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Warrant Officer, dropped in during his rounds. A cadet from another platoon observed the
commotion. A fellow cadet, who had been a Police Inspector in civilian life, was appealing
strenuously to the Duty Officer who was then seen to line up a number of cadets on the
parade square, address them and eventually dismiss them. Next morning, the ex-Police
Officer explained to the observer that the Duty Officer had caught him and some others
playing poker in one of the section rooms of Platoon 2. They were expecting the worst
but it turned out that the Duty Officer chose to quash the case. (The ex-Police Inspector
went on to become a favourite choice as defending officer in court martials). However, the
cadets had to give up their stakes and donate the money to charity. The Warrant Officer had
apparently picked up evidence of activity in the section room although the door and the
windows opening to the parade square had been locked. He posted the duty Cadet Under
Officer outside the door and went round the back, where the louvers were open, and spotted
several cadets around the table playing poker. Shouting “Freeze!” he went round the front
again. The cadets managed to take the money off the table, but otherwise froze as ordered
and accepted that they had been caught red-handed.
Was the good Warrant Officer safeguarding a vested interest by avoiding a strict enforcement
of a code of ethics, because within days at least some of the guilty cadets would be elevated
by their commission, to potentially be among his immediate superiors? While this is an issue
in an institution where a future generation of bosses is being nurtured, no first intake cadet
would have thought that of this particular NCO, who was considered rock steady and an
eminently reasonable man. On the contrary, his reputation rose to new heights with every
cadet who learnt of the incident, as they saw in the man, someone who was instinctively
above petty misanthropy. The lesson was a positive one and helped mould tolerance and
forbearance among the trainees.
Bad Timing.
The course would end in three weeks. The previous two days had been a
harrowing time of long-range raids and withdrawals. Bone-tired, Section 11, Platoon 3 with
their instructor, beached its assault boats at the boatshed end of Pasir Laba Road in the
half-light of dawn and transferred equipment—support weapons, radio sets and packs—
to the waiting 3-ton truck. The M16 rifles had been encased in transparent plastic sleeves
against saltwater corrosion and they had been laid aside while the other equipment was being
sorted out. Lying on the grass, the plastic sleeves tended to conceal the weapons as dew
formed. Section 11 was tightly knit and the rule was to share the chores. While some were
transferring training stores to the 3-tonner, others were doing the same with personal issue
items. When everything seemed squared away, Section 11 mounted the 3-tonner and moved
off to the SAFTI complex.
When the 3-tonner was unloaded, one of the cadets realised that his rifle was missing. As
this was as close to a cardinal sin as one could get in SAFTI, he grabbed a lift on a friend’s
motorcycle and sped to the boatshed. Rifle recovered, the pair sped back. In the meantime,
pandemonium had broken loose in ‘A’ Company. At the Section 12 end of Platoon 3, a fire