Posted on 03/25/2017 11:55:54 AM PDT by MNDude
While on an old steam cruiser in the late 80s we were getting a radar room prepped for the new SPS-48E. One night we were using extra-duty guys to needle-gun the space; our FC Chief showed them the only thing not to touch - the waveguide that ran through the length of space in the overhead. He pointed out the warning stickers that had ‘Do Not Strike’ in big red letters every two feet.
The next morning the whole space had been needle-gunned, including the waveguide. The only spots that hadn’t been touched were the little warning stickers. We never used extra-duty folks for anything after that.
Well, thankfully we only had blanks. During one of the training exercises the guy to my right went absolutely bonkers crazy, swinging his rifle back and forth, up and down, yanking on the trigger. He ended up discharging one round with the muzzle end about two inches from my right ear.
Since I had already put in a year with the Army's 24th Infantry Division in Germany, and hade pulled border tours with the 10th Special Forces Toelz, the 10th Group had outfitted me in advance with a set of faded jungle fatigues, jungle boots and Green Beret with 10th Group *Flash* insignia on it. The other guys on the C141 I arrived on were mostly from stateside training units and were wearing either khaki class a dress uniforms or their stateside straight-pocket green fatigues and ballcaps. Even better: a set of 3 sergeants stripes, now removed, had left their unfaded mark on my fatigue shirt sleeve, and n*o*b*o*d*y* wanted to bother me- perhaps I had lost my stripes for killing and eating someone who had annoyed me by asking a stupid question.
We ate after getting off the plane and going thru a couple of headcounts, by which time it was after USAF quitting time. We flopped out in a transient barracks, I slept on top of the sheets & blankets with my fatigues still on. Later that night/morning I awoke to the sound of a distant siren, mortar rounds going off, and some guy blowing a whistle, who I wanted to kill and eat. *The base is being overrun, get down to the arms room & draw weapons and ammo.* Great, I get a weapon I've never testfired, never zeroed the sights on. Well, it'll do until daylight....
The Air Force guys are getting an M1 carbine [which most Army guys had never been trained on] three magazines and a 50-round box of ammo. The little arms room clerk takes one look at me, and figured I might kill and eat him if he insults me by giving me a carbine, goes back to his weapons rack, and takes out an AR-15 rifle, an early Air Force M16. With blue-painted shiny stock and handguards, and a white parade sling. It's an honor guard rifle, maybe never even fired before, but it looks okay. I get 3 20-round magazines with it, and 3 20-round boxes of ammo, just enough to fill my mags. *Sorry, Sarge, that's all we got....*
I've got no webbelt, so the mags go in my shirt pockets. I step out side, find a USAF *FOD* trashcan, and pitch the white sling in it. I load my spare magazines. I start looking for a canteen, or anything I can use for one. I see a USAF NCO with a clipboard sending Air Force guys with carbines out in twos and threes. I wander over his way, figuring maybe I can be a third guy for one of the two-man pairs. He's sending out reinforcements to the bunkers. He asks me what he can do for me. I ask him if there were any bunkers manned with just two guys who could use a third hand. He gives me a bunker number, and tells me to come back and tell him if I find it overrun and the guys inside gone or dead. Oh, I like this job more and more already! I get to the right bunker, move up on it reeeeal slow and quiet. There are two USAF mechanics with two M1 carbines and an M60 machinegun on a tripod, which they have no idea how to use, and a 3000-round helicopter ammo can of MG ammo. And a PRC-125 radio with hand microphone and antenna, and a full 5-gallon water can. I quit looking for a canteen after I see the water can. We have a little class on how to run and load an M60 machinegun and how to change spare barrels. They know the locals and I don't, so I let them keep doing what they were doing, and I watch our back door so nobody sneaks up on us quite as easy as I did. The rest of the evening passed without too much excitement except for the USAF Security Police cop who came sneaking up on us trying to find out if we were gone or dead. I asked him for the password, the only one I knew of at the time being one from the East German border two months before. He didn't know it, so I killed him and ate him.
No, not really. But if anyone recalls challenge/password BORAX/SNIPS from Tet '68 and wonders where THAT came from, now you know.
Yeah, those 2 USAF mechanics were real glad I had showed up. They were trying real hard to do a job they'd never been trained to do. I just showed them, a little.
