Chapter Three: The Green Door

Everything was different for me. Shortly after Seth was born I got a call from the recruitment centre saying that I would be sworn in on the 9th of September and head to St. Jean Sur Richelieu, Quebec on the 25th to start the 15 weeks of boot camp that stood between me and my dream. We had worked out how much of the meagre retirement savings that my benefits had entitled me to after almost a decade with Wal-Mart and were able to cover three months of living expenses. That in and of itself served as a reminder to me of why I needed to find a better organization to work for. On June 25th I swiped my card and walked out of Wal-Mart as an employee for the last time. I wanted to have the chance to focus on Seth because I was so nervous about forging that bond with him before I left. It worked out well too because with Stephanie’s post C-Section restrictions she needed help and I was happy to handle all the changes, feeding and naps that I could just to have those moments that I knew I would regret not having if I didn’t cherish them.

After an amazing summer of change and growth as a father it was the 9th of September and it was time for my swearing in. The swearing in is a short but vital ceremony. They can be done intimately with family or in stadiums in front of people. Mine was done at the recruitment office in a small meeting room. I was nervous but eager. My parents, grandmother and parents-in-law attended along with Stephanie and Seth, who slept through the whole ceremony. At first, they all waited there together and watched a video about basic training that detailed what was to come for us while the other candidates and I went to a separate room to sign the papers accepting our respective positions and our actual contracts. Eventually they ushered us into the room where our families sat, and we took seats at the front in the section they reserved for us.

The room had a large banner advertising the Armed Forces with the characteristic shots of members from each element (Army, Navy and Air Force) and pictures of a tank, a fighter jet and a warship. At the front was a desk with a Bible sitting on it and the flags of Canada and the Armed Forces crossed in front of a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II. I remember looking at the small patriotic shrine and feeling inspired. The Queen for me was far more than some rich British elitist or some figure in our government. To me she represented service and duty. The image of the crown resonated with me and still serves to remind me of the oath that I was still to take that morning, for people today the meaning is less pointed it seems but to me it was everything.

An Air Force Captain walked in accompanied by other members of the office in their dress uniforms looking well turned out. I remember being struck by how nice his light blue uniform and highly shone shoes and medals looked. He introduced himself and discussed the importance of the ceremony. As he wrapped up his speech before it was time to call us up to the front, he hammered home the point to all of us: “do not take this oath lightly” he said as his voice became suddenly more seriousness. “Every person in the Canadian Forces is a volunteer. Everyone takes this oath of their own free will and everyone who takes it is bound thereafter by it to think of their nation and their fellow members before themselves always.” He paused and scanned the group of us meeting each of our eager stares knowing that we were oblivious to the true magnitude of the moment.

He called each of us up in turn. I watched as the candidates headed up and I remembered my graduation from Carleton and realized with a grin that this moment was a far bigger deal to me. Opportunity was knocking, all I had to do was answer. “Naval Cadet Stephen Tomlinson,” his aid said, as I realized it was finally my turn. I took a deep breath and walked up to him and placed my hand on the Bible and looked into his eyes trying to project the sincerity of my next words: “good morning Sir,” I said as I readied myself to say the oath. He gave a short smile and said: “repeat after me.” I listened to every word and with each pause I felt the pride in my heart surge as the magnitude of the moment hit home and said: “I, Stephen Geoffrey Tomlinson, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, Her heirs and successors, according to law, so help me God.” I lowered my hand and shook his with a smile as I rejoined the group. It was official, I had joined the military. The reality of that decision slowly seeped in over the next 16 days as I prepared to say goodbye for a while to my new small family.

On the morning of September 25th, I woke up before dawn and went for breakfast with Stephanie, Seth, Dean, and Sandy before heading to Pearson International Airport for my flight to Montreal. From there I would take a bus to St. Jean Sur Richelieu. After we’d parked and sorted my stuff out, I checked in and Steph, Seth and I sat down in some chairs near security so we could wait out the period before my flight was boarding. Steph and I talked while I sat and played with Seth and tried desperately to hang on to those last few precious moments together. I remember looking at Seth’s little face and memorizing all of the curves, his little nose, his chubby cheeks and his huge, gummy smile and tried not to cry. He was so precious, so sweet, and I would do anything for him. I looked into his adoring little eyes and said to myself that I really would give anything I needed of myself to give him the future he deserved.

After about an hour or so it was time. We moved over to the gate. I hugged Stephanie and Seth each one last time before heading toward the head of the queue. I felt as though my heart was bleeding and my throat ached as I tried to keep my brave face and tried not to imagine them standing there watching me leave them. As I approached the final point before I had to walk through I told myself that I could have one last look and that I would remember it forever and that no matter what I would make myself leave afterward. I paused and turned back and looked at them. Stephanie had tears in her eyes but smiled with pride while Seth looked around, oblivious. In that moment they were beautiful to me. I smiled and gave one last wave, blew a kiss and turned away refusing to look back. As I left, I thought about the moment and realized even then that it would be the last time I saw Stephanie as a civilian and that the Seth I was holding would be gone forever. I tried to console myself with the thought that I would be giving away those months for what I believed to be the greater good. It was all I had. I didn’t know then that it would be 9 months before we would be properly together again when I would move them both with me to British Columbia.

The flight was uneventful. When I got to Quebec, I waited at the airport with the many people from NOAB that slowly trickled in over the next several hours. After about three or four hours a Sergeant showed up and hung around while the last of the flights arrived. Eventually, he rounded us up and loaded us onto the bus that was waiting out front. I went to the first bus and arrived in St. Jean around 1800. It was kind of an odd sensation to be banging along the road in the rickety bus on my way to boot camp. It was like a scene from a movie and I tried to enjoy that experience instead of worrying about how I was, in fact, in a bus and on my way to boot camp. As the bus made its way through the bleak, tundra-esque terrain of the flat plains of the Richelieu valley I could see the garrison beginning to come into view in the distance. I had been told that the moment of seeing the main building of the garrison was intimidating but its something I still wasn’t ready to experience. The building was a massive 700-metre long 12 story structure called simply ‘the Mega’ that sat in the heart of the St. Jean Leadership and Recruit School. It was imposing and seemed to almost block out all of the light as we pulled through the high barbed wire fences that lined the whole complex.

When the bus came to a stop I saw ‘The Green Door’ for the first time after having been told about it at the recruitment centre and on the videos that I had seen about boot camp on the internet. It was, in reality, the student door of the Mega, but when candidates arrived for the first time it served symbolically as a portal that changed them from civilian to soldier when passing through it for the first time. I snapped a quick picture with my phone to remember the moment and moved over to collect my bags and join the other recruits. We formed up in ranks for the first time and stood at our own best understanding of the position of attention in front of the bus. After a short wait an angry looking Sergeant stepped out in the standard CADPAT camouflage uniform we would all soon don for the first time and began shouting instructions for us to move to the classes where we would have our bags searched.

After an unceremonious walk through the green door our bags were loaded into a classroom and we were herded into a lecture hall to receive our book bags and our welcome brief. As I sat in the room, I studied the pictures that adorned the high walls all the way up to the ceilings. They were pictures of soldiers, sailors and aviators doing the great business we were all so hopeful to do ourselves. It was inspiring to see them; for us they were the success stories and it was easy to imagine yourself in their place. I personally loved looking at the pictures of people in ships or of the ships themselves. They were my constant reminder of what I was striving for.

In short order we were introduced to members of our staff and given the lay of the land. They showed us to our rooms and marched us through the dim, windowless passageways along yellow lines that we followed past the rows and rows of green lockers that surrounded us. It was always a total gong show when a new group arrived because they have no idea of how to act and are so uncoordinated and unsure of themselves that they have a hard time even walking properly. Throughout you are given very pointed direction that would be totally unacceptable to be told as a civilian. To me that was all part of the right of passage. After all, every single member of the Canadian Forces, no matter the trade, must finish boot camp. Eventually we were brought up on our floor and putting our gear away in our lockers and starting to attempt making our beds to code based on the posters. We were cut lose for a few hours and told to study the layouts for the rooms. While we did that I met with my platoon mates and attended several meetings in the floor’s common room. I knew a few of them from when I had attended NOAB in the Spring, so I didn’t feel as isolated as I would have otherwise.

