A Sheep In Wolf's Clothing
"Find Workman" Answer Top, Second From Left	by David Workman	RV '89

Publishing History

National Defence Communique - July 1989, CFB Kingston Blue & White - July 1989, The Maple Leaf (Alberta) May 27, 1989, The Kingston Whig Standard - May 24, 1989, CFB Kingston Tower Times - May 24, 1989

You may ask what a civilian was doing on a military exercise. I asked myself that very question no less than seventeen times a day during my two week tour of duty and never did come up with a satisfactory answer.

But to start at the beginning, I was hired as a computer programmer by Captain Jim Miles in Automatic Data Processing (ADP) at CFB Kingston's 1^st Canadian Signal Regiment. At that time I had no idea that I would be invited to Camp Wainwright, the military's western resort in Alberta. However, when I was asked to join the ADP Squadron as part of a civilian computer support team, I jumped at the chance...but then I decided to go anyway.

As a going away present, I received my termination papers from the Personnel Department. Once that was sorted out and I was re-instated, Private Mike Stenner was assigned the task of getting me "kitted up." Apparently I was to be the first combat clad civilian programmer. The first stop was the military stores. When told I was a civilian going to RV89, the company clerk shook his head and began chuckling to himself, a pattern of behaviour I would run into many times in the days that followed.

Private Stenner checked all my gear for damage then gave me a two hour demonstration on how to put it together. I was completely outfitted in full combat gear and was required to wear it at all times. I found the gas mask particularly fascinating. It had to be over your face within eight seconds of the alarm being sounded. After a half hour of practice I was able to narrow that down to thirty seconds.

"Nothing to worry about," said Private Stenner. "If you fail on your first try you will have plenty of incentive to get it right on the next attack."

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Before take-off, Captain Miles gave me a brief on what I could expect in the field. It mentioned that as a civilian, "I would be subjected to insects, temperature changes, rain, snow, mud, and all other conditions that the environment has to offer."

Section three of the brief stated that I would "receive three hot meals most days and have the opportunity to shower occasionally." While this left me a little up in the air, it turned out to be a very accurate portrayal. Captain Miles also suggested I keep a log of my experiences.

"You could call it 'A Worm's Eye View," he suggested. I'm unsure if that was a reflection on me or just civilians in general.

The flight from CFB Trenton to Edmonton was uneventful unless you count the bomb scare. To allay my fears of the plane blowing apart, Signalman Greg Chabassol consoled me with the latest data from logistics which predicted twelve deaths on this excersise involving over 15,000 military personnel.

Following the flight, was a three hour bus ride which dropped us at the Wainwright Military Base at 5:00 a.m. Kingston time. We were shown to Quonset Hut 203 where there was a mad scramble for bunks. Our considerate hosts allowed us to sleep in until eight o'clock. As a civilian I was granted another fifteen minutes.

Second Lieutenant Denis Gagnon volunteered to take me on a forced march tour of the base. I jogged along behind him trying to keep up to his brisk pace. Finally, he slowed long enough to hand me a cup of coffee which blew away in the brewing storm. Before I could catch my bearings he was off again. I arrived back at our living quarters out of breath having seen nothing more than the back of the Second Lieutenant's beret. For the rest of the day I was assigned the task of guarding our gear. Since I was getting paid time and a half, I realized I would soon be a "soldier of fortune." The next morning Corporal Al Boudreau invited me to have lunch with him at the Mess Hall. He neglected to tell me to wear my cap. However, a drill sergeant was kind enough to point out my error in a booming voice from several blocks away. I believe had I not told him I was a civilian, he would still have me peeling potatoes while doing pushups.

The hardest part of being a civilian in the army is learning the lingo. Everyone talks in letters, numbers, slashes, designations and acronyms. Everything is also done with an incredible amount of speed and little or no warning. For instance, on my third day, Sergeant Pat Henderson materialized out of nowhere and screamed, "Grab your gear. There's a truck here to take us on an MLBU!" Later as I dried myself with my plate and combed my hair with my fork, I realized that this was not a supper run but a shower run. It seems that MLBU stands for Mobile Laundry and Bath Unit. On the way back we pulled into a fuel depot. Sergeant Henderson rolled down his window and casually asked the burly attendant, "Do you have a horse cock?" I was sure I was about to see my first action, but it turned out he did have one and was quite proud of it. Apparently a horse cock is the army's apt term for a gasoline spout.

After spending several days on base transporting equipment and setting up computer work stations, we moved down a dirt road three miles from the base to "the field." The area was very much like Africa (although I've never been there and I'm not going back) ­ small steppe-like hills, few trees and plenty of dust. The office equipment was set up in a large tent which would be our work place. After the computers had been tucked in, we were allowed to put up our own tents. Of course this was midnight by now. We were issued what is known as a 160 lb tent, so called because of the weight. However, I know from first-hand experience that it actually refers to the number of times the various tent pegs need to be pounded.

As the days progressed, I found that while some of my expected nightmares came true, others had been grossly exaggerated by old movies and even by some of my army buddies. For instance, not once during my stay did I have to cook beans inside my helmet over an open flame. Nor was it a daily occurrence to wake up with a mouth full of caterpillars. On the other hand, the work was hard, and the hours were long with no time to call your own. There was no room for the classic picture of the lonely soldier playing a harmonica while writing letters home. The weather at Wainwright was very extreme. You could say it was predictably unpredictable. It was as if all the climatic varieties had congregated here on an RV of their own; snow, dust, rain and heat, were among the more popular categories. The temperature could always be relied on to drop below zero just before bedtime.

My nights were spent freezing and reminiscing over the words of the Quartermaster back in Kingston, "Oh no, you won't need a liner for your sleeping bag." I must remember to thank him. The greatest contrast of all was the field Mess Hall. This was your common dull, green army tent. The surprise was on the inside. It was almost clean, with white tablecloths on the tables and mounds of food laid out in a buffet style befitting the most expensive restaurants. Tomatoes and cucumbers were sliced into various dainty patterns. My first time inside, I almost expected a Maitre d'hotel to ask, "How many in your party sir?" I was brought back to reality by the head chef screaming at the soldier beside me, "Take your @*&*\\$*% hat off soldier. Were you raised in a @*&*\\$*% pigsty??!!" But the food was excellent, although after several days, it all seemed to taste the same whether it was banana pudding or steak. I had no complaints though, since they always served my two favourite meals...all you can eat and free. If the old adage is true, "An army runs on its stomach", then we as Canadians have nothing to fear.

Two weeks went by quickly and my tour of duty was over. I was transported back to the real world via a military flight, or "The White Knuckle Airline's Scare Air" as it's affectionately called. For myself, RV89 was an excellent experience. It was a thrill and an honour to serve with the Signal Regiment and to see first hand the outstanding competence of the Canadian Army. I made many good friends and, best of all, my remains were not shipped home in a body bag for my closest living relative to identify.