It was the summer of 1961. I had completed all of the requirements and graduated from Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona. Ours was the first class to graduate as the university class. It had been a college up to that year.
I had postponed going to ROTC summer camp until the summer after graduation. Camp was held at Fort Lewis in Washington state. It is just outside of Tacoma/Seattle. That was the summer of extreme heat in the Northwest.
One of the many skills we were to learn and practice was the bayonet drill. There is a technique to it and we had to practice it at least once. To be sure we knew enough about it to be able to train whatever troops we might lead.
It was a very hot day. We ran through the drill several times. It goes something like parry, thrust, gun butt, or it might be the other way around. OK, cut me some slack, it was some time ago. Lol.
After a day of weapon high and cross over we were given some free time. It seemed appropriate to repair to the club to enjoy a cooling libation. There is something about a cold beer on a very hot day. While sitting on the bar stool, I moved my legs into a certain position. The result was the most horrible pain I had ever felt. The thigh muscles in both legs cramped up so bad I almost screamed out loud and fell off of the bar stool. I was speechless with pain and my drinking buddies were not sure what was going on. They mentioned something about my face being contorted in pain. They thought that I might be having a heart attack.
It took a few minutes to get my muscles under control. I was then able to tell them of the misery I was suffering. This story was brought to mind Friday morning at coffee with the Old Bastards. One of the guys asked if we knew how painful thigh cramps could be. I told him I had intimate knowledge of the excruciating pain. I would be willing to bet a dollar or two that it comes nowhere near to labor pains. But, I don't want to go through it again.
Well, there you have it, another war story. No sh*t, this really happened.
#229
Showing posts with label War Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label War Story. Show all posts
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
War Story #8
It was the summer of 1965. My first company command, the 615th MP Company, was assigned to Viet Nam. We were not sure where specifically, because that would not be divulged until the troop ship was almost to our destination. At the appointed time I was informed it would be Cam Ranh Bay. That was a seaport location and we would be providing physical security. OK, that will work. We can do that.
A day later we were informed that our assignment was changed. Now we were assigned to the Saigon area. We were to be attached to the 716th MP Battalion. And, that brings me to the primary topic for this issue. Our duties would include the usual routine police work as well as physical security.
At that time the US Navy was responsible for the security of the area of operation (AO). The battalion was given the duties of securing the various important sites. These included supply sites and billeting sites for US forces. Each of the billeting sites had one or two US MPs and a Vietnamese policeman. Every effort was made to make it difficult for attackers to make entrance and do damage.
The naval commander at the time ordered that the men on the security posts at the billets could only be armed with shotguns and .45 caliber side arms. His rationalization was that he didn’t want the VC to think we were afraid of them. At least, that was the story that was going around at the time.
Unfortunately, the VC didn’t get the message, or maybe they did. Anyway, the VC maintained their weaponry. Primarily AK-47s. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there is an advantage here for the guy who has the biggest “stick”.
That is the situation Captain Chet Lee and his troops faced on April 1, 1966 when the VC chose to attack the Victoria Hotel. There is no doubt in my mind that the troops at the hotel did their best to protect the hotel. I am equally sure that Chet gave his last true measure of devotion when he turned around to provide reinforcements to his troops.
When you’re outgunned you’re outgunned. All to assuage the ego of a person who hadn’t the foggiest notion of what his decision would bring.
Chet, thanks for the time I had to get to know you. Thank you for the example you set. We love you man.
A day later we were informed that our assignment was changed. Now we were assigned to the Saigon area. We were to be attached to the 716th MP Battalion. And, that brings me to the primary topic for this issue. Our duties would include the usual routine police work as well as physical security.
At that time the US Navy was responsible for the security of the area of operation (AO). The battalion was given the duties of securing the various important sites. These included supply sites and billeting sites for US forces. Each of the billeting sites had one or two US MPs and a Vietnamese policeman. Every effort was made to make it difficult for attackers to make entrance and do damage.
