He had seen the adverts on television, depicting the glorious career where you got to be a hero, where you were paid well, fed well and cared for by the State when you retired. He thought he was set for life.

Five weeks later he was crawling through a muddy assault course, live rounds going off above his head and Sergeant Nicoll screaming at him to move faster. Forcing himself through the last part of the net Frank straightened up and sprinted to the climbing wall, still with the angry sergeant screaming in his ears, hauled himself up the slippery wall on a rough rope that burned his hands every time he slipped even a little but he had been out in the cold and wet so long he could no longer feel the pain. Swinging on a rope over the mud pool below and onto the ground once more, there was a narrow trench, a rifle and several targets in the distance. Pulling the gun up to his shoulder took all his strength but still Frank pushed on as he shot each target one by one. The next task was a two mile sprint to the finish line with a 30kg pack. His whole body burned with the effort but he refused to give in even though his lungs were on fire, his legs felt like jelly and his hands were red-raw from the many rope burns he had suffered while he was swinging from, climbing or shimmying down the various ropes on the course. When the finish line came into sight he put on a last burst of strength, giving all he had left. As he crossed the finishing line his heart soared…he had made it. Where twenty of the twenty-five recruits had failed the course, collapsing due to exhaustion or pain, he had triumphed. It was one of the best feelings in the world.

“Well Jones…you finished…not a bad time either…congratulations,” said the sergeant disappointingly. It was no secret that Sergeant Nicoll despised the tall recruit, as Sergeant Nicoll had earned the nickname “Napoleon” on account of two things, his tyrant-like ways and his height though more accurately, lack of. He seemed to reserve a special sort of hatred however, for Frank, and the other recruits saw this and took every opportunity to make his life hell. What kept Frank going though was the thought that one day he would get away from them all and actually make a difference in the world.

“Jones!” snapped Nicoll, “Stop day-dreaming or you’ll do another two mile run…with a 50kg pack! Now get yourself into the barracks and out of my sight.”

Dinner in the Mess Hall was one of the only respites Frank got from the arduous daily tasks of an army recruit. Dinner that night was the same as everyday, Frank sitting by himself at the smallest table near the corner of the large hall. He contemplated on the day’s trials and once again felt a surge of pride when he reminded himself that he had been on of only a few to pass the course. He had hoped this would gain him some respect with the sergeant and with the other recruits but the cold responses he had received when he had walked into the barracks told him otherwise.

That night, he lay awake wondering why he had ever joined the army…he had thought the army would be great, that thought was as far from reality as the Earth from the Sun.

That was the end of another day in Frank Jones’ army life.