When I first got to Germany... [snipped]
I'll see yours, and raise you one....
When I was in Germany, through an odd set of circumstances, I found myself as the battalion interpreter after the guy who had previously faced the job received notification that he was to be drafted into the West German army- he held dual citizenship, and the US Army shipped him out of the Army, but fast. Accordingly, I had a German fahrschein civilian driver's license and Privately Owned Vehicle, and got shagged for duties both as a classified documents courier, basicly a glorified mailman, and liason with the local police and military units who sometimes dealt with American GIs as a source of trouble, sometimes as witnesses or victims. That included the Bahnhoff Police at the local railroad stations....
I had dropped by one such in Augsburg, dropping off photos of wanted deserters, and was in civilian clothes, when hailed by an obviously freshly minted butterbar second lieutenant. And he was a ringknocker, a little feller sporting a West Point ring the size of a walnut. Well, he earned it.
And in very halting broken phrasebook German, he asked me for directions to the station platform to his train. He literally had a mimeographed phrasebook out, passed on to him when he flew in to the country at Rhein-Main, I expect. Ah, he was looking for the way to Bremerhaven, up north, and was heading south, toward the Austrian and Swiss borders, had he continued. Assuming such a stalwart leader of men was not contemplating deserting or invading Switzerland on his own, he was lost.
And just a little too arrogant. Still, the least I could do was help him out, at least getting him some better assistance with a minimum of inconvenience to myself, or being ordered to drive him around if he found out I was US military.
In my best German-accented halting English, I explained to him he was headed south, not north, and would have to change his travel plans. He could change his trains at the station at Damen, and they'd sell him a new ticket or arrange for him to contact a US transportation officer from there. And how to get to that station? Why the platform for those trains is right through that door over there, clearly marked *DAMEN*.... You're very welcome, Herr Amerikaner Leutnant!
Damen, for the benefit of anyone never stationed in Germany or knowing the language, is the German term for *Ladies Rest Room*....
But despite a bit of discomfort and embarassment, it was indeed a quick and dirty way of getting him to the attention of some other folks who'd get him on his way, without calling attention to myself. But I'd have been real unhappy if he'd ever been reassigned to my outfit....
Number Two: Hippies/Protesters in SF war story:
While en route to Overseas Replacement in San Francisco to my expense-paid tour of the health resorts and spas of Southeast Asia as a welcome change from the frostbitten West [mostly] German climes, I got to play documents courier with some paperwork from Bad Tolz on my return and en route to my leave, conveniently close to Ft Bragg. Accordingly, I had to travel armed, under orders, which meant that I'd have had to sign out a weapon the unit sending me likely wouldn't get back. But the guys from 10th Special Forces had fixed me up with a couple of sets of 'Nam-issue jungle fatigues and jungle boots, with faded spots where the previous owners Spec 5 patches were replaced by my PFC's single stripe- I looked like a guy back for my second or third tour, who'd messed up and gotten busted, but was happy to get back to where he knew what he was doing and where he was wanted. *Trust us* said my snakeater pals from Lt Colonel and Master Sergeant down to buck sergeant and Spec 5; you want to do it our way [and they were right, as usual; it saved me all sorts of grief].
And too, the weapon I took along, signed to me was not the usual M1911A1 .45 handgun, with which I was good enough, but a 12-gauge Winchester pump shotgun, helpfully a takedown model that fit nicely in my AWOL bag, along with a DF letter from the Colonel commanding the 10th Special Forces Group that the weapon was in my custody under his personal authority and direction, and that I was not to surrender it or be without it without direct notification of him personally. It was not the best *getout of jail free* letter I ever got, but one of the first, and it worked just fine.
I dropped of the paperwork okay, went on my leave, and caught a military train ride from Louisville, KY to San Francisco, via Chicago- I wanted the 2-day train ride. Lo and behold, once we got to the SF area, we started getting hit by concrete blocks being dropped from overpasses and other novelties, including bags full of that which smelled nasty. After the senior NCO in charge of the movement got hit with one such that spattered a couple of guys close to open windows, he came over to me and asked if I was armed, which I was. And he told me to take a position where I could convince anyone trying to climb aboard the train and further annoy us that it was a really, really bad idea. No problem, I took my bag to the vestibule of the last car, pulled out the scattergun, and took up a nice seat covering the back entrance with the 12-gauge. And I had a nice view of some of those on the overpasses as we went past; I could have given them a lovely scare, and might have gotten lucky with a stray buckshot pellet, but I didn't. And when the old Sarge came around to see how I was doing and bring me my meal from the diner, he got a look at the shotgun, turned a little white, and said *You ssnakeeaters play kinda rough, dontcha?
It wasn't until twenty years after the end of the war that that story finally got the ending it deserved. I was with a girlfriend whose college music teacher was telling of the old days at Berkely, when he and his pals had such great sport dropping cinderblocks and $hitbags on trains of guys en route to 'Nam...then I got to tell him about the story from my end of it, and he literally peed in his pretty little little double-knit slacks. I don't know if I would have enjoyed letting fly at him or not, but there's no doubt in my mind that he figured I would have. And might still.
OC,
Being out of sync with those base liberal elements of our country isn't that troubling to me. I shudder to think though that they might ever gain a majority rule over us, knowing well, in the back of my mind, that Gore actually won the popular vote!?! OUCH!!!
THAT makes me pray!
Geo Bush's win was one strategic victory for the forces of good. I just live my life thankfully, according to God's guidance, being the light and salt as much as I can be and hoping to God that the rest of the picture falls into place.
What else can we do?