I am closest with my back, Cpl Benet Barong, GOC Australia,  Lt Col Mark Evans, Major Razak and Brigadier Cosgrove

It takes place at an airport, during the journey home, over something as mundane as excess baggage. Yet the incident exposes some rather important questions about inter-service relationships, military professionalism, rank, authority and, above all, the treatment of soldiers.

There are several layers to this episode.

1. The central issue: inter-service superiority and arrogance The author's opening observation that Air Force personnel regarded themselves as superior to Army soldiers sets the context.

The behaviour of the Air Force SNCOs, as described in the account, suggests an unhealthy expression of inter-service rivalry. Rather than treating the returning Army personnel as fellow members of the Malaysian Armed Forces, they allegedly chose to exercise authority over them in a manner that humiliated the soldiers.

6 RAR Officers, 7th Rangers Officers and some hangers on from Mindef

The issue was not simply whether luggage exceeded an allowable weight. It was the manner in which authority was exercised and whom it was exercised against. Military professionalism requires discipline, but discipline should never become an excuse for belittling fellow servicemen.

If baggage restrictions applied, they should have been applied consistently, transparently and without intimidation. The account raises a legitimate question: were the rules being enforced impartially, or were Army personnel being singled out? That distinction matters. 

Mass in the Jimna State Forest

2. The treatment of the soldiers: the most important part of the episode

For me, the most significant moment is not the confrontation with the Air Force Staff Sergeant. It is the discovery of Sarinie Tingkak sitting forlorn and depressed. This is where the narrative changes character.

The author has arrived at the airport and sees his men already assembled. He notices one of his former Batman Rangers looking unhappy. He could easily have ignored him, particularly after a demanding overseas exercise. Instead, he approaches him and asks what is wrong.

Sarinie's explanation is heartbreaking in its simplicity. The soldiers had used their Australian allowances to buy things for their families. These were not necessarily extravagant purchases. They were ordinary men who had been away from home and wanted to bring something back for their loved ones.

Now they were being berated over excess baggage. This small episode reveals something important about Major Swami's leadership philosophy. He notices his men. He recognises their emotions, understands their circumstances and is unwilling to allow them to be humiliated unnecessarily.

The author is not defending an abstract military principle here. He is defending individual soldiers who have little opportunity to defend themselves against a superior authority. That is an important distinction.

3. Swami's confrontation: an officer defending his command

The confrontation is characteristically Swami. He does not quietly approach the Air Force personnel to negotiate. He challenges them publicly, in front of their senior officers.

His argument has three dimensions:

- Fairness: Why are the Army soldiers being singled out?

- Reciprocity: The Army is paying for the aircraft fuel and airport charges, so why are its personnel being treated as unwanted passengers?

- Consistency: If Army baggage is being scrutinised, why are the Air Force personnel's own cases of fruit apparently escaping similar scrutiny? The last point is particularly interesting.

The author alleges that cases of apples, pears and oranges belonging to Air Force personnel were being transported alongside the Army's equipment. He challenges the apparent double standard and threatens to have the fruit unloaded.

This is not simply an argument about luggage. It is an argument about equal treatment. His language is coarse, confrontational and deliberately intimidating. Some readers will find it excessive. Others will appreciate the refusal to tolerate what he perceives as bullying.

But the underlying principle is difficult to dispute: an officer has a responsibility to stand up for his men, particularly when they are being treated unfairly.

4. The significance of the Air Force senior officers' reaction

One detail deserves particular attention. The confrontation takes place in front of Air Force Lieutenant Colonels, Majors and other personnel. One of the Lieutenant Colonels eventually beckons the Staff Sergeant and speaks to him privately. The Staff Sergeant subsequently disappears.

This is significant because it suggests that the senior officer recognised that the situation had become unacceptable and needed intervention. The outcome is equally important: none of the Army soldiers' luggage was unloaded. The author also receives an endorsement from Lieutenant Colonel Mark Evan, who remarks that similar behaviour occurs in the Royal Australian Air Force.

That observation gives the incident an additional dimension. Inter-service arrogance is not necessarily a uniquely Malaysian phenomenon. It can emerge in other armed forces too. However, it does not excuse it.

5. What does this tell us about the Royal Malaysian Air Force?

I would be careful not to interpret this episode as a condemnation of the entire RMAF. One incident, even if accurately recounted, cannot establish the institutional character of an entire service. Nevertheless, the episode raises some uncomfortable questions about the attitudes of the personnel involved.

Issue What the episode suggests

Inter-service relations An unhealthy sense of superiority

Treatment of soldiers Insufficient respect for fellow servicemen

Professional conduct Inconsistent application of rules, as alleged

Military hierarchy Rank potentially being used to intimidate

Leadership Senior intervention was eventually necessary

Joint operations The need for mutual respect and cooperation

The irony is that the Army and Air Force depend on each other. An army cannot operate effectively without air transport, logistical support and aerial capabilities. Equally, air power cannot achieve its full operational purpose without the ground forces it supports.

Neither service has a monopoly on courage, professionalism or sacrifice. A Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force is no more inherently important to the defence of the country than an infantry soldier operating in the jungle.

Different responsibilities do not confer different degrees of human worth.

6. The Melbourne Cup incident: an interesting contrast

There is another aspect of this chapter that should not be overlooked. The author recounts the Melbourne Cup celebrations on 1 November, when allegedly intoxicated Australian officers attempted to set fire to the officers' mess at 6 RAR. Swami describes punching one of the individuals and taking away his lighter before he could ignite a bale of hay.

This is an interesting contrast with the airport confrontation. In Australia, he intervenes to prevent damage to another military establishment. Back in Malaysia, he confronts members of his own armed forces because he believes they are mistreating his soldiers.

