Getting Tired

As you may know, I used to (many years ago) be in the Army.  Not the respectable, but tiny, NZ force of do-gooders and disaster rescue specialists, but the pretty professional, deadly and mean British Army.  During my time in my Regiments, as both Gunner and Officer, I picked up a fair amount of training in many unusual skills.
I can (or could) conduct a basic radiological survey to report the consequences of a nuclear attack (NUKEREP), I was my Battery's Biological Warfare specialist, and also helped out the senior Captain who was our Chemical Warfare specialist.

I went on courses with REME to help understand the problems involved when recovering our Ten Ton trucks from mud and mire.  I attended a course run by the Royal Engineers on safe water supply, including building a water supply point, purification system and a temporary water tower, built with scaffolding, planks and a large rubber paddling pool.

105mm Pack Howitzers

I went on a field Artillery course, using the first computer controlled fire control systems in the military, and did many practice shoots with 105mm pack howitzers.

7.62mm L1A1 SLR

My small arms skills were enhanced after a course on marksmanship with our 7.62mm SLR (Self Loading RIfle) and my all time favourite, the updated WWII Bren Gun, designated the 7.62mm LMG.  I got so accurate with the LMG that I could pick off 30 metal plates at 200 metres with one 30 round magazine.

7.62mm L4 LMG

As we expected our life in action (as an organised unit) to be about 36 hours after the Soviets came pouring through the Fulda Gap (we were then an Air Defence Regiment, using old 40mm Bofor Guns, and would be the priority for all those nasty napalm carrying Migs) we were also trained in escape and evasion.  We were also tasked to make life as difficult as possible for the advancing Soviets by causing as much mayhem as possible using various techniques.  We were trained in setting up simple booby traps, using kit the Sappers would give us.  Tripwires, pressure switches, command detonated directional mines (Claymores) and many more.

A complete Claymore kit

I mention all of the above as a background to the next.

THE NEXT PERSON WHO INTERRUPTS US IN THE TIMETABLE COMMITTEE

without an extremely good reason (wanting days off, rioting kids, missing teachers or relievers is not nearly a good enough reason) is going to find out how deadly I can be when riled.  Two Claymores rigged with a command detonation switch is a bit dangerous.  The bang would definitely hurt my ears, and the interrupter on the outside of my office might find that 700 steel ball bearings travelling at greater than 1200 m/s might sting a little.

The effects of a claymore at 100 metres

KEEP AWAY


OR ELSE

You're dealing with an irritable dealer of death.  I will not be responsible for my actions if another idiot wanders into my office warbling on about "having to go to the dentist the next day but not needing any cover really, just to let me know that he'll be out of school in the morning and that everything will be alright really."

I DON'T CARE.


GO AWAY.

Mr Claymore will not be your friend if I push the clacker.





And just for The Curmudgeon (and Fflur and Nicola)

The very soft and rounded Mme. Bridgette Bardot of Immortal Memory