You fail...
When I was taking my infantry section commander's course, one of my tasks was to lead a night patrol. This involved me navigating across a dense forest for I recall four kilometers with nothing but Moon light to aid in navigation, in addition to my compass. The objective was to reach a T-junction on the other side of the forest, with the adjoining road leading away from that road. I was meticulously careful in taking my bearings, always finding the furthest identifiable object on which I could move towards before taking another bearing, and when we reached the road, the T-junction was not more than 20 meters to our right, meaning that I was off by less than 5 mils or one-quarter of one degree in my bearings. I was pleased as punch, and then the airborne Master Corporal instructing us immediately failed me. I was quickly reprimanded for my pride, and he pointed out you cannot expect perfect navigation in the real world, especially in combat situations. Because I aimed directly for the intersection in question, had I been off, I would not have known whether or not to turn left or right when I reached the road. It was a valuable lesson: ensure that that your patrol strategy is robust: I should have aimed for a point in the road 50 meters to either the left or the right of the intersection in question, and then when we reached the road, I could be assured in which direction we should travel to reach the objective intersection.
Training the first female infantry recruit
After I completed my ISCC course, I was tasked with instructing on PRSTP '89 (Primary Reserve Summer Training Program), the boot camp for our regiment. I had the interesting task of training who I believe was the first female reserve infanteer in the reserves at the time, and certainly in our regiment. In retrospect, I don't recall being given any special instructions, and consequently, I hope I treated Pte. Murphy in the exact same way I treated all other recruits in my section. I recall I took some considerations while in the field, so sleeping arrangements were always in pairs per hutchie, but I always shared the hutchie with her. In retrospect, I'm not sure that was the right thing to do, but that was also thirty years ago, and as I said, I was given no specific directions. The first infantry female sergeant in our regiment actually came from my recruit course. Sgt. Humphries was in the band, but she still has a strong personality, and she re-mustered to infantry. She is definitely a better leader than I was.
Diversity in the army
Diversity in the infantry reserves in the early 1990s was lacking, at best; however, when I transferred to the intelligence section in Toronto, I joined what was likely the most diverse unit in Canada. We had one from the First Nations, two Guyanese (one with Indian ancestry and the other with African ancestry), two with Lithuanian ancestry, one from Romania, one from I recall China or Taiwan, an Italian, one with African ancestry, and others. There were also at least five women in the unit, which amounted to a much higher percentage than was usual in many of the combat-support units. I really hope that everyone felt they were treated equally, and I believe I did treat everyone equally. One of the aforementioned became one of my "Groom's women" for my wedding, as my wife insisted on having "Bride's men," so I chose three women friends. It was actually a point of awkwardness, for I was once seconded to another infantry regiment for an exercise, and something bugged me, but I couldn't make out what that was. After a day on exercise, it dawned on me: everyone was "white" or European. It actually was an awkward sensation. I'd be curious about the statistics today. When I was in the infantry, during my ISCC (sergeant's course), one time at the mess, there was a MP cadet wearing a red turban instead of a red beret; I still recall thinking how professional it looked.
Gay rights in the army
I hope this has changed since the early 1990s. The assumption then was if you supported gay rights, you yourself must be gay, at least by some of the senior non-commissioned officers. This was more bizarre given that I was dating one of the women in my unit at the time; I assume the sergeant in question simply assumed I was "faking" the relationship to hide the "truth." I didn't make a claim one way or the other ("I'm straight" or "I'm not gay"); however, I never did stay on the topic if it was brought up, and that sergeant probably didn't like me, but then again I really didn't care, either.
Military intelligence...what is it?