In both situations, his instinct is to act rather than stand by. There is also a revealing element of the Australian response. Lieutenant Colonel Mark Evan's supportive reaction suggests that the author was not necessarily being unreasonable in the eyes of his Australian counterparts.

The episode gives the reader a glimpse of the complexities of military friendships across national and service boundaries.

7. The final irony: the arrival at Subang

The final passage is perhaps the most amusing, but also the most provocative. After 13 hours of flying, the Army trucks arrive to unload the equipment and personal belongings. The author then remarks that numerous bottles of alcohol and pornographic magazines entered Malaysia without inspection. His sarcastic reference to the RM3 collected is particularly pointed.

It implies that the enforcement of regulations was selective and that the authorities were apparently more interested in scrutinising the soldiers' baggage than examining other potentially questionable imports. This is a rather effective literary device: the author ends the episode with irony rather than a lengthy moral lecture.

However, the implication about the RM3 payment should be understood as the author's insinuation, not independently established evidence of corruption.

8. What this episode reveals about Major Swami's leadership I find this episode particularly useful in understanding the author's military personality.

Three characteristics emerge.

First: personal loyalty to his soldiers.

He does not regard his men merely as subordinates. He takes an interest in their personal circumstances and recognises their sacrifices.

Second: intolerance of perceived injustice.

He is prepared to confront people of superior rank when he believes his men are being mistreated. He does not automatically defer to another service's hierarchy.

Third: an unconventional approach to authority.

He is not particularly concerned with diplomatic niceties when he believes something is fundamentally wrong. His approach is direct, forceful and sometimes abrasive.

There is, however, a legitimate leadership question here: could the same result have been achieved through a more measured confrontation?

Possibly. But the author clearly wants readers to understand that he believed a quiet approach would not adequately protect his soldiers in that situation.

9. Literary assessment: why this chapter works

The episode succeeds because it combines several elements:

- Military humour.

- Inter-service rivalry.

- A personal relationship between an officer and his soldiers.

- A confrontation over authority and fairness.

- An ironic conclusion.

Most importantly, the narrative does not present the author as a perpetually diplomatic military officer. He is presented as a combative, occasionally foul-mouthed, fiercely protective infantry officer who is prepared to make himself unpopular. That makes the character more human and arguably more believable.

There is also an important editorial consideration. The account would be even stronger if the author distinguished between the actions of the particular Air Force SNCOs involved and the institutional culture of the RMAF as a whole. That would make the criticism harder to dismiss as inter-service antagonism.

10. My overall verdict

Strong leadership episode This is more than an amusing anecdote about an Army officer having a public argument with Air Force personnel. It is a small but revealing study of military leadership, inter-service relations and the dignity of ordinary soldiers.

The most memorable character in this episode is arguably not Swami himself, but Sarinie Tingkak. His forlorn appearance at the airport provides the emotional foundation for everything that follows. Without that moment, the confrontation could easily be interpreted as an officer displaying his temper or indulging in an inter-service quarrel.

With Sarinie, the reader understands the motivation. The author is standing up for his men.

My strongest observation is this:

A military officer's leadership is not measured solely by how effectively he commands soldiers in battle, how well he performs during exercises or how many decorations he receives. It is also measured by what he does when one of his soldiers is humiliated, distressed or treated unfairly.

In this episode, Swami demonstrates that his loyalty to his soldiers does not end when the exercise ends. And that is perhaps the most important lesson in this chapter.

A soldier may forget many orders given by his commander. But he is unlikely to forget the commander who stood up for him when nobody else would.

It is a book that operates on several levels: a soldier's personal testimony, a combat narrative, an institutional critique, a study of leadership and, ultimately, a reflection on patriotism and belonging.

Here are some descriptions I think do it greater justice.

1. What kind of book is it? A soldier's unvarnished testimony. Not a sanitised account of military service, but a personal record of experiences, disappointments, danger, institutional shortcomings and survival. A military memoir with a conscience. 

It does not merely recount where the author served and what he did. It challenges the reader to consider what loyalty means when the institution to which one has devoted one's life does not always reciprocate that loyalty. An uncompromising institutional exposé.

It examines uncomfortable questions about discrimination, religious and ethnic divisions, professional competence, promotion and the contradictions within military life. A combat and leadership chronicle.

Its accounts of jungle operations and Somalia offer an opportunity to examine leadership under pressure, the consequences of decisions and the responsibilities commanders owe their men. A personal testament to resilience.

It chronicles a man who perseveres despite obstacles, disappointments and circumstances that might have broken another person.

2. Stronger literary descriptions

These are some phrases I would consider particularly appropriate:

- A fearless and unvarnished account of a soldier's life.

- A brutally candid examination of military service and institutional contradictions.

- A compelling chronicle of courage, adversity and survival.

- A rare and deeply personal account of the Malaysian military experience.

- A provocative examination of patriotism, identity and belonging.

- An extraordinary journey through the realities of military life.

- A powerful testimony to professional dedication in the face of institutional adversity.

- A no-holds-barred account that refuses to conveniently sanitise uncomfortable truths.

- A challenging and occasionally unsettling account of loyalty to a country that does not always appear to reciprocate that loyalty.

3. What makes the book different?

The battlefield dimension It brings readers into the realities of military operations, from jungle warfare to the dangers and uncertainties of Mogadishu.

The international dimension

The Somalia experience gives the book relevance beyond Malaysia, particularly to readers interested in peacekeeping and military intervention.

The institutional dimension

It questions the relationship between merit, professional ability, ethnicity, religion and advancement within the armed forces.

The human dimension

Beneath the military experiences is the story of a man, his family, his ambitions, his frustrations and his determination not to surrender.

