mitch_boxing wrote:
If this is so, could you request to have a POC from the RMR?? I would like to go straight onto POC after university.
2. What is the UOTC like, I have heard mostly negative feedback from it but it still sounds good on the website though
. You get a leadership qualification, and 3 years experience as an officer. You also get paid and all the camps are structured around the term dates. This sounds great to say that you have done that on your AIB. Obviously though, the RMR sounds like the better choice if you can cope with all the training weekends and courses.
3. Is the TA worth having a go at while I am at college?? It doesnt look to hectic with the training days, as the RMR. Can you choose when you do the 2 week annual camp??
Mitch_Boxing
I know you can go from RMR into the next YO batch without having to 'serve your time' in the RMR, like a transfer.
And if your choosing between TA and RMR, no matter what people might say, the UOTC IS a branch of the TA.
I got pretty drawn in by the UOTC website! But I spoke to a couple of lads and it sounds like just a laugh rather than a serious business.
Heres a guys view on the UOTC that I read a while back (dont know if you can be arsed to read it but it made me laugh and put me right off the UOTC!)...
You want to stag on at 0300 in the snow? As a career? Good grief, how very odd. Still, best of luck to you. Can't imagine the prospects are anything special.
Actually, if you're in my glorious OTC, it doesn't cross your mind. Because you're normally sitting bolt upright on your roll mat. And you've lit a couple of hexy blocks to keep you warm, while you check your texts on your mobile. If you're both chicks, the other one's got her head in your lap while you braid her hair. Your own hair hasn't seen the light of day for a week now; it's buried under eleven purple and orange beanies, so that your helmet is perched a good six inches above your skull, and the chinstrap has to be extended with brightly coloured twine to keep it on your bonce. Your stag partner hasn't seen her gat for a good half an hour; it's 'somewhere over there on the floor'. You've given up trying to attach a CWS to the other weapon, and it's hanging from a tree branch.
Suddenly, you hear a snapping of twigs in the undergrowth. You chuck a flaming hexy block to see if it moves. Then you use the CWS. But whatever it was doesn't make a sound even after you've chucked that at it.
"Rachel" you whisper urgently
"What is it, Kate, I was literally just dropping off."
"There's something out there."
"Have you carried out the IA drill?"
"Yes, I've thrown hexy at it and giggled coquettishly. No dice."
"Damn. We should really get low."
"Good point. Bit cold though."
"You're right. Let's stand up"
So you stand. Your faces glow pinkly under the soft moonlight, as you have refused every effort to get you into cam cream since day one, given the 'really really really really bad' effect it has on your skin.
The unseen intruder moves again.
You both jump. Your left ammo pouch falls off.
"God. We should, like shoot it." exclaims your oppo.
"Have you got your gun with you?"
"No. It was bit heavy and the metal bits were all cold, so I left it by my tent thingy. It's gone all orange though, and the telescope thing on top has stuck to my mess tins"
"Go and get it. That RSM guy said we should have them all the time"
Panting, your oppo trots off into the darkness. She gets four yards before the comms string catches her under the chin and puts her on the floor like she's been clotheslined by Stone Cold Steve Austin.
"What the hell was that?!" she groans
"You silly," you reply, "it's that string the boys put up so that we could hang our 'ladies things' out to dry. Never mind about your gun, we'll use mine. Here, help me lift it..."
With tremendous effort, you and your stag partner prise your weapon off the forest floor. As you recover, hands on hips, your stag partner eyes it dubiously, covered in mud and home to a family of woodlice. She picks up a twig and sticks it through the triggerguard, lifting it up to pass to yo.....
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-Click!!!!
"God, Rachel, be careful," you cry - "someone might hear us!"
"Sorry" she sniffs, miserably.
"Oh God, it's all empty now. I need more bullets. Don't know where my bullet pouch has gone actually...have you got a magazine on you?"
Smiling hopefully, Rachel proffers the copy of Cosmo she'd been reading by the light of a right angle torch....
"No", you giggle, "not that kind of magazine! I meant the metal kind - y'know, the rectangular thing that fits in this bit"
"Oh!" cries Rachel "I thought you meant tha....teeheheheheee!"
"Teeheeheeeheehee" you gurgle happily.
"Teeheeheeeheeehee", says Rachel
You say "Teeheeheeheee, no, I meant th...teeheehheeehee"
You clutch eachother tight, bodies shaking with mirth, for a good fifteen minutes, giggling excitedly for all you're worth.
