An trip on a 1.5 tonner....

I can't tell you where we went. I'll love to try and play it cool and reply, "if I tell you, I'll have to kill you." But that would be too corny. So I'll be frank and maintain, "If I told you, I'll get charged."

I cant tell you what I'm gonna do too. They officially call it ops, and leaking of any information might cause national embarrassment. We call it saikang + guard duty+ outfield.

Yes, outfield. That word never fails to bring back memories for NSF like us. But this outfield is different. It wasn't scheduled.

Of coursed we weren't pleased when we heard we were chosen for this task. The word pretty much robbed us of our spirits. Few like being forcefully taken away form the comfort of civilisation and brought to the terror of the wilderness, especially when we are the guardians of edge cutting technology.

Still, our vessel of terror stared mercilessly at us with its weathered headlamps. The stores were heavy. So were our hearts. But driven by curiosity, and with the hope that this would end soon, we were ready to set off.

As the tonner drove out of camp, we waved good bye to our comrades left to guard the base. But looking back, it felt like we were wishing them good luck -- having fewer men for duty wasn't a good thing for the shift. There're would be less men to fill the same amount of positions, thus less rest time for each of us.

Its a rare chance that the chosen few of us get to leave the base but is not gonna be as simple a walk in forest. The familiar humps the tonner went over seem to distract us form our worries and to encouraged us to take a look at the green pastures of SCC.

It wasn't long before we hit the expressways. The steady wind came in at just below 50. It ensures that i always knew where i was facing relative to the front. I can see artificial netting on my sergeant's helmet rustled softly with the wind. (it was the only helmet with the older version camouflaged netting) Every time a large vehicle passes by, the warm wind would strike the side of my face, together with the distinct smell of diesel.

Some of my comrades tired to get some eye shut while they still could. But it was a tough job and they pretty much gave up. The tonner wasn't exactly comfortable, and the roads were definitely noisy on the "slow" lane.

Despite the speed limit, we managed to reach our destination "in good time". As the last buildings disappeared form our sight, gradually and reluctantly accepted our fate. We are no longer blur-looking recruits nor the conveniently-blur trainees. We are operationally ready men.