4. How I would describe it to the international literary community

Here is the description I would favour:

Exigent Circumstances is an unusually candid and uncompromising military memoir that goes far beyond the conventional soldier's autobiography. It is a compelling account of a Malaysian army officer's journey through the demands of military service, the dangers of operational deployment, the complexities of combat leadership and the deeply personal consequences of institutional discrimination.

Brave, provocative and occasionally unsettling, it confronts subjects that military memoirs often leave unexplored. It examines the contradictions between professional duty and institutional fairness, between patriotism and belonging, and between the ideals of military service and the realities experienced by those who serve.

It is simultaneously a soldier's testimony, a chronicle of military operations, an examination of leadership and a challenge to institutional complacency. It does not ask to be read comfortably. It asks to be read honestly.

5. My strongest description

If I had to give this book a defining literary identity, I would call it: A fearless soldier's testimony against the comfortable version of military history. That, I think, captures something important.

Many military memoirs celebrate battles, decorations, achievements and brotherhood. This one also asks difficult questions about what happens to those who serve faithfully but feel marginalised by the very institution they have dedicated their lives to.

Its value lies not only in what it recounts, but also in what it dares to question.

And perhaps the most appropriate description is this:

It is not merely the story of a soldier who served his country. It is the story of a soldier who refuses to remain silent about what he experienced while serving it. 

Face Of The Home Minister

COMMENT Home Minister Saifuddin Nasution Ismail is curious about a police probe against lawyers representing the family of Noorizwan Zulkefly, is certain no MACC officers were identified as witnesses to be called in the corporate mafia scandal, goes on a detour when asked questions about the murder of Teoh Beng Hock and claimed the seven footballers he granted citizenship to understood what he was saying in Bahasa Malaysia.

Rational Malaysians who understand anything about the nexus between the political class and the state security apparatus in this country will of course be sceptical of anything this home minister says or does.

While some folks may think that Umno Youth chief Dr Akmal Saleh is the worst of what Umno Youth has to offer, they forget that compared to old-timers like Saifuddin (above), the former is a petulant child undeserving of the infamy bestowed upon him.

catmandoo : There is a reason why Saifuddin Nasution is not an elected parliamentarian. He could only blow smoke and create haze. He is also pretty useless lackey to the PM. 

He explanation about the corporate Mafia, Albert Tei, South American Malaysians etc were barely sufficient to fool pre-schoolers. He stay out of GE and just run for class monitor in primary one of Sekolah Rendah Madani.

Sealthedeal : Absolutely correct but the thugs in UMNO are standing in the wings with the enemy at the gate PAS. Malaysia has a very dark future ahead.

Steven Ong : Why the rayat kept voting for people or in this case thugs, who lied to them , oppressed them , used them for their political advantage and pleasure ? Are Malaysians afraid of change? 

Or is it that the situation and corruption in Malaysia is still bearable ? Or is it the meager aide that the government used to shut their mouths and kept them happy? Citizens of Malaysia , which are you , for good or for evil?

What makes this passage particularly powerful is that it contains several emotional transitions. You begin with the terror of battle inoculation, move into the exhilaration of passing out on the parade square, experience the disappointment of religious and institutional practices, and finally encounter a deeply personal moment when your platoon sergeant predicts that you will one day become an officer.

There is also a fascinating historical dimension. The events of May 1973 are placed against the changing political and military landscape of Southeast Asia, with the Vietnam War drawing to a close and communist expansion appearing to many Malaysians as a serious threat. 

The central theme is that completing training does not mean the end of hardship. It means entering a much larger and more uncertain world.

1. Battle inoculation: the final test of courage

Your opening description of the eight MAG 58 general-purpose machine guns is particularly effective. The description is vivid and unsettling:

- Eight machine guns positioned 600 metres from the white tape.

- Each mounted on a tripod and protected by sandbags.

- Boxes of live ammunition stacked beside the guns.

- Brass ammunition belts glistening in the sunlight.

- Every fifth round being a tracer.

You are not describing an ordinary training exercise. You are describing the psychological experience of being exposed to live machine-gun fire. The expression that you had your hearts in your mouths communicates the fear very effectively. The reader can imagine eighteen-year-old recruits standing there, fully conscious that the weapons in front of them are not firing blanks. 

Representative image

The officer's opening words, "Listen up you clowns", add an interesting military flavour. It is an intentionally intimidating way of addressing young recruits before explaining what they are about to experience. The term battle inoculation is particularly significant. It suggests preparing soldiers psychologically for the sights, sounds and dangers of actual combat. The intention is to reduce the shock of experiencing incoming fire in the field.

One technical distinction is worth noting: the MAG 58's stated cyclic rate of 600–1,000 rounds per minute is appropriate as a broad technical description, although actual sustained-fire employment depends on controlled bursts, barrel changes and ammunition management. The scene succeeds because you do not exaggerate the danger. The weapons, ammunition and physical arrangement are enough to make the reader uncomfortable. 

2. 30 May 1973: the triumph of 1,500 recruits The transition from the frightening machine-gun exercise to the passing-out parade is excellent narrative construction. After six months of hardship, discipline and relentless training, 1,500 recruits finally pass out. The words "we were jubilant as at long last we were trained soldiers" carry considerable emotional weight. 

Fall of Vietnam

This is not merely a graduation ceremony. It is the culmination of a transformation. Six months earlier, these young men had arrived as civilians. They now march as soldiers, dressed in camouflage battle fatigues, load-bearing equipment, combat boots and NATO-style helmets.

Your description of the rehearsals is also important. You write that the recruits were drilled until they became unthinking machines, with 1,500 men required to move as one. That is an interesting observation about military training. Individual identity is temporarily subordinated to collective discipline. The objective is to produce a body of soldiers capable of acting together, responding to commands and maintaining cohesion under pressure.

