取水壺！ Retrieve canteens!

"God, why do they keep giving us lukewarm seawater to drink?"

"Well, the drill sergeants add hydration salts to all our drinking water, and you remember the captain's little speech about only drinking warm water to keep us from catching colds..."

"Yeah? Well its 30 degrees Celsius out right now. And if he's so worried, why the vending machines?"

"Well, if you want to risk getting cold water from the talking drinking fountain next to the company office that vocally thanks you for perusing cold water, then be my guest."

The dozen or so of us in the mess squad sat beneath the trees lining the outdoors company dishwashing area for a much needed break. The mountain of pots, pans, and trays from breakfast finally scrubbed, organized, and hauled back to their storage areas, and the bins of food waste and hogwash hauled off to the garbage dumpsters. On the other side of the building, the rest of our training company was assembling for our first real day of basic training after their half hour post-breakfast break.

Although we would soon join the rest of the company, our squad leaders had allowed us a short breather. Most of my squad mates took the opportunity to smoke cigarettes, or buy cold beverages from the two vending machines. Taiwanese kids are fond of soft drinks, a passion that turns to a full blown addiction when exposed to the rigid control, long contraband list, and high stress of basic training. Not to mention the only other beverage option being the warm, salty drinking water in our canteens. The vending machines were replenished every couple of days, but were almost always sold out within a few hours of being resupplied. The vending machines and the drinks they sold, however humble, were a rare connection to the outside world that we happily availed ourselves to whenever possible. Consequently, vending machine use was also one of the privileges our superiors repeatedly threatened to take away in the event of bad behavior.

Our brief respite (all rest times are too short as far as the troops are concerned) over, we hurriedly donned our BDUs, helmets, and utility belts (with canteen hooked on). Folding stools in hand, we hastily rejoined the rest of the company outside already standing in formation, with the captain commanding our company standing in front, ready to address the troops.

After the requisite pre-assembly pleasantries from the squad leaders ("DID I AUTHORIZE YOU TO SCRATCH YOUR EARS? I SAID STAND AT ATTENTION!"), we formed up into three platoons, each consisting of three companies. Megaphone in hand, the captain spoke and those of us positioned at the flanks of the formation strained to hear what he had to say.

"Today we begin your first real day of training. We will begin with basic drill commands teaching you how march in formation without looking like a mob of delinquents. Platoon 1 will proceed to... Platoon 2 will proceed to the front of the building for ... Platoon 3 will..."

"What did he just say?"

"Uh, I can't make out what he's saying. Where are we supposed to-"

"... any questions? Now move to your assigned positions!"

"What? Where are we supposed to go?"

"Did you hear?"

"No, I-"

"QUIT TALKING AND START MOVING!", one of the squad leaders yelled.

"Where are we supposed to-"

"DO YOU HAVE FORESKIN GROWING ON YOUR EARS? MOVE!"

And thus came our first exposure to what would become a common occurrence throughout basic training - communications failures. The ad hoc solution to this boils down to: "Follow the guy next to you. (And hope that he knows what he's doing)"

Each day in basic training is broken down into class periods, punctuated by short 5 minute breaks, as well as lunch around 1130, followed by a nap till 1300, more classes till dinner time at 1730, then evening classes till around 2100. The day ends with evening roll call, then a brief period of shower/free time until lights out at 2200.

Basic drill (基本教練) consists of the basic commands for assembling, marching in formation, and saluting. Classes in basic drill are a continuous occurrence throughout basic training, and are typically noted for being long, and rather dull repetitions of marching, about face, left / right face, followed by more marching. Actions considered deviant or otherwise unsatisfactory typically result in further repetition.

As far as the Army is concerned, obsessive compulsive disorder is a plus in these matters, and I've long since lost track of the number of times everyone in our platoon was ordered to redo our last move because a single individual didn't have their fingers lined up with their pant seams while at attention / rotated in the wrong direction / moved the wrong foot.

"QUIT KICKING UP YOUR HEELS WHEN DOING AN ABOUT FACE! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, A HONG KONG COP?" (「向後轉幹嘛甩腿？你以為你是香港警察喔？」)

After an hour of this under the hot tropical sun and steamy humidity of southern Taiwan wearing our steel helmets and long sleeved heavy cotton/polyester BDUs, you can understand why the threat of more basic drill practice is often employed as a punishment in basic training and beyond.

After performing yet another formation march around the company parade grounds, one of the drill sergeants blew his whistle for the platoon to assemble. Facing us, he produced a small folded card that would accompany us during our entire time in basic training.

