It's literally the only democratic state in the Middle East , it's also secular as this clearly proves. The sad part is that they vote for parties that want to eliminate Israel which is the only democracy in the region that would allow them all to vote so freely. Genocide, apartheid and occupation all accusation becoming lies.

Captain Ivan Lee Synn Leng on top of an Infantry Fighting Vehicle

Beneath the profanity and biting sarcasm lies a serious question: when bullets begin to fly, who can you actually trust?

1. The operations officer: incompetence with potentially fatal consequences 

The most consequential criticism concerns the decision to pool the infantry fighting vehicles (IFVs) centrally, separating them from their drivers, crews and mounted infantry. 

Ivan, me and the US Green Berets

Swami's anger is understandable. Mechanised infantry depends on the coordination of vehicles, crews and dismounted troops. Concentrating the vehicles away from their personnel can delay access, complicate defence and leave valuable equipment vulnerable. In a hostile environment such as Mogadishu, those consequences could be severe. 

Captain Ivan Lee Synn Leng with his parish priest, the late Rev Fr Mari Arokiam

His allegation that the officer's appointment was influenced by family connections and religious conversion makes the criticism particularly explosive. Swami is not simply questioning the officer's tactical judgment; he is challenging the fairness of the military system that, in his view, placed an inadequately trained individual in a position of responsibility. 

Ivan with the body guards of Ali Muhammad Mahdi

That distinction matters. An incompetent decision by an officer can endanger an entire unit, not merely damage his own career. 

Nevertheless, the nepotism and religious favouritism allegations are Swami's account of events. The excerpt alone cannot independently establish the officer's motives or the circumstances of his appointment. A critical reader should distinguish the tactical argument, which can be assessed on its merits, from the personal allegations, which would require corroboration.

2. The explosion: the instinct of a combat leader

The moment the explosion erupts and automatic fire follows, Swami's immediate concern is the IFVs. He recognises that the vehicles are isolated and potentially vulnerable. He arms himself and runs towards them, despite not having his helmet. 

Ivan Lee with his charges, the Somali orphans

This is one of the passage's strongest illustrations of his military mindset. His attention goes immediately to a tactical vulnerability rather than his personal safety. His behaviour suggests three qualities:

- Situational awareness: he understands the implications of the vehicles' positioning.

- Initiative: he acts without waiting for someone else to tell him what to do.

- Mission orientation: his first concern is the unit's ability to survive and fight.

Yet his missing helmet also reveals the danger of acting under extreme pressure without all protective equipment. His urgency is understandable, but the episode is not a simple endorsement of every decision made in the heat of combat. Courage and sound tactical judgment must work together. 

Ivan Lee with Major Len Olivero

The newly arrived soldiers, still carrying toothbrushes and wearing towels, provide a striking contrast. For them, the attack appears to arrive from nowhere. For Swami, it confirms what he already feared: some of the men have not yet developed a proper appreciation of the danger surrounding them. 

3. Captain Ivan: a moment that reveals the cost of combat

The encounter with Captain Ivan is arguably the emotional centre of the chapter. Swami dives behind a Condor's tyre as rounds strike the compound. Hearing footsteps behind him, he swings his rifle towards the sound, preparing to fire. Then Ivan shouts, identifying himself. For a split second, Swami nearly shoots the very man he trusts. 

L to R - Me, Ivan and Captain (Dr) Zul at Merka

The incident is powerful because it strips away the romantic mythology of combat. Under sudden threat, the interval between identifying a danger and pulling the trigger can become dangerously small. Training, instinct and fear operate together, and a friendly face can appear in the wrong place at the wrong moment.

But the deeper significance is personal. Swami had promised Ivan's parents that he would look after their son in Somalia. He had also encouraged Ivan to join the 7th Rangers deployment. The possibility of shooting him therefore carries a burden beyond the immediate tactical mistake. 

IFV's of Bravo Company

His relief is palpable, even beneath the profanity and bravado. What emerges is a genuine friendship forged under pressure. Ivan's later teasing does not diminish the episode; it suggests that both men could revisit a frightening moment with enough trust to laugh about it. 

My IFV with my crew members

In a memoir filled with anger towards colleagues, this is an important counterpoint: Swami is capable of deep loyalty, affection and self-reproach. The friendship also gives the chapter something that its accusations alone could not provide—a human heart.

4. The Apache helicopters: courage does not eliminate uncertainty

The arrival of the American Apache attack helicopters introduces another layer of tension. Swami hears sustained bursts of fire but worries that the helicopters might mistake his men for hostile forces. That concern is significant. The presence of friendly air support does not automatically mean safety. In a confused urban battle, troops must contend not only with the enemy but also with the risks of misidentification and the uncertainty of what is happening beyond their immediate field of view. 

US Hoover craft capable of carrying 2 M1Abrams tanks from ship to shore

The sudden silence after the firing provides a temporary release from the tension, but not a complete explanation of the engagement. The excerpt does not establish precisely what the Apaches engaged or the full sequence of events.

Swami's narrative is strongest here when it conveys what he could hear, see and fear at the time. The reader experiences the confusion alongside him rather than receiving a sanitised, retrospective account in which everything becomes clear.

5. The soldiers who remained behind: the failure of preparation

Swami's fury at the soldiers who react to the attack in towels, with toothbrushes still in their mouths, is more than an expression of personal irritation. He sees their behaviour as evidence of a peacetime military culture that has not adequately prepared its personnel for the psychological shock of combat.

Their apparent lack of urgency alarms him because he believes they have not understood that the situation could become fatal. His insistence that they obey him if they want to return to Malaysia alive reveals his approach to leadership: he believes survival depends on discipline, preparation and unquestioning execution of necessary orders.

There is an important distinction here, however. Being inexperienced or initially startled by an explosion does not necessarily make a soldier a coward. The more substantial criticism is whether personnel have been trained to respond appropriately, whether their commanders have prepared them, and whether they fulfil their responsibilities once the danger becomes apparent.

That distinction strengthens the passage's underlying argument. The issue is not whether everyone reacts with the same outward fearlessness as Swami. It is whether the unit can function when fear is unavoidable.

6. The two officers: the memoir becomes a personal indictment

The account of the two officers who rearranged Swami's belongings, leaving him unable to find his helmet, gives the episode a particularly bitter edge. Their later appearance on the camp bed, wearing helmets and holding rifles between their thighs, becomes an image of belated preparedness. The equipment is finally in place, but Swami questions why they had not moved out when the attack began.

His crude visualisation of them holding their genitals instead of their rifles is deliberately provocative. It is not restrained military commentary; it is ridicule designed to strip away the dignity associated with rank and uniform. The subsequent disagreement, recalled 31 years later, adds another dimension. Swami accuses one officer of denying or minimising what happened, while that officer reportedly disputes the recollection.

Here the memoir becomes a contest over memory, credibility and reputation. Swami clearly believes that the men are attempting to protect themselves from an uncomfortable truth. His anger has survived long after the firefight ended.

However, the passage presents Swami's recollection and interpretation. The officers' motives and the exact details of their conduct cannot be independently established from this excerpt alone. That does not invalidate his experience; it simply means readers should recognise that this is a personal memoir, not a neutral after-action investigation.

