[CENTER][B]Amsterdam, Summer of 1982[/B][/CENTER] 
What a pile of paper it was. Five years ago, Hendrik received the call-up. Just coming out of the paper mountain of getting into university, he now had to fill even more forms. Phone calls, bureaucracy, and a painful hand are the necessary sacrifices for getting into university, and the exemption from conscription for the next four years. But four years later, Hendrik was finished with university, a Doctor of Law, and had no excuse to stay out of service. “Wat mot, dat mot.” Hendrik said, giving his mother a hug. Mrs. Maarschalkerweerd was proud of her son, but at the same time sad to see him leave. “Kijk goed uit, jongen. Het is een linke boel in Duitsland.” After he let her go, Hendrik’s father gave him a pat on the back. “Maak er het beste van, jongen, maar beloof me dat je schrijft. Toen ik d’r was had je rare pannelappen, je moet wel zeggen of dat veranderd is.” “Doe ik, pa. Maar ik ben laat!”, Hendrik said as he collected his bike keys. He quickly went to get his bike and went off on the bike ride. Down the Prinsengracht, to the Sarphatistraat, and down to the zoo. Opposite of that there was a large building, and there were the barracks. Upon turning right onto the sidewalk, a car nearly hit Hendrik, prompting him to ask the driver if he had a surplus chromosome. Arriving on the sidewalk intact, he chained his bike to a street light and entered the barracks.

It was still early in the morning when Hendrik’s medical inspection was due. Considering the nature of this inspection and the partially-personal questionnaire, a doctor who wasn’t interested in feminine beauty had landed a good job. And later the “Idiot test” was due. It was obvious why it was called that, since a kindergartener would be bored there. “What number is missing from the sequence 1 – 3 – 5 – 9?”. When it all ended, Hendrik was glad it was a one-time thing. Two weeks later the result was in right after the match: After the General Military Skills training, he would be in his favoured position: Tank gunner! A few weeks later, it was time. Spectacles, testicles, watch and wallet. It was getting colder rapidly, so he brought his Ajax Amsterdam scarf with him. Training was harsh in this weather, but nothing a man couldn’t handle. GMS training was done with no extraordinary effort, and the armour training went well too. After completing both, he was shipped off to Seedorf, West Germany, to serve with the 41st Armoured Batallion.

[CENTER][B]Rotterdam, Summer of 1982[/B][/CENTER] 
In a Rotterdam-Zuid flat building, a very different situation was developing. Looking for something to eat, Thomas was rather disgruntled not to find any. Deciding to act like a man of eightteen years, he put on a tracksuit and trainers, grabbed a tenner and keys, and went out of the door where he ran into his father.

“Waar ga je, Tom?” 
“Open ruggetje halen. Hoezo?” 
“Pak wat uit de koelkast, man!” 
“Zit een echo in.” 
“Niet zo Gronings, wat ben je aan het sjouwen?” 
“Ik gaat knagen, niet naar de rooie gordijnen.” 
“Nou, skwibus dan.” 
Tom went on his way and his father inside. Upon finding an array of letters on the doormat, he angrily shouted after him, but he didn’t care. He went to eat and when he came back, he found his father sitting in his chair, with his mother and sisters next to him. “Je gaat in dienst.”, his father said, followed by Tom’s oldest sister immediately bursting in to call dibs on his room. “Heb ik ‘Koor invallen’ geroepen, zijkwijf?!”, Tom shouted back as he turned to his father. “Ik hebt nog liever dat een paard me schopt! Ik heb toch niets te zoeken bij de Bokkeslingers?”. This outburst wasn’t received well by his father. “Kijk me aan, eikel. Jij gaat naar die keuring, daar kom jij langs, en jij gaat in dienst. Als jij het vergalt, dan sla ik je door het huis heen. Heb je dat begrepen?!” The counter-outburst scared him. For a moment. When the big day arrived, Tom had not eaten properly for a month and got a mate of him so far to supply him a sheep to bring there. Looking pale, weak, stumbling and walking a sheep over to the Van Ghentkazerne. It didn’t work, as it was blatantly obvious het ried to get out from under it. Finally accepting his fate, he returned the sheep, ate, and did his training well and ended up as the loader of a tank.