The naval commander at the time ordered that the men on the security posts at the billets could only be armed with shotguns and .45 caliber side arms. His rationalization was that he didn’t want the VC to think we were afraid of them. At least, that was the story that was going around at the time.
Unfortunately, the VC didn’t get the message, or maybe they did. Anyway, the VC maintained their weaponry. Primarily AK-47s. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there is an advantage here for the guy who has the biggest “stick”.
That is the situation Captain Chet Lee and his troops faced on April 1, 1966 when the VC chose to attack the Victoria Hotel. There is no doubt in my mind that the troops at the hotel did their best to protect the hotel. I am equally sure that Chet gave his last true measure of devotion when he turned around to provide reinforcements to his troops.
When you’re outgunned you’re outgunned. All to assuage the ego of a person who hadn’t the foggiest notion of what his decision would bring.
Chet, thanks for the time I had to get to know you. Thank you for the example you set. We love you man.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
War Story #7
It was 1971, and I was assigned to the Provost Marshal’s office at MACV HQ, in Viet Nam. My duty title was Narcotics Staff Officer. At that time there was quite a problem with soldiers using heroin. But, that is another war story. It was during this time that I was introduced to one of my favorite convivial libations, the Black Russian.
The evening was quiet at the BOQ where I was living. I’m in my skivvies, reading mail and writing letters. There came a raucous knock at the door. To my surprise, it was one of my colleagues from the office. He had just returned from a get together at the Provost Marshal’s quarters and was about three sheets to the wind. He wanted to talk. He also wanted to go to the bar for another drink. I got dressed and away we went upstairs to the bar.
It was at this time when he asked if I had ever had a Black Russian? I had not, but was willing to try. He ordered the drinks complete with a twist and we sat down to talk. Well, he talked and I listened.
If you are not familiar with the drink let me explain the intricacies of preparing one.
Black Russian
2 parts Vodka 1 part Kahlua over ice.
I prefer a half and half mixture myself. Some even like it with a twist. Not me.
If you put milk or cream with it, it becomes a white Russian.
Now back to the main theme. My colleague was complaining about Army officers, particularly those who were Military Police. He was the Air Force equivalent. He was not too impressed with the Provost Marshal. He then decided to tell me about his problems with his children, his wife and his girl friend. In the meantime, I had consumed about a dozen Black Russians and was just getting a slight buzz. It was a good thing I didn’t have to drive anywhere.
It was about this time when he poured a part of his drink on my leg. I told him it was time to pour him into bed. We left the bar and that is the saga of how I discovered the joy of a convivial libation, the Black Russian.
Serve well! Live fully! Enjoy a Black Russian.
The evening was quiet at the BOQ where I was living. I’m in my skivvies, reading mail and writing letters. There came a raucous knock at the door. To my surprise, it was one of my colleagues from the office. He had just returned from a get together at the Provost Marshal’s quarters and was about three sheets to the wind. He wanted to talk. He also wanted to go to the bar for another drink. I got dressed and away we went upstairs to the bar.
It was at this time when he asked if I had ever had a Black Russian? I had not, but was willing to try. He ordered the drinks complete with a twist and we sat down to talk. Well, he talked and I listened.
If you are not familiar with the drink let me explain the intricacies of preparing one.
Black Russian
2 parts Vodka 1 part Kahlua over ice.
I prefer a half and half mixture myself. Some even like it with a twist. Not me.
If you put milk or cream with it, it becomes a white Russian.
Now back to the main theme. My colleague was complaining about Army officers, particularly those who were Military Police. He was the Air Force equivalent. He was not too impressed with the Provost Marshal. He then decided to tell me about his problems with his children, his wife and his girl friend. In the meantime, I had consumed about a dozen Black Russians and was just getting a slight buzz. It was a good thing I didn’t have to drive anywhere.
It was about this time when he poured a part of his drink on my leg. I told him it was time to pour him into bed. We left the bar and that is the saga of how I discovered the joy of a convivial libation, the Black Russian.
Serve well! Live fully! Enjoy a Black Russian.