7. The harshest criticism: men who volunteer for the wrong reasons

Swami's broader condemnation concerns personnel whom he believes volunteered for the deployment because of allowances, personal advantage or the prospect of claiming an association with combat. This is the moral core of his anger. In his view, volunteering for a dangerous mission creates an obligation that goes beyond collecting money or wearing the uniform.

A soldier must accept the responsibilities that accompany the risks. His observation that Ivan and he would have behaved differently had the other officers followed them is a pointed challenge to their sense of duty.

Yet there is an important qualification: a person's failure to follow two officers into an exposed position does not, by itself, prove cowardice. Tactical decisions depend on orders, roles, information and the wider situation. The stronger criticism would be established by showing that personnel abandoned assigned duties or failed to respond when their responsibilities required them to act.

The distinction matters because Swami's most compelling standard is not that everyone must imitate his personality. It is that every soldier must be professionally prepared, accountable and dependable when the unit is threatened.

8. The pornographic magazines: black humour in the face of danger

Perhaps the most unexpected moment comes after the firefight, when Swami returns to his accommodation, puts on his helmet and vest, takes his rifle and sits on his camp bed browsing a stack of pornographic magazines while mortars are being fired into the camp. It is an absurd image, and Swami knows it.

After the frantic dash towards the IFVs, the near-shooting of Ivan and the anger directed at his colleagues, the scene ends with an almost surreal return to routine. Rather than searching for a bunker, he settles down with his rifle and magazines until the danger passes.

The episode can be read as dark military humour, a display of emotional detachment, or a soldier's idiosyncratic way of coping with a threatening situation. It may also reveal Swami's contrarian temperament: even in a dangerous environment, he refuses to perform fear in the manner others might expect.

But the scene is not necessarily proof of sound protective practice. Mortar fire is dangerous, and seeking appropriate cover would ordinarily be the safer response. Its literary importance lies in the incongruity, not in presenting his choice as a model for others.

The humour also makes the preceding tension more memorable. Swami does not conclude with a grand speech about courage. He ends with an image that is simultaneously ridiculous, provocative and distinctly human.

9. What this chapter reveals about Major D. Swami

Courage and initiative He moves towards the threatened vehicles while others appear unprepared. His actions reveal an instinct to confront danger rather than wait passively for events to unfold. Loyalty and personal responsibility

His concern for Ivan, including his promise to Ivan's parents, shows that his sense of duty extends beyond formal command relationships. Contempt for incompetence

He judges officers by their preparation, decisions and actions under pressure, not by their connections or rank. His criticism is sharpest when he believes those entrusted with responsibility have failed their men. A combative and unforgiving temperament His anger gives the narrative its force, but his insults and sweeping judgments can also obscure the distinction between demonstrated professional failure and perceived personal weakness.

The final point is essential to a balanced reading. Swami's greatest strength as a narrator is his refusal to soften his reactions. His corresponding weakness is that his anger sometimes makes his interpretation appear conclusive before the reader has heard any competing account.

That tension makes him a more complicated character than a straightforward military hero. He is decisive, loyal and courageous as he understands those qualities, but he is also combative, deeply resentful of perceived injustice and unwilling to forgive what he considers betrayal.

10. Literary assessment: why the passage works

The writing is effective for four principal reasons.

- Immediate action: The explosion, automatic fire, missing helmet and rush towards the vehicles place the reader directly inside the crisis.

- Personal stakes: The near-shooting of Ivan transforms a combat incident into a story about friendship, responsibility and the possibility of an irreversible mistake.

- Conflict beyond the enemy: The chapter's central antagonism is not confined to Somali militia. It also involves the author's distrust of colleagues and his frustration with military leadership.

- Dark humour: The final scene with the pornographic magazines disrupts conventional heroic storytelling and leaves the reader with an image that is difficult to forget.

The profanities are integral to Swami's voice. They communicate fury, contempt and a refusal to disguise his feelings behind formal military language. But they also carry a literary risk: when almost every disagreement becomes an indictment of someone's character, the reader may begin to hear the anger more clearly than the evidence.

A more restrained writer might have produced a conventional account of a mortar attack. Swami instead produces a deeply personal confrontation with what he believes is the difference between professional soldiers and men who merely occupy military positions. That is the source of both the passage's force and its controversy.

Overall reaction

Chapter 53 is not simply a war story about an attack on a military compound in Mogadishu. It is an angry examination of professional competence, military preparedness, friendship and the obligations of command.

Swami's recollection of nearly shooting Ivan is the passage's emotional centre; his dash towards the IFVs establishes his instinctive response to danger; and his confrontation with the two officers exposes the bitterness that remains long after the fighting has stopped. The final episode with the pornographic magazines supplies an irreverent ending that refuses to turn the experience into a conventional tale of heroism.

The reader need not accept every accusation or endorse every decision to recognise the underlying concern. In a deployment where mistakes could cost lives, training, sound judgment and dependable leadership were not administrative niceties. They were necessities.

The most compelling message in this chapter is that a uniform, a rank and a place on an overseas mission do not automatically make someone a dependable soldier. Dependability must be demonstrated through competence, responsibility and conduct when circumstances become dangerous.

That is why this passage fits the uncompromising character of Exigent Circumstances. Swami is not trying to make himself universally likeable, nor does he attempt to make his fellow officers look good. He writes as a man who believes that some failures must be named, even when doing so invites resentment.

His account is vivid, confrontational and frequently darkly funny. It is also one-sided in places, and a discerning reader should separate the force of his testimony from the independent verification of his allegations.

Ultimately, the chapter's lasting impact lies in the uncomfortable question it leaves behind: When danger arrives without warning, will the people beside you fulfill their responsibilities—or will you discover, too late, that the uniform concealed a lack of preparation, courage or commitment?

What makes this account compelling is its raw honesty. You do not romanticise the beginning of your military journey. There are no grand descriptions of patriotic ceremonies, inspiring instructors or noble military traditions. Instead, the reader encounters tears at a railway station, a father's expectations, a one-way train ticket, abusive NCOs, racial insensitivity, hunger and physical intimidation.

It is an uncomfortable introduction to military life, and that is precisely what gives the narrative its strength.

My Late Mum

My Late Dad

1. Chapter 3: Leaving home — the emotional cost of becoming a soldier The opening paragraph is arguably one of the most emotionally effective passages in this section. You are 18, carrying a bag containing your worldly possessions, preparing to leave your family. Your mother is crying, your father is offering encouragement, and your siblings are there to see you off.

There is a universality to this moment. Every generation has young people who leave home to pursue something bigger than themselves. But for an 18-year-old joining the military, the departure carries an additional significance. You are not simply leaving home to study or find employment. You are entering an institution that will take control of your time, your movements, your appearance and, potentially, your life.

Your mother's tears are particularly touching. Your humorous observation that mothers everywhere become emotional when their children go out to play soldier boy provides a lighter touch without diminishing the sadness of the occasion. Your father, meanwhile, gives you RM100 and tells you: "I want you to become an Officer." This is a remarkably important sentence.

Your father is not merely sending you away with money for expenses. He is expressing an ambition for your future. He wants you to rise above the ordinary expectations of an enlisted soldier. There is something almost prophetic about this statement, considering the military career that eventually unfolds.

