Service Story - Misconduct

Received a request for a "war story". Between Basic Training and Engineer School at Ft Leonard Wood I was trained/licensed as a truck driver. The promise, by the 1st Sgt, was exempt from KP if we volunteered. He was true to his word but circumstances and subordinates changed the rules. One morning a KP from my platoon became ill and a replacement was needed; ME. Despite my protestations that I was exempt I was dispatched to the Mess Hall where I was assigned to pots and pans.
Pots and pans were cleaned outside the Mess Hall on a concrete porch open to the elements. I was not a happy camper.

"Edible" garbage was placed in barrels and collected by civilians for hog food. Pamphlets can be written on the process. The civilians had become accustomed to ordering trainees around and that afternoon two pulled up in their truck and one said to me, "Boy, throw them slops in my truck". I told him to commit an improbable sexual act upon himself and continued to clean pots. He decided to teach me a little lesson so I put him head first into the slops. His partner came to his rescue so I hit the partner with an oversized aluminum pot. At this point the Mess Sergeant came strolling out. He sees his KP drowning one civilian in edible garbage while the other civilian was holding his bleeding head. Ordered by the Mess Sergeant to report to the Orderly Room, I was soon standing in front of the 1st Sgt. He ordered me to put on a clean uniform and come back to wait for the Company Commander.

The CO wasn't in so I sat, in a clean uniform, and waited. The 1st Sgt got the whole story from me. He asked, "Aren't you one of my truck drivers? Why were you on KP"? As I sat waiting, the 1st Sgt went into the CO's office and shut the door.
I could hear muffled laughter. This happened several times. The CO arrived and he and the 1st Sgt had a conference. I was then sent back to my barracks.

I spent the next week during my "free time" double timing around the Battalion area in full pack, pot, and rifle but no Article 15 and no more KP. I did receive a mark on my record that kept me from getting a Good Conduct Medal. Oh well.

12 B

 

 

Trading remarks with LL (Virtual Mirage  https://www.virtualmirage.org) stirred a 50+ year old memory.

“Son, you’ve done this before”, said the kindly SFC teaching us newby Combat Engineers starting our week of barbed wire training. “I’m making you my assistant instructor”.

“So, when someone tightens the wire tell it breaks, it will wrap around my legs instead of yours?” smartass WSF replied.

“I knew you were experienced”, he replied with a grin.

Old family joke, a favorite of my mother, was the two most glamour’s cowboy jobs was fixing fence and bucking bales. Of course, the Army decided to make me a Combat Engineer so I could build barbed wire barriers and stack sandbags.

So began a very long week. The one bright spot was the SFC remarking, as an NCO, he couldn’t knock sense into a trainee. On the other hand, as a Private, I could so long as he didn’t see it (hint, hint, hint).

Interesting time in that training cycle. We were mid cycle when President Kennedy was murdered. Prior to that, I was well on my way to not earning a Good Conduct Medal (drowning a civilian in edible garbage https://wellseasonedfool.blogspot.com/search?q=KP)

 among other misdeeds that weren’t in accord with good discipline, etc. insured that.

I think the real reason I graduated was to ship me off to be someone else’s problem (hello, 814^th Engineer Company).

Enroute, the unauthorized absence at Ft Dix waiting to board a troop ship wasn’t well received.

My partner in crime, Tom O’Connor, understood shipping schedules and thought three days in Boston seeing his girlfriend beat three to four days of shit details at Ft Dix. Can’t have your buddy facing danger alone, can you? Plus, his girlfriend had a cute sister. We managed to bluff our way out of that. Easier to throw us on the bus to the Brooklyn dock then do all that messy paperwork.

In a way, being in the engineers was a stroke of luck.  The engineers were a rowdy bunch, from the lowest private to the First Sergeant. If you were a worker, did your job and could be counted on, many things were overlooked. If you were a slacker, life got real hard real quick.

Just to be clear, choices were to volunteer for the First Sergeants extra hour’s projects, or see the Company Commander for an Article 15. There were no free rides.

The irony was both O”Connor and I made E-5, he a Sergeant and me a SP 5.

LL mentions landmines. Most had been cleared by the time I was there. One place, not so much, the Hurtgen Forest. Horrible WWII battle, 30,000+ Allied casualties. In 1965 there were still areas fenced off. We spent ten days there. We would take a section a meter wide and work our way through in a straight line stringing det cord behind. Move over, do the same, etc. After ten or so corridors, the det cord would be set off and the Munson effect would (in theory) set off anything explosive.  Nasty work. Hell of a way to make an extra $55 a month. Our equipment was all WWII vintage plus ice picks for probes. The place was littered with moldering military detritus. We left it alone and worked around it. That old helmet just might be booby trapped. I was glad I only went there once.

Old AF Sarge is writing stories about  WWII and one place nearby he uses as a scene is Kreuzau. We bivouacked nearby.

https://oldafsarge.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-assault.html

Worth reading his series, IMO.

