We were quietly directed to surround the vehicle at a reasonable distance, and upon the signal, start discharging our weapons into the air.
The car quickly left the area, making for at least one rapid withdrawal.
The hospital was in a very old building, left over from the Third Reich. The halls were wide. The doors were wooden, with large, old fashioned keys and large keyholes.
The only place suitable for the collection of the specimen was a rest room, a good distance down the hall. Several times a week, almost daily, it was necessary for me to send someone down there for specimen collection.
Every time I went there, toilet paper had been stuffed into the keyhole.
Every time, I maliciously removed it.
Every time I went back, it was stuffed in there again.
I never quite knew whether to chalk this up to bashfulness or paranoia.
So he went back to the supply room *He told me to ask again* Still no more. He tried the mess hall; no hammers there, they told him to try supply again. He went to ask the 1st Sergeant at the orderly room; he wasn't in but his clerk was pretty sure there weren't any hammers in his desk. So he left for the Main Post area, and asked at one of the PX barber shops. Nope. Clothing sales. nope. The Class VI liquor sales outlet. Nope no hammers, but you can GET hammered....
So he caught a shuttle bus for Louisville, looking for a hardware store. He found a Hallmark Card store, but no hammers. He found a drugstore with headache pills for all the hammering that wasn't going on, but nope, no hammers. He found a toy shop toy hammers, but he was pretty sure Sarge wanted the real thing. So he went back to the bus station-no hammers, first thing he asked when he went in- and got himself a ticket for the bus home. Late that night, he arrived in his home town. He called home, his dad came and picked him up at the bus station. Before they got home, he explained to his dad *exactly* what his orders had been...and had his dad open the hood of the car and take off the air cleaner cover. Nope, no hammer in there. Once he got home, he hugged his mom, and had her look in the oven for...a hammer! Nope, no luck there, either. Nor in the bathroom medicine chest, nor in the doghouse in the back yard. the Grandfather clock? Nope. The front porch light? Nope. Maybe in his bed? Nope, but it was the most comfortable he'd slept in the last 6 weeks.
Sunday, he went to church with his folks, and found to no great surprise there was no hammer in the collection plate. Monday he spent with mum and da, and that night went to a movie. He bought a box of popcorn, thinking there might be a prize hammer in the box. The rest of that Summer week he spent with his girlfriend, walking along the river, holding hands and talking, and looking for a hammer sticking out of the riverbank mud. They didn't find one, but vowed not to quit until one showed up.
The next Monday, the Army called. His commanding officer told his mother that the Army had *sort of misplaced him, and had they heard from him?* Why, he's right here, the nice Lieutenant was told- Would like to speak with him? Yes, he sure did!
***No Sir, I haven't been AWOL, I was just doing what the Sergeant told me to do. And I have a list of more than two dozen witnesses who can swear that I've been doing just that, plus the names of the guys who were there when Sarge told me not to come back without one. If you have any questions about that, you can ask my dad; he's the county attorney here.*** Two days later, he was back at Fort Knox. Two weeks later, he was in Armor AIT [Tank crew training] and graduated two months after that. Six months later, he was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant, Armor, and about five months after that, he became my tank platoon leader; I was his gunner. He saved my life twice, I saved his 3 or 4 times, it's all even. There's only one other little detail worth knowing, our tank's nickname, which was the source of his radio callsign.
See, in our outfit, tanks in A Company had *A* names: Archangel, Alleygator, AnnieMarie. B Company had Badboy, Brutus, Bentbananna, and so on, 17 tanks per company. But we only had 3 tanks in Headquarters company: Hummel [German for butterfly] and Hangman. And, of course, our platoon leader's tank:
[Wait for it!]
HAMMER! He finally found it!
Well, here’s an old thread I’ve saved..
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/news/604819/posts
Worried Soldier’s Mum Emails Colonel In Afghanistan (LOL!)
Had a pretty dull time in myself. Remember my buddies converted a VW into a trike. Drove out of the garage and straight across into their neighbor’s house- it wouldn’t steer (naturally) with the four VW wheels still in place.
Posting for my sweetie who was a missile technician aboard the submarine Francis Scott Key...