The RM100 is also a useful historical detail. You remind readers that this was a substantial amount of money at the time. It gives the departure a tangible economic context and illustrates the sacrifices made by an ordinary family to support a son's ambitions.

The reference to your elder brother having joined the Army during the Indonesian Confrontation adds another dimension. Military service was already part of your family's experience. Your decision was not entirely detached from the circumstances of your upbringing.

The one-way ticket 

The Army warrant for a free train journey to the Recruit Training Centre is a wonderful detail. You describe it as a one-way ticket. That expression works on two levels. Literally, it is a railway arrangement. Symbolically, it marks the beginning of a journey from which there is no easy return.

If you qualify and subsequently change your mind, you have to pay your own fare home. If you fail the selection tests or medical examination, the Army provides the return journey. There is a certain irony in this arrangement. The institution is prepared to send you home if you are unsuitable, but once accepted, you are expected to commit yourself.

The passage ends with the observation that there were only about five Indian youths from Teluk Anson among the prospective recruits. This is important because it introduces a recurring theme in your memoir: being a member of a minority in an institution overwhelmingly populated by Malays.

The reader is already being prepared for the racial and institutional tensions that will become more explicit in Chapter 4.

2. Chapter 4: The railway journey — the beginning of the great military circus

The repeated sound of the engine, the heat, the frequent stops, the change at Tapah Road and the eventual arrival at Seremban create an almost documentary quality.

You are not attempting to write a romantic railway travelogue. You are recording the experience as you remember it. Your description of the other recruits as additional cannon fodder is particularly characteristic of the memoir's irreverent voice.

It tells us something about the young man you were: already sceptical, observant and capable of finding humour in an uncomfortable situation. The reference to third-class travel is another useful social detail. These were young men from ordinary backgrounds, many of whom did not have much money. They were entering military service without the comforts or privileges enjoyed by more affluent recruits.

The journey is therefore not merely geographical. It is a transition from civilian poverty and uncertainty into a rigid military hierarchy.

3. Major Aarof: The commanding officer who makes a disastrous first impression

The arrival at Seremban is where the narrative changes character. There are hundreds of recruits from different ethnic backgrounds. Senior NCOs are attempting to organise the crowd, but the situation is chaotic.

Then comes the gentleman who is apparently full of self-importance and begins barking instructions at the already harassed NCOs. The revelation that this man is Major Aarof, the Commanding Officer of the Recruit Training Centre, is an excellent narrative twist.

You initially present him as an irritating character whose behaviour makes an already difficult situation worse. The subsequent comparison with Gomer Pyle and Gilligan is hilarious, but it also introduces a more serious criticism. A commanding officer is supposed to establish discipline, confidence and professional standards. Yet the first impression created by Major Aarof is one of disorder and unnecessary intimidation.

The NCOs respond by unleashing a torrent of profanity at the recruits. This is particularly revealing because the abuse is not directed at an individual for a specific disciplinary offence. It becomes a collective exercise in humiliation.

The recruits are shocked, bewildered and completely unfamiliar with the language and culture of the institution they have just entered. The irony is unmistakable.

The Army is supposedly concerned about maintaining its public image, yet its own senior personnel are conducting themselves in a manner that undermines that image in full public view. Your sarcastic observation about being warned not to wave or shout at members of the public during the journey to Port Dickson is therefore entirely justified. The institution demands decorum from its recruits while apparently tolerating the very opposite from its instructors.

4. The NCOs: Discipline or institutionalised cruelty?

This is where your account becomes genuinely disturbing. You describe the instructors as the most sadistic people you had encountered, comparing them unfavourably with the drill sergeant portrayed in Full Metal Jacket.

The comparison is deliberately provocative. But the important issue is not whether military instructors should shout, impose discipline or subject recruits to demanding physical training.

They absolutely should. Military training requires physical endurance, mental resilience, obedience, teamwork and the ability to function under pressure. The issue is the distinction between legitimate military discipline and gratuitous cruelty.

There is a world of difference between:

- Correcting a recruit who makes a mistake.

- Teaching a recruit to obey orders under pressure.

- Subjecting recruits to demanding physical training.

- Humiliating recruits through personal insults.

- Using physical violence to intimidate people who have committed no serious offence.

Your account suggests that the instructors frequently crossed that boundary. The repeated references to the private parts of recruits' mothers, sexual insults and threats of bodily harm are particularly revealing. This is not professional military instruction. It is the exercise of authority through humiliation.

The problem with such an approach is that it can produce outward obedience without developing genuine military professionalism. A recruit may learn to fear an instructor without learning to respect him. Fear can make men comply. It does not necessarily make them better soldiers.

5. The cookhouse: Hunger, humiliation and the absence of basic dignity 

This is one of the strongest sections of your account. You describe 1,500 hungry recruits queuing for food after a long journey, many of whom have very little money.

They have spent much of their time traveling, waiting, being shouted at and being moved from one place to another. When they finally reach the cookhouse, they discover another exercise in endurance. Four queues snake around the building. Food is served hurriedly, and there is barely enough time to sit down and eat before the instructors start shouting for the next group to clear the tables.

Your observation about the Army's attitude towards logistics is particularly biting: "Don't pamper your soldiers or they will become spoilt." This is perhaps the most important institutional criticism in the entire passage.

There appears to be an underlying philosophy that soldiers must be deprived of comfort to develop toughness. But this confuses hardship with neglect. A soldier must be prepared to endure difficult conditions in the field. That does not mean the Army should deliberately provide inadequate food, poor facilities or unnecessarily degrading living conditions during routine training.

Good logistics are not a luxury. They are an essential component of military effectiveness. An army that cannot feed its recruits properly during peacetime training should seriously examine its priorities. You also make an interesting comparison with the American military, suggesting that the Malaysian Army did not place sufficient importance on feeding its soldiers well.

Although the comparison is expressed in your characteristic sarcastic style, the underlying question is valid: Why should adequate food and decent treatment be regarded as pampering?

A well-fed, properly rested and professionally trained soldier is an asset, not a spoilt individual. 

6. The beef incident: 

Where the narrative becomes a serious indictment of racial insensitivity This is arguably the most troubling part of the passage.

You arrive at the food counter and see beef being served. You have never eaten beef before and politely indicate that you do not want it. Instead of responding professionally, someone makes a sarcastic remark about your ability to consume milk but not beef, clearly referring to your Indian ethnicity.

The remark is not simply insensitive. It demonstrates a complete failure to understand the diversity of the recruits under the Army's care. The Indian cook, however, responds sympathetically and gives you a large drumstick with gravy. That small gesture is significant.

Within the same institution, one person chooses to ridicule you while another quietly shows consideration. The contrast is powerful. The cook does not need to deliver a lecture about racial harmony. His actions demonstrate something more meaningful: basic human decency.

There is also an important distinction here. Your objection to beef should not be interpreted as proof that all ethnic Indians follow the same dietary practices. Individual preferences and religious or cultural practices differ. The point is that a recruit's dietary needs should be treated respectfully rather than turned into an opportunity for ridicule.

Your broader accusation that racism and bigotry remain prevalent in the Malaysian Army is forceful. It is an important allegation, particularly in a memoir that seeks to expose the experiences of non-Malay servicemen. However, the passage itself establishes an incident of racial insensitivity, it has become a norm. Your wider claim becomes stronger when supported by the subsequent experiences you describe throughout the book.

