When the peer results came out and we found out who passed or failed, we also soon got our posting orders. I was not surprised to discover that I was among those selected to remain in OCS as instructors.
The funny thing was that my PC had asked me if I had any intention of signing on. He seemed to think i was well suited. But since I still had a university degree to attend to after NS, I declined. I figured any career decision could wait till after that. Also, a career in camouflage wasn't my kind of thing. And one had to be ambitious to succeed. I was more a people-oriented person interested in design and the wider world.
I would likely end up in an engineering lab or design studio. At the time, I did have aspirations to being a psychiatrist or architect. None of the local training awards (LTA) offered by the SAF supported these choices.
However, if my answer to my PC then had been a yes, I don't think i would have been retained in OCS as an instructor. I would be sent to a combat unit to begin my acclimatization to actual army life.
Having spent my entire NS life in OCS, I at times wonder how my own mates fared in the active units. I think most report a stronger camaderie. That was certainly the case when Reservist began. They all seemed to know one another very well. From the S1 to the S4; from the company commanders to the platoon commanders and men, they all shared time together during NS and afterwards went into Reservist together.
(A crass but jokey way of greeting back then amongt Reservist men was: "Eh peng yu, jing ku bo toot tiok ler!" (Hokkien, Eh friend, long time no 'poke' you. Often accompanied by a vulgar 'finger through hole' hand signal.)
Ex-school officers/instructors were like orphaned children, posted willy nilly to any Reservist unit after their tenure. My own posting came six years after I RODed! By then I had become very civilian not to mention my army knowledge being rustier than that old derelict WWII iron pier in Marsiling.
Only my uniform remained fitting of times past.
And the craziest thing was: instead of being send to some new unit, I was posted to a very old battalion... One that was about to finish their 13-year cycle. What? A new bird officer sent to command some "lau jiao" soldiers? Great. Suddenly all those Hokkien Peng reservations came flooding back.
Having been in OCS all my NS life, I thus understood little about unit life. If I had known, I would probably have opted to go to one to serve out my NS time rather than be retained in OCS to teach, just so there's actual credential to burnish that two-bar lieutenant rank with. After all, I was trained to be an Infantry platoon commander, not a School-lecturing PC. I could do that even without proper training. I've always been very good at teaching/training, that sort of thing.
Truth be told, we in Demolition Team in OCS were so distracted by our new computer hobby palying with the Apple IIes, Sinclair Spectrums, etc., to be bothered with anything else.
But folks at the time did tell me how great School life was compared to unit life. That I didn't have to face those dreaded Hokkien Pengs (dialect-speaking soldiers) who were rumoured to be gangsters, geng-kings and deserters or all three combined. You know, trouble-makers all round.
A part of me wasn't really too concerned as I've turned around ruffians in school before. The troublemakers would become my friends. Anyway, at the time, I saw my NS as a two-and-a-half year stint rather than a 13-year-plus Reservist cycle. Thinking back now, perhaps I should have given my NS career a little bit more thought. I tell you, that 13-year cycle (now reduced to 10) was pretty long in retrospect.
Also, around sometime in Senior Term, I did harbour joining the Commandos once, with a buddy. But the prospect of keeping fit for a long time didn't quite make sense. I was fit but skinny and so had to do a double think!
As for Hokkien Pengs, aren't they soldiers too? It could be just a dialect/language label. Don't you find them in Fujian province in China also? Or in Taiwan ROC? Haha.
But seriously, during my NS time, there were already prevailing winds of change. I was not alone in seeing the Army get better. (See 'A Time of Changes' story)
After a tiring (and confrontational) three-month conversion course at Gillman Camp, I "balik kampung" back to OCS to begin my NS career as an instructor. But now my vocation had an added 'Pioneer' status to it. Formerly, my title was Infantry Pioneer Officer or IPO, skilled in infantry as well as in Combat Engineering. Someone who could be very useful in the support company of a battalion (taking care of obstacles and minefields) and as a Tiger Force commander (taking care of ambush duties or a weapons detail).
With this new IPO vocation, I was qualified to teach demolition and handle explosives in OCS. By the time the Infantry Pioneer Conversion Course was over, I had only slightly over 12 months left on my NS term. I wondered how much of an impact I could still make as an instructor in OCS. (Apparently a lot, judging from the positive comments we received from the graduating cadets!)
Sadly, that 12 months turned out to be quite eventful in OCS. Some cadets were blown up to bits in a platoon-ran exercise. One cadet went missing for days and eventually found drowned in mysterious circumstances. My own Demo Team wasn't responsible for any of those incidents but we helped in the subsequent search and rescue and BOI. We also all felt very sad. Young men in their prime shouldn't be cut down by accidents in such a way. Changes to training methods were then enforced, changes that we were only too glad to initiate and support it all the way.
However, other than these incidents, life in OCS was rather predictable.
Besides Demolition, my men also had to teach Weapons as well, which was rather sweet. It meant being involved in live firings where we could fire weapons to our heart's content with whatever ammunition that was left. Plus, there was no need for us to clean any weapons afterwards like we did during cadet time. How sweet was that? The same with the extra C4 explosive sticks that we could form into a ball and ignite with a fuse and then throw like in some Loony Tunes cartoon.
Loud times, fun times.
====
My Demo team setup was simple: Two officers and two or three assisting NCOs. Two of my NCOs were weapon specialists and very good with the GPMG (machine gun) and 84-mm recoiless rifle. They did not need any supervision at all.
Sgt Lee (the GPMG expert) loved fishing and would often cajole us to join him at Pulau Aur (off the Malaysian Johor east coast). Or Pulau Tinggi for some sport of spear-fishing.
Staff Sgt Subra (the 84-mm RR gun expert) was an unhurried fellow who loved to run. Although he smoked, he could pretty much outrun any of us younger chaps. I had many pleasant evenings with him running from our office at Golf cadet company to the Pump House outside ASFTI, just before the main hilly training areas.
Sgt Charles (an all-rounder) was an easy-going fella and joker. He was young and loved a good chat and joke. But he was a very good instructor with all the right values. Engaging, fun, serious when it mattered. And he loved to tell a tale. He would later join the first SAF unit involved in flying drones.
I had a colleague who was involved in this unit as well. In its early days, the drones were nothing but propeller-driven, large-scale models of remote-controlled planes. Old school ones made of wood.
Sgt Charles told me years later that the wooden propellers of these R/C planes would break very easily upon landing as the planes would generally tip forward. Made of polished tree wood and imported from overseas, these broken propellers were expensive to replace. Every landing hence became very stressful and harrowing for the operator! Just the thought of having to sign that 1206 sent up a cold sweat, said Sgt Charles.
You could also lose a plane by flying it out of range. That's like $1 million a pop! I recall my colleague having to travel to Israel to train and learn how to manouvre these so-called 'drones'. Compared to today's sleek and autonomous flying machines, those propeller R/C models were positively old-fashioned, kind of like comparing WWI bi-planes with jets. So ancient they looked in comparison!
Ah, my colleague was also acting like some Pathfinder ranger each time he was out recce-ing with those spy R/C planes at some forward line. One could imagine him packing extra propellers in his fullpack and the batteries required to fuel each flight!
====
As an instructor in OCS, SAFTI was our home. Our bunk house was the E-block - a high-storey disused block of bunk rooms and toilets that was once an active barrack. It was not a place for the faint of heart nor those afraid of deserted and broken up places. So empty (and dilapidated) it looked.
Back then, SATFI was pretty much what it was when it was first built. Only OCS was the new institution with barracks lining both sides of a newly paved avenue called Foxhound Ave. It led to the back of the camp where a sewerage plant stood. I don't remember the plant smelling much. Much of the waste was already treated.
