The energy efficient lights of the recruitment centre have a way of bleaching out the nuance of a person’s future. For many, the journey into the British Army begins with being asked what role you wish to undertake and then bracing oneself for the BARB test. It is a moment of intellectual triumph for some—they breeze through the logic puzzles and spatial reasoning, their scores soaring high enough to suggest a career in the Intelligence Corps or as a high-level technician. They sit through the introductory lecture, eyes fixed on the sergeant or corporal, or whom,ever it may be at the front, absorbing the tales of camaraderie, discipline, and the visceral thrill of a life lived on the edge. But then comes the medical. The medical assessment is the silent filter of the British military. It doesn’t care about your high BARB scores or your ability to recite the values and standards. It cares about the murmur in your heart, the childhood asthma you thought you’d outgrown, or the way you...
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