[CENTER][B]Basepohl, East Germany, Summer of 1983[/B][/CENTER] 
But the most different life of all was Wolfgang. Unlike the other two, who were relatively affluent and apolitical at best, he was born poor, which made him a devoted socialist. His ideology gave him quick access to the biggest booster for job applications in the GDR: membership in the SED. Following politics, he also pursued his dream of flying by joining the Luftstreitkräfte der NVA at an early age as a volunteer, instead of waiting for the call to arms. The ideological basis was a sound one for him to develop his skills on as an air force volunteer, and he was quick to gain access to the Mi-24D with the finest pilots in the LSK in the Adolf von Lützow squadron.. His parents were proud, the neighbourhood was proud, the party was proud, and Wolfgang himself was proud too. The Hind was a beast of a helicopter, and this modernised version would do well to protect the power of the workers and peasants!

[CENTER][B]Seedorf barracks, November 10th of 1983[/B][/CENTER] 
The sphere in the basement was great. Officially a bomb shelter, it was used as a snackbar. It was normally filled to the brim with the soldiers eating deep-fried snacks, pizzas, and drinking dirt-cheap beer. But this was not the case this evening, as tomorrow a training was scheduled. At 0230 the brigade was expected to rise and shine before rushing to Bergen-Hohne. While most went to bed on time, Thomas had the brilliant idea to eat and drink just before going to bed. While it suited him, Hendrik wasn’t as thrilled with this and angrily stormed down. “Zeg kluiveduiker, we moeten morgen om half drie op zijn!”

“Neem een pilletje, trekgeit.”
“’Neem een pilletje’?! We motten godverdomme morgen vroeg op, en jij zit hier met een berenlul en een lel bier! Meekomme, pannelap!”
“Moet je d’r een op je broodmolen, NSB’er?!”
“Maak die slaapmuts af en kom kofferen, da’s alles. We moeten morgen in Bergen-Hohne wezen.”
“Bergen-Hohne? Daar is Anne Frank toch ’t hoekie om gegaan?” 
“Kom nou gewoon op tijd.”
“Ja hoor, Pisvlek.”, Thomas said as he finished his beer, ate his Kroket, and walked over the courtyard to the sleeping quarters. In a last attempt to annoy Hendrik, he shouted “Hand in Hand, Kameraden!”, the club song of Feyenoord, before he entered the barracks. A string of insults later, the two went to sleep, with Hendrik looking forward more eagerly to the training than Thomas.

[Hider=Translation of dialogue – I insist on it being in Dutch because Dutch.]
“Gotta do what you gotta do”
“Watch out, boy. Germany’s a dangerous place”
“Make the best you can out of it, kid, but don’t forget to write. When I was there you had rather crazy people, and you have to tell me whether or not that has changed”
“I’ll do that, dad, but I’m late!”

“Where are you going, Tom?”
“Getting an open back[Frikandel speciaal], why?”
“Don’t act like a Groninger[mysterious], where are you going?”
“I’m going to eat, not to the red drapes.”
“On your bike, then.”

“You’re going into the service.”
“Did I shout ‘Choir: fall in’?”
“I’d rather get kicked by a horse! I’ve got no business with the Bokkeslingers![Marines]”
“Look at me, dickweed. You’re going to the examination, you’re going to pass it, and you’re going into service. If you try to fuck your medical up, I’ll punch you into every corner of the house. Clear?”

“Hey bone-diver[asshat], we have to be up at half past two tomorrow!”
“Take a pill, you goat”
“Take a pill? We have to be up early and you’re sitting here with a bear dick[Kroket] a pint! With me, you fool!”
“Want one on your gob, NSB’er[NSB was the Dutch nazi party]?!” 
“Just finish this one and come to bed because we have to be in Bergen-Hohne tomorrow morning”
“Bergen-Hohne? That’s where Anne Frank died, right?”
“Just be on time tomorrow. “
“Sure, piss stain”[/hider]