I was in the ATC for a few years..
...and it was rubbish. I can march pretty well, still can't shine my boots correctly, and had the least pie shaped beret out there.
The best bit were the weekly night excercises where we would run around on an old airfield in the middle of Essex at night.
One such night involved sneaking around trying not to bump into the sergeants and corporals because we would 'get a kicking'.
I managed to evade the nasty men all night (ran into a barbed wire fence at full wack though), and when we all met up with our CO at the end of the night, we were all looking forward to a warm cup of tea and some sleep. No. 'Right you lot, you've got to run back to HQ, and in 2 minutes I'll send the NCO's after you. Anyone who gets caught, gets a kicking.'
And so I ran through uneven ground at full pelt until I twisted my ankle in a pot hole and fell over. I knew that the blood hounds would be able to catch up with me so my best course of action was to lie still and hide until they had run past.
My disguise was perfect, until a six foot tall lumbering beefcake stamped on my right arm as he chased after my peers. SNAP went my arm, and I shouted 'Shit' at the top of my voice. Que all the vicious bastards running towards me as I lay there in agony. Fortunately they didn't then proceed to pummel the crap out of me as one had a torch and could see my arm wasn't point the way it was supposed to be.
At the end of the night I went to casualty where it was confirmed that I had a broken arm. My CO then cancelled all night excercises after that and who got the blame? ME. Bastards.
(Biromunch, Sat 25 Mar 2006, 13:22, Reply)