The first several days followed the same pattern as we got information about our course, were introduced to marching and basic drill, kitted out with our uniforms, and given our fitness evaluation called the ‘EXPRES test.’ The whole time through my preparations for joining right up to the day of my first assessment I felt inadequate and hammered on myself because I had no confidence in my ability to pass the test. My fears were not helped by seeing how much less fit I was than most of my platoon mates. I sweat profusely and from seemingly mundane activities because focusing on tasks and doing them quickly and correctly just made me sweat anyway. I was clearly one of the most out of shape in the group so my confidence in completing the assessment was not high from the outset. That hurt, but I refused to give up and knew that if I just kept pushing I would get there eventually.

The EXPRES test was a four-part evaluation used to measure a member’s maximum level of physical exertion (VO2 Max) and to measure key tasks to give a rating of overall fitness. It required a minimum pass standard for a man under 30 of a level 6 on a 20-metre shuttled beep test, 19 push ups, 19 sit ups and a minimum combined grip strength of 75 pounds. It was a very reasonable and attainable standard, but I hated it because I was not a good runner. I was great at doing slower endurance stuff with heavy weight but had short legs so even a level 6 was almost a full run for me. On the day of the test it took everything I had just to pass the minimum threshold level of 4 which I had thought would keep me on platoon provided I could get the 6 at the actual test in Week 9. I found out later, during the introductions that first week, that a full 6 was the minimum requirement to see the first week of actual training. I was devastated and couldn’t stop ruminating on how I could go up two levels in a few days. I was heartbroken. Stephanie was so supportive when I called and tearfully told her I might get rolled and need to wait several extra months for a new platoon to arrive. She told me that if I needed to stay longer it was ok, not ideal, but that she had vowed to support me and would wait for me if she needed to. I loved her so much and it was so nice to hear her say exactly what I needed to hear. I was heart-warmed from her encouragement and patience, but still felt terrible that I had to put her through it. In my mind, I should have just tried harder before I came.

I was retested at the end of the week just after getting my uniforms for the first time. That test was a failure too though I did push myself up another half level. All I could do after that was keep reporting with my platoon while I waited for them to send me to a remedial PT platoon they ran called Warrior Fitness Training or WFT. I was crushed inside that day but had accepted that it was probably coming before the test, so I just focused on trying to maintain my confidence that I could do it eventually. I came to accept that my stay in St. Jean would be extended after a great deal of inner turmoil before the test but the thought that I would miss more of Seth’s life than I had originally thought followed me everywhere. Throughout though I tried to maintain a positive mental attitude when it felt like it was all too much. After all, I was going to be trained up so that I could meet the application criteria for a job that I was already being paid for. I felt lucky even though I should have been devastated. Eventually I was called over to the office and received my fate. The Master Seaman in charge of my section read the results of a performance review board that had convened. He told me that I had failed to meet the minimum fitness standard and would be sent to WFT for a period not to exceed 90 days. There was no discussion. He read the block of text, had me swipe my card in his reader and he ordered me across the hall to talk to our platoon commander. I was dismissed.

I marched over to the Captain’s door as I had been taught and knocked and waited rigidly at attention. I heard a voice call me in from the other side and I took one step in and presented myself: “Naval Cadet Tomlinson, 345, MARS 00207 reporting as ordered, Sir,” I said curtly and with our platoon officer remaining in my peripherals. The Captain looked up from his desk and told me to come around and stand in front of him. I did and I remained firmly at attention. He told me to look at him and he bluntly hammered home his disappointment. “You know Mr. Tomlinson in my opinion you have no business being in uniform,” he began. “Did you prepare at all for this or did you figure you could just show up and weasel your way in?” His words were pointed, and he was curt and blunt, but he didn’t shout. I tried to explain to him that I had lost fifty pounds and had tried but I had obviously not prepared as much as I should have. I told him I was sorry but that I was committed to getting back on platoon. “Take advantage of this opportunity and bear in mind that in almost every other Army you would have been sent packing,” he said, sort of overstating the point. I was crushed. I felt like a complete failure but stayed together while he wrapped up: “I would like to remind you that it is your duty as an officer to be physically fit and if you can’t accept that then you should release and stop wasting our time. Now, go back and see them in the office and head to warrior platoon, good luck. Dismissed,” he finished as he turned back to his work. I marched out and went to the office where I was stripped of my nametag, flag, brassard and rank slip. One of the Master Corporals from the staff marched myself and a few of the other new WFT recruits over to meet our new staff. He wished us luck and I was cleared in and soon found myself moved to another floor with the other members of WFT. It wasn’t as bad as I had thought. I met my new platoon mates, and most seemed to be good people and in very similar circumstances as me. Some had been there for weeks and months; all were just as hopeful as me to one day get back on platoon to pass and realize our dream. That mutual support was at the heart of life in the military and it was nice to really feel it for the first time.

I ended up getting sick and soon found myself on bed rest with a lung infection that first week and was on the verge of it turning into pneumonia. Most people got really sick early on because of all the new colds that were brought in from all over the country. The bed rest was a further kick when I was down, but I tried to use it as a few days off to process what I was facing and to remind myself of how badly I had wanted to be here. I thought of that day in my room on NOAB where I had prayed and begged for a chance. I took comfort in the idea that God just wanted me to prove myself first while I laid in my bed, slipping in and out of sleep and watched the marching groups outside. The only upside was that I could text and call Steph almost all day when I wasn’t sleeping so I didn’t feel quite as lonely. After a few days my infection cleared up and I began the training with WFT. One of the first steps was being moved from the Mega out to some trailers in a small field removed from the main training area. Removed is really the best word for it too, because we felt removed from the rest of the students there. In many ways it was like being in a leper colony.

The WFT schedule was very regular and regimented like everything else in the Army. We went down for breakfast and then had inspection before being formed up with our kit to be marched to the gym. Once we got there we changed and formed up to wait for the fitness training staff to meet us. They would come out and we would do a modified drill in our PT gear. Mondays we were weighed and ran the EXPRES test. Everyone who met the baseline criteria to stay on platoon would run again on the Thursday and if successful would move from WFT 1 to WFT 3 where they would await a spot to open on the next available platoon. We had inspection every day and did two one-hour sessions of PT. We also did remedial drill and other odds and ends through the day always finishing with laundry and preparations for inspection the next morning each night to be ready to start the whole process again. The PT and the schedule were gruelling, and the pain of every day mounted to the end of the week as every one of my limits was tested over the course of several months as I fought my way back on platoon.

The trailers were a hard thing to adapt to. They were basically construction portables with rows of bunk beds lining each side, and a pair of lockers with each pair of bunks. It was all open and shared with 29 other men, a few of whom I despised. They told us to turn in our phones during the indoctrination period, but I needed to stay connected with Stephanie and couldn’t bear not to have regular communications with her and Seth, so I hid it away and only used it once in a while and had to be very sneaky to get just a five-minute call off. It helped sustain me through it. I needed Stephanie’s strength because I was slowly being broken by the training and it was becoming harder and harder to maintain my focus on the end goal, so I have no regrets at all about breaking that rule to maintain that connection with my family.

In the end the trailers were amazing for fostering teamwork and esprit de corps as we all adapted to the struggles of our lives there as the Fall turned into winter. I integrated well and made some friends that I still see, but I was very lonely. Most were single people or married without kids or divorced and even estranged so it was very hard to connect with anyone who understood how much I missed my little boy and my wife. That loneliness and isolation was amplified by the fact that since I was one of only a few officer cadets the staff made me the Candidate Platoon Commander (CPC) of the group for almost the entire time I was there. The position was isolating but was a tremendous opportunity to develop my leadership style. I used it to build on my previous management experience and begin to forge my style of leadership as I was directly responsible to my staff for an average of 30 people. This leadership development was helped along as well by a very junior officer who was in charge of WFT. He arranged for professional development sessions that occurred once a week that included discussions, guest lectures, assignments, and presentations. They were tremendously helpful to me as I found my place as a junior military leader.

As it turned out, I would be there for a while. They only ran one officer platoon every few months, so I ended up having to wait about 100 days. I worked hard every day and tried to think of Stephanie and Seth whenever I felt beaten down. I would picture myself, in shape, in my dress uniform at the ends of the lanes when I was running the beep test and dreamt of holding my little boy again. I was pretty broken up about being there but made the best of it and came to enjoy feeling so much more fit and ready for platoon. I ended up passing the test after about a month and continued to train as I waited for platoon. There was lots to keep us busy though since on WFT 3 we would do other activities besides the gym such as random jobs on the base and helping with the graduation ceremonies which ran nearly every Thursday. It was both inspiring and crushing to have to watch group after group move on each week and know that I still had months to go before I could hope to join them. The most demoralizing part of the experience was the day count being locked at zero the whole time. I was never actually making headway at all, though I did learn a lot. In the end I went all the way to Christmas and headed home to visit Steph and Seth so we could share a very special two-week break together in Barrie for the holidays where I revelled in the fact that I could now run over 5 km without being fully gassed and was nearly 50 pounds lighter after just 12 weeks.

