Blackbird Advice: Military Service.


In honour of Remembrance Day or Veterans’ Day, I thought we’d quiz the Blackbird pack about their service in the Royal Marines.

What made you join the military?

Darren: Footie career fell through.

Elaine: Perhaps because you like the talent?

Darren: Oi, fine, why’d you join up?

Elaine: Where else can you legally play with computer security systems?

Josh: I had to make sure the fox didn’t get himself blown the hell up.

Gareth: Rich coming from the bloke who failed to defuse his first explosive in the field.

Josh: Temporary set-back. Why’d you join up?

Gareth: I look damn good in uniform.

Elaine: Wanker.

Gareth: They probably did.

Elaine: Tosser.  So, boss, why’d you join up?

Steve:  Tradition.

Natasha: I did not have a choice in my service.

Lorcan: Followed Ronan into the military.

What was your favourite part of military service?

Elaine: Getting discharged, oh and that one time I knocked Darren on his arse in front of an entire platoon.

Darren: You narky bitch, you promised never to mention it again.

* brief moment were Darren is rapidly reminded why fox’s don’t stand a chance against cougars in shifter form.*

Steve: Could we possibly get through one of these without having to send you all into separate corners?

Josh: No.

Lorcan: At least they’re honest bastards.

Josh: You know, I think I might need a new rabbit’s foot for luck.  Got one to spare?

Lorcan:  Maybe, how many of your balls do you think you need?

Elaine: Don’t do anything, I have to get crisps and a drink to fully enjoy this shit.

Steve: Next question.

Would you enlist again if you could?

Darren:  In a heart beat, I was proud to be in uniform.

Steve:  You join up for different reasons, but you serve for one purpose, to keep yourself, your unit and your country safe.   I’d willing have given my life to do so.

Gareth: Smooth bastard.

I thought we’d end with one of mine and Steve’s favourite poems, well a snippet of it, from In Flander’s Field by John McRae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.





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