Miles happened to be conducting bilge pumping drill one evening during happy hour, (an inevitable by-product of being first off the mark when the PMCs shout hits the mahogany).He chanced to overhear a couple of the fresher-faced members Of the brethren, (ie those who still only have to shave on a weekly basis) prattling on.

This pair, whilst preening themselves in front of the mirrors, were waxing eloquent about their place in the grand scheme of things. I was perturbed that they seemed to have assumed that without too much effort on their part they could anticipate an effortless rise to martial stardom via a number of well allowanced overseas posts interspersed with some very comfortable billets back in Godzone.

Rather alarmingly I noted frequent reference to their ambitions to becoming tagged as being "men of spirit" a definition that a decade or so ago I recall explicating on in some detail in an early edition of that repository of prose, The Army Journal. In those simpler times of nearly free rations and quarters, 30 plus days of PA leave per annum and a guaranteed trip to FARELF every other year it was easier to put labels on people.

The military tribe then seemed to fall into four well-defined classes. Men of spirit, thrusters, throttleheads and harried herberts. Alas it would appear that there has been some genetic mutations and we now have to increase the sub species.

As time passed by so attitudes have been changed. The simple sixties, (beer at three and sixpence a jug), and the superb seventies (everyone on the pill but well before some spoil sport discovered Aids), have been overtaken by the excruciating eighties, (Equity Corp, Iron Maiden and Project Kupe), followed by the nauseous nineties, (accrual accounting, talk back radio and AAMS).

The last decade of paranoia has also been marked by the Rogernomics and the losses of the World Cup(s) with the consequence that a pervading air of despair and gloom infests the place. It is time to remind ourselves of who we are, as a minor benefice to the multitude of acolytes that deign to read these tightly composed epistles.

I have reviewed the classification of military types and thrown in a few of the new sub species that have floated to the surface for your edification.

Feel good Freddies, or Fredas, (FGF)
A more recent phenomena, these are the people who recoil from any sort of confrontation and only want everything and everyone to be "nice" each other. Their appearance within the ranks has coincided with the out-break of political correctness that currently afflicts the realm.

They thrive in this environment that is carefully designed to ensure we spend our days in a perpetual state of catastrophic guilt. The FGFs always make strenuous efforts to avoid hurting anyone's feelings.

Crisis point is reached when they have to complete a some-body's annual report. After 365 days of inept leadership, on their part, they are flummoxed by having to detail the horoscope of one of the underachievers under their command. Being incapable of telling the harsh truth to anyone, they will take the ever easy copout and write up their prize scrota a glowing commendation. They are hoping that someone further up the feeding chain will do the right thing.

Unfortunately this sort of cowardice results in people not being told of their deficiencies, (and therefore not being given a chance to rectify them).

A 'fundamental truth" would be that most of the courts martial that occur are the result of people failing to observe, report on and check their subordinates early enough so they can be prevented from getting into the clag.

These FGF persona should never have joined the military in the first place, they, and the world, would have been far safer if they had stayed with being car park shopping trolley patrollers for Pack and Save.

Drift netting Donalds and Donnas (DNDs)
These are the people that have the aspirations to become corporate heroes but lack the talent and, more importantly, the guts. However they have a keen eye for the main chance and that uncanny ability to spot a comfort zone for themselves at a thousand metres on a dark, wet and windy night.

Well they would except that these sorts of saprophytes would never be out on a dark, wet and windy night in the first place. They would instead have twigged that there was some uncomfortable training coming up and would have sought leave to attend a "Transcultural Workshop for Deprived Puerto Rican Bone Carvers" well before D Day. This while the rest of his/her troops were left stood to in Zone 17 for a week dug in snow up to their knees.

These individuals, in no circumstances will they ever display even the slightest affinity to team-work, focus all their efforts on securing a comfortable billet well away from the difficult parts of soldiery, eg which they perceive as being in the company of troops.

They will never ever be seen anywhere near the LSV Coy, the blood donors' tent, on the paddock for the Officers Vs NCOs thugby game or visiting the NOK when one of the team is hospitalised or worse. No, these vermin feel more comfortable warming their glutei in front of the fire "must have someone back at home base doing the C3 stuff' after having dispatched their hard pressed troops out to West Lawn in a mid July storm on an SAR task.

You will be able to identify this type of ballast early on in your career, principal distinguishing characteristics are:

• A propensity to time their arrival at happy hour in synchronisation with the PMC's shout and to ensure their departure from the bar precedes their turn to decorate the mahogany. These are the folk that try to bring doggy bags to the buffet;
• A cunning to worm their way onto the Long Look contingent at short notice and to be at every nebulous out of town conference that they can coat tail onto;
• A mysterious absence from duties when there is a command parade that needs to be bulled up for;
• The ability to develop a crippling injury 30 seconds before the start of a rugger game against the Ohakune Neanderthals, "Sorree chaps - the old hammy just twinged again" they will cry as they do a smart 180 back into the changing rooms. This having discovered the opposition front row are all on day release and seem to be froth-ing unduly at their mouths;
• A talent for not being at their place of work any time before 0800, make that 0830 at any formation HQ, or after 1630.
• Wednesday afternoons are also sacrosanct.