On one side of the Avenue were the cadet companies of Golf, Alpha, Bravo and Charlie. Behind them butted a training hill covered with CB-leaf trees (aka fig trees). Facing these cadet companies on the opposite side of the Avenue were the companion Delta, Echo and Foxtrot. A field ran behind these buildings, where cadets practised laying out large demolition circuits to simulate aerial bombardment during mock Infantry exercises. As OCS was at the end of the main road leading into SAFTI camp, each time we booked in or out, it required a long walk. The guys at SAFINCOS did not have this problem; their institute was just next to the camp's main gate.
OCS intakes at the time came in this combination: Alpha-Charlie (poly batch), Bravo-Echo (A-levels batch), Delta-Foxtrot (another A-levels batch).
On the left of the SAFTI main gate coming in was the motor pool and Infantry HQ. The HQ looked the proper and landscaped miltary building with the requisite twin flag poles at the front. One pole for the nation's flag, the other for the Armed Forces. The HQ building wasn't very high, maybe six stories.
After this HQ were a couple of low olive green buildings that housed the NCO Mess. Next to this, a rugby field where we cadets were taught to tough men. This field later incorporated a repelling tower at its front edge. There was also a basketball court where the PTIs taught us their physical training, a place we cadets dreaded mostly for its arduous log-beam and medicine ball exercises. After this sweaty spot, the Golf cadet company barack and then the rest of the OCS buildings. The OCS HQ was opposite the cookhouse and next to the lecture theatres.
On the right side of SAFTI camp entrance was SAFINCOS, a place where non-commissioned officers were trained. After this, a small field known to us as the SIW Field. SIW stood for School of Infantry Weapons. I remember marching past SIW on my way to the SAFINCOS parade square for my OCS graduation.
After the SIW field were the squash and tennis courts. OCS and SAFINCOS staff must remember these courts well. It was a common pastime to play squash or tennis in the evenings at SAFTI from around 4.30pm onwards.
Beyond these sporting facilities were the OCS HQ and lecture theatres. Opposite the OCS HQ was the cookhouse where I (as the School Duty Officer) had a number of special meals prepared for me by the cooks there. It was a sort of tradition the cooks perpetuated for the on-duty folks, no doubt started by some kind Encik in charge. A special dish often served up was xinzhou fried rice - a real treat considering the usual overcooked fare during lunch and dinner. Because OCS training often ended late, this specially prepared midnight snack was truly heartwarming... Not to mention tummy-rubbing comforting!
At night, an OCS lecture theatre became a movie theatre of sorts. One of my Demo team officers (William) was a frequent user. (I think it was he who started rigging the place up in the first place.)
He and his kakis would rent episodes of his favourite HK TVB series, Legend of the Condor Heroes (Shen Tiao Xia Nu), and watch them there. Most times, his batch-mate instructors would join him and marvel at that pretty and petite lead actress Babara Yung. They must have been heartbroken when she committed suicide at the tender age of 26 some years later. What a pity for a popular actress! Although I didn't watch too many TV serials at the time, I must admit she brought something definitive to the role of that Xiao Long Nu, or Little Dragon Girl.
Ah, the squash and tennis courts. They sure bring back a lot of fond memories. If you have served in SAFTI at the time, you would have visited the squash courts as a player if not spectator. Squash was very popular back then and folks would look out for competitive matches between the good players. I remember Capt Ang, head of the Demo and Weapon teams being very good.
At the time, Jahangir Khan was the undisputed king of squash. (This is no exaggeration. He was unbeaten in 555 matches stretching over 5 years and 8 months! He was finally beaten by Ross Norman but strung up another unbeaten run for another nine months! Jahangir was so good he won the SPA Championship without losing a single point! What a hero!)
Later on he and Jansher Khan dominated the world matches. For me, I picked up interest in the sport from a sister. We used to share a racquet till I bought a special one made of bamboo ply. It was both light and strong. It now reminds me of the bamboo bicycles folks are trying to build!
Unfortunately my bamboo racquet cracked years later during play. Among the officers, I wasn't a bad player. I did manage to beat a Grade E player easily. But because badminton was more my game, I found the squash court rather small and stiffling. There was also less leaping about and smashing.
====
My partner in crime at the Demo team in OCS was this guy called Fong. We were both easy-going fellas but serious in our work. We got on well with our NCOs as well as the Mentors from the other companies. Fong wasn't the admin sort and so I became the de facto head. There wasn't really much to do besides drawing up training schedules and lesson assignments and the writing up of one or two training handbooks. There was hardly any personnel issue to attend to even.
On low-key days, we would leave our Demo team office at about 4.30pm and go for a run. At times we played squash or tennis.
One time, with the introduction of the keyboard computers to our shores (eg. the Apple IIes, Sinclair Spectrums, Commodore Amigas, etc), we (the officers) forgot about squash and spent our free hours learning to program and play games. Fong even signed up for a course in Cobol (a business oriented programming language). I ended up buying an Apple IIe clone from one from the mentors whose family ran an electronics parts shop. Thus began my life-long acquaintance with computer and electronics.
(Here's the story: An Apple in OCS)
At Demo Team, our so-called "area of ops" consisted of 1) the training sheds behind the barracks; 2) the Demo Live Firing Range; and 3) the ranges for hand grenade throwing. The last one was for the lady Golf Company cadets whose OCS training included Basic Military Training or BMT.
None of us liked being on duty during handgrenade training even if it meant being with the fairer sex. A live grenade not going off is bad news. And the sandy slope of the live firing range did not help matters when we had to go down there to clear a dud (what we professionally refer to as a 'blind').
A blind is a bomb that does not go off, which means it could go off anytime afterwards!
A handgrenade is a simple device and hence the more dangerous. It's firing pin could well be just stuck because of poor manufacture, bad storage or simply rust from dampness, etc.
Even trying to put a block of explosive next to it can be unnerving - so sensitive those buggers can be. Imagine doing that on a steep, slippery, sandy slope!
But we at Demo Team always made sure we lived to blow things up another day, haha. ;-D
Next story: Leadership
Previous story: About Hokkien Peng
When I was told I would be joining a bunch of foodies to sample Hokkien food, my mind immediately harked back to my very first time.
It was during my 6th or 7th Reservist in-camp training.
I was with an Infantry Battalion then and leading a platoon of 'Hokkien peng' (i.e. dialect-speaking soldiers). We had pitched tents on a part of Pulau Tekong, the aim being to protect an important 'make-believe' installation there.
Protection of an installation had suddenly become important. It was never the Army's job. I think in time of unrest or war, the Police were expected to perform that task. But really, the Men in Blue would be better off maintaining law and order than perform what was basically "guard duty".
The 'make-believe' installation we had to 'protect' was an actual installation on Tekong. No one knew what the place was for except that it was military in nature. It was camouflaged and had all manners of antenna sticking out - even tall guylines like those for receiving BBC radio signals. Was it a listening station? Or simply an abandoned repeater station for commercial radio? No one knew.
In any case, my platoon was just a Support platoon within the battalion and our task was to protect the Bn HQ making sure that our commander (CO) and his crew were safe whilst the rest went about their duties. As such, we were all camped in an encirclement about the HQ on all sides of a hill.
This kind of exercise was considered "low-key", meaning not much running around and sweating involved. No one was expected to even fire any blanks.
But we did have to keep our eyes open should the trainers decide to 'invade' the installation and put us 'protectors' to shame.