I returned to St. Jean in the new year and I finally got the news that I had waited on the whole time that I was there. I had consistently passed my EXPRES test over the seven weeks and was told that I would start platoon on January 15th. I was so happy I was beaming the day that I got to walk into the WFT office for the last time to be stripped of my scarlet letter (a literal scarlet red “W”) that we had to wear on the front of our uniforms. It went along with my brassard and nametag and once again I was stripped and being marched. I remember feeling like a new man as we marched over and thought of when I had been brought over so many months before. I saw the group from WFT formed up and waiting to go to their morning PT and beamed with pride knowing that I had achieved the great milestone of that group. I thought of all that as I was marched across the grounds to meet my new staff. It was the opposite of the shame that I felt going off platoon. I would finally join the groups that I had watched day after day and start working my way out of the garrison and back to my family.

On January 15th my platoon arrived. They came in groups and I was there to greet them after having been made CPC for the arrival. I was thrilled because I had spent so much time in that role it felt very natural to speak to the group and to assert a leadership role. I remembered my first day and how nice it would have been to have someone who you could ask a question to that wasn’t your staff. I was excited to meet the new people and to start to forge some of the lifelong friendships that I had heard about when I joined and that would go on to one day help me defeat Cancer. After the majority of the platoon had arrived we got the same indoctrination brief I had received several months earlier. I directed the group to where they would be living and arranged to have all the bags sent up via elevator after I had asked the platoon Petty Officer (PO) the day before if it was ok. It was good to have a leadership role that day because I felt so ready to help them adapt to the pace of St. Jean.

After a busy day of repeat lectures and a little bit of meeting and greeting once again I was back on a floor meeting my platoon and arranging my kit in my room. I heard some commotion from the hall and the familiar shout in the distance of “ROOM!” calling everyone in a space to attention. I shot up and watched two of my new staff members walk in and close the door behind them. I felt my defences go up in my head because I knew that I was about to get a proper dressing down, I had been around long enough.

Apparently earlier when I had been asked who said I could use the elevator I had mixed up the names of my new PO and the very irate and seething Master Bombardier who stood only inches from my face. He and the platoon Sergeant next to him were understandably pissed off because there is absolutely no tolerance for dishonesty in the military and they clearly thought that I had lied to avoid us having to carry all the bags up the seven floors to our rooms. I remained firmly at attention while the two of them took turns being the bad cop. They paused for a moment and demanded that I explain myself. I was anxious. This was definitely the most intense chew out I had ever had in my life, but I kept my calm and blurted out “I’m sorry, Sergeant, I asked the PO last night and I mixed up the names, Sergeant.” I don’t know if they were more shocked by how simple the explanation was, that I was still so composed or that they believed me but there was an immediate drop in the tension that I almost relaxed in when the Master Bombardier launched right back into me with a slight grin on his face for not paying enough attention to their names and he had me drop down and do twenty push ups. I was relieved as I called out “Yes Master Bombardier!” and hit the floor.

This was back to the normal game between staff and students at the Garrison. I could almost sense their relief that the situation could be resolved with a nice wake up call for the platoon instead of paperwork and punishments for dishonesty. So, while the Master Bombardier kept on me my Sergeant shouted out to the platoon that was gathering in the hall to see what was happening and mustered them outside the pod that I was in. After I was done and was given permission to recover back to attention I was marched into the hall and fired as CPC with a stern reminder to the rest of them that they needed to wake up and get their shit together. “Wake the fuck up there, boys and girls!” my Sergeant shouted, “you are all joining the Canadian Forces! Vacation is over! You are going to have the gears put to you.” They departed and left one of the other men who I have been on WFT with in charge. The group turned to me and were absolutely shocked by what they had heard but seemed mostly shocked with how well I took it all. I laughed and said “its ok, I’ve been chewed out before,” and headed back to change into my PT sweat suit to relax for the last few hours of the night.

After about an hour the last of the platoon arrived and I went out to greet them since I figured they should still get my two cents even if I wasn’t in charge any more. I ended up helping my fellow podmates get themselves arranged and finished with a short call to Stephanie with my phone tucked into the hood of my sweater while I laid in bed at the end of the night. That night I went to sleep happy to finally be able to cross day one off my counter for the first time since I had arrived.

The central focus of the first week was on the indoctrination of the new people, so there was a lot of repeat from my first days in St. Jean through the kit assignment and verification, drill practice and the earliest set up of platoon life. It was nice because it was fairly low key for those of us who had been there before. I passed my EXPRES test and finally had my chance to advance and work my way out of the Mega. A short time after the test I was in the blue break area, a waiting area in the leadership portion of the school. As the group was filing through I noticed that one of the new people was upset and was trying to hide the fact that she had been crying. I went over and pulled her aside and asked her what was wrong. She held herself together but through a broken voice she said “I didn’t get any push ups, they wouldn’t count them and now I might get kicked off platoon.” I felt so bad for her and saw myself in her because I had experienced the very same intense fears and feelings of inadequacy after my first attempt at the test; I knew exactly how she felt.

I told her not to worry and explained that I had been fighting with the EXPRES test for months and knew all the tips and tricks to getting them to count. There were criteria about arm angles and form that caused many people to miss push ups because of technicalities. She only needed two to stay on platoon and the first was done from the ground. I promised we would meet later and I would tell her what I knew and we could work to get her the two she needed and that she didn’t need to worry because I knew a trick that I had seen used for someone to stay even with zero. She seemed reassured and wiped the last of the tears from her face. We took a seat next to each other in the classroom and before the instructor walked in, I introduced myself. “I’m Sara,” she said, “thank you.”

Later, after the major parts of the training day were done it was time to bring some laundry down. I met Sara and her friend Dave, whom she knew from their time as Cadet instructors, down there where we went over everything waiting for our laundry to finish. We went to a back area of the laundry room where people could iron their uniforms and got all set up. Dave was a really nice guy too and he had been a sports therapist for years before joining so between his points on core training and my points on the exactitude required in form for the test the three of us bonded quickly as Sara corrected her form. I used a trick we learned on WFT and filmed her doing a few push ups with my phone and showed her and Dave so she could see exactly where the problems were. Once she saw exactly where she went wrong during the test she was able to do a couple of good ones in a row.

Later in the week just before her test I was CPC again and I put her in charge of the group going for retests. I told her about the other trick where if she rolled in and took charge immediately that projection of leadership would matter more than push ups which she would have plenty of practise on before the final EXPRES test in Week 9. She thanked me for the tip and she did just that, not that it mattered, because she got all the push ups she needed. Later, when I popped by her room to congratulate her and to help her best set up her room for inspection, we got to know one another a little bit. She told me that she was a mother of two, a boy and a girl, and married to a MARS officer who had been in for a while. It was so nice to hear because it meant that I could finally have a friend that I could talk to about family stuff. I told her about Stephanie and Seth and a little about WFT, but right then and there we bonded over our shared love of family. Later as I went to bed and had my normal five-minute call with Stephanie I was still just so happy to have made it through my test. I was excited to feel the seeds of friendship being cast with some of the new people and to start to find my place on platoon. As I went to bed that night I thought about the time I had spent in St. Jean thus far and smiled when I realized that I had finally made it to day five.

I remained happy as the days and weeks passed by but as the days progressed it became clear that it was going to be a slog to get to the end. I had ended up on a ‘Hell Platoon’ which came to differ greatly from the ‘Hollywood Platoon’ that I had originally been on. Pretty much our entire staff were in combat arms trades and veterans of the war in Afghanistan who were on a decompression posting. They were pretty intense and loved running the group until people were vomiting. I was grateful for all the training I had done on WFT because the pace was like being murdered slowly, I couldn’t possibly have endured it when I had first arrived. We had lectures and practical training as we learned about regulations, ranks, leadership, command structure, environmental policy, military law, drill, first aid, history, and military writing. We didn’t have our weapons yet and the group was not meshing well. Parts of the platoon were super switched on and forming very close bonds, but we had some serious shit pumps that seemed to be on a mission to have our weekend leave cancelled as soon as we finished the indoctrination period. It clearly infuriated our staff because by Week 3 when there was room for some down time they brought us to an indoor hall and kicked the shit out of us for nearly three straight hours.