The parade is therefore a public demonstration of something that has been painstakingly created behind closed doors. There is also a symbolic dimension to the historical parade square. You connect your passing-out parade with the first experimental company of 25 soldiers in 1933. This gives the occasion a sense of continuity. You are not merely graduating from a training institution; you are becoming part of a military tradition that predates your own generation.

3. The rifle drill: a soldier's pride and identity

This is one of my favourite details in your account. You devote considerable attention to the mechanics of presenting arms. You describe the movement of the rifle, the positioning of the hands, the slap against the magazine and the final movement of the right leg. This is not an incidental description. It reveals how deeply the physical rituals of soldiering have become embedded in your identity.

The phrase: "This is one of the most exciting and my most loved rifle drill" is revealing.

A civilian reader might see rifle drill as repetitive ceremonial activity. A soldier sees something else: precision, discipline, timing, coordination and pride. The sound of 1,500 rifles being presented in unison must have been quite extraordinary. There is something almost theatrical about the entire ceremony, but it is a theatre built on months of discipline and physical conditioning.

You also demonstrate an important literary strength here: you remember the physical details of your experience rather than simply telling readers that the parade was impressive. That makes the recollection believable.

4. The religious grievance: a revealing moment of institutional discrimination This is probably the most politically sensitive part of the passage, and it deserves attention. You write: "This event I have always resented, as we non-Muslims are forced to raise our hands, with the pathetic excuse that it is to conform to uniformity."

This is a strong statement because it exposes an experience that might otherwise be concealed behind the formality of military tradition. The issue is not that a Muslim cleric says a prayer at a military ceremony. The issue, as you describe it, is that non-Muslim soldiers are expected to participate in a religious gesture with which they may not identify. Your objection is therefore about religious freedom, institutional accommodation and the distinction between military discipline and religious conformity.

There is an important distinction here: military uniformity is necessary in dress, drill, discipline and military procedure. Religious uniformity is a different matter. A soldier can stand respectfully during another person's prayer without being required to perform the same religious gesture. Your criticism is blunt, perhaps deliberately so. You are writing from the perspective of someone who experienced the practice rather than an academic observer examining religious accommodation.

The sentence about mullahs running the army, however, is particularly provocative. It expresses your frustration, but it also risks shifting the criticism from institutional policy to an entire religious group. I would retain the underlying grievance. It is part of the authenticity of your memoir. The reader should understand that your resentment was not manufactured retrospectively.

The larger question raised is whether a national military institution should demand professional uniformity while respecting the religious diversity of its own soldiers. That is a legitimate and important question, particularly in a multi-religious country such as Malaysia.

5. The relatives who never came: the loneliness behind the celebration. For me, this is one of the most emotionally powerful sections of the entire passage. After the parade, the barracks are filled with relatives. Parents, wives, children, brothers and sisters arrive to congratulate the newly graduated soldiers.

But you introduce an uncomfortable reality. Some recruits have nobody waiting for them. You specifically mention the non-Muslim recruits who do not receive visitors because their families do not necessarily regard military service as a prestigious career. This is an important social observation.

In many Asian families, professional status has traditionally been associated with occupations such as medicine, engineering, law and other established professions. Military service, particularly the prospect of becoming an ordinary private, might not have carried the same prestige.

There is a painful contrast here:

- Some recruits are surrounded by relatives celebrating their achievement.

- Others stand together, knowing that nobody has made the journey to see them.

- Some are already thinking about their two weeks of leave.

- Others are simply looking forward to going home after six months away.

The detail that the relatives are given three hours together makes the contrast even more poignant.

You do not overdramatise the loneliness. You simply explain that those without visitors gather together and talk about their forthcoming leave. That restraint is effective. There is also a subtle irony.

These young men have completed the same arduous training, worn the same uniform, endured the same hardships and earned the same right to graduate. Yet their achievement is not necessarily celebrated equally outside the military institution. This is a recurring theme in your larger memoir: the difference between what a soldier gives to the country and the recognition he receives in return.

6. Corps allocation: the first encounter with military hierarchy and politics

This section is particularly interesting because it introduces the institutional politics of the Malaysian Army. You explain that the names are read out according to the seniority of the corps, beginning with the Royal Malay Regiment, followed by the Ranger Regiment and then the other supporting corps.

You challenge the accepted order, arguing that the Rangers are actually senior but that political considerations have elevated the Royal Malay Regiment. This is a significant assertion because it reveals your scepticism towards institutional traditions. However, I would distinguish between the official order of precedence and the historical seniority of a regiment.

These are not necessarily the same thing. If you want to make this a definitive historical argument, it would benefit from supporting evidence about the respective formation dates and official precedence arrangements.

Your own allocation to the Engineers is another interesting moment. You write: "I did not exactly feel happy neither sad, at least I would be an engineer, I consoled myself." There is a sense of uncertainty here. You have just completed six months of demanding training. You are now being told where your military career will begin. Yet you have little control over the decision.

The infantry recruits have mixed reactions. Some are excited by the prospect of combat, while others are already imagining the terrible physical consequences of war. I particularly like your observation about the glum recruits thinking about blown-away legs, eyes and other body parts. It is brutally direct.

You refuse to romanticise infantry service. You understand that the glory of battle, as imagined by young recruits, has another side: mutilation, death and permanent physical disability. There is a maturity in that observation which contrasts with the youthful excitement of passing out.

7. The allocation to the Engineers: an unexpected beginning

Your allocation to the 2nd Squadron, Regiment of Engineers, in Taiping is an interesting twist. You had completed infantry-style recruit training, but you were not going to an infantry regiment. There is a subtle sense of resignation in your words. You were neither particularly happy nor disappointed. You consoled yourself that at least you would be an engineer.