Friday, March 31, 2006
War Story #6
One of the many duties I was fortunate to perform as a Military Police officer was the one of duty officer. For the uninitiated, that meant that I was the “head cop” for the night or weekend I had the assignment. During that time I was the supervisor of the MP’s who were on the road providing service and protection for the inhabitants of Fort Hood, TX.
One evening I recall particularly, we were having a very pleasant and quiet time. The routine patrols were just that, routine. The young specialist who was the desk clerk made a comment on how quiet things were. He wanted to have something to do. His comment was something to the effect that we needed a domestic disturbance, a fire or even a murder. The words were hardly out of his mouth when the call came in reporting a domestic disturbance in one of the housing areas.
A patrol was dispatched, and with nothing better to do, my driver and I set off to watch the action. We went into the quarters to determine what was happening. In most situations like that we try to determine what is going on and then take the soldier back to his unit and turn him over to the First Sergeant, or whomever is on duty at the company. We were explaining this to the couple and were about to take the soldier out to the sedan. He was cooperative, however, upon reaching the company area he decided to put up a struggle and kicked at the MP’s. Not a good plan. They subdued him and were taking him up the walkway to the company headquarters when the fire call came through.
Well, we were off again for a new adventure. We arrived on the scene to find the fire department doing their job extremely well. The MP’s who answered the call were doing there job according to SOP (standing operating procedures), and the next call came in. You guessed it, sounds of gunfire in a different housing area.
Upon arrival, I discovered that the MP’s and CID (detectives) were on the scene. They had secured the area and were attempting to gain entry into the quarters. The front door was blocked. They finally entered the rear door. Two of the MP’s and a CID agent entered and confronted the wife. She was seated on the couch in the front room. Her husband’s body was on the floor, blocking the front door.
The wife was asked what happened. It was difficult for them to understand her due to her German accent. She became quite agitated and reached under a pillow on the sofa and pulled out a revolver. The MP’s and the CID agent commanded her to drop the weapon. She refused to do so and was waving back and forth between the MP’s and the CID agent. The CID agent discharged two rounds hitting her in the arm with both of them. It took the second shot for her to release her grip on the weapon.
During this time I was outside at the front of the house keeping the neighbors away and trying to find out what information I could about the situation when I heard a gun being fired. It was only later that I learned the details. As it turned out the woman was standing between the CID agent and the front of the house. It was good he was a good shot. Had he missed a bullet might have come my way.
That ended the excitement for the evening. We returned to the MP Station to complete the paperwork. It was then that we suggested to the young desk clerk to be much more circumspect in what he wishes for. We didn’t need that much excitement at one time.
One evening I recall particularly, we were having a very pleasant and quiet time. The routine patrols were just that, routine. The young specialist who was the desk clerk made a comment on how quiet things were. He wanted to have something to do. His comment was something to the effect that we needed a domestic disturbance, a fire or even a murder. The words were hardly out of his mouth when the call came in reporting a domestic disturbance in one of the housing areas.
A patrol was dispatched, and with nothing better to do, my driver and I set off to watch the action. We went into the quarters to determine what was happening. In most situations like that we try to determine what is going on and then take the soldier back to his unit and turn him over to the First Sergeant, or whomever is on duty at the company. We were explaining this to the couple and were about to take the soldier out to the sedan. He was cooperative, however, upon reaching the company area he decided to put up a struggle and kicked at the MP’s. Not a good plan. They subdued him and were taking him up the walkway to the company headquarters when the fire call came through.
Well, we were off again for a new adventure. We arrived on the scene to find the fire department doing their job extremely well. The MP’s who answered the call were doing there job according to SOP (standing operating procedures), and the next call came in. You guessed it, sounds of gunfire in a different housing area.
Upon arrival, I discovered that the MP’s and CID (detectives) were on the scene. They had secured the area and were attempting to gain entry into the quarters. The front door was blocked. They finally entered the rear door. Two of the MP’s and a CID agent entered and confronted the wife. She was seated on the couch in the front room. Her husband’s body was on the floor, blocking the front door.