It really was your classic scene of boot camp. They were driving us with the aim of getting some of the weaker members to break and quit, but they were either too dumb or too stubborn to, so we all paid for their lack of drive and poor performance. One of their concoctions was a circuit called “the house of pain.” They pulled it out after nearly two hours of laps, push ups, group exercises, team building and shouting. We were paired off and one partner was sent to a quartered off area called the ‘house of pain’ where they did a designated exercise. While they did that the other partner had to run three laps of the drill hall. There were five rounds in total: push ups, sit ups, planks, leg raises and mountain climbers. I was so done. I had never had my ass kicked like that, even on WFT and they’d had 1000 calorie plus workouts nearly every day. By the third round I felt lightheaded and my stomach convulsed. I could feel myself shutting down and I sprinted the last drops of energy out of me getting to a bathroom where I heaved my guts out. After a short time, my section leader, Master Corporal S.V. came in and made sure I was ok. He told me I did a good job pushing it, but I needed to walk it off and get some water. I would need to have chemotherapy before I could top how beaten and exhausted I was physically in that moment. I had truly expended everything and had nothing left, but I was proud because I got to see where my limit really was. After I did some walking and the group wrapped up the ‘House of Pain’ they moved into a group sprint competition by sections to build some unit cohesion. I managed to recover enough to rejoin the group so in the end I only missed about 10 minutes of the circuit. Our staff seemed happy with the final drive and dismissed us to enjoy a few hours of make and mend time to do sewing, ironing, assignments and shining with my friends.

This routine of beating us down continued, but amazingly no one seemed interested in quitting. The platoon started to fracture and began moving into groups within sections and within the whole. One of the odd features of our platoon was that we had what was referred to in St. Jean as a ‘UN Platoon.’ Our platoon was made up of people from seventeen different countries and English was the first language for only about half of us. This wasn’t a problem, but it didn’t look very good because we generally hung out along cultural lines which translated sometimes to along racial lines. It wasn’t a racist thing. I never heard any slurs, or any kind of active derision occur that way, but we were drawn to the people that we had a lot on common with so it sort of happened naturally. That said, there were a few people there that I absolutely despised because of all the punishment we had to endure thanks to their selfishness, but it could also have been an age thing. The average age of our platoon was 33 and we had a mix of surly older people and immature university students. I felt very out of place sometimes simply because of my young family and the fact that I had already been there for 14 weeks.

As the weeks progressed we ruck marched and did the obstacle course. Lessons progressed, and I waited on when we would finally get some of the weak links in the platoon out so we could stop getting in trouble for the same things over and over. After the first month we went to ‘the field’ for the first time and were assessed on our leadership potential by leading a group of six people to negotiate an obstacle or solve a giant puzzle that was impossible to do alone. It was an exercise in team problem solving but the emphasis was on the proper delegation of tasks and exchange of direction and input. The obstacles themselves were complicated by painting sections of their structure red meaning they could not be touched so it made it much harder to achieve the objective. Mine involved transferring an ammo can and our team across a pit of sand onto a tall platform. There was a bar at the top of two tall red posts. We hoisted my friend Victor up onto the bar and used several complex knots that Sara was good at tying to rig a block and began to transfer people over to the platform. In the end we got two guys and the ammo across before we ran out of time. Most of the groups didn’t finish the task because the test wasn’t about the objective, it was about the way you led and directed your team to complete a task that no one could do alone.

We were counting down to the end of the indoctrination period through an arduous regimen of inspection, drill, PT, lectures and punishments. We ended up at the drill hall and were assessed for our knowledge of the movements and counts for the drill we had been taught. The reward for passing the assessment was a simple brass coloured metal Canadian Forces emblem (referred to as the ‘cornflake’ because of its shape) that we wore on our beret to show we were finished indoctrination. By then I had been in St. Jean for 16 weeks. My original platoon had graduated the week before and I wanted to finally be able to pass a salute. Having the cap badge in St. Jean was a big deal. It was the first piece of military decoration earned by anyone in the CAF and allowed us to salute officers. It in many ways it symbolized that final transition from civilian to military which began with the first steps through the green door. When I was on WFT the cap badge seemed like a dream and an unreachable feat as we would watch new groups arrive week after week, earn it and advance to graduation while we marked time. When my Sergeant handed me my cornflake, he looked at me and said: “you now represent the Canadian Forces, wear it proudly,” and I felt my heart fill as I watched them put it into my beret. This was the milestone I had wanted. That night I sat in bed with my beret and ran my thumb along the edges of the maple leaves that rimmed its edge. I thought of all the work I had put in and looked at the picture of Stephanie and Seth that I kept on my desk and mentally switched gears to my next goal: earning my commission and leaving St. Jean. The cornflake was, to me, a tangible representation of that goal feeling attainable.

The next day we were issued our rifles for the first time and I was given a secondary duty as a bolt carrier along with Sara. We were responsible for picking up and signing for the operational mechanisms for the platoon’s rifles and distributing and collecting them for the group because the bolts needed to be strictly controlled. Our weapons classes ran all week and were far more enjoyable than the lectures and drill that occupied our class time up to that point. We learned about the parts of the rifles, assembling and disassembling, cleaning, operating, and the drills associated with clearing any stoppages. I felt privileged to learn from Master Corporal S.V. because he was an infanteer who had served multiple tours in Afghanistan. He had even been blown up there in a personnel carrier by an IED. When he demonstrated the technique used for rapid reload while moving, I got a serious man crush. He was a real war hero, it was an honour to learn about his craft from him. At the end of the week after enough drills and run throughs we were assessed by the weapons cell and certified as ready to go train on the range.

That weekend we were finally given some weekend leave to go to The Omega, the student mess, and to get off base for one day provided we made it back by midnight. It was nice to party with my platoon mates. We had become so close after such a short time because enduring the shared misery of the indoctrination period and the added struggles of being on our special ‘Hell Platoon’ led to the need to bond. There was my friend Craig, who lived in the pod with me and he was a funny guy who used to be on the radio. His stories were pretty incredible, and he was really good at telling them. He was one of those friends that had people gravitate toward him, so it was awesome to get to know him right from the start. Victor was another good friend who had been the first to arrive on that first day. He was married and was expecting his first child, so we had the shared love of family and missing our wives in common. It helped as well that he was also MARS so at least I knew we would see each other afterward. Jared was a feisty army officer from BC who helped to drive me physically and who shared the same depraved sense of humour. Josh was another MARS officer, who was basically a bro in every sense. We used to make fun of the idea of him sitting under a tree in university, rocking a hemp necklace, shirtless, his flowing locks waving in the breeze strumming a guitar after a picture of him looking like a character from Dawson’s Creek had surfaced. There was my friend Rob who kept getting mixed up with Dave, who I had met through Sara. Both were MARS and the same height and build so it was natural I guess. Lastly there was Brent who I knew from NOAB and who had also been rolled off a platoon after he broke his leg on the obstacle course. He was the only other hold over from WFT that I really conversed with after that first few weeks. We all went out to the mess with most of the platoon and I showed them all the various areas. It had a traditional pub vibe with pool tables, but with a dancing area, a sitting area and an area with big screen TVs and videogame systems. Looking back, it was probably one of my favorite bars because you could go out, feel like a normal person for a moment, and play Call of Duty at the bar. We drank and enjoyed each others company for the first time in civilian clothes after knowing each other for 5 weeks.

The next day I showed a group of my friends to a local breakfast joint called Eggsquit that I had loved and that had kept me sane when I was done the indoctrination period on WFT. It became a fixture of every weekend we had off and was almost a ceremony. It was one of those places that you would see on the Food Network with huge portions, high quality, fresh fruit and well-presented meals and the wait staff spoke English, so it made it that much more enjoyable a time since St. Jean proper was not a very nice place for an Anglophone soldier from Ontario. All of my new friends came to love it just as much as I did, and I still look back fondly on that place as one of the few good things that I remember about St. Jean.

After some breakfast I showed them the mall and explained where to go and not to go in St. Jean because the separatist groups in the city were not welcoming to members of the CAF. Later that night we all met up at the local Boston Pizza and got absolutely smashed. I decided to show off for my new friends by doing what I referred to as a ‘Russian Doll.’ It was when you upsize the beer through the full spectrum starting with a bottle, then a pint, then a pitcher, followed by a team pitcher. It was stupid but seemed like a good idea at the time. I ended up out front of the restaurant where the combination of carbonation and volume caused me to be sick and launch a twelve-foot long arc of vomit out into the parking lot clearing nearly two full parking spaces. I got back ok with everyone, but this ended up being the first impression I decided to leave with my new friends after finally hanging out socially.