We were loading missiles one time and I assigned ‘Toad’ topside. One of the more experienced hands was in charge up there and was wearing the sound-powered phones. During the preparations, the Tender swung the adapter ring over and those of us below decks waited for the ‘Tender Pukes’ to fasten it to the tube. After a while, I got a call from topside saying, “Mac, you’re not going to believe this.”
It seems the Tender’s ‘Lead Man’ had come over and asked my ‘Lead Man’ if we could provide somebody to bolt down the adapter ring. “My guy is a total screw-up,” he said, “I’m afraid he might fall in the tube!”
Our guy said, “I know what you mean. We’ve got one, too.”
“Can’t be as bad as our guy,” the Tender guy says.
So my man says, “You see that ‘wide-bodied’ guy over there with the ‘chicken legs’? We call him ‘Toad’. I’m going to call him, and he’s going to turn around and say, ‘Yah Boss!’ Then he’s going to start walking toward us, and he’ll kick that socket wrench laying there. It’s going to ricochet off that stanchion, slide clear across the deck and fall over the side.”
The Tender guy just stands back and says, “Okay.”
My guy calls, “Hey Toad!”
Just as predicted, Toad says, “Yah Boss!” and starts walking. He kicks the wrench – ‘bonk!’ – it hits the stanchion – ‘clink!’ – then rattles across the deck and goes over the side – ‘plunk’.
The Tender guy just nodded his head and said, “Okay. I’ll have my guy do it.”
Believe it or not, in a strange, twisted, submariner sort of way, we were proud of him!
It was in April 1963 and I had just graduated from Jump School at Fort Benning, GA, and there were three bus loads of us brand new paratroopers heading to Fort Bragg, NC when the buses stopped for lunch at a bus station somewhere in South Carolina. When I got off the bus I noticed there were two lines at two outside windows to order your food, and one line was very long and the other line was rather short, so, of course, I got in the short line.
Suddenly, everyone was yelling at me to get out of that line and get in the other line where I belonged. I asked why I had to change lines and was quickly told that line was for blacks, I was white, and I had to get out of that short line and get in the long line where I belonged.
For a moment I was puzzled and started to ask what was so special about black soldiers that they got to stand in the short line and I couldn’t when I suddenly realized that I was, for the first time in my life, in the deep south and racial segregation was the norm.
I got in the “long” line and have been in it ever since.
I was in during the Clinton PC years. None of my stories could ever top those of my Uncle who was a senior NCO on many nuclear subs. He had many funny ones, but none funnier than the “phantom shitter” stories where an entire cruise would be spent trying to figure out who the seaman was who kept crapping in a neat pile throughout the boat.
I would go stir crazy in a metal tube for months, but he had some very funny stories of life on a sub.
My Dad had a funny story.
He was a new butter-bar in Germany, airborne Ranger, about ten years after the war.
He had cut a fairly straight piece of oak for volksmarches and used it for a swagger stick (of sorts) on company marches, and cut notches in it to commemorate stuff. I have it now.
There were a couple of oldtimer WWII sergeants who thought they would have some fun with him, so they got him alone.
He put up with the abuse for a few seconds, then thumped one on the head with his staff knocking him out and doubled the other one over with a gut-shot.
From then on they were very respectful.
Maybe I didn’t tell it right ... oh well, it was funny when he told it.
We were impressed, but that was before we learned that an enemy rifle squad makes exactly the same racket but in your direction.
After the noise settled, that Staff Sergeant pulled a rifle round from his shirt pocket and showed it to us - it had colored rings painted on it - and then told us that Marine Corps Development had "designed this single round to replace the firepower of an entire rifle squad".
He soberly chambered that round into his M-14, took slow aim and fired - and after a couple of beats, there was a huge explosion downrange with a fireball rising up in the air.
He said "gentlemen, I present the 7.6mm Nuclear Round!.
Sad to say, but most of us believed him...
I was stationed in England in the late 50’s on a USAF bas without an airfield or planes. It was a 250 bed Hospital that serviced about 8 active USAF airbases in the surrounding area. All Med-Evacs were transported to Mildenhall. They closed the base in 1965. It was called Burderop Park — 7505th USAF Hosp. A lot of advanced medicine was conducted there including open heart surgery in the late 1950-60’s.