This is an important moment because it introduces the difference between the expectations of a young recruit and the realities of military manpower allocation. You do not necessarily get to choose your destiny. The institution decides where you are needed.

There is also an interesting contrast between the infantry recruits who are excited about combat and those who are apprehensive about it. At eighteen, the idea of glory and adventure can be intoxicating. But the physical consequences of combat are already apparent to you. Your description is particularly effective because it does not pretend that every young man joining the military has the same ambitions.

Some want action. Some want security. Some want adventure. Some simply accept their allocation and get on with life. That diversity of attitudes makes the account credible.

8. The platoon sergeant's farewell: the emotional high point For me, this is the most moving moment in the entire passage. You describe your platoon sergeant as a man who seldom smiles. He is not someone you associate with warmth or friendliness. Then, unexpectedly, he firmly grasps your hand and tells you: "One day you will be an officer."

That is a remarkable moment. Consider the circumstances. You are eighteen years old. You have just completed six months of demanding recruit training. You are preparing to leave the place you have come to know as hell. And suddenly, a man who has spent months observing, correcting and disciplining you offers a prediction about your future.

He does not give you a long speech. He does not explain his reasoning. He simply tells you that one day you will become an officer. Yet those few words remain with you for the rest of your life. Why? Because they came from someone whose approval you had not necessarily expected.

A platoon sergeant sees recruits at their most vulnerable. He observes their discipline, resilience, attitudes, ability to learn and capacity to withstand hardship. He knows which ones complain, which ones give up, which ones quietly persevere and which ones show potential.

Perhaps he had observed something in you that you had not yet recognised in yourself. His prediction may have been based on your attitude, determination, leadership potential or simply the way you conducted yourself during training. We cannot know precisely what he saw, but the significance of the moment is unmistakable.

There is also sadness in your closing observation: "I wish I had." You never saw him again. That is a powerful expression of regret. Not regret over an argument or an unfinished matter, but regret that you never had the opportunity to meet someone who had given you an unexpected moment of encouragement.

This is an important literary moment because it reminds readers that a person's influence on another human being is not necessarily measured by rank or position. A platoon sergeant may never command a battalion or become a general, but a few words spoken at the right moment can remain with a young soldier for a lifetime. In some ways, that sergeant was the first person in the Army to recognise the officer you would eventually become.

I would give this incident considerable prominence in the chapter. It is more emotionally powerful than a conventional account of passing-out celebrations.

9. Leaving RTC: the unexpected feeling of missing hell

Your description of climbing aboard the three-ton truck is another excellent moment. You write: "I was going to miss this place called 'hell'." This is psychologically very interesting. For six months, RTC had been a place of hardship, relentless drilling, punishment, physical exhaustion and discipline.

You had probably spent many days wishing the training would end. Yet when the moment of departure finally arrived, you realised that you were going to miss it. Why? Because RTC had become your world.

You knew the people, the routines, the sounds, the punishments, the frustrations and the shared experiences. You had formed friendships with men who had undergone the same ordeal. Even the hardships had become familiar.

This is something common to demanding military training. An experience that initially seems unbearable can eventually become an important part of one's identity. There is another subtle detail: you mention that the four other recruits travelling with you were strangers because they had trained in different companies.

You were leaving behind familiar companions and beginning another chapter with unfamiliar faces. The transition is almost symbolic. The first six months had made you a soldier. The next stage would determine what sort of soldier you would become.

10. The geopolitical background: Southeast Asia in 1973 Your closing paragraphs attempt to place your personal military journey within the larger international situation. This is a good narrative decision.

You are not simply telling readers that you graduated from RTC. You are reminding them that the strategic environment surrounding Malaysia was changing. The withdrawal of American forces from Vietnam created considerable uncertainty in Southeast Asia. Communist movements were active in the region, and the fall of South Vietnam was still to come.

Your observation about the perceived threat from North Vietnamese forces reflects the strategic anxieties of that period. However, there are some important historical details I would correct before publication.

Already published la

A chronological clarification is necessary: Event Historical date

Lyndon B. Johnson died 22 January 1973

Paris Peace Accords 27 January 1973

Apollo 11 landed on the Moon 20 July 1969

Fall of Saigon 30 April 1975

The distinction concerning Vietnam is particularly important. The Paris Peace Accords brought an end to direct American combat involvement and provided for the withdrawal of American forces. However, the war between North and South Vietnam continued until the fall of Saigon in April 1975. Therefore, because your training ended on 30 May 1973, two of the events you mention occurred during the likely training period: Johnson's death and the Paris Peace Accords.

The Moon landing occurred in July 1969, almost four years earlier. It should not be presented as an event that happened during your six months at RTC. I would also be careful with the statement that Mao Zedong said, "The East Is Red". The phrase is historically associated with a Chinese revolutionary song and propaganda slogan. Unless you have a specific source for Mao personally saying those words, I would avoid presenting it as a verified direct quotation.

These corrections matter because your memoir is particularly strong when it combines personal experience with historical context. Accuracy strengthens the credibility of that combination.

11. The deeper significance: the beginning of a much longer journey

There is something particularly interesting about the way this chapter ends. You have just completed recruit training. You have survived battle inoculation, learned military discipline, marched before the Chief of Army, received your corps allocation and said farewell to the people who trained you.

You are eighteen years old. You have no idea what lies ahead. Yet, looking back, the reader knows that this is the beginning of a military journey that will eventually take you into operational deployments, counter-insurgency operations, command responsibilities and Somalia.

This creates an interesting literary effect: the reader understands the significance of the platoon sergeant's prediction long before the young recruit himself does. The sergeant's words become almost prophetic. There is also a contrast between the young man's limited understanding of the world and the geopolitical developments unfolding around him.

