93 More cans of beer to go, 92 more cans...

The defining moment of BMT: the 24km route march. I remember it vividly. Wearing my increasingly heavy helmet, field pack and SBO and trudging along unkind terrain was no joke. It was nighttime by then. Voices hoarse, legs numbed. All the army songs have been sung ad nauseum; we even attempted pop songs, which failed miserably---disturbing the birds and creating a cacophony.

Moonlight was shining on our trodden path. By then, my tongue was hanging out like a limp dog; back was bent over like Notre dame. Dragging all 70kg of me and grumbling why the @#$% do infantry units need to march 24km just to reach enemy forces when there are vehicles. Even if we can contact enemy forces at the end, we can barely muster our strength to lift our rifles, let alone shoot.

Pushing my head forward rather than walking, I had almost wanted to give up. Until they started to sing the 200 cans of beer song. Can't really remember the exact details; but it involves heavy drinking and beer smashing....

It felt like ages ago since I left BMT, even though it was only less than 2 years ago. "Lost" my handphone and almost made the whole company endure a turnout by CSM. My spectacles (black, plastic piece of ___) helped me earn the nickname of "lao fu zi". BCCT ("marshmellow" arts lessons) was a bitch. So was field camp and SIT test.

..93 more cans of beer to go. We drink one, we throw one and we are left with 92. 92 more cans of beer to go...