And that is precisely why this episode matters. It gives the reader a concrete incident rather than an abstract accusation.

7. The fat wiggly in the rice: A revolting detail that says everything

Your description of the fat wiggly in the middle of the rice is disgusting, but effective. It is also very revealing. The recruits are already being treated as though their basic needs are unimportant. Now they discover that even the food being served is not properly cleaned. Then comes the final indignity. An instructor kicks the metal folding chair from beneath your neighbour, using his hobnailed boots.

The poor fellow is still eating when the chair is violently displaced. The instructor shouts that his eating time is over. This is a particularly ugly moment. The recruit is not refusing an order or creating a disturbance. He is trying to finish his meal. The instructor's behavior demonstrates an extraordinary lack of restraint.

Your immediate reaction is to scramble away before becoming the next target. That is a revealing admission. You are 18 years old, hungry, exhausted and completely unfamiliar with the environment. You have no power, no influence and no means of challenging the instructor.

Your survival instinct takes over. This is an important psychological dimension of the passage. The recruits are not simply learning how to become soldiers. They are learning how to survive an institutional environment in which authority is exercised unpredictably.

8. The deeper institutional problem: Confusing brutality with toughness 

The strongest criticism emerging from these chapters is the apparent belief that humiliation is an essential part of military training. There is nothing inherently wrong with tough training. Indeed, military training must be demanding.

But toughness should be purposeful. A recruit should be physically exhausted because the training programme requires endurance, not because an instructor enjoys making him suffer.

A recruit should be corrected because he has made a mistake, not because an instructor wants to demonstrate his power. A recruit should be disciplined to develop self-control, not terrorised into submission.

The distinction is fundamental. The Malaysian Army of that period appears, from your account, to have had an unhealthy tolerance for the abuse of authority at the training establishment.

What is particularly disturbing is that this treatment occurs at the very beginning of a soldier's career. The Army is attempting to mould young civilians into disciplined soldiers, yet some of the people entrusted with that responsibility appear to have little understanding of professional leadership.

The institution risks teaching the wrong lessons. It teaches recruits that rank gives someone the right to humiliate others, that physical intimidation is acceptable and that dignity is something subordinate personnel must surrender. Those are dangerous lessons for an organisation that depends on trust, cohesion and mutual respect.

9. What makes these chapters particularly effective as memoir writing?

There are four literary strengths worth highlighting. Element Why it works Personal recollection The departure from home makes the story emotionally accessible. Sarcasm and profanity They communicate the young recruit's shock, anger and resentment. Specific details RM100, the diesel train, green plastic plates, the hobnailed boots and the folding chair make the memories tangible.

Institutional criticism The incidents expose problems with leadership, logistics, racial sensitivity and the treatment of recruits. Your writing also has a distinctive characteristic: you refuse to sanitise the past. You call things as you remember them.

The language is sometimes crude, but the crudeness is part of the narrative voice. It conveys the emotional atmosphere of a young recruit who has suddenly discovered that military life is considerably less glamorous than he imagined. The repeated profanity and sexual references are effective in establishing the instructors' behavior, but some repetition could be reduced without losing the anger. The strongest passages are those where you allow a specific incident to speak for itself.

For example, the instructor kicking the chair from beneath a recruit is considerably more powerful than several additional descriptions of his foul language. That incident needs very little embellishment.

10. The larger significance: The making of a soldier begins with disillusionment 

There is an interesting contrast between Chapters 3 and 4.

Chapter 3 begins with a young man whose father wants him to become an officer. There is affection, family pride, hope and ambition.

Chapter 4 opens the door to an institution that seems almost determined to extinguish those feelings. The young man who leaves home carrying RM100 and his family's expectations finds himself among 1,500 recruits being shouted at, humiliated and treated with very little consideration.

This contrast is powerful because it captures the distance between the ideal of military service and the reality experienced by ordinary recruits. Yet there is another dimension. Despite everything, you remain.

You endure the training, survive the instructors and eventually become a commissioned officer. Looking back from the perspective of a military career, the irony is considerable. Your father had asked you to become an officer. He could hardly have imagined the journey that lay ahead, including the experiences, frustrations, operational deployments and institutional shortcomings that you would eventually describe in Exigent Circumstances.

The reader, however, begins to understand something important about your character. Your skepticism towards authority, your sensitivity to discrimination and your insistence on professional standards did not emerge overnight. Some of their foundations may be traced to these early experiences.

You were introduced to military authority at an age when you were particularly vulnerable, and your first lessons were not always examples of good leadership. Perhaps that explains why you subsequently became so critical of incompetent and abusive officers.

Final assessment

Powerful autobiographical opening These two chapters are more than an account of joining the Army. They are an introduction to the institutional environment that shaped your military outlook.

Chapter 3 is emotionally engaging because it captures the sacrifice involved in leaving home at 18. Your mother's tears, your father's RM100 and his instruction to become an officer provide the human foundation for the story.

Chapter 4 is deliberately abrasive. It strips away the romantic image of military service and exposes the indignities experienced by ordinary recruits.

The racial incident at the cookhouse is particularly important because it introduces a theme that becomes significant in your wider memoir: the experience of being a non-Malay in an institution where you sometimes felt that you were not treated as an equal.

The treatment of the recruits also raises fundamental questions about the quality of military leadership and the difference between discipline and cruelty. What is found particularly compelling is that you do not present yourself as someone who entered the Army already knowing what to expect. You were an ordinary 18-year-old, with ambitions, family expectations and considerable uncertainty about the future.

You were not born a hardened soldier. You became one through experience. And perhaps the most significant irony is this: the Army wanted to teach you discipline, obedience and military values, but some of your earliest lessons came from people who demonstrated precisely how leadership should NOT be practised.

That is an excellent foundation for a memoir about a military career that would eventually take you far beyond the railway station at Seremban and the cookhouse at Port Dickson. The boy who left Teluk Anson with RM100 and a one-way railway warrant had a very long road ahead of him.

What makes Othman's story compelling is that Swami does not portray him as a fully formed soldier from the beginning. Instead, we witness his development in the most demanding classroom imaginable—operational deployment, where mistakes have immediate consequences and where an officer's character becomes visible under pressure.

1. From apprehension to action: the first encounter

Othman's concern about going to Somalia is entirely understandable. Fresh out of the Royal Military College (RMC), he knows that he has not completed the Young Officers Tactics Course. He is conscious of his lack of experience and has the honesty to admit it.

Captain Ivan Lee's reassurance that his training will take place in Somalia is both humorous and sobering. This is not a conventional training environment, with instructors, controlled exercises and the luxury of repeating a failed drill. The lessons will be delivered by real situations, uncertainty and the possibility of danger.

There is an important leadership lesson here. Ivan does not humiliate the young officer or dismiss his anxiety. He reassures him and helps him face the challenge ahead.

Othman's initial apprehension is not evidence of cowardice. It is evidence that he understands the limits of his experience. The real test is what he does when those limits are challenged. 