As Week 6 rolled around I was starting to feel like I was in the groove. We were almost at the halfway point and I was generally well-liked and passed the assessments with ease. The week would go on to be one of the hardest though as we worked our way through the end of the weapons classes. By the Friday we were all totally bagged and in desperate need of a proper weekend to recharge but instead found ourselves enduring one of the hardest days that I remember of basic training. We were woken up at 0445 to go for a brutal session of PT, including a 5 km run, and calisthenics in -30 C with cutting winds and a bit of snow. That was followed by a particularly harsh inspection and some field training to prepare us for our first trip to the Farnham field training garrison. We were only given five minutes for lunch which matched the five we were allotted for breakfast and the entire day was incredibly rushed and awful. We were just trying to survive and make it to the weekend, but we had more PT in the afternoon, drill and class.

By the end of it we sat in anticipation of a well-earned break when one of our Sergeants walked in with a bag of shredded paper. It was our weekend leave passes which he dumped all over the desk at the front. Apparently, they were done with our lack of cohesion and it was decided that we would re-locate to the recruit side of the Mega known as ‘The Green Sector.’ The green sector had open floors and significantly less privacy since we stayed in cubicles with chest high walls. The group was devastated, and some started to completely fall apart. I tried to reassure them that it wasn’t that bad. This was still far better than the trailers and I tried to make them understand that even those weren’t all that bad after a while. We were sent up to clear out of our rooms and haul all our gear to the green sector, hump it back up six stories and set up our assigned cubicles and clean and set-up the floor for an inspection first thing the next morning. They told us that if we could pass that inspection, we would get the rest of the weekend off since we were heading to the field that Monday. They emphasized that they would take away those days too if we didn’t blow them away. We knew they were serious.

In the end we pulled it off and earned our weekend despite having to run it up right to midnight that night. It was good to get out again. Most of the people I hung out with got out early while I was having a shower and enjoying a moment of quiet, but we arranged to meet up at the end of the night for some good times. In the meantime, Sara was still around so the two of us headed out together to get off base for a bit. We did the usual run to Eggsquit and walked around the areas of St. Jean that recruits generally stick to.

It ended up being the first in what was to become a series of long and direct, personal conversations that we shared over the time that we would know each other. I told her about my fears of failure, about how scared I was to be injured or to mess up on the EXPRES test after being sunk so far in. We talked about the platoon, St. Jean, the Navy, and she told me about being a cadet instructor. I confided in her that I had a dream of becoming a navigator even though I didn’t want to look too far past the next big step and because I was unsure if I would have what it took to even pass MARS III to say nothing of graduating from St. Jean. It was something that seemed like such a precious dream that I could barely say it out loud because deep down I didn’t feel like I was good enough to ever make it happen. I told her all about Stephanie, how we met, how I proposed, a bit about our lives in Ottawa, losing our apartment, living in Barrie and about Seth and how much I missed him. She understood completely and told me about Victoria, her house, her husband, and about each of her kids. She told me about her old jobs and her life before the Navy and we bonded over the course of the day. We ended up meeting the rest of the group in a hotel room that Craig had booked and we all had a few drinks and griped about all of the BS we were putting up with because of the weak links and we discussed how we hoped they would finally quit soon. Eventually some of us ended up at the Omega and enjoyed a day of rest and prep to get ready for our trip into the field on Monday.

Week 7 commenced at 0345. As was the trend with L13 things proceeded in a generally disorganized and individualistic fashion. We brought down all of our gear which totalled about 120 pounds and humped it all down the 6 floors and the half kilometer to the blue break area. After a weapons inspection we loaded onto the bus and started the drive. When we arrived at Farnham it was about 0430 and had begun to snow. We were rushed off the bus and given our rifles which Sara and I distributed the bolts for. We ended up in a cabin with 50 bunk beds and got ourselves all set up. It was just like the trailers for me, so I adjusted just fine, but there was no shortage of whining and bitching from people. We didn’t have time to really set ourselves up before we were whisked away on a 2.5 km march to the firing range which ended up being cancelled because of the truly ridiculous amount of snow that was falling. We marched the long way back over about 4 or 5 km and eventually had a lecture on leadership and were given a lesson on field operations and were told about what to expect as we started moving toward our final assessments at the end of course.

Through the day we learned about vehicle check-points, proper search techniques, conducting reconnaissance, discussed policies and procedures when dealing with prisoners of war, learned our limits when dealing with civilians in the course of military operations, how to conduct sector searches, base security, standing to (the rapid close up to defend while under attack or when attack is imminent) and other staples of basic field operations. It was nice to do some real military training and not just the repetitive inspections and drill of the Mega. We were then marched 2 km to the pyro range where the staff demonstrated the various simulation rounds and explosives that they used. A 2 km march for a 10-minute demonstration seemed ridiculous but they were adapting on the fly to the schedule change and Lord knows that we couldn’t be allowed time to set up our lockers.

It warmed up a bit over the course of the day, so the snow turned to sleet which left slush everywhere and made everyone wet. There was a cold wind still that bit at the skin and blew right through the wet clothes we were wearing. My hands were totally numb and literally frozen to my gun as the wetness of my gloves bonded to it like a tongue to a lamp post. By the night we were exhausted but needed to clean our rifles because the rain had caused rust to form on the weapon and the bolt. We could be charged for it and there was a weapon inspection the next morning. There wasn’t enough time so even though it was lights out we kept working until about 2320 when one of our POs came in and was furious to see us still awake. We were ordered outside with full kit and once more out in the -30C where we were ordered into the squat position with our arms extended and our rifles on top while the staff tore a strip off us. They were pissed off because we hadn’t asked permission and were blatantly ignoring orders. They emphasized that they would have said yes if we had just asked for another hour and that was really what the test was, not to see if we could properly clean a C7 in four minutes. They gave out planks and push ups, more squats, and some burpees. After about fifteen minutes we were given the remainder of the time until midnight to prepare.

The next day people were dragging their asses, so we had to run to the mess to eat and only got ten minutes to get food, eat it, clear our trays, get out to our kit, and form up. We got on a bus and rode to the nearby Mt. St. Bruno to learn topography and orienteering. We were split off into smaller groups and headed out, taking turns moving the group from waypoint to waypoint. Over the period of about four hours we were given a moment to rest and wait for dark to do our night topography. This was my first time doing any kind of navigation with the military and I really enjoyed working with the maps and the planning, and the execution of that plan. It is probably why I was also so driven to be a navigator.

That night the topography lesson went well enough for most. We reached all of the points and finished up. It was pretty neat because it was so dark and we were issued radios to used proper reporting procedures and moved through the dark with helicopters flying low overhead doing pilot training. The platoon finished by 2100 but ended up having to wait formed up outside while the last pair that had gotten lost was located. My hands were once again frozen to my rifle and numb, and the wind pierced through our clothing. We were all so eager to rest but it was not to be because it was over an hour before they were back and by the time we were back in the hut and cleared away to go to sleep it was midnight.

We slipped into a well-deserved sleep, but the lights came on after only about one hour and one of our more intense Sergeants came in and declared that he wanted us all geared up and outside in 10 minutes. We went out for a forced march in the icy cold of the night. Periodically we would do exercises that he conjured up from his ample experience. He split us into groups and assigned airborne push-ups, where four people form a box and rest their feet on the shoulders and neck of the person behind them. As you extend the arms together the whole group lifts. His aim was to build some level of team unity and get the stragglers to understand that they needed to think of the group before themselves. When we were done we jogged the 2 km or so back while he taught us a platoon cheer and told us to take pride in our group. It didn’t fix all the weak spots but looking back it was a valiant effort on his part because it helped a lot. For the first time he was happy with us and let us go back to sleep for 2 hours before we had to head over to the range.

The remainder of our time in Farnham was hard but was made just that little bit easier because the platoon was finally working as a group. This meant that our staff finally eased up just a bit. We did the Farnham obstacle course, learned how to rappel, used a zipline and marched. On one of the last marches on our way back to the buses our Sergeant had us sing O’ Canada. It filled us with pride and I could feel the song take on a new layer of significance over the course of our singing it. He then had people come out and sing the national anthems of their home countries with people who shared the nationality. We got through 12 before we finished with O’ Canada again. It was oddly inspirational to see the diversity of our group as we wrapped up our time in the field and I started to prepare mentally for the next phase of training when we would learn the process of taking and giving orders or instructions known simply as ‘Battle Procedure.’ I was anxious about the forthcoming EXPRES test but since it wasn’t what was next I put it out of my mind and focused on what was to come. This was the main coping strategy I had truly pulled from WFT. Looking at the whole goal can be crushing, if you just think about the next hand hold over and over and over you can climb mountains. Little did I know that fate would soon give me an entirely different order of challenge for me to overcome.

