Back in my military days, water torture was in vogue with the powers that be. One of their favorite torments to run me through was a little game they called Panic In a Drum.
The set up is, they blindfold me, weigh me down with bulky clothes, boots and headgear, then seal me into a metal cylinder about the size of a septic tank. Oh yeah. They also put a squad of panicky enlisted Marines in there with me.
Why are they panicky? They are out of their element. Marines will charge a machine gun nest with a smile on their face, calm as walking through a park. But take away their rifle and submerge them and they get a bit nervous.
If the powers that be are feeling malicious, they’ll tell the Marines that I have the only air hose. And they don’t take away their Kabars.
The next trick is dropping this cylinder in the water, and spinning it a bit. It’s a bit like those front loading washers at the Laundromat. Less detergent, at least.
So their I am, in the dark, underwater, dizzy, listening to the death throes of brave jarheads kicking and scratching each other trying to escape. I try to keep still and out of the way for this part.
When the drowning, proper, has commenced and the thrashing eventually quiets down, it’s a simple matter of pushing aside the corpses and unlatching the hatch that I noted the location of before the lights went out. Easy Peasy. On to the next evolution.
Good thing I am comfortable in the water. Takes more than THAT to kill me.
Actual Waterboarding of people in the military only happens after you pass the Panic In A Drum bit, for the most part.
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