"This is the Hydration Card (飲水記錄卡) that you have each been issued. You will always carry this card with you, and will record the amount of water that you will be ordered to drink from your canteens at specified times throughout the day. On my command you will repeat and execute the following orders to drink 300 c.c.s of water."

We stared at each other in resigned silence: Great, another SOP to memorize.

"Retrieve canteens!" (「取水壺！」)

"Retrieve canteens!", we repeated.

"LOUDER! And hold the canteens in front of your faces with both hands!"

"Retrieve canteens!", we repeated again, holding our canteens before our faces as if we were making an offering of our salty metallic tasting canteen water to the gods.

"Open lids!"(「打開瓶蓋！」)

"Open lids!", we shouted, unscrewing the lids with our right hands.

"Post drill hydration..." (「操課後飲水...」) He paused, "Say the amount!"

"300 c.c.s!", we yelled, as if our lives depended on it.

"Drink!"(「喝水！」)

As he watched us chugging down the contents of our canteens, the drill sergeant pointed again to our Hydration Cards - a fairly new development prompted by too many past cases of new recruits passing out from heat stroke.

"After hydrating, you will record the prescribed amount of water on your card at the matching time slot. The first member of your squad will collect your hydration cards every night before lights out, and turn them in to your squad leaders for review. Anyone who fails to do so will be severely punished. (This would be the cause of many a last minute pre-lights out scramble) I do not care if you actually drink that amount, but you will record it on your card. At the top slot for each day you will record your weight and body temperature. Since there are close to 150 of you, you will record whatever you feel is correct, if you actually feel like you have a fever, then notify me and we'll deal with it then."

The latter order was later amended to "Any value between 36 - 37.5 degrees Celsius" after some genius put down a body temperature of 28 degrees Celsius.

"Finally, at the end of the day, you will draw a circle at the top of your card if you made a successful bowl movement, or an X if you did not. If you go for 3 days without passing stool, tell your squad leader. I have a nice little pill here guaranteed to cure what ails you."

This happened more often than you might think. Between the hectic daily schedule and constant pressure, its easy to go for an extended period of time without clearing your bowels.

"現在時間0530...": "The current time is 0530 hours..."

Naturally, the pocket notebooks have to be emblazoned with the characters for "success".

I was awakened early the next morning by my still sleeping bunkmate kicking me in the face through the mosquito netting that lined our respective beds (our drill instructors had arranged us so that adjacent new recruits slept head to foot, in order to keep us from breathing in each others faces as we slept). A few seconds later, my wristwatch alarm that I had set for 5AM went off, followed by several others from the surrounding bunks. Slowly, we awoke one by one, sitting up groggily staring at the scene around us. Oh yeah, I'm here now. Official wake up time is 5:30 isn't it? Better get to work before that rolls around.

Reaching for the heavy white blanket that I'd somehow kicked off during the night, I started to fold it in the method prescribed by retired military people I'd talked to before coming in. Fold in half along the long edge, quarter folds at the front and back, then fold everything in half again to create a nice rectangular package. Tug corners to smooth out the wrinkles. Tuck in the corners of the folds with your finger or a toothbrush handle to create nice sharp edges. Use of water to create sharp corners is optional. Done.

As I contemplated whether I should handle my mosquito netting the same way, the loudspeakers crackled to life:

"The current time is 0530 hours. All new recruits out of bed."

A gaggle of drill instructors marched down the center aisle of our barracks. "This is day 2 of your adjustment period" one of them announced. "We will now demonstrate how you will be required to fold and arrange your bedding." He glanced at my meticulously folded block of oversized tofu. "Unfold that, you did it wrong."

Fold in thirds along the long edge, then fold in thirds the other way, leaving enough space between the folds so the whole thing stands up as a rectangular block. Tug out the wrinkles and tuck in the corners to form nice right angles. Water and toothbrush handle not necessary. Handle the mosquito netting the old way (bunkmate assistance required). Place folded mosquito netting atop pillow placed on edge of mattress. Place the folded blanket behind that. Done.

The loudspeaker blared again: "The current time is now 0545 hours. All new recruits assemble outside on the company assembly grounds in gym outfits. You have 1 minute. Move."

The fifty some odd new recruits in the same barracks as me dashed towards the exit in a mass frenzy punctuated by swearing, and the occasional bang from someone falling out of a top bunk in what is known colloquially as "taking the elevator" (坐電梯). This was followed by running around in panicked circles on the basketball court outside as we tried to find our designated positions in one of the 9 half remembered squads from the previous day.

"ATTENTION!" The sergeant of the day yelled into a bullhorn.

