Commando Interview

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Unarmed Combat - "Kill Kill Kill!" we yelled as we fought

Parachuting - An assortment of my airborne stories

Water Miracle - "God, I am dehydrated. I need water badly. HELP."

Heat Exhaustion deep in the hot and humid tropical jungle.

A Mountain After Another - We had just finished scaling a gigantic mountain. Could anything worse be waiting for us?

My Tribute to a Fallen Lieutenant - He did something which made others bittebut made me appreciate and respect him even more. I miss him. Farewell, Lieutenant Sir.

Quest for the Black Belt - As part of the exam, I had to fight a seasoned Black Belt fighter called "The Bull." Could I overcome him?

Army Memories - An assortment of my short stories.

Back to Life at The Home of The Commandos

Five Days Without Sleep - and a 35 km march to round up a week of torture, to earn our corporal stripes.

Commando's Prayer - Very meaningful prayer. Reveals the spirit of the commando.

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Favorite Military Links - includes the Singapore Commandos and other Special Forces.

Barracks Haunting - The old commando barracks where we lived are reputed to be haunted. They were used as a POW prison during World War Two. Many prisoners died. Here are the stories as reported by the Singapore Paranormal Investigators. Click on "Haunted Changi" and scroll down to "Commando Barracks"

Commando Interview

Skinny me in 1985, a few months before enlistment. Can this frail skinny little body survive the rigours of commando training?

Facing me were three mean-looking commandos ready to gauge if I had what it took to join their unit. With an air of pride, each was donning the famous Red Beret which was the symbol of the commando in the Singapore Army. Yearning to be a commando, I looked with envy at their Red Berets. But I was apprehensive because I knew that I faced great obstacles. The commandos wanted only candidates in the best physical condition.

And I surely was not.

First, my colorblindness was anathema to joining the commandos. Second, my left arm had a compound fracture. (My arm fracture. Scroll down and look for �Injuries.�) Two strikes against me. In this case you didn�t need three strikes before you were out - one was enough. Would I be able to persuade these commandos to give me a chance to attain the prestigious Red Beret despite my less than ideal physical conditions?

My childhood fantasy was to be a commando, although I didn't think I would ever become one. I had always loved the military. I read books about daring commando exploits mainly from the Second World War. I played with plastic model (made by Airfix, Revell, and Tamiya) toy soldiers which came in various military units such as WW2 German Infantry, Japanese Infantry, British Paratroopers, Russian Infantry, and American Infantry. But the British Commandos were my favorite. In my imaginary world, my plastic British Commandos always emerged victorious in battles with plastic German and Japanese soldiers. I played make-believe that I was one of the British commando figures brandishing a Bren gun. This particular figure was an immortal hero, killing many of the enemy and earning dozens of Victoria Crosses!

I wanted to emulate the famous commando Colonel Nick Rowe, who said, "I took a different route from most and came into Special Forces . . . . I had made a decision then that, as far as I was concerned, I had found what I wanted in the military, and I simply had to find a way to stay with it."

For the few days preceding the interview, my mind constantly revisited the Air Force. Before the commandos summoned me, the Air Force had ordered me to take their pilot preliminary tests. First, they measured my arms and legs, and I passed this test. Next, they tested my color vision.The nurse showed me an image filled with color dots. Later I learned that everyone else could read the letters easily, but all I saw were meaningless shapes of colorful dots everywhere. Image after image produced the same outcome. Felt illiterate not being able to read them. But illiterate I was not, and I felt so stupid.

After the color vision test, I sat at the waiting area with the rest of the candidates, waiting for the next test. "Raymond Tan!" the loud booming voice of a plumb nurse jolted me out of my boredom. As I approached her, she waved me away and shouted, "You can go home now." I felt humiliated. Everyone heard it; she might as well had used a loudspeaker.

Thus, my already slender confidence was further eroded. Now would color-blindness (and a broken arm) prevent me from joining the commandos too? Would I face an even greater humiliation and disappointment? I was afraid to find out.

The three commandos stared at me across the big brown mahogany table, but the stare from the middle one was the most unnerving. He was the oldest and quietest but looked the meanest. Although I didn't notice their ranks, I believed he was the highest ranking of the three by the authority he exuded, albeit silently. He stared at me throughout the interview as though measuring me up. He was the stockiest; the other two looked lean. All three had tanned skin, probably the result of much training under the sun.

I decided to get it over with, so I said I was partially colorblind. (After all, they could easily obtain the records from the Air Force, and there was no point in hiding.) Briefly, I explained my disappointing visit to the Air Force. Raising their eyebrows, they looked amused.

The center one tossed his beret on the table right in front of me and pointed to it. "What color is this?"

Of course, I knew the color of the famous Red Beret. �Red.�

He seemed satisfied but still amused. Apparently, they hadn�t met many colourblind people. The one on the left asked if I had any other physical limitations. I talked about my childhood forearm fracture. My arm was now fine. It wouldn't be a liability if I joined the commandos, which I was keen to do, I said.

Now they looked even more surprised than when I told them about my colorblindness. Almost every candidate dreaded joining the commandos. Everyone knew about commando training. The interviewers must have heard countless excuses and exaggerations.

�I am allergic to grass. My skin itches the moment I touch grass.�

�I am short-sighted -- I can�t see anything beyond three metres.�

"One look at a rifle gives me a migraine."

Here they had someone eager to join them. They might have thought I was crazy. But being crazy was an asset in the commandos: only the crazies would do what commandos do.

A few weeks later, I received a letter from the army. Our Three Musketeers agreed I was crazy. I was summoned to the commando unit for Basic Military Training.

Thank God!