What we didn't expect was the invasion by a big family of wild boars instead, which had become a nuisance population on the island.
Their leader was a very large she-boar, almost three feet high at the shoulder. She came trotting into our encampment without a care, nose ground-sniffing looking for food. I think because of the many soldiers previously camping around the area, these animals had gotten accustomed to food that was waste left behind. They had, over time, become scavengers.
To my surprise, my Hokkien-peng men were terrified. A bunch of them came running up to me asking what they should do.
The scene was funny. There they were, grown men with tattoos on their bodies, afraid of a pig?
In reply to my men, I jokingly asked if any of them was a butcher. We could capture the she-boar and have roasted meats that very night. Or a young one for a sucking pig. But my men were too stunned for humour and actually answered me no. I looked at them and smiled; inside, I was laughing very hard.
With wild animals, my maxim was simple: If you don't disturb me, I won't disturb you.
As the she-boar was just nosing about minding her own business, I told the men to let them be. Just shoo them away, I said.
It worked. The wild boars, finding no food, went on their way. The she-boar gave me a last look as if to say "An juak bo ming kia jiak eh?" ('How come got nothing to eat one?' - perhaps a Singlish pig?)
My men, feeling sheepish for having panicked like little girls, went back to their tents. I think I gained new respect from them that evening. Wah, this ah 'sare' really got "ji" (guts), was what was written all over their faces.
Some officers don't like managing Hokien-peng and rather have a desk job appointment such as TCO (training coordinating officer) or an 'S' staff position. But as Infantry Officers, there was little choice. Where else were you going to get the soldiers to fill the ranks to fight a battle?
When it came to managing Hokkien-peng, the less was better. Utter a few instructions and then leave them be. Somehow, whatever needs to be done will get done. And afterwards, you will find them smoking with their shirts and long sleeves unbuttoned - "Hokkien-peng style".
Live and let live, that's my motto. Don't nitpick, was what I learned.
After the wild boars left, my men resumed their activities.
As mentioned, we were camped on the slopes of a small hill, which was nice. It's always better to lie on a slope than flat ground. But not when it rained.
In any case, like all such 'camp-out' operations, we took turns to keep watch and conduct admin. Came meal times, we all cooked.
Combat rations by then had improved by leaps and bounds. Instead of hard tack biscuits, we were given Pasta Bolognaise. Instead of shortbread, it was Lor Mai Gai (glutinous rice with chicken). Dessert was "orh bi juk" or black glutinous rice.
Most of the rations came in neat aluminium soft packs that we could simply heat up with boiling water. Easy peasy, don't you think?
At dinner time, usually my runner would heat up something for me. It's not his job but a good runner would know how to take care of his commander. (Hey, I oftentimes help him carry his heavy signal-set to give him a break, probably the only officer to do so. That damn giant walkie-talkie of a backpack was so heavy and hard that it could cause skin blisters and bruises after some distance; its so-called "carrying harness" making the situation worse.)
But at this particular dinner time, one of my Hokkien-peng soldiers came up bearing a mess tin of something. There was steam arising from it and whatever that was inside looked as if it got herbs. As it turned out, it was Emperor Chicken.
I was astonished. What? Huh? Where did THAT come from?
A chubby fella with unbuttoned shirt and sleeves waved from a distance. "Ah sare, that's Ah Heng's treat," said my runner, pointing to the fella with the rotund belly. I nodded and Ah Heng replied in kind.
Curious, I decided to see what was happening.
Down where Ah Heng was, a group of his buddies had gathered, and they were having a feast. On the menu, besides the Emperor Chicken (which came in a tin drum) were porridge, black bean mackerel, scrabbled egg, stewed peanuts, etc. It looked a proper 'Teochew-moi' meal.
"Ah sare (that's how they address the officers; a slang of the word 'sir'), army eh rations buay sai jiak," excused Ah Heng. (Translation: 'Army rations cannot be eaten.')
I said, Huh, are they spoilt?
"Bo lah, angmoh chan bo hoh jiak!" (T: 'Western meals not nice to eat.')
I said, Okkaay....curious why that was so. This was after all not their first in-camp.
Afterwards, we spoke more and discovered that these men were celebrating what could be for them their last camp-out together.
I had actually brought something for them - cans of pineapple-in-rambutan fruits stoked in syrup. I had learnt from my very first in-camp that fruits were often in short supply and folks appreciated even canned ones. I took the cans out and asked Ah Heng to pass them out. There were cheers all round.
"Enjoy," I said, raising a pineapple can in mock salute. And then, "Rations mai jiak hor terng Sergeant. Mai ran gak." (T: 'Return unused rations to the sergeant. Don't throw them away.')
As my runner and I sat down outside our tent for our meal, we started talking about food. In particular, Hokkien food.
"In a way, this is my first Hokkien meal," I said, more so jokingly.
Ah Tan, my runner, a rather small-sized and skinny chap, laughed nervously. We had been reservist together six years and he was still like that. I had long given up on making him feel at ease in front of me. I guess for some, the 'Officer and Other Ranks breach' was rather impossible to bridge. A good thing perhaps, to keep some distance for the sake of Command & Control. Role playing, I realised, is very important for Reservist. It helps the soldiers to settle in, do their jobs, and then "fuck off" from camp. It usually takes 3-4 in-camps for most Hokkien-peng to realise this and not fight the system. They will lose as the government has the law on their side. And in-camp training (ICT) is not about buggeration but catching up with buddies and to get away from a nagging significant other.
In any case, whenever food was mentioned, Ah Tan would light up. It was his pet subject as well.
What's Hokkien Food like? I asked.
Ah Tan said they were oily and high in salt.
Really?
No. That's how my mom cooks it. She's a lousy cook, he confessed.
"It was only until I got married that I really knew what Hokkien food was all about," said Ah Tan, his eyes turning distant as if imagining a time when a soft body was just a cuddle away. His wife was also Hokkien.
"She learned to cook from her mom. Then I realised I had been growing up on crap for a long time." Ah Tan ringed a finger around his skinny wrists for emphasis. I laughed.
"So what is it like, real Hokkien food?"
"It's more understated and fresh," said Ah Tan, again looking dreamy. Perhaps this time imagining great eats in front of him.
'Understated'? Wah, big word. Hokkien-peng, they never cease to surprise, is what I was thinking. I had a Hokkien-peng once who was a GM of a company. Every time during Reservist, he would act like a 'blur fuck' - like someone who did not know what was going on. They didn't know that we officers would go through our personnel files days before in-camp. We would normally book-in earlier than them to make preparations and attend briefings.
Some Reservist guys would act blur just so to skive from work detail or even being a good soldier. It was something I found amusing and hard to reconcile with: it was like meeting Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
"Oh, I didn't know that," I said, returning my thoughts to Hokkien food. "I thought only the Teochew was like that. With their food, I mean."
"Yes, I was confused also," said Ah Tan, who was now poking the ground in front of him with a twig, deep in thought. "I mean the fish seemed the same, the hotpot seemed the same. But somethings are different."
And then he suddenly straightened up. "Ah, my wife says that 'Buddha Jump Over The Wall' is also Hokkien!"
Oh, I replied, and said I had it once in a Cantonese restaurant.
That nugget of information confused us both and we returned to poking the ground in front of us hoping a cookery fairy would rise up to enlighten us. Nothing of that sort happened. Back then, there was no 3G, so no Google to confirm our culinary suspicions.
"So, what's your wife's cooking like?" I said, hoping clues would slip from Ah Tan's pampered tongue.
"Oh, she likes to braise a lot. Mushrooms with roast pork, bean curd skin, that sort of thing."
