Every few days, a new subject was introduced into the curriculum. This time it was WT (Weapon Training). It was considered the most essential part of army training. This was the real stuff. This is what they had joined the army for – to handle weapons that could kill the enemy in battle.
The cadets were taken through the details of the basic weapons used by the infantry, and at the platoon and section levels. The thought that they would be allowed to handle weapons like 9MM carbines, rifles, and LMGs (Light Machine Guns), excited the LCs.
The girls had to dress in dungarees and wear their web equipment to class. The numerous putti parades, during which they had been made to wear all kinds of uniforms, came in handy now. It took them just minutes to don the belt, pouches and backpack. The cadets now realized the benefit of the exercise that they had assumed to be futile punishment.
Standing in front of the mirror, Billi felt a sense of pride coursing through her veins. The training had brought a sense of pride in the profession she had chosen for herself. There had been many moments of uncertainty, but now everything was falling in place. She wished she had a mobile, so she could click a selfie and send it Daddu.
It was easy to imagine his pride at her achievement. She made a mental note to tell him all about the weapon training. He would love that.
‘Hey! We are getting late. Hurry up,’ shouted Shiny, and the LCs rushed for the fall-in.
Minutes later, they were pedalling in squads towards the class where Ustad Bhairon Singh Rajawat awaited them.
Dressed impeccably in battle dress, the ustad began the mandatory dress inspection. Not a crease in his uniform, he scrutinized their outfits, and a couple of LCs found themselves earning his disapproval.
As usual, the instructor found dozens of faults in their rigs and haircuts, and singled out the offenders for punishment. Nutty ran around the class with a 7.62 SLR (Self Loading Rifle) held high above her head, along with four others who had not polished their buckles to the ustad’s satisfaction.
‘I wonder what polish has to do with WT,’ she complained to her companions as they ran.
‘Nonsense cadet, no talking only running,’ reprimanded the ustad, who had heard her.
After the dress inspection and punishments, the class began in earnest. The ustad went about his job like a robot, his movements brisk and mechanical. He picked up a rifle, and explained its characteristics before proceeding to the next part of the lesson. Dismantling the rifle, he rattled out the name, location, type and function of each part.
The experienced instructor dismantled the weapon with so much flourish that it seemed like child’s play. Slowly and efficiently, he assembled the parts once again, before explaining the process in a reverse order. The ustad knew his job. His explanation was clear and easy to understand.
He repeated the demonstration, this time dismantling the rifle in a couple of seconds. Not once did he glance at the rifle. His hands moved mechanically. It was a feat meant to draw appreciation. Resisting the urge to clap, Nutty concentrated on the ustad’s lecture.
‘Clear? Can you do it?’
There was no response. The LCs knew that he expected them to repeat the performance, but most of them were not confident. Some of them wanted him to repeat the demonstration. The stern expression on his face discouraged them from asking.
‘Ustad, can you show us one more time?’ Nutty finally found the courage to ask.
‘Were you sleeping? Should I wake you up?
Punishments were an inevitable part of Nutty’s life, so she steeled herself for another round of running. But noticing the doubt on several faces, the ustad decided to oblige the cadets with a repeat demo.
‘Any more doubts?’ he challenged.
The consequences of doubts and questions were known to all the LCs, and no one responded to the challenge.
‘Who will dismantle and assemble the rifle?’ he bellowed.
There were no volunteers.
As luck would have it, the instructor picked Nutty. After all, she was the one who had asked him to repeat the demonstration.
It was a total fiasco. A very nervous Nutty dropped the firing pin and then the breach block, making the ustad furious. Poor Nutty found herself front rolling, once again.
After a break, the class started once again. It was only when they began the process of dismantling and assembling the parts that the LCs realized the difficulty of the exercise. Soon, quite a few of them were rolling and running around the ground.
Back in their rooms that night, the gang of four was not pleased with their WT lessons.
‘We did more muscle-building exercises than learning about rifles,’ complained Nutty, massaging her arms. All that running around the class with a rifle held high above her head had taken a toll on her. ‘Bhairon Singh is a devil,’ she declared.
‘It will do you a lot of good,’ said Shiny, ‘The ustad is strengthening your arms, so you can wring the enemy’s neck if the rifle does not work.’
