Suicide Is Painless — ‘t Harde, Netherlands | November 2000
“A Farewell to Arms ”
“Wachtmeester Van Gaans, front!” the major orders.
I march across the parade ground toward the 101 RPV Battery’s Cadre, stand to attention and salute, “The wachtmeester Van Gaans reporting as ordered, Sirs!”
“About face and stand at ease wachtmeester,” the major responds. As I turn on my heels and face the more than 80 pairs of eyes staring at me, I wonder what this is all about. I look at my platoon commander, he’s smiling.
“Wachtmeester Van Gaans, on the recommendation of your platoon commander, it’s my great pleasure and an honour to award you a Certificate of Appreciation for your service and dedication to this unit…”
What!? As the major continues, listing the things I’ve done to earn this certificate and the substantial monetary reward attached to it, my mind is spinning. After eight years of struggle in this army, I finally get some appreciation for my work! I’m trying to concentrate on what the major is saying but I can’t, until… he speaks his final words:
“To conclude, your professional dedication, enthusiasm and overall work ethic are fine examples of an attitude we should all adhere to. Congratulations wachtmeester. About, face.” I can’t believe this, eight years of endless bickering about not being ‘army-like’ enough and setting the wrong examples for the troops, now I’m an example to be adhered!?
As I turn to receive the certificate, my mind wanders. How things change over time. Four years ago I was almost court-marshalled for purposely undermining the authority of a superior officer under operational circumstances [Read: Don’t Speak] and just last year I was falsely arrested for assault with a deadly weapon [Read: These Boots Are Made For Walkin’]. Today I’m being praised for my attitude. In two months my current contract expires. What to do? Quit or renew? It’s been quite a ride so far.
I vividly remember my first day at basic training as a conscript assigned to the Logistic Corps, back in March 1993. I had been very nervous. As I sat on the train to the barracks I was to report at, a conductor had looked at my ticket, issued to conscripts by the Ministry of Defence, and smiled. “A conscript, rare these days. Good luck young man. I remember those days well,” he had said. What did he mean? Where they good or bad memories for him?
When I got to the barracks I expected to be shouted at by aggressive drill instructors, like in the movies, but that didn’t happen at all. Everybody was extremely reasonable, and because none of the new conscripts really wanted to be there, a pact to ‘just have some fun’ was quickly made. A couple of weeks into basic training I realised I had found a place I belonged. No matter how counter-intuitive it seemed, army life fit me like a bespoke suit.
During my time of service, the Dutch government decided to end the draft and switch to a professional army. My draft was reduced from 12 months to nine and when I was done, I was asked if I wanted to join professionally. “Not as a soldier,” I said but was told that it was up to me what I applied for. After some consideration, I decided to apply for a position as a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) with the cavalry. Of course being a proper officer would have looked better on my CV, but in the Dutch army I think it’s the NCOs who do all the interesting stuff. If I was going to be a professional soldier, it better be interesting!
Although I’m quite the opposite of what people think of when imagining a soldier, I made it through both the physical and psychological selection processes and was admitted to the Royal Military School for the one-year NCO training. To my regret I wasn’t allowed to join the cavalry, my ankles were too weak. Instead, I was assigned to the infantry (!?) — the army has its own warped logic!
After an exciting year at the military school, I was assigned to the 17th Armoured Infantry Battalion as sergeant fire-director of a heavy mortar platoon. [Read: Firestarter] As the battalion was part of the Fusilier Guard Regiment, everybody newly assigned to the unit had to prove their worth as an NCO for six months before being allowed to join the regiment. On the day of our initiation, the battalion commander stood before me with a large tin cup. The tradition was that depending on his impression of you, he’d fill the cup with the French apple brandy Calvados. If his impression was good it would just be a ceremonial sip, if not…
The commander looked at me, then exchanged a frowned glance with the battalion’s senior warrant-officer and filled the cup… to the brim. “Ad fundum sergeant,” the warrant-officer said, indicating I had to drink the whole cup in one gulp. “Volo et Valeo, Sirs!” I responded, raising the cup to the assembled NCOs and officers and then downing the burning liquid without hesitation. Luckily I hold a drink down well.
Two years later, after the failed attempt to court-marshal me, I left the fusilier regiment and joined the 11th Horse Artillery Battalion, the oldest still existing unit in the Dutch Army. Also an interesting time but the battalion was so stuffed up in its traditions, they seemed just unable to grasp the concept of the modern-day professional army. After being falsely accused of armed assault, the time had come to move on once more.
That’s how I got to my current unit, the 101 RPV Battery, a company testing the army’s new Remotely Piloted Vehicles. I seem to have finally found my place. [Read: Doe Mennene Mexicano] I like the work and I like my colleagues. Soon my contract expires, what to do?
P.S. Soon after receiving this Certificate of Appreciation, I decided to not renew my contract and leave the army. I spent the last two months of my contract planning a trip around the world.
My eight years in the Royal Netherlands army were a roller-coaster of highs and lows. The highs are clear: I’ve been to a war zone [Read: Wilmot], climbed mountains, learnt to drive an armoured personnel carrier [Read: Everything For Free] and, with the army’s assistance, learnt to sky- and scuba-dive. [Read: Every Breath You Take and Mucho Mumbo (Sway)]
The low points often were so surreal and intense, you’d think they were episodes of M*A*S*H, Tour of Duty or Soldier Soldier. No, I was at a high now, time to quit.
Because I left on a high, this professional suicide was painless. All my memories of those years have become fond ones, even those of the really bad moments. I often miss the army days, life was so much more exciting then, but I’ve got the memories and the stories. In the words of that conductor so long ago, “I remember those days well.” He must have meant it in the positive sense.
The Mash – Suicide Is Painless on M*A*S*H OST [LP]. New York, USA: Columbia/CBS. (1970)
This autobiographical sketch comes from my bundle In the Moment: A Disjointed Audiobiography which is available at Amazon.com. (USD 9.50 for a paperback or USD 4.50 for the Kindle version)