Okay, I've been asked a lot: "What is intelligence?" and "Isn't military intelligence an oxymoron?" Sometimes I wonder, but intelligence is simply the process of collecting, collating and analyzing information to answer specific questions the commander requires answers to in order to accomplish the commander's mission. Thus, your goal is to gather the appropriate information, the verify that it is correct and applicable, and to then tell the commander only what that commander requires. You do not include extraneous information, no matter how 'interesting' it may seem. In the military, there are staff officers to deal with every aspect of operations. Anything that the commander cannot control through staff officers is an unknown variable and therefore must be addressed through intelligence methods. This includes the enemy, weather, terrain and the local civilian population. Interestingly enough, when I was serving, we only focused on enemy, weather and terrain, but it makes sense that the civilian population is another unknown over which the commander has no control. The same techniques used in military intelligence can also be used in business intelligence: the Chief Executive Officer requires answers to what the competition is doing in order to best plan what to do in the next year or two-year cycle. Business intelligence would seek answers to how activities of competitors may impact your company.
The next question is "Is military intelligence like James Bond?" The answer is no, for a number of reasons. First, intelligence is strictly the process of collecting and analyzing information. For this, one uses sources and agencies. A source of information is an individual or organization that is beyond the control of the commander or director. An agent or agency is an individual or organization, respectively, that can be directed by the commander or director. In the army, the agencies tend to be other units under the control of the commander, no different than the intelligence unit; for example, recce platoons and sniper detachments. Organizations like the CIA, CSIS and MI-6 include many such agents or agencies under the control of their director. Additionally, civilian organizations generally tend to combine both intelligence and operations, which includes covert operations. This is because the execution of such covert operations generally requires significant input on the part of the intelligence analysts. Indeed, you may have heard how individuals in movies refer to themselves as 'analysts' or 'operatives.' Military intelligence tends to focus on the analysis aspect, and it is thus necessary to give the commander sufficient evidence to engage in specific operations. This division between analysis and operations allows for greater specialization, but it also results in issues that must be addressed: individuals in the combat arms are less aware that it is imperative to pass back information about the enemy, weather, terrain and the civilian population. The closest aspect of military intelligence to operations, I suspect, are interrogations.
Giving a Warrant Officer a heart attack
On our final training exercise of my boot camp, some how Capt. O'Neil managed to get us the rounds necessary to have each recruit fire one round of the 84 mm Carl Gustav anti-tank recoilless shoulder-held rifle. I managed to hit my target, but I was tasked to retrieve something. The most direct path back was across approximately 20 such rounds laid neatly on the ground. Instead of running around them, I ran through them, being careful not to step on them. The Warrant Officer who saw me do this and subsequently yelled, and when I asked what I did wrong, he just fell silent and shook his head as he walked away. In retrospect, probably a dumb thing to do.
"Get that headdress on!"
My first real introduction to the commanding officer of my regiment was one day walking home from a weekend exercise as part of my General Military Training (GMT). With my ruck sack and and other kit, I was walking down Glenridge Ave. It was hot and about a 5 km walk, so I took my beret off. A car stops and this guy rolls down his window and starts yelling at me to put my headdress on. I meekly say "Yes, sir!" and put my headdress on. It was only later that I learned who he was: it was LCol Ian Purdie, the commanding officer of the regiment... Not someone to piss off.
Winter exercise at a balmy -5
We were on a winter military exercise with intelligence and we were with the headquarters staff, so this included signals units. It was only about minus five, so it really wasn't that cold. If you were doing tasks, pants and wind pants, a shirt and a fleece (wool) shirt, scarf and beret were sufficient. This rather overweight signals major dressed in parka, toque, etc. came up to me and started querying me on how I felt... After a few sentences, it seems he was worried about me being so scantily dressed. Sure, I wasn't the greatest infanteer in the world, but this exercise was a walk in the park compared to some of the exercises I had with the Lincoln and Welland Regiment, and -5 has nothing on -30. He really wouldn't drop the topic about my personal health, even after I assured him all was well.
Drinking out of a boot
One evening, we were at the home of one of our peers, and it was quite the evening. One of the rather humorous events, however, was someone filled one of her fur-lined boot with whisky and that boot was passed around to everyone present, and everyone had to take a drink from that boot. I won't mention her name, but that was quite rather memorable. She's one of the individuals for whom I currently, 30 years after the event, have a significant respect for, although that is more for her strong personality and competence.
