What Makes a Base
One of the small but cool things about serving in the Air Force is that unlike the Army, which uses the term ‘camp’, we use the term ‘base’ to represent the place where we live and work in. My dictionary defines ‘camp’ as ‘a place with temporary accommodation of huts, tents, or other structures, typically used by soldiers, refugees, or travelling people.’
The term ‘base’, on the other hand, is defined as ‘a place used as a centre of operations by the armed forces or others; a headquarters.’
Whereas ‘camp’ gives the connotation of non-permanence and refuge, ‘base’ conveys a feeling of belonging and security – the word’s purest definition is that of foundation and support. Of home. Which is why saying ‘I’m heading back to base’ sounds (at least to me) way better than saying ‘I’m heading back to camp’. (Admittedly, it’s also because ‘base’ conjures in my head images of supercool hideouts a la Men in Black and Mission Impossible). Anyway, it’s kind of ironic that Army personnel spend the longest time in their camps, whereas Air Force personnel spend the longest time outside base, owing to the largely office hours working schedules of the latter service (the running joke is that RSAF stands for ‘Rarely Seen After Five’). A swap of terminology, anyone?
So, yes, proclaiming that one works at an airbase is pretty cool. But, what actually makes a base? Is it the grim steel fenceline and all the impenetrable defences that come with it? Is it the annoying sounds of aircraft taking off and landing?
All these are mere embellishments; a shell for the true spirit of a base, or whatever term you want to use for ‘home’. The spirit of a base is its people. It’s the Security Troopers ever ready with their rifles, standing guard against the world outside while you snore peacefully into the night. It’s the superior who grinds you to the bone in work, yet takes the heat when shit hits the fan. It’s the brothers-in-arms who go through the same crap with you every day, who trust you to have their backs and whom you can trust to have yours. It’s that stupid cat who languishes at your doorstep every morning in a smug demonstration of having absolutely nothing in the world to do.
Take away its people, and the base is no longer a base; it’s merely a makeshift camp, another place in a long list of places. An obligation, ready to be cast off when the time comes.
Right now, that spirit is fading, and mine is burning out. ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’, said poet Dylan Thomas. Oh, the candle has burnt out, but it was beautiful and bright while it lasted.
This post is dedicated to those who will be leaving soon: Fine. Take the pink and go, I won’t begrudge the inmate on early release. Our paths will cross again, and we’ll meet each other once again as members of the free world. Whoever said that a base isn’t portable?
–WQ
Image Courtesy of aozoraworld.wordpress.com