How Much Reserves? (Trigger Happy)

When I was seventeen I was called up for the Army reserves. I always fancied being being a soldier. I played 'war' alot as a kid. And I was bloody good at it! Playing one on one I died often because we would just start again straight away. And acting dying was fun. Then! But if there were fifteen of us in the woods I didn't want to die because it meant that you had to sit out the rest of the game untill one side had won. So in those games I tried my best and the enemy walked past within inches before I shot them in the back. I had no consciousness of any wrong doing. I didn't think twice. "Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap. You're dead Walker."
"Where the hell did you come from Archie?" But that was my secret.

Six weeks of basic training. Screaming Sergeant Majors, crawling through mud and upperty corporals. I had the time of my life! I saw thirteen stone Neanderthals crying at the end of exercises. My seven and a half stone seemed to stand me in good stead. Because I shot a perfect score everytime on the shooting range I gained the respect of my fellow squadies and soon became the main man. I began to think I was officer material. Bloody hell, Sandhurst!
On the forth week of basic we went to practice the throwing of 'Stick' granades. Granades designed to stick to a target. This was many years ago of course! The instructions were given by a very bored corporal. We stood in a line on the edge of an old slate quarry. There was a fifty foot drop. We were to throw the granades onto or as close as possible to a mock up tank. We were in full battle dress. Rifles and backpack. I was second in line. First in line was 'Wattsy'. David Watts. The worst geek in the squad. And we had enough geeks! Anyway, he armed the granade and drew it back to throw. It stuck to his backpack. He gave a yank. Nothing. He turned around to face me. I kicked him very hard in the chest and watched him dissappear. I noticed that he had turned very white before he dissappeared from view. He exploded before he hit the ground. Of course I was thinking of myself but my whole sqaud was also in danger. The bored corporal looked at me blankly and then managed to squeak "Good move Archie". And then remembering his position bawled "The right thing to do Archibald". I still wonder about that. But all of a sudden I was not only Squad Leader but a hard man to boot. Not one of our squad agreed to sign on. We all went back to civvy street.
Years later I got called up as a reserve in Northern Ireland. The situation was actually pretty cool by this time but we all knew the history and the risks. The little kids took the piss out of us when we were on patrol and I couldn't really blame them. We were amatures after all. The worst thing that happened there for me was a night in a pro-brit pub where there was never trouble and everybody got on with everybody. Normally! But this night there was a squadie who couldn't have been more than nineteen, but he was a regular so he thought he was the bees knees. And he was trying to pick an argument with an Irish local. He kept calling him a Provo. He was pissed as a newt. The Irish guy was brave and didn't react. The squadie suddenly stood up, drew a pistol and shouted "disrespect the Army you fu..." He didn't make the sentence off. My hand had reached for my knife the moment he started to stand. It was a very good shot. He fell like a sack of potatos.
God made it easy on me.
Two years ago I went on holiday with 'Cooky'. Martin Cook. An army reserve buddy. We had pistols with us. We both thought it would be fun to play war again. I had a 9mm and he had a '38. We were in a forest in Germany. He gave me 30 minutes start. Inches away. I shot him in the back.

I now live somewhere in East Africa. And I meditate quite alot.

Ha di Ha di Ha..!!!!!!!!!!!