Testing times.

As much as I enjoy running through great big balls of napalm fire, it seems chemical warfare may not be my calling.

I’ve trained and trained for an enemy* attack with the gas mask, part of the combat gear we carry around.

And I know the sinister looking thing works because I bravely tested it out inside a shipping chamber sealed tight and filled with tear gas *.

Despite all this, when I was tested on the combat skills learnt during the six-week basic training module I failed the gas mask component.

And in doing so set a new example of what not to do in a gas attack, likely to be taught to future recruits as the ‘Dunkerley manoeuvre’.

Let me explain.

The test unfolded in two parts, the first responding to unconfirmed reports of a gas attack.

As practiced, I checked my mask was working, attached a filter to my water bottle lid and covered-up in my plastic rain jacket and three pairs of gloves.

So far, so good.

The report was then verified, giving me 30-seconds to get my mask on and weapon ready.

The deadline had previously proven a squeeze in three pairs of gloves, but it was my head, not my hands, that stopped me from getting over the finishing line.

Well, the Lego-man helmet on my head, which I just couldn’t get off in time.

The helmet’s chinstrap has a quick release function, activated with a solid jerk of the helmet skywards.

It’s handy when you can’t undo the latch with fat glove fingers, but doesn’t work if the helmet is restricted. Mine was.

Because I had wrongly placed the hood of my rain jacket over the top of the helmet instead of underneath.

Unfortunately I didn’t realise my mistake at the time and continued to furiously tug up and down as the clock ticked down.

The corporal adjudicating me however could see exactly what was going on and could hardly keep a straight face.

Or from later sharing my mishap, and boy does gossip travel in a place like this.

Anyway, with no time left on the clock and no gas mask in place, I failed

Thankfully I didn’t have much time to dwell on my mishap, as I had to move pronto through the other tests, spread on a circuit around the island.

When it came to destroying a cardboard tank with the (unarmed) rocket launcher, circa Vietnam, and planting a road mine I couldn’t be faulted.

I sailed through the gun maneuvers, such as changing an empty magazine during combat and addressing a bullet jam malfunction.

But my reactions to sounds of explosions nearby didn’t go so swimmingly.

The soldier next to me, in an Oscar-worthy performance, dived face first into the pool of murky water when the corporal sounded the alarm.

I on the other hand, made for dry cover on higher ground leaving me exposed to shards of shrapnel flying by.

I was also docked points when my practice grenade didn’t quite reach the target- zone 20m away.

I had managed the distance during weekend practice sessions, which involved hurling large rocks and tins of non-perishable food in the public park.

But I couldn’t pull it off wearing all the heavy combat gear.

At least it didn’t fly back in my direction, as happened to the soldier next to me whose grenade ricochet off a tree.

(Luckily for both of us when it came time to throw the real thing it was from a bunker on the edge of a small cliff by the sea).

I was taken off guard by a couple of other tests, including the one to work out if it is friend or foe approaching.

If an unidentified and armed man, or woman, approaches during combat you say the words ‘seis tunnussana’ meaning stop password.

It goes without saying if they know what it is and repeat it they are on your side.

We were given the password, rapyla kasi – meaning butter fingers, at the start of the day’s testing and not speaking Finnish I decided to write it down on my hand.

The words quickly disappeared under the sweat of my gloves, but at least I could confidently recall the Finnish command.

I didn’t get the chance to use it however, because the corporals had a different idea of how the password test should be played out.

I was a little unsure what was happening when I was told to get on my knees and then straight back up, and over and over again.

Then I was told to spin around and then finally asked for the password.

Dizzily I had to explain why I was lost for words, knowing all to well that my explanation probably wouldn’t wash in a real life scenario.

I was also taken by surprise when it came time to demonstrate the first aid procedure for an unconscious soldier with severe bleeding.

Taking advantage f their secluded spot on the island, the medically trained corporals had techno music going and lollies galore.

It seemed more likely that I was unconscious from a drug overdose at a rave than from gunshot wounds in combat as I lay down to play the patient.

Never the less I shut my eyes and waited for my partner to tend to my needs.

As expected, he checked my airways, that I was breathing and for a pulse.

But then began to rip my combat and bulletproof vests off to feel underneath.

Fretting that I was being felt-up I opened my eyes and let out a small shriek.

The corporal quickly reminded me I was an unconscious patient, and therefore unable to talk.

As it turned out removing the vest was part of the procedure, forgotten by our medical trainers.

But it was a small omission in comparison to other companies that had not received any training and put through the test regardless.

On the spot, one trooper reportedly emptied a bottle of water over the wounded soldier’s face, while another reached for his mobile to call the ambulance.

I was happy to learn my gaffe was not the only casualty.

And was even outshone by one man who destroyed his own bunker instead of the cardboard tank with the rocket launcher.

One can only learn from their mistakes, while others can enjoy the tale.

Sgt. (Slightly embarrassed) Sana.

• Those braver than myself tested the tear gas without a mask, reporting that it felt like snorting a line of Wasabi that hit right back to the eyeballs.
• I keep hearing about “the enemy” George W. style but can’t work out what or where it is, I am however always on the lookout.

Alokas Alppi models the gas mask.

 

The correct position one should be in when aiming the rocket launcher.