1. Crash

Prologue to ‘Reservist: Weekend Warrior’ Tales

In the 1970’s, when I was 16 and still in high school, I joined the Elgin Regiment, a militia unit in St. Thomas Ontario. At that time the ‘Elgins’ were a light-armoured reconnaissance unit. In the case of our unit, light-armoured meant four wheel drive jeeps and trucks, although, training was also done with the regular army and true armoured vehicles. The first two stories in this ‘Reservist: Weekend Warrior’ Tales series, 1. Crash and 2. Firefight, should be read in that order (1. Crash first). Names have been avoided or, when a name is necessary, a name has been changed. I hope you enjoy this glimpse of reservist experiences from the 70’s.

1. Crash

Early 1970’s; Summer; Near CFB Petawawa, Ontario.

I had made it through my first day as the troop officer’s driver. We had been doing advance to contact drills all day with regular force troops playing the enemy. They drove the armoured Ferret scout cars while we searched them out with our reconnaissance tactics and jeeps, part of the day spent advancing and part of the day spent withdrawing. Finally, in the late afternoon, we were assembled to drive to the camp area where our tents awaited us along with a hot meal. Our convoy of jeeps moved down the long, dusty, country road at a steady speed and evenly spaced. Both sides of the dirt road were bordered by steep ditches and wire fences with fields as far off as one could see. Farther ahead of us was a forested area beyond the fields.

The lieutenant struggled with his map and the handset of our two way radio as we sped along. Our windshield was upright but the canvas roof and doors were off the jeep and the wind was making his attempts to keep the map flat while he spoke difficult. In the rear seat our radio operator seemed to be hunting for something and rummaged through the equipment stored in that part of the vehicle.

Something hard and metal hit me solidly on my right elbow. Instinctively I pulled my arm away and looked back over my shoulder to see what it was. Our radio operator had struck me with the butt of his rifle. I asked him what the hell he was doing and started to tell him to watch it. The sudden dipping of the jeep brought me around again with a start. When I had turned to see what had hit me I had turned the wheel and we now barreled straight down the ditch side toward the fence with out slowing. It did not occur to me to brake and instead I turned the steering wheel sharply to the left as the lieutenant dropped both the radio handset and the map and gripped the hand bar on the dash, also known as the chicken bar, with both hands. The jeep was now sideswiping the metal fence as we continued to speed over the bumpy ditch bottom and the lieutenant leaned toward me, still gripping the chicken bar with both hands, in an attempt to avoid bouncing out of his seat and into the fence as we rubbed along it. Finally, the front of the jeep broke through the fence and I braked at almost the same moment.