Singing and music
Our recruit course sergeant major was a master warrant officer of the name of Wells. He brought his guitar almost everywhere, and if there was down time, he'd bring it out and start playing popular tunes. The entire course would be singing long to songs like American Pie. I didn't realize at the time, but that was rather singular and unique: I don't recall any other courses where something like that happened.
104 hours
When I woke up Friday morning, I had no idea what the next five days would bring. It was may ISCC (infantry sergeant's) course, and it was the start of what would be days before we got a chance to get another sleep. That night, we spent time digging a slit trench with overhead protection, and for the next four days, we dug another slit trench, ran numerous patrols, numerous section attacks throughout the day, and at least one deliberate attach and one withdrawal. It wasn't until Tuesday afternoon that they let us go to sleep. I remember lying in my bed in the barracks and trying to fall asleep, and it was really bizarre: you couldn't, it's almost as if your body forgot how to sleep after so long. I remember lying in my bed and after about ten minutes, calling out "Vallakovich, are you asleep yet?" He replied, "No, I can't sleep." During that time, I didn't drink coffee yet, so each meal ration pack we got had sufficient coffee that I could trade for other favors. To be fair, I actually did fall asleep once. I still feel bad about this one, but Rambo (yes, that was the pronunciation of his last name, but I recall the spelling was slightly different) was leading a patrol, and I was on that patrol. While taking orders, I was squatting down, and I literally fell asleep in that position. I didn't fall over, I was just so tired that I fell asleep in that position while Rambo was giving orders. I woke up at the last minute, and I don't think anyone realized I had fell asleep (it was already night, and it was a night patrol). I didn't know what we were doing, I didn't know any passwords, nothing. I just winged it, and I know I made a mistake or two, and I know Rambo was pissed at me as a result, but c'est la vie. Another really good guy on that course was Derryk ("Big Red") Fleming, who was on my recruit course, as well. Having guys like that on the course really helped.
ISCC Fellow Candidates
During my ISCC course, I had two older reservists help me, a lot. One was an older Italian by the name of Palermo, and he was from the 48th Highlanders out of Toronto. He was something like a father-figure on the course to the rest of us. He was significantly older than the rest of the course, but he was good. Another was Brownlee, and he was also excellent, and he was with the Royal Highland Fusiliers of Canada. Another excellent individual was Nair from the Toronto Scottish. Our instructors included one Master Corporal Quinn from the Queen's Own Rifles, and a Master Corporal Ferguson (?) from the Canadian Airborne Regiment, who had been seconded to the Queen's Own Rifles. Both these instructors were intense, but the second was also the epitome of the professional soldier.
First real drink of coffee
Coffee. I didn't drink coffee for the first twenty years of my life. I just didn't like it. Even on my ISCC course, where I spent 104 hours awake with no sleep, I did not find a need for coffee--we were active enough. I finally drank coffee for the first time in my life starting with my qualification-level 3 course on intelligence in Nova Scotia at Camp Aldershot. Part of that required us to listen to radio for hours on end. It was at that point that the only way I could stay awake was to start drinking the only caffeinated beverage available: coffee. I drink coffee every day now, but I occasionally think back to those hours in front of the radio writing down the message traffic.
Captured (not me)
On that same course in Camp Aldershot, it was in some ways miserable. The reserves was a way of providing employment over the summer months, and so there was an incredible number of master warrant officers who had nothing really interesting to do, so they found their pet issues to focus on. One was adamant that no one would have their hair too long. One of the female candidates on our course already had short hair, and this warrant officer continually yelled at her for having too long hair until he realized that "he" was actually a "she" and that her hair was actually too short. I'm surprised he didn't write her up for having too short hair... One time on parade, the MWO is yelling at each Tom, Dick and Harry whose hair is one epsilon too long for his liking. Her hair was definitely too long, and he just reamed her out, telling her that she will see him after the parade. Of course, as soon as she said "Yes, sir!", he noted the voice was probably a half octave too high and he then muttered "Belay that order" and fumbled on finding the next poor sop to yell at.