2. The PX incident: a small officer with the heart of a tiger

The confrontation at the PX is the chapter's first dramatic turning point. Othman, wearing only a towel after apparently going to take a shower, finds himself struggling with three much larger American contractors. He calls for help over his Motorola radio. The contrast is almost cinematic: a young Malaysian lieutenant, barely out of military college, confronting three imposing men while dressed in nothing more than a towel.

Swami's description of Othman as small-sized but possessing the heart of a tiger is the key to understanding his character. Physical stature is not the same as courage. Nor does being inexperienced necessarily mean being incapable. 

IFV

Othman does not retreat from the confrontation. He attempts to deal with the situation and, when he needs assistance, uses his radio to call for it. That last detail is particularly important. Courage is not the refusal to seek help; it is the willingness to confront a problem while recognising when support is needed.

The incident also demonstrates the value of communications equipment. The officers keep their Motorola radios within immediate reach, even during rest periods. Their readiness allows Othman to summon assistance and enables his colleagues to respond almost immediately. The radio is not merely a piece of equipment. It is a lifeline connecting a young officer to the people who can support him.

3. The response of Swami, Ivan and Major Christopher: a powerful demonstration of comradeship 

The speed of the response is one of the strongest elements in the narrative. Swami straps on his belt and sidearm, Ivan grabs his rifle, and Major Christopher follows them. They race towards Othman's position with little time for preparation beyond grabbing their weapons and boots. The scene is simultaneously tense and darkly comic. Three infantry officers rush into action, still in their underwear, with Major Christopher wearing a Kevlar helmet and carrying his rifle.

Yet beneath the absurd appearance is a serious point about military comradeship. Othman has called for help, and his fellow officers respond. They do not question whether he is worth the trouble, whether the confrontation is beneath their rank, or whether someone else should handle it. They go.

This is leadership expressed through action rather than speeches. The young officer discovers that his call for assistance will be taken seriously and that his colleagues will not abandon him when a situation becomes difficult.

The scene also shows something significant about Swami himself. For all his anger elsewhere in the memoir towards officers whom he considers incompetent or unreliable, he clearly values the bonds that exist between men who are prepared to act for one another.

The embarrassment that follows, when the defence platoon arrives and takes control, adds humanity to the episode. The officers have rushed to help a colleague, but they suddenly realise how ridiculous they look in their underwear. Their laughter afterwards is not a sign that the incident was unimportant. It is a release of tension among men who have just acted under pressure.

4. The most important lesson: Othman learns that he is not alone

For Othman, the incident must have been transformative. Imagine arriving in a foreign operational theatre, conscious of your incomplete training, and then finding yourself confronting three physically imposing men. You call for help, and within moments experienced officers arrive to support you.

The lesson is much larger than the immediate confrontation. He learns that his seniors expect him to act, but they also understand that he is still learning. He discovers that asking for assistance is legitimate and that his colleagues are prepared to place themselves in an uncomfortable, potentially dangerous situation to support him.

This is how confidence develops. Not through motivational speeches or assurances that everything will be fine, but through repeated experiences in which people demonstrate that their words can be trusted. Swami describes the episode as a learning moment about urgency, quick reaction and the support Othman can expect when in trouble. That interpretation is convincing because the narrative subsequently provides a second incident in which Othman's development becomes much more apparent.

5. The reconnaissance patrol: the inexperienced lieutenant begins to take initiative 

The later incident is arguably the most revealing part of Othman's story. During a reconnaissance patrol, the vehicles come under fire. The other vehicles move into Hunter Base, which has been taken over by the Bangladeshis. Othman, however, goes off on his own in an infantry fighting vehicle to pursue the suspected perpetrator.

This is a dramatic reversal of his earlier position. Previously, he was the young officer calling for assistance. Now, he is the officer taking the initiative while Swami is left worrying about his whereabouts.

The episode reveals several qualities.

- Initiative: Othman does not remain passive after coming under fire.

- Aggressiveness: He seeks to pursue the source of the attack rather than simply withdrawing from the situation.

- Confidence: He is willing to act independently in a dangerous environment.

- Determination: He appears intent on responding to the threat rather than allowing the incident to pass unanswered.

However, it is important to distinguish initiative from sound tactical judgment. Pursuing a suspected attacker alone in an IFV could expose an officer and vehicle to unnecessary danger. The excerpt does not establish whether Othman's decision was tactically justified, whether he had sufficient information, or whether his actions followed the established command arrangements.

His courage is evident in the account, but the wisdom of the decision cannot be assessed conclusively from the passage alone. That distinction makes the episode more interesting, not less. It shows an officer who has gained confidence, but whose growing confidence must still be balanced against judgment and discipline.

6. Swami's anxiety reveals how much Othman has come to matter 

One of the most revealing moments belongs not to Othman, but to Swami. Swami has dismounted, and the Americans accompanying him are providing support. He instructs them to take cover in Hunter Base, but they refuse. Meanwhile, Othman is out of sight.

Swami is torn between going after the young lieutenant and remaining where he is. He chooses to stay and attempts to contact Othman by radio. Then he sees a cloud of dust in the distance.

It is Othman returning.

Swami's sigh of relief tells us something important about their relationship. The young officer is no longer simply a junior who needs reassurance. He is someone whose absence causes genuine anxiety because Swami feels responsible for him.

This is one of the more subtle expressions of leadership in the chapter. A commander or senior officer can be angry with a subordinate, criticise his decisions and demand high standards, yet still feel personally responsible for his safety.

Swami's worry also reveals the burden of command. When a subordinate acts independently and disappears from view, the senior officer must deal with uncertainty while continuing to manage the situation around him. He cannot simply follow his instinct to chase after Othman. He has to consider the Americans with him, the immediate tactical circumstances and the need to maintain communications.

The relief when Othman returns suggests that the relationship between them has moved beyond formal rank. Swami is no longer merely concerned about whether Othman can survive Somalia. He has begun to trust him, even while worrying about the risks he takes.

7. The coffee after the incident: an ordinary moment with deeper meaning 

After Othman returns, Swami asks his batman, Michael Siam, to prepare coffee for the four Americans and himself. The water is heated using the IFV's built-in facilities, and the men eventually return to base. At first glance, this is an ordinary detail in a military memoir. Yet it provides a striking contrast with the tension that preceded it.

Only moments earlier, Swami was worried about a missing officer after an engagement. Now, the immediate crisis has passed, and he is sharing coffee with the Americans. The scene illustrates how soldiers return to routine after danger.

They cannot remain permanently in a state of heightened tension. Everyday activities—making coffee, talking, resting and returning to base—help restore a sense of normality. There is also an understated expression of leadership here.

Swami does not end the episode with a grand speech about bravery. He resumes ordinary life while reflecting on what the incident has taught him about Othman. The final observation is the most important: knowing that Othman will not let him down in a firefight is reassuring. That statement is the real conclusion to the young officer's story.

8. Othman's development: what changes between the two incidents?

Stage 1 — The apprehensive newcomer

Othman arrives from RMC worried about his lack of formal tactical training. He recognises his limitations and seeks reassurance from Captain Ivan.

Stage 2 — Learning to respond

During the PX confrontation, he attempts to handle a difficult situation and calls for assistance. His colleagues respond, showing him the value of communications, mutual support and quick reaction.