The second-most fun I ever had was when the Kentucky National Guard came to Knox for their annual Summer Training. They were still using the M1 Garand and BAR at the time, so I drew one of their BARs and a steel helmet full of blanks. I was one of the *bad guys* for their exercise, so I *borrowed* one of their fatigue shirts, loaded up *my* BAR, and took up a position a crossroads where I helpfully gave directions to everyone who needed them. I just didn't give the SAME directions to the same places. Eventually, a sergeant in one of their 3/4 ton trucks came by and he asked if I'd had chow yet, it being a bit past lunchtime. Nope, says I, and I missed breakfast, too. He drove me back to one of their messhalls and got me fed, along with a handfull of sandwiches to take along. We went back to my crossroads, but there was another grunt giving directions [probably real ones] there now, so I got to guard one end of a floating boat pontoon bridge instead. About an hour later a 2nd Lieutenant with a 20-man platoon comes marching up, about to ask me something when I opened up on him with the BAR from about 10 feet, gave him about 10 rounds, then sprayed the front squad with the rest of the magazine. The stunned and shocked Guardies just stood there, so I changed magazines and hosed the second and third squads too. The red paper pellets from the paper blank wads had left smoking holes in the L-T's uniform shirt and he had dipped it in the lake to keep it from catching on fire. I thought about shooting him up some more, but wanted to save some blanks for higher-ranking officers.
I liked that BAR. Still do.
The MOST fun I ever had shooting blanks involved a blank main gun round for a tank. BIG hummers!
Good afternoon. I hope you are doing well.
I enjoyed that story. Especially the part about killing and eating the Zoomie.
5.56mm
Great story and well told! I would happily buy the case of beer to listen to more of your reminscences.
My life was a bit plainer at least at first: the Corps looked at me, evaluated my capabilities and experience and made me a truck driver. I arrived in Danang in January ‘66 and was assigned to an artillery battery at Phu Bai.
A truck driver on a 105mm gun section ends up being slave labor on the gun, so most of my life in those early days was filling sandbags and moving 120 pound ammo boxes, while getting my ears pounded by muzzle blast.
On an operation further West from the coast, I was sent out to man a machine gun on the perimeter and other than having to deal with abiut 20 kids who pestered me the whole time, it was uneventful.
We heard “CSMO” (Close Station March Order - or as we knew it, Collect Sh_t, Move Out), so I put the M60 on my shoulder and started to walk back towards my gun section. I was walking with my head down until I heard “whuff!” and I looked up and saw a huge water buffalo directly ahead of me and he didn’t look happy.
I pulled the M60 off my shoulder and aimed it at the buffalo’s head and flicked safety off as the beast pawed the ground and got ready to charge. Just then, I felt something whacking my leg.
I looked down and saw a little girl, maybe five years old, with a small switch in her hand and telling me “no, no, no”.
I tried to explain to her that the buffalo was about run over us like a freight train but she just ran over to the buffalo and starting whacking that switch on his rear leg.
The buffalo settled down immediately and turned around and started eating.
A very humble PFC Chainmail continued on to his truck....
LOL, that’s too funny, all around the warning stickers!
Kind of reminds me of the time I was tasked with maintaining the coffee mess in our shop, and I protested because I wasn’t a coffee drinker, but they made me do it anyway.
So, I kept it neat and clean, and that involved cleaning the cups with aircraft cleaner. Clean as a whistle, they were.
Taste wasn’t an issue, because I did wash them thoroughly with detergent after that, but...they were upset, because some of them liked the coffee scum in the cups!
They didn’t make me do the coffee mess anymore after that!
I learned quite quickly to be cautious in both what and how you told a Sailor to do something.
Our navigator (airdale O5) on a CVN just despised Boatswain’s Mates for some reason. There was one in particular he always gave a tough time. Two or three times a watch he’d yell for Boats and tell him to get another cup of coffee, and to be sure to clean his mug out.
I was a young Deck DIVO and eventually asked Boats how he could be so calm, polite and accommodating to the NAV when he was always so nasty. Boats explained how he cleaned the cup in the head. Surprising how NAV never caught on to most of the bridge team smiling every time he took a sip.