‘I will have to report sick if he continues in the same manner. How can you assimilate anything when you are tired and sweating at the beginning of the class?’ Nutty pointed out. ‘I hope the ustad is posted out.’ Almost all ustads would have to be posted out of the academy if she had her way.
The dress inspection and the string of punishments resulted in a marked improvement in the turnout of the LCs. As the days went by, the ustads focused more on lessons and less on punishments.
WT lessons continued, sometimes stretching over three to four periods continuously, till the LCs learnt to handle the dismantling and assembling of the rifles quite efficiently. They were taken through lessons on other infantry basic weapons, and loading, unloading and different firing positions. They were taught the details of firing in lying, sitting and kneeling positions, and were taught both standing with support and without. They were also instructed on aiming and firing the weapons.
In the last lesson before the actual firing, the ustad kept harping on about HAT (Holding, Aiming and Trigger Operation) till the information was coming out of their ears.
‘Why is he obsessed with bloody hats?’ whispered Nutty, who had not been paying attention.
Her whisper reached the ustad’s sharp ears, and she found herself rolling, once again.
Over the next couple of weeks, they were taken through lessons on other basic weapons of the infantry, their characteristics, assembling, dismantling, loading, unloading and firing positions. They were also instructed on drills associated with aiming and firing the weapons. The LCs learnt to react swiftly to the ustad’s orders. Bhar (Load), and Khali kar (Empty), became easy to follow.
Satisfied with their theoretical knowledge and handling of the rifles, Ustad Bumble Bee as Nutty had named Bhairon Singh Rajawat, announced that they were now competent enough to carry out live firing. None of the girls had ever fired an actual rifle, except for two LCs who had been in the NCC. Their excitement knew no bounds when the training programme was put up on the noticeboard. Firing was scheduled to take place at the firing range the next Monday.
Come Monday, and the excited LCs dressed in dungarees, with backpacks and pouches strapped firmly to their uniforms, cycled to the armoury to collect their rifles. In squads of sixes and eights in two rows, they proceeded to the firing range that was across the Adyar River.
The drills for firing the rifles had already been taught in the WT classes, and now they had to be put to practice. Although a couple of WT ustads were at the firing, CoCo and Shera had also decided to grace the occasion with their presence. Written on walls all along the range were slogans. Shoot to Kill, read one. Ek Goli, Ek Dushman read another, yet another one reminded them of HAT (Holding – Aiming – Trigger Operation), which was Bumble Bee’s favourite acronym.
Six square targets, four feet by four feet, had been set up at the base of a mound, and the LCs were to fire at them from a raised platform at a distance of 100 meters. A tent, where live ammunition was kept and used for firing, had also been pitched. A placard in front of it read ‘AMMUNITION POINT’. Another tent, a fancier one, had been pitched nearby and was furnished with a couple of chairs and tables with a few files placed on the tables. This was where the CoCo and Shera sat, enjoying a bird’s eye view of the proceedings taking place at the ranges.
After the usual dress inspection by the ustads (that morning there were five ustads), CoCo gave them a pep talk to pump up their josh. ‘How’s the josh?’ he asked in filmy style.
‘High, sir!’ they shouted in unison.
The first firing squad of six LCs were ordered to line up in front of their targets with their rifles.
‘Lying position,’ shouted the ustad. Instantly, the girls dived to take up the lying position as taught in the WT classes. Nutty, along with five others, was assigned the job of delivering magazines filled with live bullets to each of the six LCs lying in position.
‘Bhar,’ bellowed the ustad. Aware that CoCo, Paltu and the ustads were watching them, the firers attached the magazines to their rifles and cocked them smartly.
Soon, the Bumble Bee’s obsession with HAT became clear.
Crisp and clear, they heard him roar, ‘FIRE!’ At the ustad’s order, the LCs were to fire 10 single shots at their targets.
Moving softly, so as not to disturb the girls’ concentration, CoCo and Paltu came over and stood behind the firers. The LCs continued to fire.
Bullets landed all over the mound, and the entire mound at the target end was soon covered in a cloud of dust. The firing continued for a couple of minutes, and then there was silence.