He is concerned about his next posting in Taiping, while Southeast Asia is undergoing enormous political and military changes. That juxtaposition gives the ending a wider historical dimension.

12. My assessment of the writing

I particularly like five aspects of this passage: 

1. The realism of battle inoculation. The description of the MAG 58s, ammunition belts and tracer rounds creates immediate tension.

2. The ceremonial pride. The passing-out parade conveys the emotional satisfaction of becoming a soldier after six months of hardship.

3. The uncomfortable social observations. The absence of relatives for some recruits and the religious grievance introduce dimensions of military life rarely explored in conventional military memoirs.

4. The platoon sergeant's farewell. This is the emotional centre of the chapter. It gives the narrative a human dimension that readers will remember.

5. The historical setting. You connect an individual experience with the changing strategic environment in Southeast Asia.

There are, however, three areas I would strengthen.

- The description of rifle drill is detailed and interesting, but could be slightly tightened without losing its authenticity.

- The criticism of religious practices and corps seniority deserves to remain, but the distinction between personal experience, institutional practice and verifiable historical fact should be clear.

- The international events at the end need chronological correction, particularly the Moon landing and the distinction between the end of American involvement in Vietnam and the actual end of the war.

I would not sanitise your language excessively. The bluntness is part of the memoir's identity. Final reaction: A farewell to hell, and the birth of an officer This passage is ultimately about much more than completing recruit training.

It is about the formation of character. You enter RTC as an eighteen-year-old civilian, uncertain about what awaits you. You leave as a trained soldier, carrying the experiences, friendships, frustrations and memories of six difficult months. But the most important thing you take away is not your uniform, your rifle or your military allocation.

It is the unexpected encouragement of a platoon sergeant who sees something in you and tells you that one day you will become an officer. That moment is particularly significant when viewed against the rest of your military journey. You would eventually become the officer that this sergeant predicted. You would lead soldiers, confront difficult operational situations and develop your own philosophy of command.

Yet you never had the opportunity to tell him that his prediction came true. There is a quiet sadness in that. I also find the title of your closing reflection, the farewell to a place called hell, particularly appropriate. Military training is strange in that respect. You spend months wishing to escape it, only to discover that you miss it when you finally leave.

Perhaps it is because hell, in this instance, had given you something invaluable: a sense of belonging, an identity and the foundations of a life in the military. My strongest takeaway is this: the passing-out parade marked the end of your training as a recruit, but the platoon sergeant's words marked the beginning of your journey towards becoming a leader.

And that is what makes this passage memorable. It is not a story about 1,500 young men marching in unison. It is about one eighteen-year-old who left the parade square without knowing that the Army would eventually take him much further than he could have imagined.

In the context of Exigent Circumstances, this chapter is an important foundation for understanding the soldier and commander you would eventually become.

You are assigned to provide water to a Brigade Tactical Headquarters, with a secondary responsibility as a booby-trap clearing team. It sounds relatively comfortable, even mundane. 

But the surroundings tell a different story. You are operating near Sungai Siput, an area associated with communist insurgent activity. There are armed patrols, ambush parties, booby traps, firefights and casualties. The apparent tranquillity of your little engineering camp exists alongside an ongoing counter-insurgency operation. 

S Tanks

There are three particularly interesting dimensions to this chapter:

1. The often-underestimated contribution of combat engineers to operational success.

2. The personal and emotional reunion with your elder brother in the middle of an operational deployment.

3. The extraordinary Claymore incident involving the 7th Rangers, which demonstrates the unpredictability of guerrilla warfare.

The chapter also has an important underlying theme: military success is not always the product of a perfectly executed plan. Sometimes opportunity, timing and extraordinary good fortune play decisive roles.

1. Exercise Gonzales becomes Operation Gonzales: the sudden transition to reality Your opening is effective because it establishes the operational circumstances without unnecessary embellishment. You are initially told to participate in an exercise. Then, in the middle of the activity, you are required to draw live ammunition.

That is the moment when the nature of the assignment changes. Exercise Gonzales has become Operation Gonzales. For a young soldier, this must have been a significant psychological moment. An exercise is conducted under controlled conditions, even when it is demanding. An operation is different. The possibility of encountering the enemy is real.

Your assignment is to provide water to the Brigade Tactical Headquarters, with a secondary responsibility as a standby booby-trap clearing team. This is an important distinction.

You are not merely being sent to perform an engineering task. You are being deployed within an operational area where the brigade may require your specialist capabilities at short notice. The location is also significant. Sungai Siput and its surrounding areas have a substantial history associated with the Malayan Emergency and communist insurgency. The transition from exercise to operation establishes the seriousness of the deployment.

2. The comfortable tent: the unexpected luxury of operational life I particularly enjoyed this section because it introduces humour and an unexpected degree of comfort into an otherwise dangerous environment.

Three engineers occupying a 180-pound tent, complete with:

- White bedsheets.

- Metal folding beds.

- Mattresses.

- Mosquito nets.

You even point out that, apart from the Brigade Commander, you were the only soldiers sleeping on mattresses.

That is quite an achievement for a group of supposedly lowly sappers! Your appreciation of Major Lim Ong Hong is evident. He ensured that his men were properly accommodated while performing their duties. This is an understated but important leadership lesson.

A good commanding officer does not necessarily need to make grand speeches about looking after his men. Sometimes he simply ensures that they have decent accommodation, adequate facilities and the means to perform their responsibilities effectively.

There is also an interesting contrast here. The infantrymen are out on patrols and ambushes, while your little engineering team enjoys comparatively comfortable accommodation. But this should not be mistaken for an absence of responsibility. Your water supply is essential to the brigade's functioning.

You are performing a supporting task that has direct operational consequences.