Ah Tan continued: "I like her soups. They usually got yong tau hoo and that fishball with meat. She also makes her own ngoh hiang, which is light and nice. Inside also got fish."
"And there's one dish that she would always cook on Chinese New Year's Eve. That 'ang joh kway'."
Ang joh kway?
On hearing that (chicken in red glutinous rice wine), I suddenly remembered my mom learning to make that very same dish from a Hokkien neighbour in Geylang - the place I grew up in as a kid. My mom's version would be less oily and thick...how we kids liked it. It was always cooked like that ever since!
I had always looked forward to my mom's ang joh kway or 'hung chao gai' in Cantonese, savouring the red wine each time. Eaten with that other dish, Bittergourd with Scrambled Egg in Black Bean Sauce and rice, it was absolutely delicious! Man, the two dishes go together like Donny and Marie, Sonny and Cher, Lady Gaga and her meat dress.
To me, Hokkien Food up till then was Hokkien Mee (the black one with pork lard) and that ubiquitous Claypot Noodle with the yellow noodles, mussel, snow peas, yam and prawns and raw egg on top. The heat of the dish would usually cook the raw egg.
I seldom seem to encounter this claypot dish anymore. Or even if I did, the ingredients and taste would fall really short.
Story continues with About Hokkien Food 2
Next NS story: An Instructor's Life
Previous NS story: Trench Fighting
One of the more strenuous combat skills we learned during NS time did not involve long distances. Instead, it was all centred atop a small, bald hill.
That hill in question was FOFO hill - a less than polite acronym standing for Fighting On a Fortified Objective (and not that one asking someone to f*** off twice). The fortified objective in question was a trench system linking various utility posts (small cabin dugouts) and protected by some neutral but very nasty razor-sharp wire concertina fences.
We learned pretty quickly that fighting in a trench was indeed physically very tough. One had to stoop to avoid the head be exposed and be blasted away by an enemy bullet! Worse still is for that head to invite a hand grenade over!
I think our FOFO training took up more than two weeks. You can imagine the massive thigh muscles we eventually built up walking so much like ducks for that extended period of time.
We didn't like the training but we also didn't mind the thunder-thighs we got to show off to our girlfriends and sisters at the end of it. "See, didn't we tell you that army training was tough?" we would boast. For me, being a competitive badminton player, I was glad to resemble Liem Swee King for once. He was the original Mr Thunder Thighs in professional badminton, able to leap very high to effect a jump smash. Or change a ceiling light (haha).
Now, FOFO is basically suicide if you are the assaulting force. Assaulting any fortified objective always is: the enemy is entrenched in a superior position to yours. In real war, my advice is best to write that last letter to a loved one before any FOFO action starts.
Remember Hamburger Hill in Vietnam? That 1968 uphill assault by American and South Vietnamese troops incurred a massive 70% casualty rate! After ten assaults, 100 Americans were killed with 400 wounded. And that's just over a 10-day period.
Edward Kennedy called that battle "the most irresponsible military operation in history" and held then-President Nixon culpable for the deaths.
Certainly, we were taught not to assault a FOFO without air or mortar support. Or even proper recce. You really need to know where the deadly weapons (eg. machine guns) are in order not to be mowed down before you could even yell "Kaninabeh!".
During our time, our platoons were equipped with 60mm mortars. Though these buggers were tough to lug about, they were pretty effective as short-range weapons.
Well, I hope the powers that be today are more savvy in assaulting a FOFO. We should first blast that thing to kingdom come with artillery before sending the troops in to at least even up the odds!
During our training, I don't remember being taught how to grade an FOFO objective, you know, like how well it is protected, fortified, etc., i.e. do a proper 'pro vs con' evaluation. I remember being taught a battle being a numbers game. Was it 3-to-1 for any fortified objective? If history is any guide, I think a 100-to-1 ratio is the more likely the successful do. This is especially so when many of our cities are in built-up areas with many high-rise buildings and complexes. It's going to make any future war costly in terms of human casualty not to mention property loss. Our governments should really be serious about encouraging folks to have more kids to fill up those National Service ranks!
You know, I'll be damned if I am asked to send someone's son up a FOFO to be told later that the damn place is no longer strategic. This was what happened at Hamburger Hill. That place was later quickly abandoned to be occupied by enemy forces once again. It made the earlier battle seemed pointless and the losses even more tragic than it already is.
=====
How does one fight on a FOFO that has a trench system?
Well, it does take a lot of coordination to prevent the whole exercise from descending into chaos or confusion.
For that period of engagement, we were basically fighting like rats in a maze, but with a key difference: we rats could get out of the maze anytime by climbing out of the trench or enter from somewhere else. That itself cut both ways because your enemy can do the same too. So, a FOFO assault could literally become a cat-and-mouse game!
And the battle gets worse when the area is blanketed by smoke. No one can tell who is friend or foe.
To combat that we consipred to communicate in codes and secret calls.
"Orange! Orange!" was the codeword for an enemy grenade landing nearby. "Apple! Apple!" for a friendly one about to be thrown.
Haha, it became more like a salad war after a while with all those fruit names! Or a Sunday outing at the local wet market.
And like all diet wars, it's darn confusing.
The best you can hope for is to move fast, kill-and-clear as efficiently as possible and get the hell out of there.
Communication is key in such situations. It is not an operation for reticent folks. You have better shout to make your presence felt or to get some action done!
One assault method is to do it sector by sector, wave by wave.
In a training exercise, nobody dies of course. We were all heroes at the end of a FOFO exercise, which is hardly realistic. In actual battle, dead bodies would block up the trench and you would have to throw them out. People would be shot at close range; guts and body parts would be splattered all over. More people would be shot in the head than anytime during combat. Blinded also from stone splinters coming off the trench top edge.
No wonder trench fighting during WWI became so traumatic for many. Seeing your best buddy die is one thing. Seeing his body cut up like being put through a meat grinder is another. And being stuck with a dead body days on end.
This is one reason why I think giving each soldier a bullet-proof shield is such a wondrous thing. It would be especially so out in the field and in a trench! You can also peek out from behind a shield and not worry about getting your eyes shot out or hurt by splintering rock and sand.
The only casualties we had during FOFO training were some cadets breathing in too much hand grenade smoke. It was all very acrid, I tell you; and it burns the throat. And we all had to undergo a Chamber Smoke Acclimatization exercise on that FOFO hill, with each section taking turns to enter and stay in a smoke-filled command post. Wearing a gas mask was of little comfort in such a small room. The thick smoke that engulfed would sneak in and make everyone gag.
An alternative to the gas mask is to use a damp cloth or camouflage scarf. Also have plenty of water on standby to wash out those painful eyes stung by smoke. More importantly, come out with guns blazing, not as a wimpy, teary soldier. For us, it was really one of those "kenna sai" moments during our NS life.
=====
FOFO is about winning by small margins; it is a patient war. But really? In this modern age of technological warfare of drones and sky cameras? What does a FOFO even mean in this context? Do you still want to sit atop a hill to wait for an assault? Get rained on by arty bombs, smart bombs and what not? (which was what happened at the battle of Dien Bien Phu between the Vietnamese and French).
One of the scariest thing in battle has to be being bombarded by cluster bombs or some incendiary device. Being a sitting duck is no fun.
I don't think the assaulting force feels any better.
Can you imagine a trench post being guarded by a machine gun totting, crab-like robot that could scamper away and come back to haunt you? Or trenches that are booby-trapped?
Maybe I am getting ahead of my time but FOFO will always be the same I feel. Lots of hard fighting, close-quarter fighting (hand to hand combat and bayoneting) that would result in high casualties on both sides.