Take Back Our Country

For those of you who have never visited Oath Keepers, please do.

http://oathkeepers.org/oath/

There is a current controversy in Quartzsite, AZ. Towards the end of the post, there is a section "Additional Note From Stewart". This is the best call for action I've ever read and a clear cut way for the individual citizen to make a difference.

http://oathkeepers.org/oath/2011/07/12/quartzsite-police-officers-association-letter-regarding-police-chief-jeff-gilbert/

From my personal experience, this is how the "Progressives" push their program and gain control. Also, from personal experience, this can be as exciting as pulling KP or Guard Duty.

Bitching is a lot more satisfying from the inside, instead of staying out of the fray and having a pity party - just saying.

Fulda Gap

Recently I was asked to write something about the Cold War from the point of view of someone who served in Germany during the Cold War period. In my case, 1964-1966. Since this will be blog #601 in the WSF list of things not needed to be said, prepare for a long one.

Ground warfare is more than anything, logistics and movement. My assignment was to a Float Bridge Company. Between Madrid and Warsaw, per classes we attended, an army will encounter a water barrier (river, canal, wetlands) requiring specialized equipment every 50 miles, on average. A small view with equipment from the actual unit I served in:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cxlt0pQ2HuY

The main focus of the units we supported was split into two areas. First, near Hanau, German, was staged all the equipment for a Division. All vehicles were loaded, fueled, and ready to go. The plan was to fly in a Division from the United States that could immediately go into the field.

The second area was the East German/Czechoslovakian border. Then,

And now.

Probably the best known area was around Fulda, Germany popularly known as “The Fulda Gap.” The terrain is mainly rugged with a few valleys and low areas (gaps). Invading and retreating armies have used these routes for centuries. Napoleon retreated through one. The US Army maintained a large presence in these areas. A long, but comprehensive, documentary can be found at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arSGHKBE85w

My unit was often tasked with “shitty little jobs” along the border in support of various units. One engineer unit (not us) based at Gelnhausen was in charge of portable atomic demolition munitions (SDAM). One model, pictured below, was loaded into the back of a M 151  (jeep) and driven to a predetermined position where it was to be armed, timer set, and the crew to run like hell.

Access and improvements were needed to these positions, with many positions made so as to confuse the enemy. Hello, Ditch Boys, get to work.

We were called upon to investigate “strange” objects. We dug the remains of one of these out of some nasty bushes.

The Calvary units in the area had a particularly nasty atomic weapon called the Davy Crocket.

These were little more than a hand grenade as far as survival of the crews firing them was concerned. Again, access and improvements to the sites was needed so again, hello Ditch Boys.

Part of the Combat Engineer’s trade is land mines, both emplacing and clearing. From time to time we got to play with these:

The units stationed in the area had their own engineers. Why did they haul our happy little asses up there? My guess was to force the Soviets to find more spies to cover more bars, further away,  to report drunken soldier talk.

Going back the first focus, the prepositioned equipment, our assignment was to bridge the Main River (assumed the fixed bridges would be destroyed/damaged) and hold the bridge head for troops retreating from the North, and then for use by the troops flown in. I had little faith in the plan (shouldn’t have known about it; way above my pay grade – bite me). We assembled next to the best airborne landing site in West Germany:

Goggle Earth N 50° 06’ 36”  E 8  57’ 12” which was treeless in those days and flat.

Whenever we had an alert (always one or more per month) we would load up for war and head out from our nearby Kaserne (if we weren’t in the field somewhere) to the assembly area. I always looked up expecting Russian airborne. As an aside, our ammo and demolition supply bunkers were in that area. A lovely place to walk guard with no live ammo, in the dark, with radical elements of the German population looking for bomb making supplies. With all the sand, wind, and precipitation, you came back muddy.

All in all, a lot better duty than Korea, or later, Vietnam.

I never understood the attitude of many in my unit. While I never bought into the whole Hoorah, I damn sure paid attention to those things that could get me killed or could keep me alive. I acquired, and carried with me, all kinds of maps. Had my own compasses and knew how to use them. Acquired my own .308 caliber rifle (early M-14s were not well made or reliable). Made it a point to really explore the area around Hanau and Wolfgang. Went to every school available (film projection, postal clerk, photography lab, Pathfinder, Mines/Demolition school, etc.  This got me off a lot of shit details as the NCOs knew I went way past the Guard Duty/KP/Motor Stables daily grind in knowledge, ability, and reliability. Alcohol and temper remained an issue but made me fit right in with the career NCOs.

 Just in case people don’t think the Army was prepared for an ugly war, look at the tank retriever below. Now, picture it with a heavy steel v shaped 6’ high snow plow. The plow wasn’t needed for snow. They were  to be used to clear the roads of refuges and their vehicles.

