Hill of Lamentation, milanese soldier.

Hill of Lamentation, milanese soldier.

Today I'm going to tell you a story that happened to me. To do a better understanding, we need to go back in time, to the year 2008, when I was serving in the military. That year before I was promoted to Corporal, I went through a basic training camp where it was exactly 3 days of instruction. Generally, these trainings are very exhausting periods in which we have to perform several tasks and we are evaluated both psychologically and physically, it is not easy.

This story takes place in an instruction where we have to go through a path with the most varied obstacles possible, crawling through mud and barbed wire over our heads, climbing some slippery ravines and other things…

There is a military dilemma that your rifle is your responsibility, it can be your wife, your right hand man or whatever you prefer to call it, you should never, EVER take your eyes off of it. Along this route there are some older soldiers on watch, waiting for an opportunity to take your rifle away from you in a moment of distraction, so we had to be very careful.

At the end of the first stage, the first comic moment happened, well, comic now that they are just stories but at the time it was suffered. There was a small stream with the edges of sand very similar to a beach and there was a sergeant giving commands to us, milanese soldiers. What happened was this: we had to go into the water to get wet and then roll on the sand to become the breaded soldiers. It was very uncomfortable to do so, but the sergeant's laughter suggested not.

After that, the breaded soldiers were released to complete the last part of the obstacle course. At this point, I was all skinned where the operating belt grated. I had no choice, I leaned my rifle against a tree to shake myself and remove all the sand that was hurting me. That's when I got a bazooka. A soldier who was on the lookout took advantage of my brief distraction to take my rifle, after which my rifle was replaced by a log, the dreaded bazooka.

That wasn't all, after finishing all the remaining course with my newest 'weapon', we headed to the 'playpen'. Chiqueirinho is what the place where the soldiers who finished their instruction were called was called, this name was given because it was a fenced place and with dirty and smelly people due to the route. After everyone had completed the briefing, the lieutenant in charge asked me where my rifle was and I told him what happened. At that moment he pointed his finger at the fearsome hill of lamentation and said:

Does the soldier know where his rifle is? Up there, go get it!

I knew the rifle wasn't there and that was a way to punish me and also to have fun and he didn't miss the opportunity. Mourning Hill was a hill as its name says but the detail that it was very steep and high, great for mourning. After I was almost to the top, I heard the lieutenant scream!

"Soldier! Your rifle is here, oh"

And he raised the rifle so I could see, but at that moment they shouted from behind:

"It's a miracle"

Everyone laughed.

And that was my greatest experience with Wailing Hill.

Image taken from google to illustrate the story. Below is a photo of when I was a soldier.

My topography team that will always be remembered in my memories