And do even electronic jamming devices come into play?
I think the simplest thing is to just drop wasp nests into the trenches and let nature run its course. Oh man, I sometimes hate to be fighting me, haha. War does bring out the best and worst in some people!
Next story: About Hokkien Peng
Precious story: OCS Stress
People have asked me if OCS is tough, stressful.... I can only tell them of my own experience. You see, each generation go through different aspects of the SAF (it's always evolving in both approach and practice; recruits also differ much in background and generational gap over the years) and mine was rather unusual in retrospect. I had a platoon commander and platoon sergeant who ran things rather differently.
But in general I would say OCS training is tough. Tough on limbs, tough on sleep, tough on schedule. There were just too many things to learn and later, to practice over. There's also the physical aspect: officers are expected to be fitter than their men, whom they eventually are expected to command. I am, of course, referring to the infantry officer and his foot soldiers.
With so much happening within that nine months of OCS training, things sure got pretty interesting and challenging. Fortunately for us, our PC and PS did not add more stress to our packed coursework with their unreasonable demands, you know, demands such as late-night turnouts and other such "buggerations" (popular army term for 'inconveniences'). For many in OCS then, that was a way of life especially so during the early part of Senior Term. Being turned out at 3am in the morning in full battle order (FBO) and be taken out for a run up Penkang Hill or to the Water Pump Station (places that were just outside the Pasir Laba SAFTI camp) was rather frequent (I think one platoon in Charlie Company - ran by a PC Martin after my batch - got it the worse).
My platoon mates and I could count ourselves lucky to be spared that mostly. The end result was that we did not get laid-up unnecessarily and hence got more sleep. Our PC also kept his word to let us manage ourselves as long as we did not make him lose face. It was that simple. Rather :cina" you might say, but wholly effective! ("Cina" = old fashioned Chinese)
As a result we remained very self-motivated and never made him "malu". And the beauty of it all was that we did eventually outperform the other two so-called superior White Horse platoons in our cadet company - sweeping up all the OCS graduation prizes on offer, even the coveted Sword of Honour. (Note: "White Horse" to mean the princeling sons of ministers and other VVIPs in the government).
I think no cadet during our time wanted special VIP treatment (most were self-conscious about it anyways). But try telling that to his platoon commander. Do these officers want their careers to be "hentak-kakied" (Malay, for marking spot) if something happened to their special charges? I think not. Not even in fair-thinking Singapore.
In my own cadet company, there was a platoon of government scholars. And over at same-batch Foxtrot Company (down the road) was Philip, the son of thorn-in-the-PAP-backside opposition politician JB Jeyaratnam. A buddy told me that Phil was a nice guy and stayed under the radar most of the time the nine months he was there. It helped that he looked like a harmless teddy bear in real life.
During my time, officer cadet training was still under the Tactics Team instructor system. We graduated and became OCS' first Mentors. The Mentor instructor system certainly changed the dynamics of training in OCS. But was it for the better?
Maybe.
My fellow would-be instructors and I discussed this at length during our OCS instructor preparatory course (IPC), which started in January right after our POP in December. The Mentor system was, after all, a major change to SAF pedagogy and life in OCS.
Unfortunately, I had to leave the IPC midway to join a conversion course at Gillman Camp in order to be able to teach Demolition later in OCS. For three months after, a buddy and I were actually taught a compressed Combat Engineering course. At the end of it all, we did not get to wear the blue beret of the CE corp but retained our own green infantry ones. I was relieved; I still wanted to be an infantry officer despite learning all those additional vocational skills (which I felt was a bonus, especially the in-depth training in handling booby traps, operating those Caterpillar earthmovers and various other plants such as backhoes and bulldozers, and also picking up skills in bridge-building (a fave was the old wooden ones!)
Maybe because our generation was better read or brought up differently, I just knew the new Mentors would do a better job than those TT instructors who were more like barkers than teachers - out to give back 20% more lousy treatment they themselves had gotten during their own cadet time.
But fitness aside, the pressure one felt as a cadet in OCS came primarily from three main sources: 1) Appointment Time; 2) Major Exercises; 3) Topography, or Topo.
1) Appointment Time
- A chance for a cadet to shine
We cadets all took turns with on some kind of Admin or Field appointment. Admin appointments had to do with those that ran barrack life. The ranks given were similar to those from the field, namely OC, CSM, PC, PS, SC and Armskoteman.
Field appointments on the other hand were to test combat leadership or deployment skills under battleground conditions. Field appointments were mostly at PC, PS and SC levels. Come company-level exercise time, our cadet company career PCs (like our own Platoon 10 PC Capt Ang) would rotate to take on the OC role. The rest of us cadet PC appointment holders would then role-play as his exercise platoon commanders as per "estab" (term for army hierarchy).
Needless to say everybody wanted to do well with either appointment types.... more so during field exercises. After all, we were in OCS to be trained as field unit platoon commanders rather than the admin ones. But graduating cadets who were deemed good in organisation were often kept back as instructors and then appointed as barrack TCOs or training coordinating officers. My own platoon mate Danny Lee was one such case.
TCOs were assigned to a cadet company to help coordinate training matters as well as act as the company's OC PA. He's often the "go to" guy to get things done: stores, equipment, training locations, etc. In many ways, he was more "2-IC" than the actual 2-IC of a cadet company which, officially, was held by one of the company's three career PCs.
2) Major Exercises
- These test field leadership and deployment skills
My own field-test was rather straightforward. I led my cadet platoon on a patrol that got waylaid along the way. An enemy section shot at us from a hilltop. I had to react and neutralise that threat. So, as per normal, I sent a section of men to do a flanking movement to set up a fire support base. The rest then carefully edged up frontal to engage the enemy. As the enemy force was small, the firefight would soon be over. Too quick, I was thinking at the time. So did my PC, Capt Ang. And he also wondered why I was taking it all so easy. He gave me that "Can-you-be-more-serious?" look.
My problem had always been that these tests were mostly simulations. And given that a training area was often so overused, it became hard indeed to pretend to be truly alarmed and innovative when executing a maneuver. You see a familiar spot and you almost always expect something to happen. (Another way to judge was how much time had passed into the exercise) Anyway, these test scenarios were not very sophisticated to begin with. Flank, provide suppression fire, frontal forces advance, that's it. It was child's play mostly.
Also, the grounds for such tests would always be in a rubber plantation with a well-worn dirt track or something of that sort. That was how it always seemed to me after the umpteenth times we had to crisscross the same bloody patch of pretend real estate.
Local army training without being in a rubber plantation was like swim-training without a pool. It had always been that way, and probably still is.
Because of my rather casual approach to the first field exercise, I was given a second tougher one. It couldn't get any worse than leading a night assault crossing both land and sea. It ended with a FIBUA attack inland that had nothing to do with pretty damsels in distress. That's how we psyched ourselves after making the initial landing in knee-deep mud (who planned the damn thing for low-tide?!). Yeah, not much fun leading an attack with your feet leaden with some much muck it was like having midgets clinging on to them. Midgets that smelt of sea mud and kampung latrines even.
Actually the hard part was the sea topo under partial moonlight. But after I landed the platoon at the right spot, I relaxed and enjoyed the next bit: the attack. Which brings me to the next point.
3) Topo
- Learning to use map and compass
Topo, short for topography, was one exercise we cadets often dreaded. A chief requirement of an officer has always been the ability to lead his men accurately from Point A to Point B. If you cannot even do that, then it is better to lead a typewriter (or photocopier) in an office.