Once the 10 shots had been fired, and the Khali kar drill completed, one of the ustads along with the six firers doubled down to the target end to see the result of their efforts. They stood alongside their targets after examining the number of hits. CoCo and Paltu sauntered up to inspect the targets along with an ustad, who carried a pen and pad. They stood for a while in front of Shiny’s target, quite pleased with the result. Of the 10 shots, she had managed to hit eight in the inner circle.
Kiran had five hits on the entire target, Meg had managed seven, and Sasha three. Lucky had the lowest score of two. Despite the large target area, it was a dismal performance. The hits were spread all over. None of the hits were on the bull.
It was when CoCo and his entourage reached the last target that their eyes widened with wonder. Cockroach’s target displayed 12 hits. The counting was repeated, and the result turned out to be the same. Perplexed, the instructors stared at the target.
Back at the firing point, Paltu marched towards the six LCs of the firing squad. ‘How did you manage to hit 12 shots on the target?’ she shouted at Cockroach.
The girl looked puzzled. She had been a sergeant in the NCC and a good shot, but 12 hits from 10 bullets seemed surreal.
Nutty, who had doled out the magazine to her, shivered in her boots. ‘Bloody hell!’ she muttered. ‘How the hell did I manage to give 12 bullets to the cockroach?’
CoCo, followed by the ustads, confronted the six girls. ‘All of you will report to the MI Room for an eye test. It seems that some of you suffer from a severe squint,’ he remarked with a straight face.
It was evident that he was referring to Cockroach’s target. It was also evident that he had decoded the mystery of the extra hits.
‘I am glad that you LCs are not joining the fighting arms,’ he continued rather chauvinistically. ‘With you on the battlefield, the enemy will have reasons to rejoice.’
A few LCs had the cheek to giggle, and found themselves rolling.
The secret of the extra hits on Cockroach’s target soon became clear. Lucky, who was positioned on Cockroach’s left, had managed to shoot her neighbour’s target instead of her own. The dust around the target confused her and she had fired at the wrong target.
The ustads took over. They dinned the HAT drill into the ears of the cadets till the words were tumbling out of their ears. Bumble Bee warned of serious consequences if there was no visible improvement in their firing. Although the HAT drill led to some improvement, Lucky continued to draw a blank. Her target remained unblemished.
Dissatisfied by the overall performance, CoCo gave them an earful, but he reserved the most caustic comments for the unfortunate Lucky. ‘I will have a bow and arrow issued to you. You could also carry some stones when you go to war.’
‘A bit of rolling could have a better effect,’ suggested Shera.
As a result, the six LCs did more rolling than firing at the ranges that day. The next squad of firers were summoned to display their firing skills. The result was equally bad. Almost every LC proved her lack of skill that morning.
Visibly disappointed with the result, CoCo walked to the LCs. ‘I shall classify your firing results “TOP SECRET” and keep them safe in my custody,’ he waved the sheaf of papers in his hand. ‘Were Pakistan to get a hold of these firing results, they won’t delay launching an attack on us.’
Paltu, who was standing next to him, found it difficult to maintain a straight face and tried to hide her smile. There was a suppressed chortle from one of the LCs.
‘You find that amusing?’ CoCo barked. There was pin drop silence. And then the rolling began.
Next, CoCo gave a piece of his mind to the ustads. They were not strict enough, he told them. They had failed in their duties.
As they cycled back to the mess, Nutty mimicked CoCo and sent the LCs of her bicycle squad roaring with laughter. Lucky, who was at her shakiest best, laughed the loudest before banging into Nutty. Of the six LCs, four lay on the ground, their bikes under them. They were still laughing as CoCo, who was right behind them, halted his vehicle and jumped out.
‘It seems as though you have enjoyed the morning. I want you to reverse.’
The LCs, who had been pedalling towards the mess for lunch, turned the direction of their bicycles towards the firing ranges.
‘Don’t you understand English?’ he barked. ‘Instead of sitting on the bikes, I want you to lift your bikes over your heads and run to the mess.’ Saying this, he jumped into his vehicle and vanished.
This was by far the most strenuous punishment doled out to the LCs. Ruing the few moments of fun, they sighed and picked up their bikes.
‘Bloody CoCo,’ Nutty cursed as she jogged with the bike held over her head. Breathing heavily, she continued, ‘Is it a crime to laugh?’