Finally, you calm down.
"No, but seriously, Rach, have you got a magazine, the metal kind?"
"Yup" says Rachel proudly, rummaging in her utility pouch and producing a folded up hexy stove "here y'are"
Paralysed by your own doubts this time, you try and insert the stove into the magazine housing. Only after the stove has been reduced to a twisted piece of metal are you convinced. You round furiously on your oppo.
"No! This isn't one either! Look, just give me anything rectangular that looks like it might fit, that you've got in your stuff"
After having tried to insert the small mess tin, a Silva compass, pencil flare holder and various different Estee Lauder products into your weapon, you finally find a magazine. Just as you are about to slam it home, the 'thing' in the bushes moves again....
You clutch eachother. And jump. Your waterbottle pouch falls off.
"God, Rach, I am like, really, really scared now. I'm just gonna shoot this thing"
"Wait! We're supposed to talk to it first, aren't we?"
"What?"
"Don't you remember, that talk, that those men gave - the one from the Princess of Wales and her...Royal Riflemen...Regiment, and the other one from that one that all wear Green jackets, or something - he was soooo dreamy, wasn't he? - he said you have to talk to it. And then shoot it"
"Kay, you talk to it, and then as soon as you're finished, I'll shoot it."
"Kay," replies Rachel, happily. "Here we go."
She takes a deep breath....
"Hellowhoeveryouaremynamesrachelandthisismyfriendkateandwearewonderingwhatyouredoingherenowasweresupposednottoletanyoneinherebutifyou'djustliketocomeoutandseeuswecansortitalloutokayi'mfinishednowkateyoucanshoothim." BANG! BANG! Click - the rifle, held together by rust and friendship bracelets, finally gives up the ghost as the TMH detaches and joins most of your webbing on the floor.
All is suddenly a cacophany of noise and cordite. Automatic fire rips through the air, flashes dance before your eyes like angry dragons. Deep within your memory of MTQ1 a phrase flashes into your brain and you summon all your energies as you cry....
"STAND UP! STAND UUUUP! EVERYONE STAND UUUP! COME ON GUYS, STAND UP, WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!"
All over the harbour area confused OCdts burst into action. There is a flurry of activity as they reach for the bottom of their maggots to retrieve their trousers, norgies, t-shirts, combat jackets, and socks, and furiously, get dressed. Slickly, helmets are retrieved from the tree branches they were hung off, ready for action the night before, bergens are expertly and speedily packed with the stuff from cooking that got left out yesterday because it was still a bit hot, and weapons are retrieved from mates-they-were-lent-to-because-his-was-a-bit-dirty-and-he-had-to-go-and-meet-the-CO-to-explain-why-he'd-been-doing-naked-pull-ups-in-the-bar-the-night-before. A lighting thirteen minutes later, with the platoon in various states of undress, speculative well aimed bursts of thirty rounds are let off in various directions, a couple by OCdts who've got lucky in the weapon raffle and have acquired two gats and who are doing a passable impression of 50 Cent smoking a few mo'fos. A few OCdts throw smoke grenades into the melee, because, hell, they probably won't get another chance, and they're cool. Besides, the borderline asthmatic in 2 Section's a bit of a penis, and who cares if he's coughing up orange carcinogens for the next three days...
In the midst of the calamity, no-one notices the GOC emerge shakily from the bush he'd been crouched behind right in front of you. The firepower demonstration in the harbour area behind your stag position is going as strong as ever, except now the Pl Comd's basha is on fire, and with a few OCdts leaping round the flames wearing nothing but a headover and thermal long johns, it's all getting a bit Lord of the Flies....
As for you, you and Rachel are stood stock still, aghast as the elderly general climbs, shaken by a conflagration he last saw as a subaltern in '82, to his feet. In his head he repeats to himself, matra-like "OTCs are good for the army's wider image, OTCs are good for the army's wider image, OTCs are good for the army's wider image" He wants to know what the hell that was about. He wants to know why these two sorry apparitions have less than half a rifle between them. He wants to know why the fat asthmatic is now strapped to a tree in the middle of the harbour with bungees while the rest of the Pl stick the end of their rifles in the fire and prod him with red hot BFAs. He wants an explanation for the greatest display of military incompetence since Lord Raglan said to his runner "You see those guns down the end of the valley...?" He braces himself, and says.....
"Hello young ladies...so what do you two do at university?"
. 