The week was busy, but we were in the last stretch to our EXPRES tests and clearing the gradual work up to the 13-km ruck march in a few weeks by doing a 7.2 km full weight run through. We had the standard PT, drill, lectures, and so on through the week, but on the Friday the whole experience changed for me. In fact, everything changed and would never be the same again because for the second time in my life I would go to sleep trying to warm the shock of having looked into the ink black, abyssal eyes of Death.

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The morning was normal enough. I was really worried because we were going back on the obstacle course. I hated that course. I had seen so many people over the months that I had spent on WFT rolled off platoon from falling, slipping, or straining themselves on it, including Brent who had broken his leg on an obstacle in November and who I knew on NOAB before WFT. It wasn’t an unreasonable course, and in the times that we had done it before it was tremendously confidence building to tackle the fears that the challenges wrought; but there was an ominous feel to the day. It was cold and wet, there was slush everywhere being chilled by the icy breeze that rolled over the flat valley surrounding the garrison. I was eager to get it over with so I could wrap up the last of the serials for the day and enjoy the weekend. Stephanie didn’t know it, but I had arranged to get a ride with one of the guys who needed to get home to Toronto. I was waiting to tell Steph because I wanted to surprise her. I was eager to see Seth too and to recharge my battery with some family time before moving into the last phase of Basic.

The obstacle course started off well enough, insofar as it was a frozen bag drive, but there were no serious incidents and I did fairly well. I still struggled a lot with the walls; despite all the PT it was still very hard for me to deadlift my entire weight, so it was incredibly taxing to get over. On the upside my fire team partner, Kelvin, helped a lot and made it possible. This is what the staff wanted to see more than an individual success, our commitment to the success of the group. We were almost done. I was hoping to avoid the cargo net if I could because the last time I had been on there I had nearly fallen off. In general, it was the scariest obstacle and, if not, surely the most imposing. There was an added layer of anxiety for me since it was the obstacle I had heard of the most catastrophic injuries occurring on. It was clear as I made my way closer and closer to it that it was looking less and less likely, so I just tried to focus on the obstacle directly ahead of me while the creeping reality of knowing there were fewer and fewer standing between us sank in.

After a short time, I knew that it was going to happen and focused more on how I had already done it twice so it would be ok and took some solace in that while I fought my way over the incline wall right before the net. As I cleared it I saw Sara crumpled at the bottom, holding her knee and bawling with pain shouting “aww fuck!” in exasperation. I tried to help her because I was worried about her. She had gone over right before me and landed with her knee hitting a wooden board that bordered the obstacle. I was already super anxious about being hurt myself, but now my mind raced because I was worried that Sara would get rolled. She had become one of my best friends at Basic and the only one I could really talk to about some of the harder stuff with being away from family. My staff took charge of her and ordered me over to the next obstacle. I moved away and started to climb the cargo net.

As I worked my way up, I tried not to focus on how high up I was, but I was plagued by my worries about being injured. They surged through my mind from having just seen it possibly happen to Sara. In my mind I just needed to get over the top bar and I would be fine. My arms were so sore. My grip was weak, and my forearms had pulled muscles after doing every other obstacle which made the numbness from the cold, wet net all the more disconcerting. I tried to keep pushing so I could be done and get on with the day. When I got to the top, I got my hands onto the upper net and tried to pull myself up. My arms were tired, so it was hard, but I was held up by my bayonet which was strapped down the centre of the tactical vest I was wearing. There was no give and as I slipped back the bottom of it became wedged into the top rung of the net. I tried to move it but was weakening and couldn’t hold myself up with a single hand. I could feel the strength draining out of me. I couldn’t clear it. I started to panic because I realized that I couldn’t get it over and I couldn’t get up or down because of how it was wedged. My mind raced as dread set in and my grip began to fail. There was just no way to rest.

In my mind Stephanie and Seth were right there with me like on WFT. I could almost see them on the top of the net calling me over, but I couldn’t pull myself up. In what felt like the far distance I could hear one of my Sergeants starting to shout up at me to “get the fuck over!” They clearly thought I was just apprehensive and didn’t know I was in real trouble. I became aware that someone was up on the net next to me and only found out later that it was Josh. He was trying to reassure me and to clear the bayonet while I mustered all I had and tried to heave myself up until my chest was over the top bar but could only yelp out in terror as I literally watched my fingers slip. I attempted to wedge my arm through the net, but it wasn’t enough to hold me, and I fell back. I can still remember the eerie pause as I felt myself fall and the thought that this was the last thing I would ever do shot through my head. I remembered when I was 13 and been hit by a car. That was the first time I had seen Death. On that day there was a moment in the thick of it when a surreal clarity fell over me and it was like I was almost watching myself. This was that same feeling. I have heard it said that your life flashes before your eyes when you experience mortal terror like that but its less that and more a moment of pause when your mind processes the event in real time.

As I felt myself fall I was struck by an odd sense of tranquility as I felt a moment of total weightlessness. I don’t remember the impact. I had gone totally limp and fell back upside down and landed 20 feet down from the top bar on the back of my neck. Thankfully my inertia carried through my legs, so the force of the impact was distributed semi-evenly. If I had been just a few more degrees vertical I would have been a quadriplegic or simply died right there in the slushy sandpit at the bottom. As I came to, I became aware of the cold wetness of the snow. My head ached, and my ears rang. I was disoriented, and the wind had been knocked out of me so badly it felt as though my body had caved in. I remember the ringing in my ears being punctured by the almost distant sound of Sara calling out: “Steve! Oh my God Steve!” I had almost landed on her. I didn’t quite know where I was, but I was slowly coming to. The next thing I remember clearly was Dave’s face over mine and his hands firmly holding the sides of my head saying “Tommy! Don’t move buddy, I’ve got you.” I came to fully and realized what had happened as I cried out from the agony of my rifle digging into my back. My entire body hurt, and I struggled to breathe as the wind gradually returned. As I realized that I had fallen off the top of the cargo net and would probably go to the injured platoon I was crushed. It was like watching my dream that I had fought so hard for evaporate right in front of me. My weekend with Steph and Seth was gone, but worse than that: my dream was over. I was finished. There was no way that Stephanie would accept another 3-month delay, so this was the end. It would die there in the cold slush of the obstacle course.

Dave held my head in place and reassured me while my platoon CO leaned down and appeared next to him, the two blocked out the light from the overcast sky. She looked me in the eyes and said calmly “Tomlinson, its ok, we need you to relax. We are going to get an ambulance, you will be ok, but you need to stay still.” Command presence is a funny thing because I choked out a broken “yes, Ma’am,” and tried to regulate my breathing which was still spasming from having the wind knocked out of me. They cut my vest and rifle off and I was relieved to not have it digging into my back. Unfortunately, the pain was still just as bad. It wasn’t from my rifle. Something was very wrong with my ribs. It hurt to breathe but I tried to stay calm as the reality of the situation continued to hammer its way home. Soon paramedics arrived and put me on an immobilization board. I was stuck looking at the sky and securely fastened, unable to move.

I don’t really remember much of the ambulance ride, but I soon found myself in the ER at the local hospital where I was left on a table, clothes mostly cut off and a blanket over me. I was wheeled to an x-ray room and I saw Sara in a wheelchair as I was passing through. I soon found myself unfastened from the back board once they knew I hadn’t sustained a spinal injury and was laid on a table in the ER next to two older gentlemen and tried desperately to find a comfortable position. I remember feeling so scared and alone because no one spoke English and I had, after all, been in the midst of boot camp and was being actively conditioned so being alone without the presence of the military around was isolating. I didn’t know what to do so I slowly pulled off my dog tags which clung to my chest from the sweat and muddy water that still covered it. I had a pendent of St. Christopher on it that my grandmother had given me just before I had left for St. Jean. She told me about how her father had carried it through two world wars and how St. Christopher was the patron saint of sailors. I held the dog tags with my thumb on the pendent like it was a rosary and I prayed that I would be ok. I thought in that moment of my self in my room before the Board results as I once again begged God not to take this from me. I prayed for Sara too, and hoped desperately that we would both come back from it. I was so scared. I didn’t know what was happening and felt naked and afraid.

