John Gower stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror, his eyes scanning every inch of his No.2 dress uniform. He looked like a man who had stepped straight out of a military recruitment poster – a walking, talking model of discipline and order. He was, as his mum liked to say, ‘As smart as a carrot’.
But what truly filled Gower’s heart with an overwhelming sense of pride was the crown that rested atop his three chevrons – a symbol of his recent promotion to the rank of Staff Sergeant. Achieving such a distinguished rank at the youthful age of twenty seven was an accomplishment that he was immensely proud of.
Within the Sergeant’s Mess, there lurked a fair number of senior ranks who had been kicking around longer than John ever had. He knew that there would be animosity, especially from the Royal Corps of Transport (RCT) crowd. Those blokes were a fickle bunch, more concerned with time spent in service than actual merit. They often joked that promotion in the medics was handed out like gifts in a Christmas cracker. They would not be happy with John’s rank at such a young age.
John didn’t give a fuck about what they thought, he knew that he had earned every bit of his recent promotion. The past three years had been spent at ‘Princess Marina College’ in Arborfield, where he had served as both a Platoon Sergeant for D Company and an instructor at the Medical Training Wing. The college held a revered status as an Army Apprentices College, offering specialised trade training to soldiers aged sixteen to eighteen. While the majority hailed from ‘The Royal Electrical Mechanical Engineers (REME),’ there was also a substantial presence of apprentices from ‘The Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC).’
It was a demanding posting, to say the least, with a dizzying array of cap badges adorning the headdress of the instructors. The Regimental Sergeant Major and the four Company Sergeant Majors all came from the ‘Regiments of Foot Guards,’ the remainder comprised a hodgepodge of Infantry, Artillery, and Corps. There were some very serious types in attendance, hailing from elite regiments like the Paras and Gurkhas. These fellas weren’t to be messed with, not by a long shot. Most of the SNCOs had cut their teeth as instructors at Senior Brecon, the holy ground where Infantry soldiers were moulded into killing machines. If you weren’t up to snuff, these guys would spot you from a mile away.
John underwent a rigorous selection process to secure his position. This involved interviews with the D Company Commander, the RSM, and the Sgt Major in charge of the Medical Training Wing. Furthermore, he had to prepare and present two topics chosen by the College. His previous qualification as a Small Arms Weapons Instructor undoubtedly played a significant role in his selection.
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