Stage 3 — The initiative-taking officer

During the reconnaissance patrol, he independently pursues the suspected attacker. His conduct suggests greater confidence, though the tactical wisdom of pursuing alone remains open to question.

Stage 4 — The trusted comrade 

His safe return reassures Swami that he can be relied upon in a firefight. The relationship has developed from senior-junior reassurance into mutual confidence built through operational experience.

9. What this episode says about military leadership

The chapter offers several lessons for young officers and their commanders. First, confidence must be developed through experience. Othman's initial anxiety is not something to ridicule. It is a starting point from which he learns to operate under pressure.

Second, comradeship must be demonstrated. Swami, Ivan and Christopher show that support is not merely an abstract military value. When Othman calls, they respond.

Third, initiative must be accompanied by judgment. Othman's decision to pursue the attacker suggests determination, but a good officer must also assess risk, maintain communications and consider the safety of his men and equipment.

Fourth, trust is earned over time. Swami's final confidence in Othman is not based on his background, appearance or rank. It emerges from what Swami has observed during operational deployment.

Finally, leadership is reciprocal. Senior officers have a duty to develop and support junior officers, but junior officers must also demonstrate reliability, discipline and sound decision-making. The relationship becomes strongest when both sides fulfill their responsibilities.

10. The literary strength of Othman's story

Othman's story works because Swami allows the reader to witness his development rather than simply declaring him a good officer. The first episode is almost farcical: three infantry officers in their underwear rush to the rescue of a young lieutenant wearing only a towel. The second is tense and unsettling: that same lieutenant disappears from view after a firefight, leaving his senior officer worrying about his safety.

The contrast gives the narrative its power. Humour introduces Othman's vulnerability, while the reconnaissance patrol reveals his growing confidence and willingness to act. Swami also avoids presenting leadership as a simple hierarchy in which seniors always know best and juniors merely obey. Ivan reassures Othman; Swami and Christopher come to his aid; Othman later acts independently; and Swami comes to trust him.

The result is a more human account of military development, in which respect grows through shared experience. Overall reaction Othman Bahadon's story is one of the more human episodes in Chapter 56. It is about the transformation of a young officer who begins his Somalia deployment worried about his lack of training but gradually earns the confidence of an experienced infantry officer.

The PX incident shows that he has courage enough to confront a problem and the presence of mind to call for help. His colleagues' immediate response demonstrates the practical meaning of comradeship. The later reconnaissance patrol shows a more assertive officer, willing to take the initiative even in dangerous circumstances.

Yet the most revealing moment is Swami's relief when Othman returns. It shows that the young lieutenant has become someone whose safety matters deeply to his senior officer—and whose reliability has become a source of reassurance.

There is a subtle distinction between the two men. Swami's leadership is expressed through his readiness to protect, his concern for those under his responsibility and his assessment of their conduct. Othman's development is expressed through his willingness to confront danger and his growing ability to act independently.

Neither man is presented as infallible. That is precisely why the episode feels authentic. The deepest lesson is that a young officer does not earn trust simply by graduating from a military college or receiving a commission. He earns it by demonstrating courage, initiative, judgment and reliability when circumstances are uncertain and the consequences are real.

Othman begins the chapter as a worried young officer who has yet to complete an important course. He ends it as someone Swami believes will not let him down in a firefight. That is a meaningful journey—from apprehension to confidence, and from being supported by his seniors to becoming a comrade they can trust.

[2] Now it is to end. A directive from the office of the armed forces chief has instructed Pernama’s 80-odd outlets to stop selling beer once existing stocks run out.^[1] No reason has been given, but I would not be surprised if the decision were driven by religious considerations.

[3] Non-Muslim soldiers served, bled and died for this country alongside their Muslim comrades. Why should a facility used only by non-Muslims, and harming no one, be quietly withdrawn? Malaysia may be a Muslim-majority country, but that does not mean non-Muslims have no rights. What is forbidden to Muslims cannot simply be denied to everyone else.

[4] On its own, the Pernama decision might seem trivial. But it is part of a steady and unmistakable trend: officials, bureaucrats and politicians extending Islamic norms into the public space and onto the lives of non-Muslims, often without law, debate or explanation.

[5] In 2021, Kuala Lumpur City Hall banned the sale of hard liquor in sundry shops, convenience stores and Chinese medicine halls, despite protests that it infringed on the rights of non-Muslims.^[2] Two years later, City Hall was still insisting the ban stood.^[3]

[6] In 2015, after a row over dress codes at government offices, a mufti suggested that non-Muslims dress “appropriately” out of respect for Muslims.^[4] Today, it has become normal for non-Muslim women to be denied service at government departments unless they cover up, often with a sarong handed to them at the door.

[7] In February 2025, the religious affairs minister announced guidelines that would have required organisers of non-Muslim celebrations and funerals attended by Muslims to seek the views of Islamic authorities. The idea was shelved only after the Sultan of Selangor intervened.^[5]

[8] In October 2025, the prime minister himself issued a “stern warning” to the tourism minister after wine and beer were served at a Global Travel Meet dinner – one the minister insisted was hosted by private industry players.^[6] And when Christmas comes around, some religious official will inevitably make a fuss about whether halal-certified restaurants are permitted to display Christmas decorations.^[7]

[9] Each incident is invariably dismissed as an isolated misunderstanding. Taken together, they tell a different story – of creeping Islamisation, where someone, somewhere decides that his personal vision of what Malaysia should look like must apply to all.

[10] None of this happened overnight. In September 2001, when then prime minister Mahathir Mohamad declared Malaysia an Islamic state^[8] – a declaration with no basis in the Constitution – non-Muslim leaders in his government kept quiet. Their silence laid the groundwork for much of what we are witnessing today.

[11] The Constitution is clear. Article 3 makes Islam the religion of the Federation but guarantees that other religions may be practised in peace and harmony. Articles 8 and 11 guarantee equality before the law and freedom of religion. Nowhere does it authorise the state to impose the religious obligations or values of one community on another. Nor does it demand that respect and tolerance be reserved for one community alone.

[12] Non-Muslims are frequently warned not to touch on Islamic matters. But this is not about Islam; it is about our constitutional rights. And every time we keep quiet, those rights are eroded a little more.

[13] Which brings us to the most troubling question of all: where are the politicians who swore to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution? Where are the non-Muslim parties in government that once loudly championed minority rights? Too often they fall silent, fearful of being labelled anti-Islam or anxious not to upset their coalition partners.

[14] Silence is not neutrality. It is acquiescence, and acquiescence only invites further encroachment. It is incumbent upon our leaders – and upon ordinary Malaysians – to stand up for the rights the Constitution guarantees.

[15] It is time for an honest national conversation about the rights of non-Muslims in the public square – not as favours to be granted or withdrawn at the whim of officials, but as constitutional entitlements. If we do not have that conversation now, we may soon find there is very little left to talk about.

7th Rangers UCIS Platoon NCO's and Commander

What begins as an almost farcical example of manpower allocation develops into a tense account of fear, leadership, human error and survival in the jungle. It ends with an ironic twist: an officer who was nearly disciplined for failing to kill the enemy hands over his area to a company that subsequently achieves three kills.