"Attention!" came the ragged cry from a few people. Oh shit, we were supposed to repeat that, weren't we?

"WHEN I CALL YOU TO ATTENTION, YOU WILL REPEAT THE WORD AND STOP MOVING! ATTENTION!!"

"ATTENTION!", we yelled.

"It has been over 3 minutes and you still aren't properly assembled. Did you bump your heads and forget about everything from yesterday? Figure out the recruit at the head of your squad (班頭) and line up after him by number. Now go back into your barracks and reassemble when I give the order! You have 10 seconds to get out of my sight!"

I'll spare you the details of what happened next, but I'm sure you can imagine the controlled chaos that transpired. About 5 minutes later we were finally assembled back outside in our designated order.

"Mess squad, break formation!", one of the sergeants yelled. "Everyone else, assemble in horizontal formation!"

As the dozen or so of us in the mess squad were led away by our squad leaders, hauling stainless steel baskets full of trays and utensils, I turned back and saw the rest of our company positioning themselves for pushups. The night before, our squad leaders had told us that given our extra work load as mess squad, we would be given certain privileges as compensation. Apparently, being exempt from this morning's physical training (PT) was one of them. I was actually somewhat disappointed, having done some previous preparation before starting basic.

My disappointment at not participating in PT was short-lived. We soon arrived at the ground level exit to the battalion kitchen where the cooks (also soldiers) were already rolling out breakfast.

"The dumb-waiter is down again today" our squad leader announced. "You will carry the food for our company downstairs to the mess hall by hand. Be careful not to drop anything, and watch out for the stairs, they're slippery. Last class we had a recruit end up with 2nd degree burns all over after he slipped while hauling a cauldron of soup."

Two by two, we carried giant stainless steel cauldrons filled with rice porridge, scalding hot tea, and the other breakfast side dishes down the ramp from the kitchen, around the building, and down the steep flight of stairs to the basement mess hall. I soon realized why the mess squad would be frequently excused from PT... we already got plenty of upper body exercise hauling food and utensils for 100+ new recruits as well as their officers and NCOs three times a day.

After setting the utensils for the officers and NCOs, as well as the communal pots of beverages and rice at the table for each squad, we hurriedly slurped up what breakfast we could, while the projection TV at the end of the mess hall was turned on to broadcast Taiwan Television (our only source of outside information while on base). Watered down soy / rice milk or scalding hot tea was the norm beverage-wise. This was followed by scrambled eggs mixed with corn or diced ham, pickles, and fried gluten (麵筋). The rice porridge was occasionally mixed with egg or canned corn (I've never seen anyone add either one of these to rice porridge outside the military). No need for the usual required mechanical eating movements here that everyone else had to abide by - another fringe benefit of being in the mess squad.

"The company is here, ASSUME YOUR POSITIONS!", someone yelled.

Four of us wearing white aprons, caps, and sleeve covers charged towards the pots of food, which had been placed in the hallway leading into the mess hall. Troops from the other companies in our brigade sharing the mess hall charged with similar tasks ran to their respective stations, as lines of tray bearing recruits appeared.

Unsure of what we were expected to do, we ladled food onto the trays of the new recruits marching in as best we could.

"Watch your portion sizes", one of our squad leaders said, "if you run out, then everyone else goes hungry."

Eventually, we would get better at estimating portion sizes. But during our first outing, the first recruits to arrive while the pots appeared to be full ended up with larger portions. Recruits arriving in the middle ended up with less, as we experienced a "Holy shit, where does this line end?"-moment; while recruits near the end ended up with their trays overflowing with surplus food as we realized we'd been too conservative with the portions as the end of the line came into sight.

Sorry. We're new at this too, in case you didn't notice.

All too soon, the new recruits finished breakfast, and the company filed out of the mess hall to wash their own trays. The mess squad was responsible for washing the communal pots, as well as the utensils for the officers and NCOs. As well as mopping the mess hall floor and wiping the tables. And hauling the food waste out to the rubbish pile for resale as pig feed.

By the time we managed to finish all this, the usual after-breakfast break time that the other recruits were enjoying was over.

The rest of the three day adjustment period passed in much the same way. Mundane administrative chores punctuated by the early departure of those of us in the mess squad near mealtimes. We worked on our thick stacks of forms in between group and individual photo shoots, chest x-rays, cleaning, and optional blood donation. Almost everyone volunteered to donate blood simply to spend half an hour in the air conditioned bloodmobile sipping the juice boxes offered to donors.

"No rush", one of the new recruits sitting next to me told the civilian nurse drawing our blood, who nodded knowingly.

