Roscoe Manning’s rounded Devon drawl faltered. He gasped as burning sand trickled down his windpipe. Standard issue military full -face visor was powerless against the inexorable seepage of desert dust.
Not a good idea this open- air presentation, he thought.
Hawking an ochre flume of spittle, he re-placed his face- mask and resumed.
“Imagine….. I didn’t know what a Hesco was before this deployment and now I’m training you.”
Experience had taught Roscoe that modelling his own learning curve built trust with the trainees. So necessary in the field where operational success and minimum casualties depended on orders being instantly obeyed.
Slide followed Power Point slide……how to unfold the flat-pack wire mesh carcasses, affix the fabric lining and infill with the surrounding landscape ballast of dirt and stones.
“We’ll build up layer upon layer, add the curved dome armature, siphon in the cement slurry, and finally last slide please – attach the external super heat resistant cladding panels and ……
RESULT…… a doppelganger O2 Arena Hesco in the Mallachai Desert. And us inside waiting for the show to begin. Questions?”
Roscoe pointed a permissory finger at the audience’s raised hands.
“But will it work?” Sammie was the brightest and most analytical of the 5 recruits.
“Good question. Don’t know lad. Wars, terrorist attacks, medical emergencies, infernos, earthquakes, plagues of locusts… done all that. But never used a Hesco on an incoming intergalactic meteor strike before.”
****
Was the launch angle for the anti-tank missiles right? Would the deflections work?
Roscoe wasn’t sure but gave the order nevertheless.
“Emmett, Sammie, Vijay Marshall, Kwako, Molly… in position”
****
Sammie groaned, opened his eyes and cleared a window in the red dust on his visor. Good – he could see …and his hands still worked. He lay on his back. Above him the sun was acned with dust from disintegrating alien rocks. Red flashes continued skittering across a darkened sky as the shower entered earth’s atmosphere. The whistling explosions shimmered, reverberated and twisted in his gut. Amongst the confusion of screams, impact blasts and blood, he became aware of the stench of seared flesh. Mollie and Emmet were lying yards away motionless. Raising himself on his elbows he saw a disembodied limb. Whose? His own? Sweep-scanning his body, a silver glint of shrapnel protruded from a cascade of pulsating intestine.
He quelled the rising retch. Quick. Think! Military mnemonics. Nothing helpful came to mind.
M.U.P.P.E.T Most Useless Person Ever Trained. M.O.N.G. Military Outlook Not Good.
……Must be drifting off.
Roscoe’s voice intruded. “It’s a WRAP. Good work all. We’ll finish tomorrow. Now GO HOME!”
Next day a smug Roscoe reviewed the rushes for editing.
As business card videos go this one’s a winner he thought.
Topping the credit roll:-
Roscoe Manning…………………………………………………………………………Gantry Cameraman /Director.
The closing voice-over was inserted:
“Use the professionals. Hyper-reality Event Artisans Limited cater for all your military and civilian simulation, training and education requirements. H.E.A.L …..your organisation’s Happy Ever After.”