What makes this chapter compelling is not simply the danger. It is Swami’s willingness to expose his own mistakes, his fear and the moments when his carefully laid plans nearly unravelled. He does not present himself as an invincible combat officer. He presents himself as a human being who was responsible for the lives of others and who had to make decisions when the consequences of getting them wrong could be fatal. 

The UCIS Platoon was always under strength

1. A command decision that bordered on the absurd.

The initial allocation of six recruits who had completed only their basic training, supported by two experienced Rangers, was astonishing. Swami was expected to operate in an area previously occupied by three platoons, with only nine men. His disbelief is understandable. He was not merely short of manpower; he was dealing with men who had not completed their advanced training, including training relevant to the demands of the mission.

The absence of a signaller compounded the problem. His CO's explanation that Swami was too well trained to need one is especially revealing. It suggests a dangerous assumption that an officer's competence can compensate for every shortage in equipment and personnel.

However, the chapter is more interesting than a straightforward accusation against the CO. Swami initially suspects that his commanding officer wants him killed, but later acknowledges that the CO and Major Muhammad Sultan bin Ismail defended him after the nighttime incident.

That complication matters. It suggests that relationships within a military hierarchy can be more complex than an officer's initial interpretation of events. A commander can make questionable decisions and still defend a subordinate when that subordinate faces disciplinary action.

The fundamental leadership lesson is that responsibility must be matched by the resources, training and support necessary to discharge it. An officer should be resourceful, but the organisation should not depend on resourcefulness to compensate for every deficiency.

2. Leadership begins before the first shot is fired 

The most important evidence of Swami's leadership appears before the team enters the operational area. He does not simply take the recruits into the jungle and hope for the best. He asks about their ability to operate their support weapon and whether they can construct basic field shelters. He assigns the two experienced Rangers, Ghusok and Lim See Meng, to conduct additional training.

He then rehearses immediate-action drills for contact from different directions. These decisions reveal an officer who understands that inexperienced soldiers cannot be expected to react instinctively to situations they have never practised.

Swami also thinks carefully about his deployment. He selects a defensible position, identifies two approaches, allocates defensive responsibilities and establishes individual arcs of fire. He introduces a simple physical boundary to help prevent soldiers from wandering outside the perimeter at night.

This is not glamorous leadership. It is preparation, attention to detail and anticipation of human error. The significance is particularly clear because Swami is dealing with frightened, inexperienced men. He understands that a plan is only as effective as the soldiers' ability to execute it under pressure.

His strongest leadership quality is not fearlessness, but the ability to prepare for danger while knowing that neither he nor his men are fully prepared for everything that might happen.

3. The first night: the psychological reality of combat

The nighttime encounter is the emotional centre of the chapter. The darkness, drizzle and sound of breaking branches gradually create an atmosphere of uncertainty. Swami cannot see the approaching enemy clearly. He knows that the rain makes it harder to distinguish sounds, yet he must decide whether the noises represent a genuine threat.

Then Lim whispers the words that change the situation: “Sir we are surrounded”. Swami's immediate admission that his courage deserted him is one of the most effective moments in the narrative. His crude description of his fear is consistent with the memoir's unvarnished style. It punctures the familiar image of the soldier who is always composed and ready for action.

But fear does not prevent him from acting. He tells Lim to remain in position and observe. He moves towards the light machine-gun position, checks on the recruits and attempts to reassure them despite being more frightened than they are.

There is an important distinction here: Swami does not claim that fear disappeared. He demonstrates that a leader can continue to function while experiencing it. His remark that he should have been an actor is particularly revealing. He knows his men are looking to him for reassurance, and he attempts to project calm when he desperately wants to scream.

That is the psychological burden of command. The officer is not only managing the enemy; he is managing the fear of the men who depend on him.

4. The failed light machine gun: a devastating lesson in training

The most consequential mistake occurs when Swami decides to illuminate the suspected enemy's position with his Verey light pistol. He intends to expose the approaching threat and enable the two recruits operating the light machine gun to engage it. But when he fires the illuminating round, the machine gun does not fire. The magazine has not been fitted.

This is the chapter's most uncomfortable moment because it reveals the gap between knowing what to do and being able to do it under pressure. The recruits had been asked about their ability to operate the weapon, but their response did not guarantee that they could operate it correctly in darkness, under the stress of an apparent enemy approach.

Their failure was potentially catastrophic. The support weapon intended to strengthen the defence was unavailable at the moment it was needed. Swami's response is immediate: he fires a burst from his M16, and the enemy retreats.

Several lessons emerge:

- Training must be realistic. Soldiers need to practise weapon handling under conditions that approximate the stress and darkness of operational service.

- Critical equipment must be checked. A weapon's presence is not proof that it is ready for use.

- Commanders must anticipate panic. Instructions that seem straightforward during training can be forgotten when inexperienced soldiers are frightened.

- Contingency plans matter. The failure of one weapon should not automatically leave the entire position helpless.

The incident also exposes a limitation in Swami's own plan. His decision to illuminate the suspected enemy position may have made tactical sense in the circumstances, but it also exposed him to view. He admits that he did not fully appreciate this risk.

That admission strengthens the account. He does not simply condemn his recruits for their mistake; his own judgement was imperfect too. A balanced reading must recognise both facts.

5. The courage to admit fear—and the responsibility to act

Swami's account is unusually candid about his emotional state. He describes his fear, the trembling recruits and his attempt to sound calm while reassuring them. This honesty is important because courage is often misunderstood as the absence of fear. In reality, a leader's effectiveness is frequently measured by whether fear overwhelms judgement. Swami's response was not flawless, but he remained engaged, checked the defensive position and took action when the planned response failed.

He also had to consider the consequences for his men. His statement that he had to account for their lives reveals the moral weight of command. An officer's responsibility is different from that of an individual soldier acting only for himself. His decisions affect the survival of the entire group.

That responsibility does not make him immune to terror. It makes the management of terror more consequential. Swami's courage lies in his willingness to continue carrying responsibility when he is frightened, uncertain and conscious that his men may pay for his mistakes.

6. The soldiers are not props in a heroic story

One of the most revealing aspects of this chapter is the relationship between Swami and his inexperienced recruits. He jokes with his men, assigns duties, organises training and attempts to keep their spirits up. Yet during the nighttime encounter, he sees how vulnerable they really are.

Their trembling voices expose the limitations of the preparations made before deployment. They are not seasoned jungle fighters who can be expected to react automatically to every threat. Swami's response is significant because he does not abandon his responsibility when their training fails. He remains with them through the night.

He also places himself on the sentry roster, sharing the burden of vigilance rather than treating his own safety as separate from theirs. This is an important distinction between authority and leadership. Authority enables an officer to give orders. Leadership requires him to recognise the human beings who must carry them out.

The episode also demonstrates that caring for soldiers is not synonymous with shielding them from every hardship. In a combat environment, the officer may have little control over the dangers his men encounter. What he can control is the seriousness with which he prepares them, assigns their duties and responds when things go wrong.

7. The jungle is an adversary in its own right

The setting contributes substantially to the chapter's tension. The rubber plantation, the primary jungle, the river, the steep incline and the two narrow approaches all influence Swami's decisions. The nighttime rain makes an already difficult situation worse by interfering with his ability to detect approaching movement.

