EVERY DAY, UPON waking at five A.M., we were forced to down a huge bottle of water. The bottle was Army-issued, black plastic, a leftover from the Boer
War. Any liquid inside tasted of first-generation plastic. And piss. Plus, it was piss warm. So, after the guzzling, moments before setting out on our morning run, some of us would fall to the ground and vomit the water straight back up.
No matter. Next day, you had to guzzle that plastic piss water again, from the same water bottle, and then get out there for another post-vomit run.
Oh, the running. We ran constantly. We ran around a track. We ran along a road. We ran through deep woods. We ran across meadows. Sometimes we ran with 40 kilograms on our backs, sometimes carrying a huge log. We ran and ran and ran until we passed out, which we sometimes did while still running. We’d lie there, half conscious, legs still pumping, like sleeping dogs chasing squirrels.
In between the runs we’d drag our bodies up ropes, or hurl them at walls, or ram them against each other. At night something more than pain would creep into our bones. It was a deep, shuddering throb. There was no way to survive that throb
except to dissociate from it, tell your mind that you were not it. Sunder yourself from yourself. The color sergeants said this was part of their Grand Plan. Kill the Self.
Then we’d all be on the same page. Then we’d truly be One Unit.
As the primacy of Self fades, they promised, the idea of Service takes over.
Platoon, country, that’ll be all you know, cadets. And that’ll bloody well be enough.
I couldn’t tell how the other cadets felt about all this, but I bought in, all the way. Self? I was more than ready to shed that dead weight. Identity? Take it.
I could understand, for someone attached to their self, their identity, that this experience might be harsh. Not me. I rejoiced as slowly, steadily, I felt myself being reduced to an essence, the impurities removed, only the vital stuff remaining.
A little like what happened in Tooloombilla. Only more so.
It all felt like an enormous gift, from the color sergeants, from the Commonwealth.
I loved them for it. At night, before blacking out, I gave thanks.