Just then, as I wept silently to myself and felt the prayers dissipate into eternity, one of the old men next to me turned and said in English “hey, its ok, they just need to speak to the doctor,” I was shocked because he had been so still before then I didn’t know he was even awake. I sheepishly thanked him and tried to calm myself. “I’m an old vet, I am sure you must be scared but you will be fine,” he said before turning back to the familiar position he had been in a moment prior. He had obviously seen them remove my boots and pants and knew I was with the military. I felt calmed by his words. In retrospect it was almost like a sign because within minutes a doctor came in and informed me that I hadn’t broken anything. He was surprised but told me that I had dislocated two of my ribs and had some soft tissue damage and would be a lot of pain until it healed. He recommended I look into physiotherapy and said I would be transferred and discharged. I waited there once again in the quiet, with the two men wheezing away next to me.

Eventually they brought me out to a ward to wait for the military to finish the discharge and take me back to the garrison. I was relieved that I hadn’t broken anything. This meant that I could come back, I would just have to deal with some pain. I had a grasp on my dreams which felt as fleeting as my grip had earlier in the day, but I refused to let it go even though I couldn’t even sit up at that point. They gave me some Tylenol and left me in the fullest ward I have ever seen. Looking back, it was almost medieval. I could not believe the state of health care there. I was rolled to a spot in the centre of a grid of gurneys with people on either side and then with three more across the front so that I was surrounded.

The ward itself looked like where Steph had recovered when Seth was born. It was designed for four beds but had two patients in each spot and the sea of gurneys in the centre. The rest of the hospital was not much better. When I had been portered to the ward I remember seeing people in wheelchairs and beds lining the walls of the dizzying network of passageways. No one spoke English, I was in a lot of pain and there didn’t seem to be a nurse anywhere. I tried to focus on staying on platoon even though I could feel the dream being eroded by each breath which felt like an ax wedged under my right shoulder blade. I could feel the oddest surges of emotion that forced me to well up and cry a bit as I realized how close I had come to never holding Seth or hugging Stephanie again. I imagined being shown my son and unable to hold him as Steph had been when he was born and it was so crushing that I had to force myself not to let the thoughts come back. At the same time though I felt so lucky and so grateful for being spared the worst of it and to have even the smallest sliver of hope. It was almost like I could feel someone protecting me in that moment and I imagined that it was St. Christopher, or maybe the spirit of one of my dead family members.

After about an hour or two a Master Corporal that I had seen before working at the front desk of the Garrison arrived. He gave me a boxed lunch and asked how I was doing as he scanned around the room, clearly as shocked as I was at how many people were there. I felt the oddest surge of happiness when I saw his uniform and immediately felt connected to this stranger. He asked after my status and went out to the desk. The boxed lunch was like a lifeline to the garrison, so I savoured every bite even though swallowing felt like I was being stabbed. After a bit my platoon Sergeant arrived and said he was going to get me back to base. I had seen him very briefly earlier when he stopped in to ask if I wanted Stephanie to be called. I told him no because I didn’t want her loading in the car with Seth and driving for 8 hours in the snow just to show up and tell me I was done. I figured that I had enough worries with my injuries without adding the stress of the intense worry I knew she would feel. I needed to know about the EXPRES test first, I told myself that I would let myself try to stay and pass that before I got her all spooled up.

I was so happy to finally go back and leave the awful conditions of the hospital and get back to where things made sense that I fought through the intense pain and moved to the washroom and put on my soaking wet, cold, muddy pants and boots and hobbled out to him still wearing a hospital gown as a top. I was moved in a wheelchair to another area so he could get the transportation sorted out. I waited there and suddenly Sara arrived too. She was also in a wheelchair and looked as miserable as I felt inside. I was so excited to see a friend that I climbed out of the chair and limped over to her and gave her a hug because we both needed one really badly. As I hobbled back to my wheelchair, we talked a bit about our mutual prognoses. She was still waiting on an x-ray, mine had been a priority because of the chance of a serious neck injury. I wheeled myself next to her and we waited quietly next to one another until Dave and Rob showed up along with one of the Sergeants from our staff.

I got up and gave them both hugs too. I held Dave extra hard because he had been right there after the fall and I was grateful to him for everything he did. They were both impressed with my strength, but I felt so weak. My head was racing with the ‘what ifs’ of it all and I was having a hard time keeping myself together. As I sat there with the searing pain stabbing me with every breath, it was like a reminder of what could have happened. I wanted to see Stephanie. I felt so lost and alone and afraid, and I needed her. Thankfully this was the first time but certainly not the last that I came to feel the bond that service friendship brings. In the military you are never near your family when you need them the most, so you come to rely on your friends and your shipmates.

As I sat back in my wheelchair I stared out into space and tried desperately to hold myself together. After a pause of maybe 30 seconds that felt like 10 minutes Dave sat next to me on the other side and calmly asked “you ok there big guy?” I tried to think of some snappy comeback to show them how tough I was but all I could do was sheepishly shake my head “no” with tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” Sara asked, clearly less concerned with her own injury than how I felt in that moment. I thought for a second. There was no use pretending I was ok, so I let go and told them the truth. “I, uh, can’t stop thinking about how I, uh…I almost died today,” I stammered out as I broke down and wept deeply into my hands, feeling a rush of embarrassment fill me. Sara leaned in and hugged me, and I cried into her shoulder while Dave hugged me from the other side and Rob patted my back. I recovered relatively fast, but I will never forget how supported I felt in that moment; all three of them would go on to be lifelong friends.

In the end I went with Dave and the duty driver back to base, Sara had to wait on her scan. As we pulled up Dave said he was going to run in and get a wheelchair for me, but I wanted them to see that I wasn’t going anywhere, I would walk right back in and let them know not to give up on me. Sure, enough I got out of the van and I pushed the pain deep down and hobbled my way back through the green door. I marched in the door and presented myself to the desk. Another of my platoon Sergeants was on duty and came around with a look of simultaneous pride and rage when he saw me doing drill. He sternly told me “stop that immediately!” and told me to get in a wheelchair that they had waiting for me. We went into a classroom and he told me “listen Tommy, the game is off ok? Just talk to me like another person, not your Sergeant.” He asked how I was and shared with me his happiness that I was ok. I told him that I was a bit shaken up but that I wouldn’t let this beat me. He nodded and said that I just needed to ask and they would get me any help I needed but that for the time being I was to go up to the floor and report to sick bay first thing in the morning.

I was pushed to the floor and given a chit to use the elevator for a week. There were lots of members of my platoon upstairs to see me. They were all relieved when they saw me come in and helped me to my cubicle. They had even made a watch rotation to make sure I was monitored all through the night because of a possible concussion and in case I needed anything. They sat in my cubicle with me and I even remember waking up and Craig was helping me roll over and reassuring me as I tried not to cry out in agony. I am still humbled by the love and support that I got from them. That night was terrible. To get an accurate assessment of the damage and the pain the next morning I wasn’t allowed to have any pain medicine. My muscles were sore from the hard day of training, my neck and shoulders were super stiff and sore from the fall, my rib cage hurt so badly that every movement took my breath away and required a mustering of strength to do something as simple as shifting in bed. I had no idea how I would be able to come back from this, but I thought back to my promise on the table in the ER and vowed to myself to never stop fighting.

The next morning, I awoke in the most pain I had ever felt. My ribs were locked so it felt like I had a charlie horse that was forcing my ribs apart. Laying down was the least pleasant of all activities so for the next several weeks I didn’t sleep much and was generally quite miserable. That morning I went to the base hospital with Dave and Sara. She had gotten back at about 0200 after nearly 12 hours at the hospital. Her knee x-ray was promising insofar as there was no break, so it looked like we both might be in the same boat. We both got a week of drill and PT restrictions that meant we would run our EXPRES tests the week after the rest of the platoon. The majority of that week was spent in the classroom because we were starting to learn Battle Procedure and the process of taking and transmitting orders. The exercises and lessons didn’t require us to be medically fit, so we were not racking up missed periods. We were limited in how many we could miss before THAT would kick us off, so it was good to have a bit of leeway to heal. For the rest of the week Sara and I followed the platoon around and sat off to the side for the physical stuff we were barred from and tried desperately to reassure one another that we were not going to fail.

