Before I get anywhere with the story, I need to do something the Canadian Armed Forces calls "christening the ground" (aka provide context). Basic training for CAF officers is called Basic Military Officer Qualification (BMOQ) which is made up of two modules. Enlisted personnel who make the switch to the dark side without a certain career course known as PLQ (Primary Leadership Qualification) are required to do the second mod. The course itself is roughly equivalent to the American OCS. For the Regular Force folks like myself, this entails returning to the delightful slices of heaven (NOT) known as CFLRS St. Jean and the Farnham training area. I recently graduated from said course (and will receive my commission soon), and frankly I'd rather completely forget the vast majority of what happened on course. That being said, there were some memorable and funny moments.

Our platoon was on our final exercise in Farnham, where we were to have our leadership and planning skills put to the test before we could graduate and receive our commissions. It was all go all the time, with barely enough time for a quick catnap let alone a good night's sleep. As the ex went on (it usually lasts four to five days) and sleep deprivation set in, our brains started acting funny. I wasn't being assessed at the time, simply part of the security detail for the Forward Operating Base (FOB) the platoon called home for the week. Roving patrol on the best of days was dull. Walk the perimeter (made up of concertina wire arranged in a rectangle), keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, and fight off the urge to check your watch and see when your relief is coming.

It was evening, and rain was settling in. I was rounding a corner in the concertina wire fence when I saw a buddy just chilling outside the prefab shelter he was staying in. Seeing that my shift wasn't ending any time soon and that none of the instructors weren't paying any attention to the corner, I decided to stop for a bit and shoot the shit to kill time. I forgot what the conversation was about, but looking back it was probably focused on how miserable we all felt at the time and trying our hardest to laugh at the situation we were caught up in.

Then I blinked and woke up.

Instead of chatting with my buddy, it turns out I had been talking to the shelter's wall the entire time. Not only that, but what I previously thought was dry ground turned out to be a deep puddle that my feet have been soaking in for at least a good dozen minutes. The person I was chatting with was nothing more than something halfway between a dream and a hallucination, with the real deal probably chilling inside the shelter itself. I shook my head, slapped myself awake (or as awake as I can be) and kept on patrolling - now with a pair of thoroughly soaked boots and the misery that came packaged with them.

It wasn't the only time my sleep-deprived brain played tricks on me during that course, but it was definitely the most memorable one.