They are easily identified as they tend to bellow when asked to speak. They seem to spend their time on permanent transmit - this being their principal method of forcing their opinions onto other people.

These gentry will be prepared to take casualties in pursuit of their individual dreams, be warned it may be you that becomes one of these casualties. This is because to a Thruster his peers are just another fascine to be dropped into any gap that may appear in their career path. Thus they can use you as a stepping stone on their way on-ward and upward. It is hopeless to work with them since if they are not in charge then they sulk and wont work fr anyone else.

Even if left in command they will spend so much time trying to organise folk they will never have time to consider the job in hand. If the chance arises to poke a stick thru the spokes on their wheelbarrow they don't fail to take it.

Harried Herberts
Another species are the "Harried Herberts". From the time they joined the colours they have been in a state of panic. They spend most of their time secluded in their offices feeding their ulcers, a jolly good thing too since their perpetual panic means they sweat like horses and being downwind can be an affront on the notrils.

These guys are as much use as a deck hand on a submarine, they sink fast and when going down have a nasty habit of dragging others with them. Unlike the DNDs they will be work all day and night agonising over all sorts of trivia and drivel.

In most cases of Harried Herbertness you will find a stronger personality lurking in the background. This is usually the distaff side of the house who have wildly. optimistic views of their partners ability and prospects within the firm. Their ambition to have young Jeremy fast tracking to fame and fortune will ensure he has a life of utter misery.

You need to steer well clear of these dummies. Don't feel sorry for them. The sooner they realise that they are wasting their, and our, time impersonating a soldier the better off we will all be.

Specialist officers
We must of course consider that other martial aberration, the Specialist Officer with Burning ambition, SOB.
These chaps are not satisfied with their natural place in the scheme of things, teaching basic Maths and English to Intake 278.

Having been granted a wild card entrant into our midst they have decided that their true vocation is to become a gladiator without the minor discomforts of 12 months at OCS, two years of confusion and terror as a YO and four years purgatory as SO3 (Pub) on a Staff HQ.

The SOBs will have had their tactical skills honed up by five year's rnembership of the Military History Book Club and a few well thumbed copies of Soldier of Fortune. Reinforced with a double major in Strategic Studies and Geo Economics from the Franklin Mint they can be utterly ruthless once they have got their boot across your throat, hell hath no fury like an academic who thinks he can put one across you.

Do not turn your back on them, they do have considerable strengths when it comes to number crunching and in word-smithing the odd document into a semblance of SD discipline. They can make sound No 2s being particular smart out knocking out the odd 5000 word missive on PTDS. However if granted any latitude they will adopt airs well above their station - keep 'em in check, if they get out of hand a smart one liner such' as "The only Battle Honour the Chalkie Corps ever won was the 1945 General Election" is a useful reminder of their place.

Throttleheads
Be wary my child of Military Throttleheads. Despite the expensive efforts of the "trick cyclists" and all the other people that open and close the doors to a military career there are still some who sneak through and make life a misery.

These folk tend to be physically hyperactive, compensation for the lack of neuronal activity within their swedes I would suspect. Norman F Dixon wrote some pithy words on them in his masterpiece "The Psychology of Military Incompetence" and its sequel, "Our Own Worst Enemy".

Generally speaking most people will make the odd mistake, these clots make everything into a mistake. Take note if someone in your domain is constantly cocking up, then maybe they need another career option, if they wanna be in uniform then there are all sorts of alternatives, MOT traffic cops used to be a good one, these days parking wardens or Justice Department heavies may be suitable.

If the military throttlehead gets into any position of responsibility then life becomes very tedious for those around him.

In more robust days the standard drill was that hallowed procedure known as "fragging".

Not in much favour these days. Unfortunately forensic science has now reached the point where informal methods of "terminating with prejudice" the careers of the witless has all sorts of barbs. DNA testing and modern ballistics research make it harder to take direct action. Even the milder forms of corrrective activitv such as the old "stepping around the back" with the platoon sergeant or section corporal are no longer deemed to be sanctioned.

Today the best method of removing these effluvia is by more subtle techniques, unfounded allegations of vile crimes seem to work, a favoured technique for minor political demagogues. A few whispers of paedophillia, plagiarism of staff papers or wife battering may suffice. Otherwise cut the vermin's brake hydraulics on happy hour night.