Often, a topo would start from an assembly area to the forward rendezvous or RV point. Then onwards to the forward form-up area or FUP.
In our day, there was no GPS equipment as standard SOP. We were "old school" and managed with just a map and compass. These days, with GPS so prevalent, I wonder if cadets would suffer from MOD or map orientation disorder. I think the compass is the one thing that will outlive us all - even iPhone version 1001!
You know, I would really hate it if I became too dependent on GPS. And it is only good if there's no cloud cover. These days we get over that problem by triangulating with telco towers. I don't think army issued GPS direction-finders have a SIM card in them.
One of our very first OCS topo exercise involved discovering our own "natural drift tendency" or NDT. Did you know that we don't all walk in a straight line when our eyes are closed? We tend to drift left or right, or in circles (as demonstrated hilariously in one episode of Myth Busters on Youtube).
By knowing your NDT you can compensate when travelling through real terrain from point A to point B. (Notice how we sometimes take shortcuts with a left or right preference? If we go clockwise, we would always choose that direction even on the return path. That's directional bias for you, and that is why most people get lost in the woods.)
So NDT can seriously impair your direction going anywhere or cause you to miscount your steps. If you add steep inclines or slopes to the equation, then your bias would become even more amplified.
Most topo sessions in the army happen at night. The reason is to use the cover of darkness to conceal movement. As such, our topo sessions/exercises almost always ended around the wee hours of the morning. By the time debriefing was over, it would be near 8 o'clock and after a shower and some hurried breakfast, it would be lesson time again at 9 or 10 am! That is why OCS can be tough: not getting enough sleep!
Topo sessions for us had many memorable moments. We laughed, joked, and worried about getting lost or bumping into instructors determined to catch us for not being discreet. Or find fault with us for using unauthorized routes and shortcuts such as the highway in Taiwan, which was very often emphasized as a major "no go" zone).
On my own, I could move pretty fast and find my way without any problem. But with a platoon of men, the task then become slower. I had to adjust my own natural cadence to suit my men. For me, that was a huge concession. It's akin to asking me to think or speak slower.
My way of dealing with that was to set landmarks and milestones. Fortunately, I'd always gotten both my men and mission on target. Fellow cadets would even ask me to topo when I played the secondary role of a section commander. Anyway, the topo task would usually fall on the lead-section head of the platoon. The cadet PC would just check his map from time to time to make sure all was going well.
(Your own platoon PC would also check his map. And if he says to you in a not so friendly tone "Are you sure in you are on the right track?" it is better to double check!)
Topo skill was thus a "You scratch my back I scratch yours" kind of goodwill barter between cadets during Appointment Time.
Oh yes, topo had to be the one OCS exercise that we cadets argued over the most. Which way to go, did we get the coordinates right, landmarks, tracks, intersections, streams, etc. In the end, it is often the guy with the best track record that wins. And of course, there are ways to check if a topo journey is going well or not.
Besides drama, our topo journeys always ended with a prayer that nothing got lost along the way. If that happened, we could kiss going back to camp on time. Everybody then had to pitch in to go search for that darn missing item!
Drama:
- Bashing. As a cadet, I remember vividly leading my platoon to an ambush position through the Mandai jungle. We ended up at the top of an embankment overlooking a service road. Topoing through the jungles of Mandai was never pleasant. The place was hilly and often blocked by plant life such as trees, shrubs and ferns. It was also full of those whippy, prickly Nipa palm shrubs that were evil reincarnate. Its stem was full of needle-sharp spines. We nicknamed them "wait-awhiles" because those sinister spines would always hook onto our uniforms as we brushed past. We'd have no choice but to stop and pause.
Then there were the penthouse ant nests hiding unsuspectingly above in the creepers and trees. Bash your way through carelessly and you would be showered down with a mess of angry red biters.
In our platoon, it happened a few times to a guy named Willie. He's a nice chap but rather gruff and often, too eager in his tasks (Commando-type, if you know what I mean). In a jungle like Mandai, you really have to watch your front and not bash nilly-willy as if clearing a corn field.
It became especially hazardous at night. But at night, for the sake of quietness, we were naturally more careful. Thus the dangers from hive insects were much less. (Or your platoon PC would point to a less dangerous way.)
The other nuisance were ferns. Because of their shrub height and abundance, they carried much dew and made our uniforms super wet (not to mention the rifle, SBO webbing, etc., getting damp as well). Ferns were also known to us as "nature's pickpockets". They would 'steal' attached personal things such as bayonets, toggle ropes, maps and stuff in our pant side pockets.
We also had to make very sure that our pants were pulled over boots properly so that fern spores and leaves would not find their way inside.
- Snakes. In all my months of army training, I had never come across one in the forest nor jungle. Thank goodness for that! (Perhaps they were all trampled to death or scared away by a previous cohort of trainees, haha.) After a few thousand footfalls each year, any self-respecting creature would set up home far away from any training ground 'Orchard Road'! This brings me to the next point:
- Overworked training areas. A case in point would be the shellscrapes (a shallow ditch) we had to dig as a precaution against artillery shelling. After the umpteenth exercise, the ground couldn't yield anymore fresh spots to dig at. It was both frustrating and infuriating; disgusting even, when new spots turned out to be full of discarded white-tape and assorted rubbish from a previous exercise. At times, these old shellscrapes smell of latrines!
- Losing things. Yup, folks would always lose things while topo-ing. So check your personal items or barang-barang after going some distance, or after bashing through an area thick with ferns and brambles. Chances are, some of your personal stuff will be caught and hung up somewhere like a Christmas ornament. As a precaution we would "blackstring" and "blacktape" everything before setting out so that every loose object would be tethered to our SBO or uniform (to the button eyeholes no less). We also rubberbanded down everything else neat and tight!
The important stuff we tried not to lose, stuff like bayonets, maps and prismatic compasses. These items were classed as a security risk. Besides, a brass prismatic compass alone could cost USD$300+ upwards. Who would want to sign 1206 for that?
Thinking about my NS topo adventures reminded me of a funny incident. It happened during reservist on Pulau Tekong. I was hitching a ride with some doctors travelling in a few field ambulances together and they were supposed to head to a certain location. However, after travelling for some time, the whole group got hopelessly lost. That the doctors had a GPS gadget with them (given on trial) did not help. We later found out why: those doctors did not even know how to orientate a map! They handed their maps like tourists and got hopelessly lost. All the time I was sitting behind looking bemused and thinking how qualified doctors could be so dumb. A good thing then that we were not travelling on foot or else we would be going around in endless circles!
- Best topo. I think the best topo must be the ones conducted in Taiwan - a place I found to be very scenic and nice. Sure, their mountains are big and tall and far apart, but the compensation of great views, cool air, fresh fruit availability AND the occasional village shop instant-noodle serving... makes up for all the sweat and blunder.
And topo-ing as a group is always fun if not eventful. During one topo exercise, we cadets actually ganged up to move together. We ended up having a delightful fruit party under a pomelo tree that was Amy Yip in abundance. That story is here.
So, yes, the short answer is that OCS training is tough. However, just remember that the people before you probably had it tougher. Before my cadet time, recruits and cadets were treated as nobodies and subjected to the whims and fancies of instructors and platoon commanders - the same folks who took cues from their own tough training. You must remember: in those old days, physical abuse was rife and punishment dished out nilly-willy. Suicide in unit camps was not uncommon (which was why my batch benefited from that army restructuring!)