As the week progressed we got to know one another even better because we had lots of time to talk. We were both very anxious about the EXPRES test that we would have to run but before that was even an issue we both needed a clean bill of health to attempt it. This meant that by the end of the week we needed to go for a follow up. Keeping the crippling pain from the hospital staff and managing to walk properly without wincing was a major challenge but the utterly toxic amount of ibuprofen that I survived on kept me in the fight. One of the hardest parts as well was having to hide the pain when I was on the phone with Stephanie. I told her that I was super sore from whatever training we did that day, which was of course true, but I didn’t want her to know about the fall yet. I was going to tell her, but I wanted to do it in person when she came out to visit and when she could see that I was doing fine. I knew she would be mad, but I also knew that if I told her about it she would make me release. I refused to not finish what I started, and I figured I would let the EXPRES test decide. If I could pass it, I would tell her and finish and if I failed then the dream would be over and I would obviously need to tell her why anyway. I consoled myself with the thought that I would tell her later and tried to heal and reassure myself that there was still hope, even if it felt dim.

Kelvin and Dave both used their knowledge of physiotherapy and sports medicine to help me recover. Kelvin re-set the ribs and popped my shoulder blade back into its proper place which knocked the pain down substantially and at least made it so breathing wasn’t as painful. It was so much more bearable but would get still get extremely sore and eventually make my right arm feel numb. I was fighting though. Sara was too. In short order we shed our crutches and wheelchair and hobbled after the platoon. Eventually the big day came and I was certified fit for duty. My ribs were still immensely painful but I needed to get off my chit so I could stay on platoon.

We were sent to the weight room and met the PT staff there to get our EXPRES tests done. Sara was still worried since the last time she didn’t have the push-ups she needed so that plus the knee injury meant it would be a challenge. I was pretty much beside myself with worry. It had all come down to that day. All the training and the failure and the victories, WFT, the time away, all of it to roll the dice and give it one last shot. We spoke before we went down to the test up on the floor and vowed to each other that we would finish platoon together and meet each other’s families on grad night. We gave everything. The sit ups nearly killed me and I yelped through every one of the 19 I needed. The run was last. This was my enemy, the test that haunted me and that had dogged me for months. The beeps started and I maintained the pacing which I knew would best keep me in it. Sara only needed to get a 4 but she stayed and ran next to me all the way to the 6 that I needed calling out encouragement and reminding me that I was doing this for Steph and Seth. On the last lap I could almost see them at the end of my lane like so many of the other times but this time I was going to show them I was worthy of the faith they put in me and drove hard and passed my EXPRES test and stayed on platoon. We had done it and were jubilant and proudly handed in our test results to our staff who seemed genuinely impressed and headed back to join the platoon to finish what we had started.

After another week or so Stephanie and Seth came out to visit as planned. I was worried about telling her about the fall, but I knew that I had to still had to do it. We ended up at our hotel room, enjoying some family time. Seth was teething and he had croup. He and I even needed to sit outside together in the middle of the night to help him breathe after he had thrown up on us a few times. I didn’t care about it at all, I cherished the chance to hold my sick little boy. Later after we had come back in, I sat in bed and held him and looked at him and remembered how close I had come to never holding him again and I started to cry. Steph was obviously surprised and asked what was wrong. I told her about the fall and about the recovery and tried to make her understand why I hadn’t said anything. She was mad and told me that I was going to quit right away and come home with her. I refused and told her that I had come too far to walk away and that I was going to see this through. After about a 20-minute talk that was kept remarkably rational she eventually agreed but told me that the day would probably come when I would need to make the choice. In the end, we had a good weekend together despite Seth’s illness and it recharged me enough to make the last big push for our final assessments in the field.

Our first trial week prior to assessments (aka ‘pre-Vimy’) was really difficult. Our make-shift base flooded with an ungodly mixture of ice, water and mud. Morale was low, pressure was high, and people had started to shut down. We were wet, cold, muddy, sandy and getting sleep-fucked by ‘stand-to’s’ through the night and each morning. I went first for the missions and coordinated a vehicle check point where I directed the search and recovery of contraband from a truck driven by one of the training actors that aided in the simulations. It went well and all said it was actually a good experience, but it was pretty miserable because of the cold and the rain. I loved the missions but despised the being hammered for the selfishness of some people. We were given forced marches through the night and given our first true taste of sleep deprivation training which I would come to know very well over the course of my later MARS courses.

Our final assessments were easier by comparison, but far more elaborate. There were dozens of actors in place to augment the training value in the form of casualties, enemy troops and local people either desperate for help or hating Canada and wanting us to leave the fake nation of ‘Eastwestland.’ It was well organized and realistic. By that point I was through most of the major hurdles and I started to accept that I might just be able to pull this off. I didn’t accept it at first though, so I was focused right through all of the missions. Unfortunately, I had to go last. It was a mixed spot to have because while it was nice to have a wide breadth of experience before I had to go, I was stuck needing to go with a different section. This was not ideal because although I knew and liked a lot of the people on the platoon I didn’t know where the strengths, weaknesses etc. lay with each person so it made me less effective at tasking. It was also unfortunate because they were all exhausted and finished their 12 missions and their assessments, so it was really hard to motivate them but thankfully a little volume in my voice and an absolute unwillingness to accept failure led me to a solid pass while directing my section to attack a fake insurgent position. After we had all gone our staff eased up a bit because we were through the course, we just needed to wrap up. I didn’t even know how to feel. Every day was painful and I was still poisoning myself with anti-inflammatories, but I was surviving.

Through the grapevine my staff had heard that I did impressions of all of them and they had me out in front of the platoon jacking people up in character because they thought it was funny. Eventually, I was called to the platoon command office. I walked in and our CO was there with most of the staff strategically positioned to be more intimidating. The platoon Petty Officer moved behind me and closed the door while I stood at attention and ‘the Ma’am’ looked at me with her arms crossed. She had a sort of smirk on her face and said “so Tomlinson I hear that you have impressions of everyone and wanted to see you do me,” I kind of laughed because of the phrasing and the staff started to shout at me with smiles on their faces and insisted that I needed to do an impression of her immediately or I was going to have a bad night. I figured I would just do what they said and sure enough in a short time I had them all in stitches. It was nice to see our them open up a bit and to interact with them on a more human level.

As we wrapped up in Farnham we did a mock sneak attack on our sister platoon and got to burn through some of the extra ammo as we had fun together and enjoyed ourselves with the staff for pretty much the first time since we had arrived. After some serious clean up of our base we marched out of Farnham, victorious. I can vividly remember how different my world felt that day as we walked out and loaded onto the bus to drive back to St. Jean for grad week.

When we arrived back and were ordered to stay on base for the Friday because we were completely exhausted from being awake for the whole week. It was weird to know that although there were still a few minor boxes to tick, I had passed boot camp and would soon find myself in Victoria to start my actual training. It was almost hard to accept and was tainted by the fact that I wanted to go home to see Stephanie because she had been planning a huge first birthday party / going away party for after my graduation, but I wasn’t sure if I would be able to make it since I would need to go to Victoria to clear it with my new chain of command out there. The whole time at basic I hadn’t really fretted about it because I was just struggling to get through each and every day. I would finally be done but then I would be on the other side of the country with no idea of when I would be with Steph and Seth again. It was an emotional week, but it was still triumphant.

I was finally allowed to wear my Naval Combat uniform knows as Naval Combat Dress (NCDs). For months I had been able to tell which group was in their grad week because the Naval personnel ended up in NCDs and now I would be as well. We felt invincible; platoons in grad week are looked at differently than other platoons. They are upheld and envied by everyone there who dreams of one day being there too and were a reminder that this whole thing will end eventually.

Our last week consisted of wrapping up our course administration, returning and being issued new kit for our next postings, doing drill practice and being officially promoted and awarded our commissions. On the final day I packed the last of my gear and went out for supper with my family. The next day we donned our dress uniforms and collected our weapons and formed up behind the curtain that divided the drill hall. We all knew our families were on the other side. As the band began to play and we were called to attention the pride in my heart was so overwhelming I thought I might drop my rifle. As we stepped off and began to march to the parade square I thought of all the graduations I had to endure watching, the trailers, the pain, the weight loss, the perseverance, the training, the fall from the cargo net, the pain in my ribs, passing the EXPRES test, and I looked ahead at the clapping crowd and knew that I had achieved something amazing. I considered the lifelong friendships that I had forged and knew that it was done.

On April 28th 2011 I marched with my platoon through the opened curtains of the main drill hall, behind a band and shone with pride as I tried desperately not to look at my family. Our drill was finally perfect. The platoon did well and on that last day I stared at a spot on the wall directly in front of me and held my gaze and stayed rigidly at attention, focussing mentally on Stephanie and Seth who I could see in my peripherals. The ceremony went well. I may have felt like I had an axe in my back the entire time and sweat profusely while I tried to stay conscious, but I didn’t care because it was the proudest moment of my life right then as I earned my commission as an officer in the Royal Canadian Navy.

Next Chapter: Protecteur