Mud guard Mervyns / Myras
These insects are noted for their tireless efforts to "look right". Alas, as the classification indicates, they are bright and shiny on top but usually shite covered underneath.

Appearance is critical to them, function oft ignored, after all it is far more important to be prancing about the parade ground with a cute little leather covered twig nestled in your armpit than to be in your office wading through 125As.

The key indicators of these folk are to be found in their personal accoutrements. A quick staff check that shows the suspect has all or some of the following characteristics is a definite heads up as to their real worth.
Watch out for any individual who some or all of the following:
 

• Has an ABFLEXERCISE device in his wardrobe obtained from watching infomercials on TV3;
• Possesses a Jap imported Honda Prelude or worse, with twin dips ticks, high compression paint and a sound system capable of lighting up Def Leppard at Western Springs;
• Wears military kit procured by mail order from SOF / Silvermans / Herbert Johnsons; Shops at Coun-try Road, Mr Sergios, The Shoe Connection and Kirks; Drinks Sambucca with tonic;
• Is always seen beside the Rugger paddock exhorting on the hard pressed players who are suf-fering grievous bodily harm at the hands of the mongoloids of the Kirwi Seniors. Note that Merv will never be seen on the paddock himself - "dickey knee old boy, never came right after the trials for Southern Zone", implying a star whose rise to sporting glory was cruelly cut short;
• Has a disconnected Benny Rumble cell phone lodged ostentatiously in his pocket;
• Can tell you the price of a heinie at Shed Five or Cm Cm on Quay but couldn't tell you when he ever last volunteered for a job on the Mess Committee.

Well aware there is little real competition about they are usually generous with their knowledge and skills.
The bulk of these chaps attended the slow learner's course at RMC and graduated as Hoddle St Hussars. You will find them monopolising the telephone with STD calls to their stockbrokers. Can be recognised at a distant their penchant for wearing "Herbie Js" and barbour jackets.

There will be a pathetic few that try to ape them, usually easy to identify since they will lack either a gold card or a partner called Penelope. Children of God are nice to be with, there is always the chance for reflected glory and the opportunity for vicarious thrills that can be obtained when moving in the orbit of the movers and shakers of the world. Just go easy on the brown nosing most of 'em can detect insincere adulation though they will never turn down the offer of gratis sherbert.

Men and women of spirit
Fortuitously there still remains a cohort of people that can be truly regarded as belonging to this category.
Their intentions are more or less honourable, they will help you with their specialist knowledge where they can and tell you when they cannot. Individually they may not be the brightest stars in the firmament.

Their principal characteristics are:

• They never ask someone to do something they aren't prepared to do themselves; They never transfer the blame, "it's not my fault we have to put on a quarter guard on Easter Monday, it's "them" from HQ who can't get their shite together", preferring instead to get on with the job in hand in the tidiest manner possible;
• They are prepared to listen to other peoples opinions, but equally prepared to make their own decisions and to, (most important), stick by them and take responsibility for the end results;
• They are prepared to not only show loyalty to their leaders and their peers, but also are prepared to show a far more difficult loyalty, that being to those who are their subordinates;
• They also let their people get on with their work having the wit to know that if you aren't prepared to trust your subordinates then sure as hell they will be only too happy to let you do everything for them;
• They will know the names of their soldiers and have an awareness of their aspirations. When asked about Cpl Bloggs they will be able to represent him fairly and without equivocation. At the same time they will know that Harry might have a couple of problems on the home front and will be able to find a sound reason to leave him off the next scheme so he can be where he needs to be;
• They will have had the guts to tell the ever enduring Cpl Blumsky that he is a jolly good fellow and that he has reached his ceiling.
• At the same time he won't perjure himself by writing falsehoods about the man in an effort to get him "Branded" for export;
• They will also have the presence to check the idiot who is trying to prove to all and sundry what a great person he is by bastardising all those he has authority over;
• They will readily swap a duty, help with some wheels; look after your offspring, feed your mutts and aid your partner when you are out of town, whether it be for six days or six months;
• When the chips are down, it's 0400 hours, the lights are low, the atmosphere smoky and the grape and grain have been imbibed to the full. At this point the patrons of the "Golden Dragon" are about to impose physical retribution on your miserable hide for all the sins of the colonial oppression.

You can rest assured that if you find yourself in the circumstances described in the above "chips are down" para above then there is faint chance that any of the other eight types of rnilitaire personages I have described in this epistle will be around to help you out.

Think about it one day it may be worse than a dust up in down Penang or the car park of the Rolly and you might need all the help you can get.

If you are fortunate you will find yourself in the company of the MOS, the companionship they will offer will get you through the bad times because they will share that burden with you. When there are good times they will also be around to make the most of the moment.

In fact it is the companionship of these people that will give most of you a fundamental reason to continue in the service.