When I was in the infantry training portion of Marine Corps boot camp it was the night that all four platoons in our series were to shoot tracers at this hill in the distance just after sundown. About four or five recruits in each platoon were given extra rounds and told to fire their rounds on full auto. I was really hoping to be one those to fire full auto, but wasn’t selected. So I dutifully got in line to get my one box of tracers from the back of the truck. Then I got to thinking. Not something you should do in Marine Corps boot camp. It was dusk at the time and with over 200 recruits all looking the same, I got back in line and got another box of tracers, and another and some more. I borrowed extra magazines from others in my platoon and loaded them all up. When all 200+ of us were proned out in one continuous line and the order was given to commence fire, I unloaded every magazine on full auto. By then it was dark and there was no way for the drill instructors to know who was who, so I totally got away with it!
1976, USS Ranger: I was the New guy in the squadron (VA25). They did the obvious jokes-—”Go get me 50 feet of flight line” or “Bring me a gallon of Prop wash”. But the worst/best one was “Go get the keys for aircraft number such and such”. First off, A-7s did not have keys, but the killer part was the aircraft number. The naval numbering system skipped over a few numbers, unbeknownst to me, and that’s the number they sent me after. I searched the hanger bay, the flight deck, then back to the hanger bay, then returned to the flight deck (keep in mind that carriers are about a fifth of a mile long). Unable to locate the aircraft, I returned to our squadrons work area, where the old timers cussed me out, asked how I could lose an aircraft, and told me to go search again “you dumbass”. After repeating the same search again, upon my return to our work area, they took pity on me and let me in on the joke.
He was on his final mission and was a “short-timer” (he would be a civilian again in about 60 days) so his dedication to the job was getting lower with each passing day.
One day, while we were walking along the flight line without wearing our flight caps. ( A common occurrence around aircraft because headgear can blow off and get stuck in a running aircraft engine)
So we crossed paths with a Lt. Colonel on the other side of the fence who yelled out “Airman! Where're your head covers?” My friend yells back “In our pockets Sir!”
To which the officer angrily yells, “Why aren't they on your heads?!!”
My friend yells back, “Cuz our heads won't fit in our pockets Sir!”
We picked up the pace and got the hell out of there while he was still yelling for us to come back! We couldn't stop laughing all night!!
While we were standing there, Cookieman had his hands on his knees, panting, and looked at me with a big grin and said "She looked like Grandma but sounded like Grandpa..."
When I served on the USS JFK back in the Seventies, there was a sailor on watch one night on the Port Quarter (Left side of the ship, all the way towards the back, for you lubbers out there...:)
It was about 0300, the sailor was sitting in a chair, peacoat on, soundpowered phones on, looking out at the ocean and...he fell asleep. A couple of his buddies came down to say hello, saw he was sleeping, and had a great idea for a prank.
They crawled over and tied the shoelaces on his boondockers together. They retreated back into the hatch and then called out in semi-hushed tones “Man Overboard! Man Overboard!”
Well, it had the desired effect. The sleeping sailor jumped to his feet and fell flat on his face.
Unfortunately, someone on a catwalk above heard them, and raised the alarm. The entire battlegroup came alive, 5000 men on the carrier, and thousands on the destroyers, cruisers and support ships were rousted from their beds and ran to their battle stations to report in as the ships maneuvered in unison to come about.
IIRC, the men went to mast.
Military service might be boring and dangerous and inspiring and a host of other things, but it also has some of the funniest moments you’ll ever know.
During Air Force basic training in Texas in 1974, we somehow screwed up our laundry. Somebody apparently took the clothes out of “our” washer and put it in the wrong place. It took an hour to locate our lost scivvies.
T.I. Ovey J. Babineau called us into the day room and had us stand at attention. Uh oh! Here comes a royal chewing out from the Ragin’ Cajun!
TSgt. Babineau looked us up and down, then grumbled, “You dummies could f*uck up a steel ball with a rubber mallet.”
I nearly lost it. That was the funniest thing I had ever heard, and at the worst possible time. I don’t remember anything else he said that day, but I still remember the way my stomach hurt from fighting back the laughter.
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.
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)