POA

"Hey, why isn't G doing dishes with the rest of us?"

"Didn't you hear? He said he injured his leg or something, so he's in POA's office for further observation. He's temporarily excused from mess squad duties."

In Taiwan, every company level military unit has a resident psychologist / counselor. The counselor, almost always a junior officer, provides chaplain-like functions, personnel decisions based upon aptitude testing, morale boosting activities, and provides a sympathetic ear to the junior enlisted troops. In most units, the counselor acts as the good cop to the CO's (commanding officer) bad cop.

The counselor's official title is 輔導長 (lead counselor). In practice, he/she is almost universally referred to as "POA" (noun, pronounced "poe-eh"). I used to think that POA was an acronym for something. Turns out, like many slang terms in Taiwan, its an English transliteration of the Taiwanese nickname for the counselor: 輔仔.

I have seen good officers and lousy officers. However, my experience with the POA's at all my units has been universally positive. It is a thankless position - often dealing with draftees with various real or imagined physical or psychological disorders. I haven't yet met a POA who didn't at some point go the extra mile for the troops under their charge, many of whom in no way deserved the level of courtesy that POA showed them.

Our POA was a young female 1st Lieutenant, whom most people would describe as "kind of cute". As far as the new recruits in our company, deprived of cell phones, outside company, and subject to round-the-clock military discipline, were concerned, she might as well have been a supermodel. POA was almost always working overtime dealing with the various criseses associated with new conscripts - more than one of whom admitted faking some condition just to spend time excused from training, and in her presence.

Although as conscripts none of us were interested in a military career, most of us (either through pride, ego, or loyalty to our fellow recruits) had decided to see the whole thing through by this point. Nonetheless, the ROC military does leave a way out for individuals with pre-existing or acquired physical or psychological conditions. This is referred to as 驗退 (medical discharge after examination), and is attainable only after a lengthy process of appeal and examination by a military doctor.

"Hey, why is G still gone? He's been in POA's office for two days now."

"Didn't you hear? POA sent him off to the military hospital in Kaohsiung along with the rest of the sick bus this morning so he could get his leg X-rayed."

Although receiving such an early discharge was often the subject of jokes between us ("Hey, run over my foot with the wheelbarrow so I can apply for a medical discharge"), few actually considered intentionally pursuing it. For a few however, getting out early via a medical discharge was an appealing prospect.

"Hey, did you hear about what happened to G at the hospital today?"

"No. And why isn't he back here by now? I had to handle his cleaning duties on top of mine today."

"They say he went nuts at the hospital. Suddenly started ranting, foaming at the mouth, and peeing all over the floor. Said he wanted to kill himself."

"WTF? He was perfectly normal when he left."

"The docs there want to hold him in the psych ward for a week or so for further observation."

"That asshole... so we have to do his work for him now, while he gets to lounge around in bed all day?"

G would eventually return to the mess squad two weeks later, the doctors having decided that his "mental breakdown" was a farce. His efforts were not all for naught however, as he did recieve a consolation prize: his leg was enough to earn him a "full stop" (全休) to most physical training. Along with individuals with similar classification, he was still required to serve his full service term, but would be exempt from nearly all PT and field training. To balance this out, the squad formed by such individuals ended up being assigned to handle various menial tasks to free up other recruits. As a result, those of us in the mess squad finally got to participate in morning PT with the rest of the company.

As a conscript, slacking off, or "drifting" (飄) as its referred to colloquially is a time honored tradition. However, the biggest corollary to this is Thou Shalt Not Inconvenience Thy Fellow Conscripts Through Thy Slacking Off. Individuals repeatedly violating this find themselves rapidly ostracized from the rest of the group, as their assigned workload would have to be picked up by someone else. Consequently, individuals acquiring full stop or medical discharge status are viewed with suspicion by fellow troops and officers alike. Individuals known to have done so fraudulently are held in very low esteem by everyone. G's reputation amongst the rest of the recruits would never fully recover.

Despite this, there was always a steady trickle of individuals who would attempt to follow the same path (there are tons of discussions online on how to do this). I would often run into them while delivering their meal trays to POA's office at mealtime, where they sat lounging around.

"So, what's your story?"

"I sprained my ankle during field exercises."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. Get well soon."

"Oh no. I plan to stay crippled for as long as I can so I can keep skipping PT."

"Oh. Well, best of luck not getting well soon."

"Thanks. So, what happened today after I left?" 

"Oh, the usual. Sorry, got to head back to the mess hall, still more work to be done there."

你是哪裡人？ "And where are you from?"

"... and to be honest, as section leader, my first impression of your class has been very very poor."

