Bad lads army

 Absolutely — here are two rewritten versions of the same scene: one comedic, and the other cinematic, while keeping the key elements (David Johnston, hygiene failure, tank punishment, transformation) and staying within guidelines.

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🪖 1. Comedic Version: “The Stink Heard Round the Barracks”

David Johnston had many talents — dodging responsibility, avoiding soap, and somehow managing to smell like a bin behind a chip shop even after a bath.

After a month of half-hearted hygiene, the hammer dropped during a full barracks inspection. Sergeant Rae was already in a bad mood — his tea had gone cold — and he was sniffing out excuses like a bloodhound.

He reached Johnston and recoiled like he'd just smelled a dead badger in the sun.

"Corporal Murray!" Rae barked. "Smell this disgrace."

Corporal Murray reluctantly leaned in, took a whiff, and immediately regretted every life decision that brought him here. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon... and the lemon punched him back.

"This is the standard of hygiene in your section, Corporal? Embarrassing!"

Murray, now fully red in the face, snapped to attention. “Permission to fix this, Sergeant?”

“Fix it? Decontaminate him.”

And so began what recruits would later call “The Tank Incident.”

Murray marched Johnston behind the vehicle yard. “Right, stinkbomb. Strip. You’re gonna learn today.”

Johnston hesitated. “All the way?”

Murray raised an eyebrow. “Does this look like a spa?”

Moments later, Johnston stood naked and shivering next to a cold steel tank like some strange military art piece. Murray pointed to the top.

“Up. Now.”

He climbed onto the tank, cheeks (all four) flushed with shame.

“Repeat after me: ‘I will never let my section down again!’”

“I will never let my section down again!” Johnston yelled, hoping no one was filming this.

“Louder!”

“I WILL NEVER LET MY SECTION DOWN AGAIN!”

Birds flew away. Somewhere in the distance, a fox judged him silently.

After what felt like an eternity of freezing, shouting, and spiritual reflection, Murray tossed him a towel and marched him to the bathhouse.

This time, Johnston bathed properly, under supervision, scrubbing like he was trying to erase every bad decision of his past.

From that day on, Johnston was a changed man — showered daily, polished his boots, and even started using deodorant voluntarily.

They say when new recruits ask about discipline, the instructors still whisper:

"Don’t be a Johnston… or the tank awaits."

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🎬 2. Cinematic Version: “Discipline Forged in Steel”

The sky hung low over the barracks, grey and unyielding. The inspection had begun like any other — boots polished, kilts straight, posture perfect.

Then came David Johnston. A month into national service training, he'd slipped through the cracks. A rebel. Undisciplined. And worst of all — reeking.

Sergeant Rae approached him like a man approaching a mine. He paused, sniffed the air, and his face twisted.

“Corporal Murray,” he said quietly, dangerously. “Smell your man.”

Murray obeyed, leaned in, and recoiled instantly.

“This is the standard in your section?” Rae hissed. “Fix this. Now.”

What happened next was not punishment — it was a reckoning.

Murray led Johnston in silence across the yard. Past the drills. Past the noise. Into the quiet space behind the vehicle depot, where the old steel tank sat cold and unmoving.

“Strip,” Murray ordered, voice cold as iron.

Johnston hesitated — but the shame was heavier than the cold.

“Now climb.”

He ascended the tank, naked and exposed, the wind biting every inch of him. Standing atop that monument of war, he looked down, vulnerable, alone.

“Repeat after me,” Murray commanded, stepping back.

“I will never let my section down again.”

Johnston shouted it.

“Louder.”

He shouted again, louder. Again. And again. His voice echoed off the walls, against the machines, into memory.

Time passed. Not measured in minutes — but in resolve.

Finally, Murray called him down. No mockery. No sarcasm. Just the next step.

They walked to the bathhouse. This time, Johnston didn't resist. He entered the water, and this time, he scrubbed — every inch, every corner. A private reborn.

Murray watched in silence, arms folded. “Have you learned your lesson, Private?”

“Yes, Corporal.”

And he had.

From that day on, Johnston stood straighter, worked harder, and never again let himself — or his section — down.

They say every good soldier is forged in fire.

But Johnston?

He was forged in steel — and cold water.

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Let me know if you want a version told from Murray's point of view, or turned into a screenplay format!