The wife was asked what happened. It was difficult for them to understand her due to her German accent. She became quite agitated and reached under a pillow on the sofa and pulled out a revolver. The MP’s and the CID agent commanded her to drop the weapon. She refused to do so and was waving back and forth between the MP’s and the CID agent. The CID agent discharged two rounds hitting her in the arm with both of them. It took the second shot for her to release her grip on the weapon.
During this time I was outside at the front of the house keeping the neighbors away and trying to find out what information I could about the situation when I heard a gun being fired. It was only later that I learned the details. As it turned out the woman was standing between the CID agent and the front of the house. It was good he was a good shot. Had he missed a bullet might have come my way.
That ended the excitement for the evening. We returned to the MP Station to complete the paperwork. It was then that we suggested to the young desk clerk to be much more circumspect in what he wishes for. We didn’t need that much excitement at one time.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
War Story #5
I don’t remember how long I had the instructor assignment. It could have been almost a year when the Air Force decided it was time for me to practice the trade of jet engine mechanic. I was reassigned to Williams AFB in Chandler, AZ. That was a small town Southeast of Phoenix. I never did get to work on any jet engines. My job was known as a 780 clerk. There were several of us doing this job. Our primary responsibility was to maintain ancillary equipment and the requisite paperwork and manuals for the squadron.
It was a dull, routine job that did not take a lot of time. I did get proficient at removing and replacing outdated pages in technical manuals. There must have been about a half dozen mechanic’s shacks along the flight line. Each had its own set of manuals that had to be updated periodically. To make my job more fulfilling I would wait until I had several updates to post prior to doing the updates. Then it would take me about half of the morning to do the job. As I reflect on that course of action now, I was a real dummy. There could have been some very important updates that might have caused serious harm.
It was during this assignment that I met a young woman whom I would eventually ask to be my wife. I recall reading something by Shere Hite, I believe it was, about escaping into marriage. I think we both did that. The one very good thing that came from that union was our beautiful daughter. She is still a bright spot in my life, along with her sisters, the girls from this marriage.
I was able to attain the rank of Airman First Class during my four-year tour. Nothing spectacular in that. I also began taking college courses. At no time in my life did I ever think about, much less plan, college. No one in our family had ever gotten past high school. Upon my completion of my tour with the Air Force I attended Arizona State University, majoring in philosophy/psychology. Because of my military service I was able to complete a four-year program in three.
It was during this time that an old family friend came to ASU as a faculty member. He and I discussed the option of ROTC. My goal at that time was to get a Master’s degree and go teach somewhere. I wasn’t about to go back into the military for a prolonged assignment. He did remind me that, at that time, the Army had a program whereby you could serve six-months active duty for training and spend the rest of your obligated time in the reserves. Well that fit more into my plan. Besides, at that time, ROTC students in their last two years were paid a marvelous stipend of $20.00 per month. Being married with one child that extra money came in handy.
I got the six-month assignment. I put off going to summer camp until I graduated, and was sworn in at the completion of that camp. I returned to Phoenix to await the date to report to Fort Gordon, GA to attend the basic MP officers training. Well wouldn’t you know it, something had to change. Those damned fools built the Berlin wall and I got orders extending my six-month tour to two years. That was a bit of a shock. My wife was not too happy about it, but there will be more about that later, perhaps in the next chapter.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
War Story #4
When I enlisted in the US Air Force my career options were limited. I chose jet engine mechanic. After completing basic training at Sampson AFB in New York State I was then assigned to Chanute AFB in Rantoul, IL for my technical training. During the course of training one of the NCO instructors observed me explaining the accessory section of a J-47 engine to a classmate. He later asked me if I would like to be an instructor. My first response was no.
After thinking over the opportunity, I went back to him and talked more about it. After that conversation I decided that I would give it a try. Apparently he saw something in me that I did not know about. At the time I did not know anything about power other than the power that comes with position. I used it unmercifully. As I look back on it, I was a tyrant. I had one more stripe than any of the students. You guessed it, I outranked them and I took unfair advantage of that. It was a learning experience.