This woman who lived by the base would always call base security to complain about the “black helicopters” that were harassing her. No one took her seriously and thought she was a nut. She called a night when I was on duty to complain the black helicopters were back and harassing her, flying close to her house. I took the report, then a few minutes later had to go outside. Turned out there really were several black helicopters flying around over the adjacent neighborhood.
A woman claiming to be a commander called base security to report that a captain on our base was conducting “neuro-terrorism” against her via the base website. I asked her to stand by while I scanned our website for neuro-terrorism. After nothing came up I let her know I searched and found all traces neuro-terrorism were gone. She was so thankful and relieved. She said usually when she called to report the neuro-terrorism no one believed her. She never called again.
An old retired officer buddy of mine told me that he had new girlfriend since he’d moved to Virginia Beach: she was only 55 years old (he’s 85), she’s gorgeous, and she’s a former CO of a US Navy cruiser - and Special Forces qualified.
I was, to say the least incredulous. I had never heard of a female combatant ship commander and was reasonably sure that she had never been in SOCOM.
Still, he was happy.
After a couple of funny events involving sending messages to her alleged former “command” in search of a ship’s baseball cap for her, the cat was out of the bag: not only had she lied about her service history, she never was in any service. And she was really 83, not 55.
My buddy was a little deflated - after all, this BSing about service used to be limited to insecure men. What was the world coming to?
I asked if she was good in bed and he just grinned.
Observer was sitting in his Jeep during a live fire exercise. He was silhouetted against the sky.
Mind you all the targets were of tanks and even a civilian can tell the difference between the silhouette of a tank and of a jeep.
But there is always one in every bunch.
No one was hurt but the exercise came to an abrupt end.
Heard this story once from a fellow by the name of Tom:
Me and Yates an army buddy o’mine were doin’ three years in Germany at the time
We came upon these Frauleins in the bar
Yates said darf isch zee be-gleit-en they said ya
(And darf isch zee be-gleit-en means can we sit with you all)
Oh we must have drunk ten quarts of German beer
My conscience and my sinuses were clear
I asked that Fraulein if she was a spy she said nein but do bis ain bissel high
(A condition not uncommon to the American soldier)
Well later on I went to be excused when I returned I was a bit confused
Yates and his Fraulein had hit the air another guy was sittin’ in my chair
(A young soldier whom we shall get to know better)
I said excuse me Mister that’s my seat I’d like to have it back sir if you please
That girl’s a nurse and I’ve been awful sick the man looked up at me and said mox-nix
(Which means that he was not overly concerned with my health)
Next thing I knew he had a switchblade knife
Lord I didn’t know that Fraulein was his wife
I took off through that Gasthaus like a fool behind me I heard the crashing stools
(As the police would say he was in hot pursuit)
Well the waitress yelled there’s MPs on the way
That’s one more reason I didn’t want to stay
As I went out the window somethin’ went switch
And I giggled all the way home knowin’ he missed
(At the time it seemed like a laughing matter)
But next morning my coat was lyin’ there on the bunk
And when I saw that coat it made me jump
That man had cut my coat right down the back
A little bit more and they’d been playin’ me taps
(And knowin’ the sad nature of that song I would decline it)
Well later on I heard that guy got stabbed
They sent him home and didn’t that make me glad
On love and marriage I want to say one thing oh lady if you’re married wear that ring
(And the army has a new policy if you can’t move it paint it
If it has a switchblade knife salute it
Not necessarily an incident one would want to write Mother about
Germany being full of good soldiers good people)
1969 or 1971?
1969
My time there would have been ‘70, ‘72 and ‘73.
Lots of “fun” times in the Valley of Jack. ;-)
Some ended well, some ended badly. ;-P
Our House Mouse was also called the HMFIC. Head Mother***ker In Charge. Just prior to our final inspection during first phase, the DI reminded us of two things one, Richard Nixon was no longer President and two, do not say HMFIC. Well, the Colonel gets to the House Mouse and he proudly exclaims he is the HMFIC, the Colonel ask what that stood for, DI is furious, the Colonel then asked the House Mouse who the President was and he loudly yelled, the “Sir, the Honorable Richard Nixon, Sir” He told me later he those two answers were stuck in his head after the DI admonished him not to say that. We were thrashed until the windows cried and had a new House Mouse the next day. Did not seem so funny then, hilarious now.
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