As one of the most senior NCOs in our training company, we typically addressed the staff sergeant (E-6) by his position, as is common in the ROC armed forces: section leader (組長). Word was, he'd been in the Army for 12 years.  He stared at us with a look that seemed to mix disdain with general apathy - his usual attitude toward us new recruits. This had a tendency of changing on select occasions. Our first introduction to him was in the mess hall when one of the mess squads from an adjacent company failed to don surgical masks while dishing out chow.  The explosion of profanity and clang of trays being thrown frisbee-style across the room could be heard throughout the building.

Now, we were gathered around him in a semicircle, sweating in full combat gear, for our first real introduction to using our T-65K2 assault rifles for their intended purpose... namely, passing our final qualification exam at the end of basic training.

"Your objective will be to land 4 out of 6 rounds within the designated target area at 175 meters during your final exam (監測) at the end of basic training. In a few days, you will have your first target practice outing, firing at calibration targets at a distance of 25 meters - a piece of cake."

He paused for dramatic effect...

"We will now practice for your first outing using simulated targets at 25 meters. You may rest your unloaded rifles on sandbags while in the lying position that you will be assuming at the firing range. You will follow a precise procedure at the range that we will practice now...

Listen up. After the first round is fired your IQs will go from 60 to 30. After the second round, they'll go negative."

We lined up behind half a dozen sandbags placed on the ground, next to several foam mats. Wooden targets resembling an inverted U were placed some distance away.

"Now I hope you've been reading the material we've issued you to carry around in your pockets. What trajectory does a bullet take upon leaving the muzzle of your rifle?"

*Long pause*

"Are you all mutes or something?"

"Reporting sergeant! A parabolic trajectory!" (「報告組長，拋物線！」), a rather brave (and obese) recruit yelled.

"And where are you from?" (「你是哪裡人？」)

"Reporting sergeant, New Taipei City!" (「報告組長，新北市！」)

"What, are you from everywhere in New Taipei?" (「怎樣，全新北都是你家喔？」)

"Reporting sergeant, Tamsui!"(「報告組長，淡水！」)

"Tamsui? Looks like you've been eating too much A-gei (a Tamsui specialty dish consisting of noodles wrapped in tofu)" (「淡水？我看你是啊給吃太多。」)

Sarge proceeded to go down the line, asking everyone where they were from, and coming up with a specific insult corresponding to each.

"Now listen up. Since your bullets will not be flying in a straight line, at 25 meters your bullets should fall about 2.4 centimeters below the target if your aim is true."

We then proceeded to act out the standard operating procedure for target practice:

"Prepare for target practice in lying position!" (「臥射預備！」)

"Preparing for target practice in lying position!", we yelled, taking a step to the left and dropping onto the mats, while resting the stocks of our rifles on the sandbags pointed towards the target.

"Load three bullets, release bolt!" (「三發子彈，送上槍機！」)

"Loading three bullets, releasing bolt!", we yelled while inserting an empty magazine and pushing the bolt release catch on the side of our rifles.

The bolt snapped forward with a satisfying metallic clack, which would have chambered a bullet from the magazine, had there actually been any. If you've ever seen an action movie where a character slaps the side of his rifle after inserting a new magazine, this is what he was doing. We were expressly forbidden from slapping our rifles (Too much potential for weapons damage, our company commander had said).

"Ready on the left!" (「左線預備！」)

"Disengaging safety" (「開保險！」)

"Ready on the right!" (「右線預備！」)

"Taking a deep breath!" (「深呼吸！」)

"Ready along the line!" (「全線預備！」)

"Opening fire!" (「開始射擊！」)

A series of clicks echoed along the line as everyone pulled their triggers.

"You should press the stock of your rifles to your chest during target practice, since your aim will tend to shift when pulling the trigger. We will practice by placing NT$1 coins (about the size of a US penny) on the barrels of your rifles. If you are holding your rifles steady, the coin should not fall off when you pull the trigger.

You will continue this exercise until you have pulled the trigger 20 consecutive times without the coin falling off the barrel."

We proceeded to do just that. Sweating in my steel helmet and long sleeved BDUs in the tropical heat and humidity, I yanked the charging lever of my rifle backwards to cock the firing pin. Another recruit placed placed an NT$1 coin on the barrel. I inhaled and held my breath, and carefully lined up the sights on my rifle, before gently squeezing the trigger using the second joint of my index finger as we were instructed...

Click.

By luck, or by skill, the coin stayed put. Maybe I'd get the hang of this after all.

I repeated the process meticulously, sweat starting to pool up under the lining of my helmet. Taiwan still uses the classic US M1-style steel helmet in basic training and other roles where looks or budgets are at a premium (eg. the honor guard). While being heavier and providing less protection than the newer Kevlar versions, it is unmistakably more stylish in a Saving Private Ryan-sort of way.

Click.