In-shape fellow candidates
On that same course, Wanda was a tri-athlete and another woman on the course--I forget her name--was a weight lifter. Both joked about how the other women in the barracks were impressed by their musculature. The funniest expression of this was during our games of volleyball. Wanda had a habit of falling into the splits before she bumped back the ball, and as a consequence of pain synesthesia, most of the men on the other side winced too much, and the ball would often just fall on the ground. Interestingly enough, this is a false pain synesthesia, as Wanda felt no pain falling into the splits; however, the guys on the course would put themselves in that situation and would consequently feel that pain as if they experienced it.
Ed Lukosius
The first time I lived in Toronto while working with the LFCA Intelligence Section, I lived with a very cool guy, Edvardas Pranas Lukosius, or Big Ed. He was one of two Lithuanians in our section, the other being Captain Kostas Rimsa. While living with Ed in a house owned by one Ulwe, I remember having a number of talks with him, and he told me many of his life stories. The most significant was how he got the Chief of the Defence Staff Commendation. This is an innocuous decoration is a sequence of three gold maple leaves in a row, worn on the dress uniform on the left breast pocket, I recall. Most reservists probably didn't even know what it means. In his case, Ed got that as a result of going to a military exercise up north, and he was driving a supply truck. They came across a major multi-car accident, and immediately started rendering aid. He described as he held one woman while she died in his arms. This event seems to have resulted in post traumatic stress syndrome that affected him for the rest of his life. He took me to York University where we went to the various bars in the basements of the various residences. He also spoke of his postings to CFS Alert, and one story he told was due to climate conditions, a ship in distress in the south Atlantic was trying to communicate with another ship; however, on listening to the short wave, it became clear that while Ed was able to hear both the distressed party and the rescue ship, they could not hear each other (short wave reflects off of the upper atmosphere, which causes shadows where the signal cannot be heard). Consequently, it was up to him to relay messages between the two parties. He disappeared from the scene over the next few years, and I understand that he had been seriously affected by that previous event--it seems to have affected him strongly even while he was retelling the story. It was almost if he became a persona non gratis, as I never saw him again. It was quite interesting living with Ed; he was a genuinely interesting person. He passed away in 2017. I did try looking him up before, but never found him. He did join Facebook, but that seems to have been years after I had given up looking for him. He was a really good guy; I do miss him.
GMT and BTT staff and fellow candidates
Who ran my recruit course? There was Captain O'Neil and Lieutenant Burger. There was also Master Warrant Officer Craig Wells. We also had Master Corporal Mac Neil, who joined the Regular Forces in the tank corps. There was Sargent Mario Pontello and Corporal Fi. There was also MCpl Christiansen and Cpl Hilton and W.O. Smith.
Who was on my recruit course? Derryk Fleming, Paula Humphries, Ron Buchholz, Burger, Peace, Cutler, Brooks, Jamie Teather, Kathleen Fullerton, Lynn Giguere, Sue Cassidy, Theal, Bruceil (sp?), Patrick Lilley (trimmer3098@gmail.com), Crowe, Muirhead, Masterson (along with Jackson, who unfortunately, dropped out), Wadden or Wickendon, and Adams. I'm going to have to look up others. I think there was a Langlois.
I recall that one of the women on my course had a dream about me chasing her with a broom stick, or something like that...
