(RG) The above photo is of our detachment 32 Alpha in our barracks at Kirton Lindsey ,you can just see the Rapier in the background. Mickey Quinn is stood in between me and Bob on the right of the photo.
What I am going to tell you now is the sort of thing you hear in the local TA bar, when someone starts putting more beer than lemonade in their pint pot. But I was that man; I did witness a Royal Army Medical Corps operation. A medic came up to our position and asked where the casualty was. We told him he was the lad in the trench with the LMG and the gobstopper in his mouth, the lad who was probably going to advise him to go forth and multiply. The medic knew how to break the ice; I watched him wander over and produce a large bottle of whisky. Quinny smiled for the first time in several days and proceeded to get stuck into it.
Suddenly, the whole of 32 Alpha had developed a toothache, with chants of ‘I don’t believe you, Quinny, stuck in the armpit of the universe and you get the finest malt whisky, hand-delivered’ echoing around our part of the Falklands.
His ecstasy soon turned to agony, though, as, with the aid of an Army right-angled torch and a pair of rusty pliers, the medic ripped the offending tooth straight out of Quinny’s gob. It’s rumoured that the same medic later got a job-working freelance for Saddam Hussein’s military intelligence.
Extract from Watching Men Burn.
© Mack (RG) The thoughts of a Falklands War Veteran.
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