I remember one class that was particularly unruly. They were required to do the GI party earlier than usual. Hey, if you don't want to learn, then we will let you do something you will have to do anyway.
That was my first taste of being an instructor. I have found out ways to do that from that time on. I like to think that I have mellowed since then. The difference, as far as I can tell, is the discovery of my personal power.
All through my life I have found myself making decisions to be teaching others. It is very rewarding to help others discover things they knew, but were unaware of their knowledge. I was beginning to lay the foundation so that I could discover the concepts of ....
Serve Well! Live Fully! Do good works.
After thinking over the opportunity, I went back to him and talked more about it. After that conversation I decided that I would give it a try. Apparently he saw something in me that I did not know about. At the time I did not know anything about power other than the power that comes with position. I used it unmercifully. As I look back on it, I was a tyrant. I had one more stripe than any of the students. You guessed it, I outranked them and I took unfair advantage of that. It was a learning experience.
I remember one class that was particularly unruly. They were required to do the GI party earlier than usual. Hey, if you don't want to learn, then we will let you do something you will have to do anyway.
That was my first taste of being an instructor. I have found out ways to do that from that time on. I like to think that I have mellowed since then. The difference, as far as I can tell, is the discovery of my personal power.
All through my life I have found myself making decisions to be teaching others. It is very rewarding to help others discover things they knew, but were unaware of their knowledge. I was beginning to lay the foundation so that I could discover the concepts of ....
Serve Well! Live Fully! Do good works.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
War Story #3
"War Story” #3
Today has been a very busy day, and wouldn't you know it the muse has come knocking and said, "Pay attention to me! I have things you need to write down." So here goes.
It was in 1961 during my first assignment as a 2nd Lt. aka butter bar. I was fortunate in a couple of respects. 1) I was an Army brat, and 2) I had served four years as enlisted man in the Air Force. It was a pretty good deal upon graduation from high school. I have never been much of a planner and this opportunity arose and I took it. Maybe talking things over with the magistrate and my step-dad concerning a bum rap that caused me to spend a night in the county jail had something to do with it. Anyway, upon graduation I hightailed it down to the recruiter’s office and signed up.
Now we will leap forward a few years to the Fort Hood assignment with the 720th MP Battalion. As the lieutenant who had the most time in service I was lucky to be the highest paid shave-tail in the battalion. There was a joke going around that only the battalion commander made more money than I did. I wished. I had received my commission upon the completion of ROTC summer camp. I never will forget our Platoon Sergeant inviting me for a beer at the PX slop chute the night before my commissioning. He offered a toast to me on the last night I would be a man. You know the military custom separating the officers from the men? It was an honor for me for him to care enough to take that extra step.
Jumping back to Fort Hood let me get to the one small story that caused me to write this posting. Our company had about the best supply sergeant in the US Army. If we didn't have it, we didn't need it. He kept the troops well supplied. Around the supply room he had hung a number of signs. Each had a pithy little message one could carry through life and it would hold him in good stead. My favorite was this one, "You are not completely worthless, you can always serve as a bad example." And to think I almost was.
Life is good, no matter what. The goodness comes in discovering and learning the lesson.
Today has been a very busy day, and wouldn't you know it the muse has come knocking and said, "Pay attention to me! I have things you need to write down." So here goes.
It was in 1961 during my first assignment as a 2nd Lt. aka butter bar. I was fortunate in a couple of respects. 1) I was an Army brat, and 2) I had served four years as enlisted man in the Air Force. It was a pretty good deal upon graduation from high school. I have never been much of a planner and this opportunity arose and I took it. Maybe talking things over with the magistrate and my step-dad concerning a bum rap that caused me to spend a night in the county jail had something to do with it. Anyway, upon graduation I hightailed it down to the recruiter’s office and signed up.