Slide rules and the arctangent
I enjoyed navigation, and I was good at it. I also used a slide rule in the field, so in one case, I was asked to calculate a bearing on a graph between two points. With the slide rule, I calculated rise over run given the two grid coordinates, took the arctangent, and then converted that to mils, which is approximately 1000 mils per radian. The senior NCO told me I was wrong, so I checked it with a calculator, and given the level of accuracy, I was correct to the closest mil, but c'est la vie. You can't fix stupid. I recall his name was Underwood. I don't understand the need for plotting two points on a graph, and then using a protractor to calculate an angle when mathematics does it for you faster and with greater accuracy.
Captured (not me)
One intelligence captain (Captain West?) in our unit was later captured in tropical Africa while on a recce for some mission. We read about it in the newspaper, but there was no mention that he was military intelligence. He was released soon thereafter, but given his personality, I felt sorry for the other person with him. West was generally an unfriendly sort of guy, and I can still see West making it really easy for his captors to a) dislike him, and b) keep him on spite. I'm including this just in case someone from that African nation remembers arresting two suspicious looking individuals from Canada: you were right, they were suspicious.
Recruit FTX
Our final training exercise for our general military training (GMT) course was held on the north tip of East Welland, that artificial island between the Welland Canal and the Welland Bypass. There we dug trenches and slept in the rain. I was tasked with building a one-person hutchie for myself, and instead of using string, I just used the vines from the nearby trees--I didn't have to go as far. I think I remember one of the course staff appreciating that subtle point. While we slept in the rain, Jamie Teather walked past and asked me how I was doing. In the rain and darkness, I couldn't make out who it was who was asking me, so I just called him "sir". We didn't actually get much sleep, and I recall Brooks remembered having hallucinations after insufficient sleep. I was tasked with manning a listening post--I was in the middle of brush, so I couldn't see anything anyways--and while there I looked through the branches and thought I saw a water mill with an Imperial German flag. I was absolutely fascinated by this, as I understood it was wrong, and so when kicked myself awake again, I started to look through the bushes to see why I saw what I saw. I noticed that where I saw the flag, there was a dark, white and red branches from different trees, and the outline of the water wheel and the building was shaped approximately by other branches. It was a most interesting observation.
Following the clean up, we then did a ruck march back to the Welland St. Armouries in St. Catharines. We followed first the Welland Canal and then the old Welland Canal. I don't remember much from that march, but I do remember us getting to Westchester Cres. and then heading West back to the Armouries. It was at this point that someone handed off the Karl Gustav to me to carry. That was challenging, but soon thereafter, I was relieved of it by one of the course staff (I think it was MWO Wells); I must have been a sorry sight. However, closer to the end, Teather started to go delirious and he was being ordered to get into a vehicle, but he insisted that he wanted to finish the march, so he persisted, and in the end, I ended up propping him up for the last two or three kilometers.
We fell asleep on the Parade floor on our sleeping bags. In the morning, Sergeant Pontello woke us up to do mine clearing drills.
Driver course
I did take a driver's course in the military, and many years later, someone reminded me that I had driven over Pte. Colt's foot. I don't remember it, but I have no reason to disbelieve the person who told me. It was an odd course, because the course sergeant major always had me drive him everywhere in the Iltis (the German name for a Polecat) because I knew how to drive stick, so I got less experience on the larger trucks. On the other hand, I did win the competition for who could start an Iltis on an incline in the highest gear: I got it going in third gear. Driving the Iltis was fun, too, even if it really wasn't an appropriate military vehicle, as Afghanistan proved. We had one driving exercise just East of the Seaway Haulage Rd and it was there that driving a Volkswagen Jetta really helped driving the Iltis in adverse conditions, such as when the entire windshield got covered in mud, being able to immediately select the windshield wipers. If you look closely on the linked Google Map, you will see that there is a berm running along what used to be the Third Welland Canal. I didn't know the canal was on the other side of that berm, so while we were baha-ing, I was at a fork in the dirt road where one went up the the berm and the other went straight along it. I remember either asking or thinking "Which way?" Then, without waiting, I took the incline and drove up the berm. I was already driving at a very rapid cross-country speed, and half way up, I remember thinking "Shit, I have no clue what's on the other side of this berm", so as I reached the top, I made a very conscious decision to turn hard to the right to follow along the edge of the berm that I could see. Good thing, too, because on the other side, it dropped off really quickly into the old course of the Third Welland Canal. I probably would have failed the course.