The environment turns uncertainty into a constant operational problem. Even the seemingly routine activities—sentry duty, standing to, checking arcs of fire and conducting a clearing patrol—become part of a continuous effort to manage that uncertainty.

Swami's description of the sound of a dead branch cracking is effective because it captures the way small noises acquire enormous significance in darkness. The reader experiences the same lack of certainty that confronts the officer.

This is one of the strengths of his writing. The narrative does not rely entirely on firefights or enemy casualties to create tension. It shows how much mental energy is consumed by waiting, listening and trying to distinguish danger from ordinary jungle sounds.

The jungle is not merely the backdrop to the action. It is a condition that shapes every decision. 

8. The attempted disciplinary action: a disturbing reversal of priorities 

The aftermath introduces another dimension of military leadership. Swami reports the incident to his CO, only to learn that the Brigade Commander wants to charge him for failing to kill the enemy.

This is arguably the most disturbing moment in the chapter. The team had been placed in a demanding operational situation with inexperienced recruits. During the encounter, the support weapon failed to fire because its magazine had not been fitted. Swami engaged with his rifle, and the suspected enemy withdrew.

Yet the immediate question apparently became why the enemy had not been killed. There is an important distinction between assessing operational performance and demanding casualties as proof of success. A serious review would examine the circumstances of the encounter, the soldiers' training, the weapon-handling failure, the decisions made under pressure and whether the team had achieved its immediate defensive objective.

It would also consider what could be learned to prevent a similar incident. Swami's account suggests that the proposed disciplinary action focused instead on the failure to produce a particular result. We cannot independently establish the Brigade Commander's full reasoning from this account alone. Nevertheless, the episode raises a legitimate question: was the objective to improve combat effectiveness, or was the absence of enemy casualties being treated as evidence of failure regardless of the circumstances?

The distinction is crucial.

Combat effectiveness cannot be measured by body counts alone. Mission objectives, force protection, intelligence, tactical conditions and the actual circumstances of an engagement all matter.

The fact that Swami's CO and Major Muhammad Sultan bin Ismail defended him adds an important counterpoint. The institution was not entirely monolithic in its response. Senior officers could disagree over how the incident should be judged.

9. The irony of the handover

The final scene provides a satisfying conclusion. After receiving only three additional men, Swami's force grows to twelve before falling to eleven following insertion and resupply. He continues patrolling until a company of the Royal Malay Regiment arrives to take over the area.

The arriving Major, Masood, later becomes Deputy Chief of Army. He appears surprised that Swami has been operating in a company-sized area with only eleven men. That reaction validates the seriousness of the manpower disparity without requiring Swami to make another angry speech.

Swami briefs the incoming officer, identifies the approaches used by the suspected enemy and mentions the discovery of a fireplace on Bukit Patong. He then tells the Major that success is possible if he works hard. The reported outcome is three enemy kills by the incoming company.

The irony is sharp: Swami was nearly disciplined for failing to kill the enemy, yet his operational observations appear to have provided useful information to the force that followed him. This does not establish that the subsequent casualties were solely the result of Swami's work.

The passage does not supply enough detail to prove that casual connection. But it does show that his contribution extended beyond the number of enemy casualties directly attributable to his own team.

He had occupied the area, maintained a defensive position, patrolled, observed the surroundings and passed information to his successor. Those are legitimate elements of operational performance.

The handover reinforces the point that an officer's value cannot be reduced to a body count. Intelligence, preparation, persistence and the information passed to the next unit may be equally important.

10. What this chapter reveals about Major D. Swami

A leader who accepts responsibility He understands that the recruits' mistakes could cost lives and does not distance himself from the consequences. A practical and adaptive thinker.

He studies the terrain, allocates defensive positions, rehearses drills and responds when his original plan fails. A human being who admits fear His account of his own terror makes the episode more credible as a personal narrative than a conventional tale of effortless heroism.

A leader who understands the value of his men He arranges additional training, shares sentry duties and attempts to reassure inexperienced soldiers during a frightening encounter. A narrator willing to expose his own shortcomings. He admits that he misjudged the situation, exposed himself while firing the flare and failed to anticipate the recruits' weapon-handling error.

11. The strengths and limitations of the storytelling

The chapter's greatest strength is its immediacy. Swami's colloquial language, profanity, humor and self-deprecation make the events feel personal rather than sanitized for public consumption.

The detail about the baked beans and the baby monkey, for instance, briefly interrupts the operational tension with an unexpected childhood memory. Such details make the narrator more than a collection of military experiences. They give him a personal history and an individual voice.

The failed light machine gun is equally effective as a narrative turning point. The scene exposes the difference between the confident preparation of the previous day and the frightening reality of an encounter at night.

There are, however, places where the account would benefit from tighter editing. The explanation of standing to, sentry duties and passwords is useful, but some of the procedural detail could be shortened to preserve the narrative momentum. The transition between the nighttime encounter, the proposed disciplinary action and the later handover could also be made more explicit.

The technical details would benefit from verification if the chapter is being prepared for publication. In particular, the precise weapon configuration, ammunition and magazine description should be checked for accuracy and consistency. The references to the suspected enemy's identity and the later reported kills should likewise distinguish what Swami personally observed from what he was subsequently told. These editorial refinements would not diminish the story. They would strengthen its credibility and make the central human drama even more powerful.

Final reaction

“Operations Indera 2” is not simply a story about an under strength team surviving a dangerous night. It is a study in the relationship between preparation, fear, responsibility and institutional judgement. Swami begins with a force that appears inadequate for the task. He attempts to compensate through training, careful positioning and disciplined routines.

When the enemy approaches, those preparations are tested. His men make a potentially fatal mistake, his own decision exposes him to danger, and the situation is resolved without the enemy casualties that his superiors apparently expected. The episode leaves him vulnerable to criticism, but it also reveals his determination to remain responsible for his men and complete the assignment.

What distinguishes the account is his refusal to hide the embarrassing parts. He does not pretend that every decision was correct, that every soldier performed perfectly or that fear never entered his mind. His willingness to expose those weaknesses gives the story much of its force.

For young officers, the chapter offers a valuable lesson in preparation, delegation, realistic training and the management of fear. For senior commanders, it raises uncomfortable questions about manpower allocation, operational support and the fairness of judging subordinates by outcomes without adequately considering the circumstances in which those outcomes occurred.

For readers of military memoirs, it provides something less common than a conventional tale of battlefield heroism: a candid account of what happens when the responsibility for survival falls on an officer who must work with whatever resources he has been given.

The deepest lesson is that leadership is not demonstrated by pretending to be invulnerable. It is demonstrated by accepting responsibility for others when the situation is uncertain, the resources are inadequate and fear is very real.

And perhaps the most telling detail is the ending. Swami does not leave the operation by claiming victory or demanding recognition. He briefs his successor, passes on what he has learned and moves on. In the end, the chapter's strongest image is not the firing of the M16 or the retreat of the suspected enemy. It is the young officer standing before the incoming company commander, explaining how eleven men had operated in an area previously occupied by three platoons.

That image captures both the absurdity of the original allocation and the determination of the officer who had to make it work. It is precisely this combination of dark humor, operational detail, personal vulnerability and criticism of command that makes the episode memorable—and gives Exigent Circumstances its distinctive voice.