“Chapter Six As I walked over to the cookhouse, the familiar sound of generators humming and vehicles revving filled my ears. The Tannoy kicked off again, ‘Standby. Standby. Firing. End of message.’ Sure enough, another 70km Sniper kicked off and whooshed over my head. I couldn’t be bothered to look up and watch it disappear into the sky without my sunglasses on. Besides, the most important thing on my mind just then was getting a brew. Whenever we got any time off from being on patrol or on fat...igues, it was always brew time. No doubt about it, the army would grind to a halt without tea. Even our ration packs had enough brew kit in them to supply all the Queen’s garden parties put together. The cookhouse was the centre of our world. As well as having a brew on 24/7, we also got fed there, but more importantly it was where the telly was. BFBS, the British Forces Broadcasting Service, beamed in the soaps, news, music channels and, even better, football. There were always lads sitting in the cookhouse day or night.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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