3. Water supply: the unsung contribution of the combat engineers This is probably the most technically interesting section of your account. You explain the entire water supply arrangement, from pumping water out of the Jalong River to distributing treated drinking water throughout the Brigade Tactical Headquarters.

The sequence is important:

1. Water is pumped from the river into the first canvas S-tank.

2. Sedimentation allows suspended material to settle.

3. Water is transferred into another tank for treatment and sterilisation.

4. Water quality is tested.

5. Approved water is pumped into an elevated storage tank supported by Bailey cribs.

6. From there, water is distributed to the field kitchen and water trailers.

This is a substantial engineering responsibility. It is easy for readers to underestimate the importance of water supply in military operations. Infantry soldiers, headquarters personnel, mechanics, cooks and supporting elements all depend on a reliable supply of potable water.

Without water, operational effectiveness deteriorates rapidly. Your team was therefore contributing directly to the brigade's ability to remain deployed. There is also an interesting distinction between static and mobile units. The static units depend on the established distribution system, while mobile units collect water before deployment.

This demonstrates that you understood the logistical requirements of the operation. The infantry might engage the enemy, but the engineers help ensure that the infantry can remain in the field. That is an important message in a military memoir, particularly one in which the infantry often receives most of the attention.

The Jalong River: an amusing but uncomfortable observation Your description of the river being used as a communal bathroom and toilet is rather blunt! You then express sympathy for the people living downstream.

It is a small but revealing example of how soldiers become accustomed to their immediate operational surroundings. The river is a source of drinking water, a washing facility and a place for personal hygiene. Yet the people downstream may be receiving the consequences of everything happening upstream.

There is an important public-health consideration here. Your description of sedimentation, treatment and water testing shows why proper water purification was essential. Sedimentation alone cannot make water safe to drink, and microbiological testing and effective disinfection are critical.

The fact that your team maintained the supply even when the river became swollen, muddy and dangerous is a testament to its reliability.

I particularly like your observation:

We persevered and never did we fail in supplying good drinking water. That is quiet professional pride. You are not claiming to have won a battle. You are saying that you performed your assigned responsibility without failure.

In military operations, that matters enormously.

4. The NAAFI truck: life was good!

This is a delightful little interlude. After describing the water supply arrangements and the unpredictable Jalong River, you tell us about the NAAFI truck. Cold beer, snacks, toiletries and canned food!

For a group of soldiers stationed in a relatively comfortable camp, this must have been a welcome interruption to the daily routine. Your description of the job as cushy is amusing, particularly when readers know that you were operating in an area with active communist insurgent activity.

There is an important human element here. Military operations are not continuous firefights. Soldiers spend considerable periods waiting, maintaining equipment, performing routine duties, sleeping, eating and finding ways to occupy themselves. The ability to enjoy ordinary pleasures while operating in a potentially dangerous environment is part of military life. And, judging by your account, you were making the most of it.

5. Your elder brother's visit: the emotional heart of Operation Gonzales - The most touching episode

For me, this is the strongest personal passage in the chapter. Your eldest brother, serving in the Reconnaissance Regiment, arrives unexpectedly to visit his younger brother. You describe him striding towards you and enveloping you in a hug.

The description of yourself as the shortest male in the family adds a lovely personal touch. Then comes the reaction of your fellow engineers. They see the two brothers embracing, and one of them quickly prepares four fried eggs and opens two cans of beer.

Your brother's reaction is priceless: "Wow, you guys are living it up." There is humour here, but there is also something much deeper. Your brother is visiting you in an operational area.

He is part of a convoy and has his own military responsibilities. He has taken the opportunity to see his younger brother before returning to Ipoh. There were no mobile phones, no WhatsApp and no instant communication. You depended on slow mail to keep in touch with your family.

That makes this visit particularly meaningful. The two of you exchange family news, introduce each other to friends and enjoy a brief period together. But beneath the ordinary conversation, you are both conscious of the dangers of military service. Your unspoken thought is that you hope he will be safe.

That is a very important detail. You are not simply a younger soldier enjoying a visit from his elder brother. You are two servicemen who understand that either one could be exposed to danger. Then comes the departure.

His colleague arrives to inform him that the convoy is leaving. You give him another beer, tell him to finish it and walk him to the Ferret Scout Car. He hugs you. He climbs into the driver's seat.

You wave as the convoy slowly moves away. And then he disappears from sight. This is beautifully understated writing. You do not need to tell the reader how emotional you felt. The actions communicate everything.

There is affection, pride, concern and the unspoken fear that comes with having a family member serving in the same conflict environment. I would resist the temptation to embellish this episode. It is powerful precisely because it is simple.

Two brothers, both soldiers, briefly reunited in the middle of an operation, knowing that the next meeting might not come so easily. This is the sort of human detail that makes a military memoir memorable.

6. The reports of communist casualties: the reality of an active operational environment

The subsequent announcements about seven communist terrorists killed in a skirmish and another five killed following a firefight involving a tracker dog provide a useful change of atmosphere. Until this point, your account has largely revolved around water supply, comfortable accommodation, beer and your brother's visit.

Suddenly, the reader is reminded that the operation is taking place in an active counter-insurgency environment. These announcements demonstrate that combat is occurring elsewhere in the operational area, even though your own team is not directly involved in those engagements.

The death of the tracker dog is particularly noteworthy. Military working dogs were valuable assets in counter-insurgency operations. Their tracking abilities could assist troops in detecting enemy movements and following trails that might otherwise be difficult to identify.

The death of the dog also reminds us that operational casualties are not confined to human beings. One editorial suggestion: distinguish between official operational announcements and information circulating informally among soldiers. This will help readers understand how the casualty figures were communicated. The effect you want is already achieved: the comfortable little engineering camp is surrounded by a much more dangerous reality. 