Now we will leap forward a few years to the Fort Hood assignment with the 720th MP Battalion. As the lieutenant who had the most time in service I was lucky to be the highest paid shave-tail in the battalion. There was a joke going around that only the battalion commander made more money than I did. I wished. I had received my commission upon the completion of ROTC summer camp. I never will forget our Platoon Sergeant inviting me for a beer at the PX slop chute the night before my commissioning. He offered a toast to me on the last night I would be a man. You know the military custom separating the officers from the men? It was an honor for me for him to care enough to take that extra step.
Jumping back to Fort Hood let me get to the one small story that caused me to write this posting. Our company had about the best supply sergeant in the US Army. If we didn't have it, we didn't need it. He kept the troops well supplied. Around the supply room he had hung a number of signs. Each had a pithy little message one could carry through life and it would hold him in good stead. My favorite was this one, "You are not completely worthless, you can always serve as a bad example." And to think I almost was.
Life is good, no matter what. The goodness comes in discovering and learning the lesson.
Friday, March 17, 2006
War Story #2
It was March 1965. The 720th MP Battalion was in the field at Fort Hood, TX. We were undergoing routine field training. One thing about the military police, when they go to the field for training, they end up doing their normal police duties too. The mission was going along quite well. We were securing convoys, manning traffic control points, providing security for important sites, and generally trying to keep from being miserable. Late in the day, early evening if my memory serves me right, we were ordered back to garrison to prepare for an early morning deployment. We were given a couple of hours to get whatever gear we needed from our homes, but we could not tell our families where we were going.
We had all been keeping up with the "outside world". It was the time of civil rights movement and many important things were happening. This was the time when James Meredith was enrolled at the University of Mississippi. Our job would be to provide personal security for him during his tenure there.
The battalion packed up and went to Killeen AFB to board military transports for the flight to Memphis. It is amazing how you can make bed out of packing crates in a 1/4 ton trailer. Upon landing at Memphis we received a briefing concerning our assignments. My platoon was going to be split up to establish road blocks at the major routes in and out of Oxford, Mississippi.
We boarded helicopters to be transported to our duty sites. We were all equipped with the appropriate "combat" gear for the time. We were issued the tear gas grenades that looked like baseballs. It was a common practice to hang them on our web gear by their pin rings. The rationalization being, that if you needed to deploy them in a hurry, you just had to yank on the grenade and it would come free of the pin. There is not much danger when doing this as long as the handle is held firmly. As soon as the handle is released the grenade will blow tear gas all over hell and back, or at least in a relatively large radius. And, it doesn't pay to be down wind of one without a gas mask.
I traveled with one of the squads that was led by an "old timer". He was a good NCO, and could be very funny. While in flight Sarge was trying to get comfortable and was adjusting his gear when his rifle sling pushed against one of his tear gas grenades separating it from its pin. He did not have the grenade in his hand and it came loose from the pin. All of the MPs on board had gas masks. The flight crew did not. A potentially dangerous situation. However, the helicopter banked the proper direction and the grenade rolled harmlessly out of the door.
We made it to our duty post without further incident. The Sarge and I did have a little discussion about this. He realized that we were all very fortunate.
More about this assignment later.
We had all been keeping up with the "outside world". It was the time of civil rights movement and many important things were happening. This was the time when James Meredith was enrolled at the University of Mississippi. Our job would be to provide personal security for him during his tenure there.
The battalion packed up and went to Killeen AFB to board military transports for the flight to Memphis. It is amazing how you can make bed out of packing crates in a 1/4 ton trailer. Upon landing at Memphis we received a briefing concerning our assignments. My platoon was going to be split up to establish road blocks at the major routes in and out of Oxford, Mississippi.
We boarded helicopters to be transported to our duty sites. We were all equipped with the appropriate "combat" gear for the time. We were issued the tear gas grenades that looked like baseballs. It was a common practice to hang them on our web gear by their pin rings. The rationalization being, that if you needed to deploy them in a hurry, you just had to yank on the grenade and it would come free of the pin. There is not much danger when doing this as long as the handle is held firmly. As soon as the handle is released the grenade will blow tear gas all over hell and back, or at least in a relatively large radius. And, it doesn't pay to be down wind of one without a gas mask.
