some other ridiculously mushy name that I still haven't completely decided upon yet.
I got to introduce her to Hatman and Catwoman and send her through the obligatory inquisition at their hands (she passed with top grades, scored better than I did in a couple areas actually...), but we also got a decent amount of time just to ourselves. Not enough, of course, it's never enough... But it was alright. Had a really wonderfully sappy and romantic farewell on our last day together, the kind where you're both trying to pretend it's not affecting you as much as it is, and holding each other so tightly that it's as though you're trying to make it last for all the time you're not going to be able to.
Aaand then I was back here again. My brilliant plan of meeting someone fantastic on the outside world to give me a morale boost and something to look forward to and grind my way through the sludge towards backfired in truly spectacular fashion. I realized that it was even MORE lousy being up here than before... I didn't even know that it was possible for that to happen.
So then we worked our way through a fairly basic and hilariously unplanned military week... Nobody had control over anything, we wound up with hours and hours of "waiting duty", and five more dudes were promoted to Corporal without me being one of them.
And now the big whoopie... One of my biggest. It has now been confirmed beyond a reasonable doubt that next week is indeed the Big Bad Hell Week. And this completely pointless stressbomb that will shave at least fifteen years off your projected lifespan is so incredibly important that I needed to reschedule a doctor's appointment and have lots of strings pulled and matchsticks arranged in order to get me out of the actually useful jobs I had here, not to mention the colleague meeting on Thursday where everyone was supposed to attend.
It is in fact SO damned important that absolutely everybody partakes in getting the shit kicked out of them that the whole 70% of our platoon is going to be there.
Does that seem like an odd way of writing 100%? Well, that's because it is. A very unusual way of writing it. It might have something to do with the fact that the other exercise we have running now requires an entire team to run shifts at the field command they have set up way out away from here, plus a few other essential transport personnel.
So, around 13-15 people are going to be given get-out-of-hell-free cards, because of PURE. DUMB. LUCK. Unlike the floppy hat run where they hand-picked a team of slacktards to be far and away when the alarm bells rang, this squad is out there because they just happened to be next in the line-up. The worst part? Some of the dickbells on that squad actually WANT to be there for Hell Week!
And here I am, stuck with doing a couple favors for my boss, the priest. Just long enough to miss the first part, where we get to shoot big guns with real ammo, but lets me get off just in time to be there for all of the second part, where we don't get to eat, know what time it is, sleep, or take a breather without having an ambush or medical emergency or immediate need for heavy equipment on top of a hill.
The silly git still thinks I don't know what's going on... Well, rest assured that I am by NO means going to let him get away with this with a free conscience! Hell and high water, HALLELUJAH BROTHER! Shit rolls downhill, but the stink goes up. Remember that.
On the plus side, I currently have the room entirely to myself. Sweet business, and it's very nice to have a chance to get some serious relaxation in before I'm tossed out into the thick of it.
I might pop in with a comment or somesuch, but most likely I'm not going to be updating until after this drivel is over with and I've learned what it feels like to wrack my body and mind to such an extent. Wish me luck, I'm sure I could use it...
Until next time, cheers.
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Topic: All I Want For Xmas is an HK416 (Read 74835 times)