Bassim
VIP Member
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2008
- Member Type
- Student or Learner
- Native Language
- Bosnian
- Home Country
- Bosnia Herzegovina
- Current Location
- Sweden
Would you please correct the mistakes in my text?
In 1980s I did my compulsory military service. I was sent hundreds kilometres away to a little town in Slovenia, where I would first get a basic combat training, and then as a member of anti-aircraft crew, I would be taught how to the use a triple-barrelled anti-aircraft gun. It was the first time in my life that I was away from home for a long period and I hated it. I didn’t like the government and their communist leaders, and the thought that I had to spend 12 months of my life learning how to defend the political system built on oppression and one-party dictatorship felt like a betrayal of my ideals. But I had no choice because draft dodging was a serious criminal offence and carried a long prison sentence.
The little town in the valley surrounded by wooded hills had two barracks on its opposite ends. I was stationed in a smaller one with about 450 soldiers. We had a large kitchen, but no showers and had to walk once a week through the town to the other barracks which didn’t have a kitchen but had a large shower room. Their food was transported to them every day from our kitchen by trucks. I thought this was a sheer madness because when we finished showering, we had to walk back about 25 minutes under the scorching sun and were as sweaty as we were before. I asked my fellow soldiers if they knew the reason for this arrangement, but they were as baffled as I was. To me, this was one of the many examples of the incompetence of the people in power, which had permeated and affected the whole society.
Another time when I saw stupidity I couldn’t stay silent. The rules in the barracks were that the soldiers would first eat breakfast before doing calisthenics and running a few rounds around the barracks. Immediately after we had just eaten, we had to go to the parade ground and do all kinds of exercises and running. The food in my stomach felt heavy like lead and, as I jumped up and down, stretching my arms in all directions, my stomach was twisting and writhing and made me gag. I sweated heavily and smelled my own sweat. After a few such mornings, I summoned the courage and told a major, who stood watching us doing our exercises, that it was wrong we had to exercise after breakfast. He gave me a condescending look.
“And who are you to tell us what is right? This rule was made by our experts. They certainly know better than you do. You’ve just come here and believe you know everything.” I knew I was talking to a bumpkin in the officer uniform and no matter what I said, he was going to dislike it. “Isn’t it better to exercise on an empty stomach than on full? I feel every time I’m going to throw up.” He didn’t deign to reply and waived his hand dismissively before walking away. But a couple of weeks later, the rule was changed and we did the exercises first. Maybe someone in the command with an average intelligence had finally understood that you can’t exercise on full stomach.
Our food was nothing special. For breakfast, we had a cup of sweet tea or cocoa, a slab of cooked bacon, dripping with fat (which I could never eat), a cooked egg, a wedge of spreadable cheese, a single pack of jam or honey, and a few slices of bread. For lunch, we had mostly a bean soup we ate almost every day. There was an apple or a cake for dessert, and never a drink except water. For dinner, we had often spaghetti with minced meat sauce or baked beans. An officer stood all the time at the serving counter, checking that everything went smoothly. But if you could become a friend with someone in the kitchen, you could come back later when none of the officers were present and ask for more. We never complained and ate everything what was dished out because after hours of marching in full gear up and down the hills and countryside, we would have eaten a dead horse for the lack of anything better.
Six months later, I and two other soldiers were transferred to a unit in Croatia, where we should guard ammunition depots. The area was huge and hidden behind thick woods and hills. Everything was surrounded by barbed wire. Some of the warehouses were built to look like ordinary houses, probably to deceive satellites and spy planes. The sentries had ammunition in their magazines and were ordered to shoot anyone who didn’t stop. We had also watchdogs, which would spend the night in their kernels in the woods, and in the morning, a dog handler would return them to the barracks. They seemed to be lazy and bored, just as we were. We had a 7-day sentry duty, and the following week we were supposed to work in the ammunition depots, loading on and off ammunition and explosive boxes of all sizes and weights and other equipment. The atmosphere in the barracks was relaxed and there was no pressure on the soldiers whatsoever probably because our officers knew that an angry and dissatisfied solder could have blown us all up. The barracks were newly built, and the standard of accommodation was very good, only the food was the same as in the previous place. When we were working in the depots, we were entitled to receive more food than others did, but you had to share a litre of milk with three other soldiers, or a tin of luncheon meat or cheese with two. It felt so mean that some soldiers didn’t want to take their share, and they went instead to a kiosk and bought whatever they needed.
