One thing I’ve learned from “itinerant soldiering” is, respect the Big Things that can kill you — but they’re pretty easy to learn. VIN’s — Very Insistent Neanderthals with stripes on their sleeves — pound them into your gourd in training. It’s the little things — I mean, sorta little teensy things — which you have to pick up the hard way, and missin’ ’em comes with a hefty price tag. I know. I’ve paid.

Some time back, I mentioned a DoD “colloquy” I attended. It was all about Millennium Warfare thus-an’-so, Techno-Battlespace foofarrah, Cyber-Combative mumpfubble, and assorted sophisticated swizzle studded with multi-syllable buzz words. When the subject of “characteristics of a successful soldier” came around the table, there was a lot of talk about “ability to digitally interface with,” an’ “psycho-socio-political sumthin’ ’r ’nuther. It was so fascinating I wasn’t listening, bein’ busy trying to snag the dessert pudding from the dude next to me. From his sheer girth, I digitally cyber-reckoned he didn’t need it. Then they got to me.

When I responded that three important characteristics of a professional soldier included the ability to sleep anywhere anytime, a zinc-lined cast-iron digestive tract, and a Superman-strong immune system, the circle went silent. What I’d said didn’t contain a single reference to microchips, cyber-spatial-anything, or “millennium.” Only a few kindred cavemen — guys with dinged domes, ropy scars and pre-busted noses — smiled and nodded. They knew the truth: If you can’t drop off to dreamland with a blender fulla silverware next to your noggin, eat rocks and pass gravel, and shrug off the odd virulent virus or bad-boy bug that comes along, you ain’t gonna survive long enough to be a “professional soldier,” no matter how techno-tactically cyber-digitally-interfaced you are. “Little things,” or “forgotten things,” but sometimes, potentially deadly things.

Many of you have written since then, asking what other useless info-kibbles I might have. For your dining & dancing pleasure, herewith, a few tidbits that weren’t covered in Boot Camp:

Slivers, Saline & SuperBlokUp

Two-thirds of the Third World is made of slivers and splinters. Smooth, finished carpentry is not a hallmark of countries whose names end in “stan” or with a little-used consonant. In the Second and fringie First World countries, drifts and windrows of splinters are created by the passage of high-velocity rifle rounds, automatic cannon, bombs and other novelties — and they’re all contaminated with something vile. A soldier without a Sliver-Gripper tweezer and a magnifying glass is just some miserable dude with a rifle and blood poisoning. A soldier with one is a rock star in his platoon. “Little things,” ya know? Think about the most painful, irritating splinter you ever had, multiply by twelve or ‘leventy-nine, and imagine the impact on your combat effectiveness.

Last thing considered, first thing needed — Saline solution for flushing out eyes, nose and ears. Somebody really oughtta report “war” to OSHA, ’cause combat zones always seem to be smoky, dusty, gritty an’ stinky! Don’t they realize that creates a hostile work environment? I wanta know who took all the sand in Iraq, micro-pulverized it, mixed it with dirty talcum powder an’ started blowin’ it around? Eye and nose flush should seem an obvious need, but how ‘bout this? After one return from WhereZitStan, I wound up in a clinic having a pound of pumice oil-flushed out of my ear canals. The Doc said he could sand his kitchen table with it. Heck, I’d thought I was going deaf …

Worth more than money — ’cause you can’t stop the GreenApple Quickstep with cash. Well, maybe you could, but it would be painful and messy. Have you ever seen a war movie where the hero-types are creepin’ along all ninja-tactical when one guy stops with a pained expression, crossin’ his legs, an’ the others wrinkle up their noses and say, like, “Dude! Was that you? In yer trous, man? Disgusting!”? I guess it’s too real for Hollywood — but diarrhea still takes more troops off the line in battle than hostile action. The professional soldier packs, at minimum, a foil packet of two dozen anti-diarrhea meds, like Maximum Strength StikkaCorkInnit. That’s 12 for yourself, and a dozen to trade for just about anything you want, including a Makarov pistol, an ex-Panzer Zundapp KS 750 motorcycle with sidecar, or two crates of oranges — true deals, dudes …

The “oxen options” are limited — In a combat zone, if any member of the oxen family, especially water buffalo or gaur, is moving — no matter in what direction or at what distance — he’s about to charge, gore and stomp you into a human mudhole, then walk it dry. If he’s not movin’, he’s thinkin’ about charging you. Some say it’s because they’re irritated by heat, parasites, or gunshot noise. Wrong. I say they’re just mean. And forget that puny 5.56mm M16 — you don’t wanta make him mad. Run. Hide!

If you work with camels — and one of ’em gets ticked off with you, first, you’ll know it. Second, don’t think you can beat ’em in a spittin’ and kickin’ contest. Third, you could shoot ’em and they’d still hate you — and get you, somehow. Just take off all your clothes, every stitch, and dump ’em in front of Humpy. He — or worse, she — will devil-dance upon, shred, an’ frequently piddle ’midst yer duds as a parting shot. It’s an old camel-jockey trick, and it works. Five minutes later, you’re pals again, with matching fragrances. The only good part is, you can eventually get a divorce from your ill-tempered “life partner” without an expensive lawyer.

Not The Eyes

Look for long, hairy toes — but they ain’t “proof positive.” When American troops encounter someone wearing a burqa, they naturally focus on the eye slot. Humans always try to make eye contact, even if that person is wearing a squad-size tent. A smart soldier looks lower, to see if there’s too much ankle hangin’ out, and the feet are size 12-EEEs with hairy toes. See, most burqas are cut for about a 240-pound woman standing 5'4", tops; not a skinny 6' insurgent dude with a ZZ Top beard and an armory under his skirts.

See? Little teensy things … Maybe I’ll write a little teensy book about ’em.

(You can write little teensy e-mails to Connor at TheOddAngryShot@yahoo.com — Use little teensy words — The Editor)