7. The 7th Rangers Claymore incident: a classic case of extraordinary good fortune This is the most dramatic military incident in the chapter.

The 7th Rangers ambush party has been deployed for three days. After that prolonged period, the soldiers take a break, leaving a young sentry to guard the position and the Claymore mines. Then something extraordinary happens.

Five armed communist fighters arrive and conduct an orders group directly in front of the mines. The young sentry activates the firing device. Five enemy combatants are killed.

The ambush party returns to discover that its prepared position has produced an unexpected success without the main body being present. Your description of the outcome as a fluke is amusing, but it also raises an important tactical and leadership question.

The role of the young sentry

I would give this young soldier considerable credit. The arrival of five armed opponents at an ambush position is a remarkable coincidence. However, the outcome was not entirely automatic. The sentry was alert, recognised the opportunity and acted.

The positioning of the mines, their readiness and the sentry's ability to respond all contributed to the result. It is tempting to describe the entire incident as luck, but that would overlook the soldier who was actually present. He was the one entrusted with guarding the position.

He was the one who remained there while the others rested. And he was the one who made the decisive intervention. Luck created the opportunity; the sentry's vigilance converted that opportunity into an operational success. The ambush party's extraordinary fortune The ambush party must have been jubilant.

Three days in an ambush position, followed by a break, and then discovering that five armed opponents had been killed by the position they had prepared. From their perspective, it was an extraordinary outcome. However, I would introduce a little more critical reflection here.

Leaving one young soldier alone to guard an ambush position and its explosive devices raises questions about supervision, security and the risks imposed on that soldier.

The successful outcome should not obscure the potential danger. Had the enemy discovered the position, or had the sentry been overwhelmed, the consequences could have been very different. This is precisely the sort of observation that gives your memoir its value.

You are not required to celebrate every military success uncritically. You can recognise good fortune while still examining the circumstances that produced it.

The phrase: "The end justifies the means" This is an interesting concluding observation.

In the immediate military context, the ambush party would undoubtedly have regarded the result as a success. Five armed opponents had been killed without casualties to the ambush party. But I would be careful with the phrase because it can imply that any action is acceptable as long as the outcome is favourable.

The stronger observation is that the operation produced an unexpectedly successful result, although the circumstances were far from ideal. That is more consistent with the candid, analytical style of your memoir.

8. What Operation Gonzales teaches us about military effectiveness

There are several important lessons in this chapter.

Lesson Significance

Logistics Reliable drinking water sustains operational units.

Engineering Combat engineers are essential to the brigade's ability to operate.

Leadership Major Lim Ong Hong's attention to accommodation demonstrates concern for his men.

Operational readiness

Your secondary responsibility as a booby-trap clearing team shows the need for specialist standby capabilities.

Comradeship Your brother's visit illustrates the emotional bonds between soldiers.

Vigilance The young 7th Rangers sentry demonstrates the importance of remaining alert.

Chance The Claymore incident illustrates how unpredictable operational outcomes can be.

Resilience Soldiers must maintain their composure and routines despite operating in dangerous surroundings.

9. The significance of the chapter in your wider military journey

There is an interesting contrast between your earlier RTC chapters and Operation Gonzales. At RTC, you were learning how to become a soldier. You were subjected to physical training, discipline, live grenade throwing and battle inoculation. Now you are in an operational environment.

You have a specific responsibility, specialist equipment, a water distribution system and a secondary operational role. You are beginning to understand how different elements of the Army work together. This is an important stage in your development.

You also begin to encounter the less glamorous but indispensable side of military operations. The infantry may be conducting patrols and ambushes, but somebody must maintain the water supply, accommodation and other essential services. Your experience demonstrates that military effectiveness is not determined exclusively by the number of enemy combatants killed.

It also depends on the ability to sustain forces in the field.

10. My overall assessment

A balanced and engaging operational chapter

I particularly like this chapter because it avoids the usual temptation of making every operational experience sound like a major battle. You describe what you actually did. You pumped water, maintained the supply, performed sentry duty, enjoyed cold beers, entertained a visiting brother and listened to reports of engagements elsewhere.

Then you recount the remarkable Claymore incident. The result is an authentic picture of operational life. For me, the chapter has two emotional anchors.

The first is your brother's visit. It reveals the personal cost of military service and the importance of family relationships during deployment.

The second is the young 7th Rangers sentry. His actions remind us that military outcomes can depend on the alertness of one individual, even when the larger success is partly attributable to chance.

I would also give greater prominence to Major Lim Ong Hong's leadership. His decision to provide comfortable accommodation for his small engineering team demonstrates that looking after soldiers is not incompatible with maintaining operational readiness.

My final verdict

Operation Gonzales is a valuable chapter because it broadens the reader's understanding of military service. It is not all combat, heroics and dramatic encounters.

Sometimes it is about providing clean water to hundreds of soldiers. Sometimes it is about maintaining an operational facility in difficult weather. Sometimes it is about enjoying a beer after a day's work. And sometimes, in the middle of an operation, your elder brother turns up unexpectedly, gives you a hug, shares a beer and disappears into the distance with his convoy.

That last episode is particularly memorable. There is also a larger message emerging from the chapter. The success of an operation is not always measured by what happens at the front line. It is also measured by the reliability of the men and women who keep the force functioning behind it.

Your little team of five engineers may not have been firing at the communists, but your contribution to the brigade was real and necessary. And the Claymore incident adds an unexpected reminder that, in counter-insurgency warfare, even the best-laid plans can produce results nobody anticipated.

Operation Gonzales is therefore a story of professional responsibility, brotherhood, comradeship and the unpredictable nature of warfare. It is also a welcome change of pace in Exigent Circumstances: a chapter in which the author gets to enjoy a little comfort, some cold beer and a memorable family reunion, while the war continues around him.

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?