If you had to join your nations military and fight in a front-line position (ie: no pen-pushing at staff-headquarters) which branch of the services would you want to be in and any specific roles? This is in a full-scale World War Three scenario so there would not really be any particularly safe areas.
What would be the last place you’d want to be assigned? You can assume if you like that this is a fictional scenario where you could fulfill any role that took your fancy, eg: Special Forces, tanks, submarine crew.
For myself I’d go for the airforce (I seriously considered joining the RAF until told that my eyesight wasn’t up for scratch for an airborne position), as a frustrated pilot I’d have to go for that, air-to-air combat or ground-attack its all good. In reality I’d have to take a support staff role.
I think the worst would probably be crew for a light AFV, in several books I’ve read it makes it seem like in a major conflict those things would be going up like popcorn and at least as an infantryman you get some fresh air.
Just wondering what sort of things people would go for and would there be an equal air/sea/land forces mix.
I couldn’t shoe-horn my fat ass into a fighter, and my eyesight isn’t that hot to boot, so I guess I would opt for a small coastal-patrol craft, where I could help repel the Screaming Pale Peril swarming down from Canadia, while getting in a little fishing.
I’ve heard the AF gives one the greatest possiblility of picking up skills that are useful outside of the rather narrow groups of occupations that involve blowing other people up, so I’d think I’d go that route. I’d rather learn to fly a plane then to kill a man from behind with a machete, as I’m far more likely to get to use the former after the war is over.
Ship’s helicopter pilot - flying something like a Sea King, I’d have a nice mission mix of search & rescue, sub-hunting, and troop insertion / extraction.
If I’d been a guy (which means that instead of short and curvy, I would have been tall and athletic like every guy on both sides of my family) I would have volunteered for either the Air Force Academy or, if I didn’t think I could pass the entrance exam, the Paratroopers.
Since I’m definitely short, definitely curvy, and definitely on the claustrophobic side, I’ll take anything that’s not submarines.
Maybe I could be a pilot in some sort of transport craft. Choppers, Hercules.
Remember, mommy,
I’m off to get a commie,
So send me a salami
And try to smile somehow.
I’ll look for you when the war is over,
An hour and a half from now!
But if we assume that we’re not talking full-scale Armageddon, then I’m likely to join the branch that allows for the easiest desertion. I might be willing to die for a cause, but it’s real unlikely this war is for a cause I’m willing to kill for–and so I’ll be doing my best to get my ass out of the killer’s seat ASAP.
I think Spec Ops would be great. If you’re in a war, might as well have the most training. A carrier pilot (something I was close to signing up for after HS) would be cool too.
Worst? Hmmmm… a buddy a mine who was in the USMC said that a machine gunner had a combat life expectency of 90 seconds. That would suck.
Seriously, I think I’d sign up for the Army Corps of Engineers. I’m the sort of guy who goes to a party and ends up working the beer keg, so I might as well build (and blow) up bridges so some other guys can (or can’t) cross the river. Besides, I’ve done some jobs with my eyes closed. I’d like to know if I can work while getting shot at.
Sniper school also sounds like an idea. The whole ‘one clean shot’ idea appeals to me. I could also go for artillery.
(Do I qualify for my ‘bravado in the face of BS’ medal yet?)
Well with my rank and skill set, I’d most like end up in a MASH or MUST unit. At worse they could atttach me to a Battalion aide station which are typically behind the line as well but closer to the front to be overrun occasionaly.
At the risk of getting too censorious here, some of the people on these boards have been there. Some long ago, some fairly recently. While there might be a tendency toward flippancy on the part of some of our friends here, the prospect of ever again going back on active duty, of ever again carrying a rifle with the intent of using it on another person, of ever again being responsible for the welfare and lives of 30 or 40 young soldiers, of ever again confronting the probability of your own death or mutilation, of ever again contemplating your wife’s life as a soldier’s widow and your children’s lives as soldier’s orphans is not attractive, amusing or entertaining. There is too long a trial of young men’s corpses behind us (and the vast number were young men) to see this thread as an innocent diversion.
Real war is not some action sequence from a Good Guys v. Bad Guys movie. It s personal discomfort, fear and anxiety. It is wrapping your comrades in their own poncho and throwing them on a truck. It is the futile attempt to shove some stranger’s brains back in his head. It is looking for your friend and finding something that looks like a hundred men with bloody noses have sneezed in one place, and a boot. It is a man staggering out of the bushes holding his intestines in his hands. It is being so afraid that you lose control of your bowels. It is 40 years of dreaming the faces of dead men. It is a horror beyond imagination.
With that said, you want to get into a job that puts 15,000 soldiers and fifty miles of country between you and anyone who might wish to do you harm. Don’t count of having that wish gratified.