I traveled with one of the squads that was led by an "old timer". He was a good NCO, and could be very funny. While in flight Sarge was trying to get comfortable and was adjusting his gear when his rifle sling pushed against one of his tear gas grenades separating it from its pin. He did not have the grenade in his hand and it came loose from the pin. All of the MPs on board had gas masks. The flight crew did not. A potentially dangerous situation. However, the helicopter banked the proper direction and the grenade rolled harmlessly out of the door.
We made it to our duty post without further incident. The Sarge and I did have a little discussion about this. He realized that we were all very fortunate.
More about this assignment later.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
A "War Story", the first of several
The year was 1961 it was my first duty assignment as a Second Lieutenant--Company B, 720th MP Battalion, Fort Hood, TX. As a company officer I had many additional duties to supplement my primary duty as Platoon Leader. One of my favorite duties was that of Mess Officer. It was through this duty that I learned to enjoy scallops again. As a kid I got sick one time from eating them so I swore off of them for the rest of my life.
Well, fate has a unique way of getting your attention. This time it was very pleasant. While walking through the company area near noon I could not help but notice the most enticing aroma emanating from the mess hall. Any conscientious leader has to investigate everything that is happening within the olfactory range as well as within sight and hearing. Realizing my duties and responsibilities I forged ahead and entered the mess hall. Upon asking the Mess Sergeant what was the cause of that most marvelous aroma permeating the company area, I was informed that the luncheon special was deep-fried scallops.
Arrgh! I hate them. I cannot abide them. They make me sick. Yuck!!
I then approached the steam table where the first scallops out of the deep-fryer were waiting to be served. They looked as good as they smelled. Now I have a real dilemma. I don't like scallops, but I have a duty to the troops to test them to insure they are edible. After all we don't want the troops coming down with an illness. Scallops can do that you know.
You guessed it, I screwed up my courage. (It only took a couple of twists of the screw driver.) I asked the Mess Sergeant if I might try one. He agreed to get me one. We did have a breakdown in communication. I meant one scallop, he meant one bowl. I tried that "one" and have been eating them ever since. Thanks, Sarge.
By the way, I hope you all know the difference between a fairy tale and a war story.
A fairy tale starts out, "Once upon a time."
A war story starts out, "No shit, this really happened."
This really happened, no shytte.
Remind me to tell you sometime about the Supply Sergeant's little Homilies.
Well, fate has a unique way of getting your attention. This time it was very pleasant. While walking through the company area near noon I could not help but notice the most enticing aroma emanating from the mess hall. Any conscientious leader has to investigate everything that is happening within the olfactory range as well as within sight and hearing. Realizing my duties and responsibilities I forged ahead and entered the mess hall. Upon asking the Mess Sergeant what was the cause of that most marvelous aroma permeating the company area, I was informed that the luncheon special was deep-fried scallops.
Arrgh! I hate them. I cannot abide them. They make me sick. Yuck!!
I then approached the steam table where the first scallops out of the deep-fryer were waiting to be served. They looked as good as they smelled. Now I have a real dilemma. I don't like scallops, but I have a duty to the troops to test them to insure they are edible. After all we don't want the troops coming down with an illness. Scallops can do that you know.
You guessed it, I screwed up my courage. (It only took a couple of twists of the screw driver.) I asked the Mess Sergeant if I might try one. He agreed to get me one. We did have a breakdown in communication. I meant one scallop, he meant one bowl. I tried that "one" and have been eating them ever since. Thanks, Sarge.
By the way, I hope you all know the difference between a fairy tale and a war story.
A fairy tale starts out, "Once upon a time."
A war story starts out, "No shit, this really happened."
This really happened, no shytte.
Remind me to tell you sometime about the Supply Sergeant's little Homilies.
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