In the end, all arduous training is just mental. My own drive to succeed in OCS was witnessing this asshole of an officer during BMT. If that scumbag could be an officer, I told myself I would be an even better one, with greater virtues and man-management skills. Above all else, officers cannot be sadists and meanies. What kind of example would they be setting to the lower ranks? You can be tough, but you have to be fair.
In war, you win some and you lose some. And it is always good to live to fight another day. Your men put their lives in your hands. They are not just attrition stats. Teach and train them to fight well as a soldier, as a group, and as a unit. Remember, the stress you get at OCS is unreal compared to real-time firefight scenarios. More likely folks will hunker down and refuse to budge once the bullets start zinging about. How are you and your men going to manage then?
I know, some commanders think the stress you feel at OCS is supposed to make you capable. But all I get from it was "jump when you are told". I didn't find it remotely useful to real-time battle conditions other then "don't give up." They should have taught the more strategic "How to take down your enemy in 101 Ways". Fight like a tiger, live like a rat, was the Vietcong's success formula! One wonders how they trained their officers and what stress they put them through at their OCS back then. Or even now!
Also understand the military tradition and why it is there and improve it some more. That has always been my motto. And OCS for me was a great place to start!
Afternote: Notice that I did not put physical fitness as a stress factor. I was already fit going into BMT (I had been a school badminton player since P2 all the way to JC2) but because of a mad dog PC during those three BMT months (see another post), me and my mates became super fit. What OCS dished out to us during Junior Term was "no spiak" to us from Echo Company Platon 17 (ITD Sembawang Camp). Because of our "Mad Dog" PC, we cruised through it without sweat!
Playing competitive badminton most of my life (and also practising martial arts) certainly conditioned my body and mind well for NS. It does pay to have good core stamina and strength. For everything else, a good sense of humour and comradeship are just as important. Friends you make during OCS can easily be your best buddies in later life.
Bon voyage and enjoy your 'extended' adventure camp! At the end of it all, learn something. And know that all pain is but temporary. As is that stinky field camp uniform, haha!
(Note: I wonder what would be the reaction if you ask your PC if you guys could manage yourselves. Might be worth a try. I don't think our 3-trophy achievement in OCS was ever repeated.)
Next story: Trench Fighting
Previous story: One Leg Left
One of the things I think thin people cannot enjoy is a good massage. All those meatless body parts and sharp bone corners. It's almost like marinating fish or prawn and get poked here and there. I mean I would rather marinate a slab of three-layer pork. It is so luscious and "QQ" between the fingers.
The same for girlfriends, I suppose, especially those chubbier than Barbie. They are more fun to apply sunblock on.
When I was young, I was very skinny and viewed a massage more like a kind of paid molestation. I believe all skinny people still feel the same - that every touch is just too close to the bone. It's extremely ticklish too, which makes the whole exercise quite impossible to endure.
How to lie obediently on a massage table and let the masseur work his/her magic?
Given such reservations, it was thus no wonder that I seldom went out of my way to look for a massage before.
Growing up in Marsiling, I had a neighbourhood friend who would ride his motorbike into nearby JB to get his 'fix'. I put that in inverted commas because in JB then, a massage came with 'extra services' - the kind that's usually provided by the back-alley folks in Desker Road under certain red lighting conditions. The word "massage" became an euphemism for that sort of thing, oft-used on clients in karaoke lounges even.
My first massage did not happen in Singapore; it took place in Taiwan. I was there for my National Service and we had just wrapped up a two-week training stint and into our R&R (rest and recreation) break. All of us were expecting a three-day holiday in Taipei but for some reason, we ended up in Kaoshiung instead.
Our hearts sank a litte because we had heard of how fair the ladies in Taipei were as compared to the ladies further south. We had trained in the mountains of Hengchun near the southern-most tip of the Taiwan peninsular and seen folks so sun-tarnished that they could pass off as Malays or even Thais. And so we thought the ladies in Kaoshiung would be the same.
Fortunately, it turned out to be not true if the salesgirls serving us in the shops and departmental stores were anything to go by.
Even the girls we had seen riding on their scooters in the city streets were fair - being protected by long sleeves and gloves and sunhats during their rides. It was quite the sight when a bunch of them stopped at a traffic light. On a windy day, their sundresses would billow and their long hair flutter. It was exactly like some Kao shampoo ad on TV! I remember a similar scene in Ho Chi Minh City of girls in traditional dress and on bicycles.
Oh, before we SAF army boys were let loose in Kaoshiung, we were briefed by our platoon sergeant Staff Karu on what to expect and what NOT to do in that newly industrialised city. Or rather, what HE expected us not to do.
"Don't let me catch you in one of those barber shops. You botak guys definitely don't need a haircut. If you want "extra services" just answer your door at night in the hotel. It's not me knocking but you know what I mean." Chuckles all round. We had all been told that "xiao jie" (lady/prostitutes) would come solicit for business in the middle of the night. It happened at all the hotels... 3-star, 4-star not withstanding.
"And of course, don't forget to use this," added Staff Karu, holding up a packet of condoms for all to see.
"What I don't want you to do is go insult some hardworking mom hairstylist in this fair city. Not all of them want to give you "extra service" or cut your cock hair. Kabish?" We had yet to earn our officer-rank bars so we all nodded furiously in 'kabishment'. Got it! Keep away from barber shops! Of course, we all laughed at the cock hair bit. Our platoon sergeant was Indian, plump and hirsute (hairy); he conjured up quite the funny image. God save the lady in the barber shop who has to cut his, um, cock hair. Where to begin and where to stop?
Then again Indians were seldom seen in Taiwan at the time, so all things considered, they were exotic like the black negroes. Maybe even without asking, he would get an extended haircut and "extra service".
Someone shot up a hand and asked: "Staff, how about massage parlours?"
"I am going to one. If you see me, stay the hell away. I've seen enough of you guys for two weeks," said Staff Karu half in jest and half in murderous intent.
The rumour going round the camp at the time was about the fights the previous batch of NS men had gotten into. One was at the famous President underground departmental store; the other was outside a massage parlour. The NS-men were unit-level "Hokkien-peng" (dialect-speaking soldiers) and thus understandable. They would often "'pak" (fight) first, then talk later. We were officers-to-be and thus expected to behave better. But the fact is that we were all bookworms from an A-level Pre-U batch, so we were more likely to walk away from a fight than get physical. But in a foreign country, you never know what can happen.
So after reaching Kaoshiung and checking into our respective hotels, we each formed into our own pal-groups and went about exploring the city - Taiwan's second largest. The place looked neat and homey, so where were the barber shops and massage parlours soldier folks talked about?
In my group were Eddy, Siew Chong, Yew Kuan and Tiah Ann. Eddy was the most talkative amongst the lot. Siew Chong had an angel face but in reality, a really filthy mouth like some Hokkien peng. He was usually a quiet chap. But step on his tail and he will bite like a rattlesnake.
Yew Kuan was always reserved and contemplative but would laugh at our jokes. Tiah Ann was neither reserved nor gay (happy outlook). He was a sturdy chap and very helpful. He would go the distance without complaint. Tiah Ann was also the "koon king" (sleep king) of our platoon and would fall asleep whenever he stepped into an army three-tonner. It didn't matter where he was sitting - on the floorboards or on the bench - he would immediately fall asleep once the vehicle got moving, much to the annoyance of our platoon sergeant. Not even the threat of "signing extras" could change him. In the end, we just let him be and made sure someone else sat by the tailgate (whose duty was to keep an eye open to make sure no one fell out of the truck during a journey).
I don't know why we formed this group of mostly kwai kias (well-behaved kids). Perhaps they felt I was fierce and gang-ho and could take care of them. I usually got along fine with everybody and it didn't matter who was keeping me company. I could always chat somebody up - a trait that held me in good stead as a journalist later.