Serving drinks in the Sergeants' mess
When I joined the army, I didn't drink beer. Actually, I didn't drink much alcohol at all. As a consequence, I was asked to be an occasional bartender in the Sergeants' mess. I still remember the first beer I poured, and I asked the old guy who ordered it: "Would you like ice with that?" Oops. Those present had a good laugh at my expense.
Guys wearing ear rings
I remember one of the guys in my recruit course subsequently went on a United Nations tour in Cyprus, and when he got back, he had gotten one of his ears pierced. I remember the Warrant Officer yelling at him as if the world came to an end when he was wearing that ear ring while coming into the Lake St. Armouries while in civilian clothing. I don't see why anyone cares what people do on their own time.
At least 30 below zero...
During our recruit course, we went on a winter warfare training exercise in the Allegheny National Forest. This was one of the few exercises we had with the Americans, and we were flown there in helicopters from the New York National Guard, I think, and when we got there, it had already been getting cold. Now Lake Ontario is deep, so it holds a lot of water, and this forms a heat sink in the summer while letting off enormous amounts of heat in the winter. Consequently, it hardly ever freezes over and Niagara north of the Escarpment is quite warm. Lake Erie is shallow: If the Niagara River ever had a chance to eat its way back to Lake Erie, the entire lake would drain. The difference between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario is less than the depth of Lake Erie. Point being, Lake Erie heats up much more in the summer, but it quickly releases all that heat as soon as the winter arrives. After that, the shores of Lake Erie see a plummet in temperature. So, while we are all recruits, it dropped that weekend to below -30. Think of that, or think of how the course staff felt: we have a platoon of recruits, none of whom have experience camping in the winter, let alone in -30 weather.
Being foolish, we actually fed naphtha to our Coleman stove and Coleman lantern to the point that we could sit around in t-shirts in our tent. Probably not a good idea, and probably far too many fumes, but we were stupid and young.
Mind you, this really made future exercises much easier: once you understand that you can survive to such cold temperatures, this gives you the confidence that you can survive.
Catch us if you can
Our second winter warfare exercise with the Americans the following year had an interesting twist. We were to establish a position and the Americans were to find us and attack our position. They had helicopters flying aerial reconnaissance. Thus, Friday night, we get there and move into our position and carefully camouflage it. We did it so well, that the next day they could not find us, even though they knew approximately where we were. Our recce patrols, however, did find their location, and so Sunday morning at about 3:00, we pulled up camp in the dead of night. With the white snow, there still was sufficient light. We then attacked their position while they were all sleeping, thinking the exercise was more-or-less over. We had thunderflashes (practice grenades) and arty sims (artillery simulators). The Americans actually had buses in their area ready to bug out, so it was rather humorous when one of our guys fired his FN C1 7.62 mm blanks in such a way to have the spent casings ricochet off of their buses.
A reminder...
I had a good time in the army, and met many great people, but please remember, I was, at best, an average soldier. That's okay. I certainly enjoyed my time in the forces. These days, I know I can, for example, stay awake for a day while still being able to function, and I don't mind going out for a 10 km jog while it's -12 outside. Once, I walked to work (5 km) only to find out the university had announced it was closed for the day due to the -18 temperature. C'est la vie.
Stick to what you know
Outside Camp Bordon, in one of the surrounding towns, I found myself in a bar speaking two two members from the Canadian Airborne regiment. It was a collegial discussion, I think, and I learned something really useful. The one insisted that the SA 80 was 7.62 and I continued to insist that the SA 80 was 5.56. It was a rather interesting game, as these two had significantly more experience in the forces than I, and after me adamantly refusing to acknowledge their position, after their persistence, I finally acknowledged I may be wrong. Alas, it was a game of cat and mouse, and the two cats got me; immediately they pounced. I was right, and I was a fool to think otherwise.