Hopefully, this is what my reader wanted. I hope the other two or three of you weren’t bored.

Special note to any Brown Shoe soldiers still alive to read this. Look at the boots of the SFC in the Davy Crocket picture. With those shinny lace grommets, those must be brown boots redyed black. And who was going to tell him he couldn't wear them?

Motion Sickness

Long, pointless ramble about being on a troop ship fifty years ago.

Some recent blogs I follow have mentioned motion sickness.

I’m fortunate in not suffering greatly from motion sickness. The exception is when I’m nervous or stressed. Don’t do carnival rides; don’t enjoy them at all.

My one and only experience with deep water travel was aboard a military transport ship, the General Maurice Rose. January, North Atlantic, Brooklyn to Bremerhaven. Having never been near a body of water bigger than the Great Salt Lake and aboard a boat bigger than 20’ long on a lake, I anticipated suffering.

We boarded via a gang plank (proper term?) from the Brooklyn Army Yard dock to a door (hatch) about two thirds up the hull. Said gang plank was flexing under the weight of several men with their duffel bags ascending, had no railings, and wasn’t very wide. That was scary! As I recall, we were four decks down from the main deck. There were a series of compartments we were directed toward; me towards the stern. We were told to find a bunk (rack) and put our duffel bags on a hatch cover.

I’ve always tried to analyze every situation I’ve found myself in. These compartments had a series of canvas “beds” stretched in metal frames, about eight high, running the length of the  ship. At the end of the compartment was a bulkhead (?) with beds running across the width of the ship.  My analysis was (1) puke runs downhill so being on a bottom bunk wouldn’t be ideal and (2) the ship would roll with greater amplitude than it would pitch. No one but me wanted the top most bunk against many pipes and other oddities. While a challenge to get into, it was comfortable and had enough room to sleep on my side (carefully). The first night out proved my analysis was correct.

Certain I would get sick when the conditions got “rough” I waited for it to get “rough”. Whenever I felt the onset of vertigo, I would tell myself it wasn’t rough enough for me to get sick. Sounds silly, but it worked for me. Guess it did get “rough” as the nine day trip took fourteen days. Most days we were forced to stay on the open deck; in my case, the stern. Amidships was the enclosed area for military dependents and officers. Probably right up there with regular transoceanic ships as to fittings and amenities. The contrast with our plight was galling. We only went below, for meals,  until 2100. A few days we weren’t allowed on deck due to sea conditions.

Some unfortunate souls were sick the entire trip. We tried to cheer them up by telling them how good the food was (and we were well fed). Since they were already sick, they got assigned to the cleaning crews. I understood the troops going to Korea were at sea for almost a month. Lucky them.

My only real complaints were (1) no chairs - no where to sit except the deck - and (2) the head. A long stainless steel appliance with holes and indentations around the holes approximately buttock shaped served for waste evacuation.  Under this, a trough with sea water flowed at  high volume. Cold sea water. No need for toilet paper as the appliance worked as both a commode and bidet as the ship rolled. Not conducive to sitting and reading.

We did have movies! One open area, where we sat on the deck,  with a sheet taped to the bulkhead, top only taped. As the ship rolled, the picture would go in and out of focus. Helped those suffering for motion sickness. After a couple of days, I got pissed, found some tape, and taped the bottom of the damn sheet.

Some friends had coached me prior to going into the Army. One lesson, always remove your name tag when you are in transit. When questioned by authority, “My gear was lost, and this was issued to me”, got a “Ok, what is your name”?,  followed by an assignment to some shit detail or another. Being red headed and freckled, I would give an Irish or Polish name - not my own - and never show up for the detail. Like the NCO would remember my face or even care. He  was in transit too and didn’t like being in charge of the shit detail. It helps to be adept at hiding. Be just one minnow in the middle of the school. Also, be able to lie with a straight face.

“Private, why are you here? You were assigned to KP.”

“No sergeant, I’m on stairwell cleaning.”

“Yeah, what’s your name”?

“Duffy, Sergeant”.

And so on.

Then the P.A. call. “Private _____ _ ____, Serial Number  RA_________, report to the Sergeant Major’s Office.” Oops, duffel bag fell on the deck. Or was put there by someone who was jealous?  Nah, everyone liked me.  Oh well, it was a good run.

My one, and only, motion sickness episode was on a charter boat off Grays Harbor, WA. A company “bonding” function. Forty foot boat, fifteen foot swells. Was fine underway but when we started drifting I understood why the boats are called “pukers”. After about three hours of it, said, “Fuck it”, and started drinking beer. The beer stayed down, I got drunk, and ended the trip in a fist fight with the bean counter. Career enhancement, team bonding. Probably not in the MBA handbook.

Have nothing but respect for those who served, or are serving, in the Navy or Coast Guard. Just never wanted to be one of them. Being a power boat operator in an Army float bridge company was a close as I ever cared for the Navy life.