Hah. You never saw Master Corporal R___ dragging Private W___ out of the women's tent for the third time in a single day. MCpl R____ was a huge, 6'4", three hundred pounds of muscle knuckle-dragging gorilla of a man that used to threaten to "take us out behind the mess tent" if we gave him a hard time. We hoped earnestly that he only mean for a brutal beating.
(And, I confess, he was probably sorely tempted to do so when Private A____ lost the tiniest frigging part of my C7 rifle: the tiny, springy, nearly microscopic part that we were told never to take out of the bolt in the field. But no, Private A___ felt that was just too constricting. "Hey, Geoff," he said, "Let's strip down the bolt on your rifle too." "Uh, no," said I, "that's a bad idea in the field; we haven't even laid down a - " fwing, tiny part in long grass. We found it later, but MCpl R strongly considered killing me, and I in turn strongly considered killing Pvt A____.)
Anyway, MCpl R once invoked further fear in us by telling us that his grandfather had also been a tanker, like us, and that he'd fought in WWII. "What regiment was in he in" we asked, all wide-eyed and curious. MCpl R laughed; a grating, evil sound. "Well, let's just say he wore black." Ah. And he bragged about this. Genial fellow.
Yet, I have never been more acutely aware of my own internalized surprise than when he hauled Pvt W out of the women's tent for the third time in a single day, as he'd been doing off and on all week. It was to the point that he would lie in wait for him around the corner of the tent, and spring out. But now, this monster stood before the dazed-looking Pvt W, pleading and threatening. "What is it, W___? What do I have to do? Why won't you stay away from the women's tent, W___? Just leave them alone, okay, W___? Why won't you just stay where you're supposed to be?" I watched as this giant hulk of a man was brought, moustache quivering, to the brink of tears by the actions of a man who just wanted - well, what we all pretty much knew he wanted.
He was a persistent, poetic soul. Ah, me. I heard him sneaking out one night, and as I had the misfortune to be the section leader that week (an institution later made permanent; I hoped because of my leadership qualities, but also possibly because the lot of our instructors couldn't be bothered to choose a new one, and because they liked yelling at me), it fell to me to try to stop him. "Don't do it, W___," I said. "I know what's going on - and, hey, I can sympathize" - Pvt G____, for example, being not only a petite goddess but astoundingly gung-ho, with freckles and wavy brown hair...but I digress - "but don't do it, man. You're going to get us all in s**t. Don't do it."
But he would not be swayed. "Uh, well, you know...I'll just be over there for a second, okay, P_______? Come on, really, I'll just be there and back. No one will know."
I bowed my head and stood aside, and he slipped into the dark. A minute and a half later came the familiar bellow of "W___! What the hell are you doing over here?"
Anyway. I just like to relate that story. Long tail on the kite.