On the morning of the fourth day, our real training began.

Our company assembled in formation on the parade ground in full BDUs (which we had slept in the night before) along with the new recruits from the rest of the brigade to take the formal oath, followed by a long address from a brigadier general who had dropped by especially for the occasion.

The rest of the mess squad and I watched this from the sidelines, as we hauled the day's breakfast down to the mess hall yet again. For us, there was no oath, no formal pep talk from the commanding general. When the rest of the company finally trooped down into the mess hall half an hour later, the tables were set, and we were at our designated positions wearing the white caps and aprons.

A few of my fellow mess squad troops congratulated each other on our "good luck". This sucks, I thought.

打飯班: Mess Squad

I have heard that basic training has been described as "Hurry up and wait". The hours that followed our first arrival on base certainly lived up to that description. Our squad leaders - a mix of sergeants and a few corporals (I later learned that the sergeants were career military, while the corporals were experienced draftees), hurriedly shuffled us between what seemed to be a maze of buildings, where upon arrival, we spent long moments sitting outside on our stools filling out paperwork that ranged from background checks ("List the names, addresses, and contact information of 3 male, and 3 female friends", "Do you have any direct relations living or working in Mainland China?"), to medical questionnaires ("Do you have any long term medical ailments?", "How would you classify your personality?"), and more practical matters ("Who do you wish to list as the main beneficiary of your military life insurance policy?").

With all the new recruits being shuffled around base, it took an effort not to get separated from one's squad, or to avoid losing any of the items we were hauling around.

"You're lucky that nowadays the brass have mandated a 3 day adjustment period for all new recruits", one of the sergeants warned as another hospital gown-wearing new recruit belatedly rushed back into the medical examination room for his gym clothes that he'd forgotten to put back on. "If you think this is hard, wait till the real work begins."

Finally, after yet another trip to wait outside yet another room containing yet another bored looking officer with more forms to fill out, our squad leaders led us all back to the basketball court outside our company barracks. Steel racks containing steel utensils sat at the front.

Ten dozen surgical mask-wearing young men with a variety of hairdos... mostly the shaggy "birdsnest hair" (鳥巢頭) that seems to be all the rage these days, stared at each other, shuffling from foot to foot. "We sure don't look like an army", I thought, "and this sure doesn't feel like how you always expect boot camp to be".

One of the sergeants spoke up: loud enough to be heard, but still no real yelling. "You will now proceed to the front squad by squad, where you will receive your mess kit. You will use the same items during your entire stay here, so don't lose anything."

Proceeding one by one to the head of the line, we each received a steel bowl, steel chopsticks, and a steel tray etched with "ARMY" (陸軍), or in several cases "TAIWAN GARRISON COMMAND" (警總) - the long defunct martial law era secret police agency disbanded in 1992. It is perhaps telling of how far Taiwan has come from those days that most of my fellow new recruits had never heard of the once feared state security body, or their creative applications of toothbrushes and car batteries to "subversive elements".

In other good news, the modern ROC military is really into recycling.

We were once again paraded single file into the battalion mess hall, where faceless troops wearing white aprons and baseball caps dumped portions of food onto our trays, before we were randomly led to one of the many square tables running up and down the length of the mess hall, each one with steel pots of rice, a watery soup-like liquid, and smaller steel bowls of pickles, and something resembling meat broth (滷汁).

"Remember" my friends had told me, "the military views mealtime as a hazing ritual. Act in groups when ordered, sit straight. They're expecting to nail you the first day when you don't know all the rules."

Armed with this bit of intelligence, I braced myself for a chewing out as several of the new recruits simply dropped their trays on the table, pulled out their stools, and started eating. To my surprise, none came.

"Sit down and listen up while you eat", a sergeant said, "I'm only going to explain this once."

He sat down at our table, his back remaining ramrod straight. "In the future, you will set your trays down at the table and pull out your benches silently as a group, only when ordered. Pass me the rice pot."

The rice pot made its way over in front of him, he filled his bowl methodically, placing the bowl below the outside rim of the pot. "You will not stand up until the meal is over. If you want something, ask your fellow soldiers to pass it over to you. When filling your bowl with rice or soup, never hold your bowl above the rim of the pot - that makes it look as if you're planning to dump food back in".

Holding the filled bowl in his left hand, he picked up his chopsticks and continued: "Your chopsticks are only for moving food between your tray, your bowl, and your mouth. When you are chewing your food, your chopsticks are to remain still. If your jaws are moving, your chopsticks should not be."