And again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

By now, sweat was running down my face, the rim of my helmet was sliding down over my eyes, and I was struggling to keep my eyes open through the stinging sweat and the increasing blurriness from keeping my right eye open. (Remember, you only have about 15 seconds of effective vision when sighting your target, sarge had warned.)

Click.

Click.

Click. CLINK!

The unmistakable sound of the coin falling off my rifle barrel jolted me out of whatever zen state I was previously in.

It may sound trivial, but by the end of the hour, no one had managed to go for 20 consecutive shots without the coins falling off their rifle barrels to sounds of frustrated cursing.

It eventually dawned on us that like so many other things in basic training, we were being set up to fail.

"That was pathetic", Sarge said at the end of the session.

"I'm.... I'm sorry sergeant!" (「報...報告組長，對不起！」), one recruit ventured.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to the country!" (「現在不是對不起我，是對不起國家！」)

驗槍開始！ Commence firearms inspection!

The longer of my two guns. (Original image: Wikimedia Commons)

"All new recruits, proceed to check out your firearms."

Our first real exposure to firearms came on our second day of training. Proceeding single file, we checked out our rifles, as well as a bayonet and scabbard (which doubled as a combat knife - or would have had it actually been sharpened), and two ammo pouches to add to our ever growing utility belts, each containing two empty magazines. The recruits in the firearms squad thrust all of these into our hands, before we all rushed back to the parade grounds.

As with the mess squad that I'd been assigned to, another squad of new recruits had been designated as the firearms squad - responsible for the upkeep, regular maintenance, and storage of the company's firearms. Although we would all eventually become versed in the basics of firearms maintenance by way of on the job training, the existence of the firearms squad (as well as the mess squad, equipment squad, and political warfare squad) was one of the consequences of the shortened one month basic training period - too many tasks to handle, with too little time and too few personnel. The preferred solution being to parcel out specific tasks to specific squads of new recruits.

Private firearms ownership is generally illegal in Taiwan, although most kids have had some prior exposure to the whole concept via computer games, movies, and military ed classes in high school and college. As for me, having spent most of my life in the US, I appreciated the option of owning a firearm, and appreciated even more the fact that I never felt the need to actually exercise it. Nonetheless, I'm no gun nut, and had only the vaguest idea of how to handle a modern firearm ("Insert magazine. Point muzzle away from self. Pull trigger.")

We were issued the T-65K2 assault rifle. Functionally and visually, it is similar to the U.S. M-16 assault rifle used in Vietnam, although the T-65K2 is also capable of firing in full auto. While some units now use the newer T-91 (similar to the U.S. M-4), the T-65K2 remains the mainstay of most reservist and non-direct combat military units in Taiwan.

Lined up on the parade grounds with our rifles in our hands, and our bayonets on our belts, you could feel the anticipation as the captain raised his bullhorn, ordering a vocal tally of the rifles in the company. This had to be done by each recruit belting out his number in incremental order and kneeling down after reporting. This procedure would be repeated every time firearms were issued and returned to ensure that all issued weapons were accounted for.

After the requisite three or four repetitions it took us to get this right, we learned our first SOP with the T-65K2: group firearms inspection, intended to ensure that the firing chamber was clear.

"Commence firearms inspection!" (驗槍開始！), the captain yelled.

"Kneeling down for firearms inspection!" (驗槍蹲下！), we shouted, holding our rifles with the butts down on the ground.

Naturally, the basic training version of this was unnecessarily elaborate, and required full group synchronization and recitation. We spent an hour trying to get this right.

Our superiors took great pleasure in ordering us to hold our rifles aloft pointed skyward while in a half kneeling position using only our left hand for extended periods of time, ostensibly to check whether there were any foreign objects in the chamber (「通視槍膛！」). Unloaded, the T-65K2 weighs 3.31 kilograms. After 10 seconds in this position, it might as well be 3.31 tons. Arms were shaking up and down the line, interspersed with yelling from the drill sergeants directed at recruits whose rifles were deemed to be less than near vertical.

Lesson: The Army can turn anything into a hazing ritual.

The SOP ends with the synchronized testing of the triggers of the now confirmed empty rifles:

"Fire! Fire again!" (擊發！再擊發！)

 

Sloppy rendition of the firearms inspection SOP, sans firearms.

It is worth noting that firearms are euphemisms for certain male body parts in many cultures, and Taiwan is no exception. The unofficial lyrics of one popular military marching song goes "I have two guns. One is longer than the other..." (「我有兩支槍，長短不一樣...」).

That evening, a group of new recruits decided to perform a group recital of the firearms inspection SOP in the company showers, complete with requisite sound effects. They had barely gotten to the part about test firing when a gaggle of drill sergeants burst in demanding the identities of those involved. When no answer was forthcoming, everyone in the showers was hauled off to the company office pending further investigation.