In any case, the few of us wandered around the city streets to take in the sights as well as to do a bit of window shopping. A part of Kaoshiung was very new at the time and reminded us of Orchard Road with its big glass office buildings and shopping centres. We guessed that Kaoshiung was doing well and industrialising and turning into a financial hub. But it was in the old part of Kaoshiung that we liked better to loiter in, where the small shops and eateries were. Lest they soon disappear, like what was happening back home in Singapore at the time.
In one old street, we came across an old zinc-sheeted warehouse that had been turned into a cinema. We were tempted to watch it but its promotional poster was half-torn leaving some words that confused us. We then asked a resident nearby what the movie was all about.
"Na ge shi yi fu san ji pian," was the old uncle's reply. That's a Cat III film, was what he said.
"San ji" meaning Category III, and "pian" meaning film. So it was a porno movie. We had heard of such "yellow" movie houses in Taiwan before. To come up against one was still gobsmacking. In Singapore, our film censorship was still the blanket type. The only cinema that came close to being nicknamed a Cat III one was Yangtze, where DOMs (dirty old men) would gather to watch "artistic" films screened there. Films that often starred Amy Yip and her famous frontal assets. The most popular movie was however "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" starring Daniel-Day Lewis and Juliette Binoche. I think the honest and explicit sex scenes did the trick, never mind the existential theme of the movie.
Still, for a group of army boys to find a Cat III cinema on their first trip out into town could be ranked akin to a prospector finding gold on the very first try. But funnily, none of us were keen to waste our time in some old building that looked more like a make-shift factory painted in rust-red. It was surprisingly located in a congested neighbourhood of stacked residential wooden homes and narrow alleyways. Well, in any case, I thought what a bunch of kwai kias we really were!
From the cinema, we emerged along a five-foot walkway by the main road. A couple of home eateries operated there. One sold beef noodles; the other sold the famous "mu gua niu nai" papaya milk drink. We ordered the largest cc one, which was huge, more like 500cc! That's how it was sold then, what was actually quite the novelty.
Afterwards, we walked a bit and came to a massage parlor. It was located on the ground floor of a small office building. We looked at each other as if we had hit the jackpot again. Tiah Ann was quick. He had already leapt up the few steps and turned around to report. "Staff Karu is not here!" We all "Wa lau eh!" and laughed at him for taking our platoon sergeant's comment so seriously.
"Hey, let's check and see how much they are charging," one of us suggested. We know we Singapore boys often got fleeced in Taiwan like any tourist in an unfamiliar place, so it was better to be sure first.
At the counter, we all ogled at the price list. It all seemed rather proper and agreeable. Each massage was not only time-based but 'parts based' as well, meaning we could specify whether it was Upper Body, Lower Body, Head, etc., that we want smacked and kneaded.
"Where's the charge for you-know-where?" someone joked, about a specific body part that was dear to us boys but not found on the list. I looked at the lady behind the counter to see if she understood what was being said. Nope, no reaction. As a matter of fact, she appeared rather impatient. I hoped no SAF unit soldiers had gone there before us to "spoil market" and her mood. We could then be in for one hell of a session. You know, bones and muscles cracked in furious and merciless payback fashion.
"I don't think this one is that sort of place. Look at the uniforms." It was true, the girls had on some grey-white cosmetic girl get-up. It all looked pretty professional except for the expression on their faces. They could be mistaken for running a funeral parlor.
"Look, Eddy, I think you have to do it yourself back in your hotel room," I smiled, as I ribbed him for making such a lewd suggestion. Eddy was actually not that sort; he was just being a smart-aleck.
In the end, only three of us opted to try. Yew Kuan and Tiah Ann decided their time would be better spent shopping for music cassettes, and so off they went.
I stepped into the massage parlour and took a sweep of the place. It was well-lit and quite spacious. It had about four tables side by side in a row. Above the head of each table was a TV set. Hmm, not bad customer service, I had thought then.
Do I need to change? I asked the masseur assigned to me in halting Mandarin. I thought I had to be butt naked and in a towel or something. It always was like that on TV or in the movies. That's how the hanky-panky starts, no?
I was in my OCS all-white PT kit. My masseur, a woman in her early 30s, told me I needed not strip. I thought it rather unusual but did not question her any further. In my mind, I was wondering what if she needed to oil me up. That would stain my whites, no? Platoon Sergeant Karu would not be happy about that.
More questions.
In any case, I lay myself down on the massage table as instructed. First prone and then on my back. The table was like any found in a doctor's office: rectangularish and cushion-wrapped in grey vinyl.
She started with my neck, then shoulders, then arms, then back. Lying down prone, I couldn't see the TV at all. I wondered maybe they should have one on the floor as well, you know, one of those portable 7-inch type, angled so I could be entertained in that position. But it was rather unnecessary as I began to feel drowsy from all my masseur's rolling hand-action. The last thing I remembered was if I should keep my wallet down the front of my pants, near my crouch. It would be safe from pilfering in that location. Right? Zzzzz......
I woke up to find that I was already flipped over. Did I...? Did she...? In any case, the masseur lady was already working on my right leg. She didn't seem in any particular hurry kneading it. In fact she was distracted by something in the ceiling. I look to where she was staring at and saw the TV that was there earlier. It then dawned on me that the TV was for her, not me. She was watching a daytime soap opera all the while massaging me 'blind'.
I felt ignored. But never mind.
Never mind that this was not an "extra service" massage parlour; the masseurs were not even particularly skilled nor customer-oriented. I think I could have done a better job massaging myself. I could have entertained myself too!
I was not alone in thinking that as I looked across to Siew Chong and he gave me that "what-is-going-on" look and shrug, as much as he could lying prone on that cushioned table clone. It was as grey and dull as our mood.
When my right leg was done, the masseur stopped and said, "Hao le."
What? What hao le (OK)? I asked.
"Yi ge cong tow dao le," she said, meaning my hour was up.
I checked my left leg. It was the same one that I had walked in with. The same one that had become tense after two weeks in the mountains of Hengchun. Tense still from that long bus ride to Kaoshiung. And tense still from the climb of steps into that massage parlour.
Mostly, it felt unviolated, untouched. I said this to the xiao jie: "Er, xiao jie. Ni hai mei you long je zhi qiao." (You haven't done this leg yet.)
"Shi jian dao le," she repeated, saying time was up.
"Ni na ni ke yi je yang zhou yi pan jiu ting?" (How can you stop halfway?)
She looked at me and saw that I was determined to get my other leg done. I was more pissed that she was watching TV and did not concentrate on her job properly. How could she leave me three-quarters done? It was like getting an half-ass haircut or being shooed from the cookhouse with still half a platter of food left. Not in the army, and certainly not in some massage parlour that I am paying my hard-earned NS dollars for.
In the end, the xiao jie relented and massaged my left leg. She did it in so perfunctorily a fashion that she might as well have just dug her nose. That would have required more time and effort!
After the session, the three of us gathered outside the parlour and exchanged notes. "That was some session, wasn't it?" I said. Siew Chong let out an expletive; he felt cheated. Eddy simply shrugged.
Later, when we met up with our other fellow cadets, our massage session became "incredible" (that the masseurs were so blase), "arousing" (only our intense displeasure), and "one-of-a-kind" (never again!) experience.
In a way, it was all true, which makes us wonder about all those "extra services" that the other guys bandied about. Perhaps they too were too embarrassed to say that they had been taken for a ride!
Next story: OCS Stress
Previous story: Temple Trouble