He then proceeded to eat methodically in a method befitting a robot. The rest of us attempted to emulate him, often failing. Till then, I'd never noticed how often I tend to shovel food with my chopsticks while chewing the previous bite.

The food that first night was representative of what we would be subsisting on for the rest of our stay in basic training. A thin cut of pork with the consistency of cardboard boiled in what appeared to be a watered down, fluorescent yellow curry, some limp green vegetable - boiled, something that looked like potatoes and canned corn boiled in the same curry sauce as the meat, and a few slices of dried tofu with a few crumbs of ground mystery meat. "On average, we have a daily food budget of about NT$30 per person here", the captain commanding our training company had said, "So its not haute cuisine, but it'll keep you alive".

As I contemplated whether I was authorized to dump the corn into my rice bowl from my tray to avoid having to pick up individual kernels, the sergeant finished his meal.

"When you are finished" he said, "Place your chopsticks back onto the largest space on your tray in front of you, then place your rice bowl upside down on top of it to signal to your fellow new recruits that you are done eating. When you have all finished, you will leave as a group as ordered by your table leader. Today, I will give the orders."

"All rise!", he ordered.

Everyone rose to their feet, with the sound of benches grinding against the tiled floor.

"You will rise together, and silently!", the sergeant said. And in what would become a refrain in basic training: "Redo that last action!"

We rose, trying not to bump into our benches, while stepping over them.

"Replace benches!", the sergeant ordered.

We shoved our benches back under the table as quietly as we could, and stood back at attention.

"Did I tell you to come back to attention?", the sergeant said. "Redo that last move. Keep your hands on the benches when you're done pushing them back, and look towards the person giving the orders so he knows when you're all ready. Do not come to attention till I order you to."

We pushed the benches back, kept our hands on the benches, and started back sideways at the sergeant from our bent over positions.

"Come to attention!" he ordered. "Retrieve trays!"

After another 5 minutes of breaking down that particular activity into its constituent parts, we were finally led out of the mess hall to the line of sinks outside our barracks, where we were each issued a piece of sponge the size of a postage stamp (for kids of my generation or younger, this is about the size of an SD memory card). Proceeding slowly forward, we dumped any remaining food into the first bin (to be sold to nearby farmers as pig feed - Taiwan is very much into garbage reduction: The pigs eat our scraps, then we eat the pigs), then scooped up soapy water from the second bin, before finally scrubbing our utensils in the sink.

Maybe it was the result of the watered down detergent or maybe it was the tiny sponges, but either way, our tableware retained a distinctly greasy feel throughout our entire stay. Its kind of romantic if you think about it: lubricating your utensils with food scraps for future generations of new recruits.

The trays went back into the steel baskets for each squad, carefully lined up in numerical order. The bowls, chopsticks, and sponges went back into our lockers.

Eventually, we were led back into the mess hall, from which the communal pots had suddenly disappeared. A quartet of middle aged ladies wielding hair clippers stood at one end, rapidly shearing the hair off an endless line of new recruits, lined up like lambs at the slaughterhouse. Everyone got the treatment, from the kid with the most elaborate salon styled hair, to the ones who'd already gone through the trouble of shaving their heads beforehand. There were no combs on the clippers, no wash, no blow dry, and no brush at the end.

Relieved of our hair, and still wearing our surgical masks, it was now all but impossible to tell people apart from one another.

"Squad 3, assemble!", one of the drill instructors shouted. We were led back up to the sinks to face one of our two corporal squad leaders, as well as what seemed like a mountain of dirty pots, pans, and vats. "So that's where all the communal stuff went", I thought.

The corporal looked at us grimly. "Squad 3", he said, "you have been selected as the mess squad (打飯班) for our company. For the duration of your stay in basic training, you will be responsible for setting up, clearing, and cleaning the mess hall, as well as for washing all the communal utensils."

The dozen or so of us started at each other in the fading light, as well as back towards the barracks where the rest of our company was seated out in front, still filling out paperwork.

"I'm warning you ahead of time", the corporal said, "you will have much more work to do and less rest time, compared to the other new recruits in your company. Now get to work."

It was another hour before we finished, and another three hours after that of other random work, before dashing to the shower room for 2 minute combat showers (6 showers shared between close to four dozen new recruits), meticulously arranging our toiletries and personal items under our beds (toothbrushes must be placed in our metal cups, pointed towards the front of the room), and standing at attention for bedtime inspection, before we hurriedly crawled under our mosquito-netting into bed for lights out. The footsteps of our squad leaders echoed from the walkway as they periodically patrolled the barracks to make sure we were all lying in bed, as our first day finally drew to a close.