The theatre of war

We had lunch the other day with a British soldier friend. A nice civilised Dim Sum before she shipped out to Basra. This was going to be her second tour, having already done a tour in Helmand. Of course we spent a lot of time talking about the war and what it was like out there. Our conversation mainly focused on the fact that you can order Pizza Hut and cappuccinos at the British base in Helmand. That’s pretty rad. You go out on patrol, a bit of shooting, a couple of mortars and then back home to a large Meat Lover’s with extra jalapeños followed by a skinny decaf latte. Who says being in the military doesn’t pay?

There was one other thing that intrigued me even more than the pizza. It was the term our friend used for being in the operational area or war zone. She called it: “being in theatre”. Such a strange turn of phrase. The theatre of war. All sorts of images pop into your mind when you think about it. But one thought really sticks with me — the debt that creativity owes to war. Nothing gets the creative juices flowing like conflict … cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war … you can’t write that about a Tupperware party. Unless they are serving Klipdrift in the coffee. In which case, a skirmish can break out. Margret Fontein from across the road realises that there is only one Slice ‘n Stor™ left in the baby blue and that Susan Koekemoer also has her eye on it. And bam! You got yourself a conflict. Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war! No one stands in the way of Margret Fontein and the storage of her Peppermint Crisp fridge tart. Especially when she is three sheets to the wind on cheap brandy.

Yes, war, in all its forms, is fodder for the cannons of literature. Owen, Sassoon, Vonnegut, Mailer. All soldiers. Their words turned into ink bombs by bloody confrontation. Owen’s Anthem for Doomed Youth. What a title! That’s heavy metal right there. The Naked and the Dead. Slaughterhouse 5. The annuals of war. And some of the best writing the English language has ever seen.

But that’s not what I want to talk about. I wanna go lowbrow. I’m more interested in that gung-ho writing style that is employed by defence departments the world over. Words that appear more suited to a Wrestlemania script rather than a battle plan. For me, that is where the creativity of war comes into its own. In those badass lines of copy that would get a Hollywood screenwriter all sweaty under the collar. The stuff, that when you hear it, you think: Sweet Jesus, did Rambo come up with that name? Because it is totally awesome. And yes, maybe a little bit insane.

Here are some of my favourites. A list of my best war words ever.

Shock and Awe. Yeah baby, can you feel it? Rapid dominance. Overwhelming power. Stupefy the enemy into submission. I love the way the two words work together. A short power word followed by a guttural roar. Bam and uuurgh. Say it to yourself but really put a low rumble on the awe. You can feel the world domination in you. Like the rise of the primal scream, it will move your soul and probably your bowels too. Which is the reason that Sony has trademarked the term. Shock and Awe™ — games, movies, toys coming soon.

The Daisycutter. A seven-ton lawnmower. Cutting massive swathes through fields of flowers, bushes and trees. In fact anything that is standing. Little daisy petals blown away. Leaves scattered in the wind. What a great metaphor for heads and limbs. They only ever made 225 of these bad boys. But its name will live on in countless screenplays and cheap war novels.

The Black Hand. These are the boys who kicked off WWI. A secret Serbian society linked to the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. I can almost forgive them with a name like that. Terrorism meets heavy metal. They should have taken it on tour. Leaders are always worried about how to get the youth involved in politics. I’m sure these guys didn’t have that problem. Black Hand. It’s got chick-magnet written all over it. Who wouldn’t want to join?

Operation Infinite Justice. This was the working title for Desert Storm 2. Infinite Justice — them’s some righteous fighting words. Richard the Lionheart would have been proud. But then they changed it to Operation Enduring Freedom. WTF? This isn’t Band Aid. This is Baghdad! When the troops rolled in there, they didn’t have Bob Geldof on the radio. They were pumping Rob Zombie’s Let the Bodies Hit the Floor through the surround-sound systems of their M1 tanks. And I can tell you now, anyone in a tank listening to Rob Zombie is not thinking about enduring freedom. He is there solely to rain down some infinite justice on his enemy’s ass.

The Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. Aka The Tamil Tigers. When I was a kid I only knew one tiger. Mr Amichand Rajbansi. When he uttered those famous words: The tiger is back! I knew there was something special about this animal. It’s the perfect metaphor for a jungle warrior with the will to survive. Rising up to the challenge of his rivals. The last known survivor stalking his prey in the night. Watching us all with the eye of the tiger. Oh, no, my bad, that was Rocky.

Rolling Thunder. I save this one for last. Like the pork bun at Dim Sum, it’s my personal winner. Rolling Thunder. The world’s longest barrage of air power. Like a rising storm. The dark bank of clouds. The swarm of jet engines. The thunder of ten thousand 10 000lb bombs. Thor would have been proud. These words hit you like a warhammer. Like napalm for breakfast. Rolling thunder has become the rally cry for countless truckers, bikers and rockers who refuse to say die. It’s a wrestler move, an arcade game and a roller coaster at Six Flags. Paul Schrader, writer of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull made it into a film. Rolling Thunder with Tommy Lee Jones. One of Quentin Tarantino’s all-time favourite films. And a nickname I would love to be known by.

Peace Y’all.