TO BE CONTINUED
In 1980s I did my compulsory military service. I was sent hundreds kilometres away to a little town in Slovenia, where I would first get a basic combat training, and then as a member of anti-aircraft crew, I would be taught how to the use a triple-barrelled anti-aircraft gun. It was the first time in my life that I was away from home for a long period and I hated it. I didn’t like the government and their communist leaders, and the thought that I had to spend 12 months of my life learning how to defend the political system built on oppression and one-party dictatorship felt like a betrayal of my ideals. But I had no choice because draft dodging was a serious criminal offence and carried a long prison sentence.
The little town in the valley surrounded by wooded hills had two barracks on its opposite ends. I was stationed in a smaller one with about 450 soldiers. We had a large kitchen, but no showers and had to walk once a week through the town to the other barracks which didn’t have a kitchen but had a large shower room. Their food was transported to them every day from our kitchen by trucks. I thought this was a sheer madness because when we finished showering, we had to walk back about 25 minutes under the scorching sun and were as sweaty as we were before. I asked my fellow soldiers if they knew the reason for this arrangement, but they were as baffled as I was. To me, this was one of the many examples of the incompetence of the people in power, which had permeated and affected the whole society.
Another time when I saw stupidity I couldn’t stay silent. The rules in the barracks were that the soldiers would first eat breakfast before doing calisthenics and running a few rounds around the barracks. Immediately after we had just eaten, we had to go to the parade ground and do all kinds of exercises and running. The food in my stomach felt heavy like lead and, as I jumped up and down, stretching my arms in all directions, my stomach was twisting and writhing and made me gag. I sweated heavily and smelled my own sweat. After a few such mornings, I summoned the courage and told a major, who stood watching us doing our exercises, that it was wrong we had to exercise after breakfast. He gave me a condescending look.
“And who are you to tell us what is right? This rule was made by our experts. They certainly know better than you do. You’ve just come here and believe you know everything.” I knew I was talking to a bumpkin in the officer uniform and no matter what I said, he was going to dislike it. “Isn’t it better to exercise on an empty stomach than on full? I feel every time I’m going to throw up.” He didn’t deign to reply and waived his hand dismissively before walking away. But a couple of weeks later, the rule was changed and we did the exercises first. Maybe someone in the command with an average intelligence had finally understood that you can’t exercise on full stomach.
Our food was nothing special. For breakfast, we had a cup of sweet tea or cocoa, a slab of cooked bacon, dripping with fat (which I could never eat), a cooked egg, a wedge of spreadable cheese, a single pack of jam or honey, and a few slices of bread. For lunch, we had mostly a bean soup we ate almost every day. There was an apple or a cake for dessert, and never a drink except water. For dinner, we had often spaghetti with minced meat sauce or baked beans. An officer stood all the time at the serving counter, checking that everything went smoothly. But if you could become a friend with someone in the kitchen, you could come back later when none of the officers were present and ask for more. We never complained and ate everything what was dished out because after hours of marching in full gear up and down the hills and countryside, we would have eaten a dead horse for the lack of anything better.
Six months later, I and two other soldiers were transferred to a unit in Croatia, where we should guard ammunition depots. The area was huge and hidden behind thick woods and hills. Everything was surrounded by barbed wire. Some of the warehouses were built to look like ordinary houses, probably to deceive satellites and spy planes. The sentries had ammunition in their magazines and were ordered to shoot anyone who didn’t stop. We had also watchdogs, which would spend the night in their kernels in the woods, and in the morning, a dog handler would return them to the barracks. They seemed to be lazy and bored, just as we were. We had a 7-day sentry duty, and the following week we were supposed to work in the ammunition depots, loading on and off ammunition and explosive boxes of all sizes and weights and other equipment. The atmosphere in the barracks was relaxed and there was no pressure on the soldiers whatsoever probably because our officers knew that an angry and dissatisfied solder could have blown us all up. The barracks were newly built, and the standard of accommodation was very good, only the food was the same as in the previous place. When we were working in the depots, we were entitled to receive more food than others did, but you had to share a litre of milk with three other soldiers, or a tin of luncheon meat or cheese with two. It felt so mean that some soldiers didn’t want to take their share, and they went instead to a kiosk and bought whatever they needed.
TO BE CONTINUED