Seeing at night
When trying to see in the dark, I was told to never look directly at what I was trying to observe, but rather to always look to one side. The fovea is the point of focus, but it is also least sensitive to blue light. Consequently, it is better to look to one side and have what you're looking for impress itself upon the surrounding parafovea. I learned to do this instinctively, but I didn't really understand it until I saw the constellation of Orion. While the three stars forming the belt are clear, below this are a sequence of stars that form the sword. This "sword" includes the Orion nebula. Anyway, when I look directly at it, I see only two faint stars, but if I look ever so slightly to the left or right, a bright sword appears in all its glory, and when my eye pops back to it, the sword disappears and all that is left are the faint two stars.
Tying your shoes
Tying your boots was always an exercise in frustration--inevitably you either tied them with a regular bow tie, which invariably came undone, or you tied them with a binding knot, one that took significant effort to undo, as one could not just pull an end to undo it. Since leaving the army, I learned of a blood knot or a surgeon's knot. This is the knot used to tie off arteries during surgery to guarantee that they will not come undone during the procedure. It's actually quite simple: after you create the two loops, you cross them, and wrap one loop through the hole formed by the crossing. A blood knot is a trivial extension: you also wrap the second loop through that same hole, only in the other direction. In using this knot on shoes, be they dress shoes or sneakers, for the past decade, it has only come undone on its own twice; but pull the ends, and it falls apart.
One proviso, as with regular bow-tie knots for shoe laces, if one of the laces finds its way through a loop, untying the shoe results in a binding knot that is annoying to undo. With a blood knot, this mistake results in a binding knot that is much more difficult to undo. Consequently, I try to use as small loops as possible, thereby robbing the laces the chance of finding their way through those loops. While small loops would be the bane of a regular bow-tie knot, the blood knot doesn't care--there is simply too much friction with the double loop to easily come undone.
Navigational exercise on boot camp
During our boot camp, we had to do a navigation exercise in early spring. They dropped us off somewhere in the middle of the Niagara Peninsula in pairs (I was paired up with Pte. Peace), and come to think of it, we didn't have radios or cellular phones or anything. Each pair was dropped off at a different location and we were set loose. We had an objective and a number of hours to reach that objective. The first step was to determine where we were, and a particularly interesting vale had a twist that was clearly visible in the contour lines of our map, so that was the first step. We then navigated our way north west towards our goal but were almost immediately stopped by some landowner who insisted we were hunters and she was ordering us to get off her land. I recall both of us opening the breach of our rifles and showing her that we didn't have any ammunition, not even blanks; we stated our purpose there and she cautiously agreed to let us go. We finally got to our destination after which we headed, I recall, through Short Hills park to our pickup.
Mils and milliradians
Most people use degrees for angles: they're easy, as they break the circle into 360 equally spaced units. The problem, however, is that they have absolutely no significance. You could break a circle into 400 units or 600 units (and some countries have) or 17359 units. The only natural way to divide a circle is into radians, where there are 6π radians in a circle. One radian is approximately 57.29578°, so its rather unwieldy, but a milliradian (one thousandth of a radian) is actually quite useful. It turns out that there are approximately 6283.1853 milliradians in a circle, but this is a touch difficult, so the military approximates this by defining there to be 6400 mils in one circle.
The benefit of this is in the application: if you are one milliradian off on a bearing and you travel one kilometer, then you will be exactly one meter to either the left or the right of where you would have been had you been dead on. Therefore, if you are off by one mil, you'll be approximately (but pretty damned close to being) one meter off. This is a consequence of tan(x) = x for very small x, and therefore tan(0.001x) = 0.001x for values of x no greater than 100.
Oddly enough, sniper scopes with "mildots" on the reticle are true milliradians, as a sniper wants the exact 1:1000 ratio.