In the 1990s, unmanned vehicles and robots became a focus of military research. Advances in miniaturisation made them small and tough to detect. New software made them smarter. Networking made it possible for them to be continuously remote-controlled in real-time.
Apart from aerial surveillance and bombing, which are common unmanned aerial applications, robot infantry has become very popular in Iraq-Afghanistan. These science fictional entities are employed for various dirty, dangerous jobs such as bomb disposal and for carrying ammunition and supplies, as well as for terrain-mapping. They’re expensive but replacing a robot costs much less than replacing a trained soldier.
There is one specific dirty, dangerous task for which robots are never used: removing wounded or dead soldiers. No army with any sense of pride wants to leave its dead behind. It’s instinctive for soldiers to carry bodies even during full-fledged retreats. In fact, many long-drawn battles and sieges have figured periods of ceasefire arranged for the specific purpose of retrieving corpses.
Most human beings also feel very squeamish at the thought of watching a wounded comrade dying in the mechanical claws of a retrieval robot. Apart from that, it’s difficult to develop software so fine-tuned in judgement that it can distinguish between a mortally wounded soldier and one who is severely wounded but capable of survival.
Hence, soldiers still risk their lives trying to save wounded comrades or to retrieve remains rather than opt for a high-tech option. Every army medical corps of any standing has taken more than its fair share of casualties in this cause. Those brave men and women are rightly mentioned in dispatches and citations, and are lauded for their courage and humanity.
In the aftermath of serious disasters, rescue services personnel and paramedics often display similar courage and devotion to duty. When there is a fire, firemen might risk their lives to get strangers out. Ditto with a house collapse.
In the aftermath of a terrorist incident or a battle, the scale usually goes up. Hundreds of firemen risked their lives and many died at the World Trade Centre after 9/11. The scale of rescue operations after something like an earthquake or a tsunami beggars description. So does the danger to rescue personnel.
One can’t quantify courage very easily — after all, the greatest sacrifice any person can make is their own life. But scale and timeframe do make a difference. Thousands of people risk their lives repeatedly, for days or weeks at a time, after a major tsunami or earthquake.
Everybody around the world was pleased to hear about the miraculous rescue of two buried survivors in Japan, nine days later. Reading between the lines, it means that rescue workers were still risking their lives nine days later, in search of miracles. Their efforts continue and it will have been one endless round of heartbreak and tragedy for the men and women sifting through the rubble, as the miracles become increasingly unlikely and the toll mounts.
An even more inspiring example of cold-blooded courage was displayed by the workers at the Fukushima nuclear plant. Some 50 of them stayed on to battle the meltdown and somehow, between them, they’ve helped bring the situation under control. They risked death by fire and poison gas, and by an invisible agent that’s even more dangerous. They may not know for years to come whether they have actually absorbed enough radiation to kill them slowly and painfully.
Men have written countless songs in praise of soldiers who have died bravely and gloriously in battle. No one to my knowledge has ever written songs praising the ordinary, everyday, mundane courage displayed by firemen, or emergency paramedics, or perish the thought, nuclear workers. Perhaps, nobody ever will.
