Military Stories

[teflon6string]

Navy ships on extended deployments at sea need fuel. Thousands of tons of fuel, especially aircraft carriers with thirsty planes. During Underway Replenishment (UNREP), a supply tanker ship runs along side the death star, delivering said tonnage via giant hoses suspended below cables pulled taut between the rolling, heaving decks. All this happens while half a dozen helos make 100+ trips slinging netted palates of hard cargo topside. Quite the operation to observe.

Anyhow, sometime in 96-97, I was showing some really junior sailors around their first US warship in Japan. We came across the UNREP fuel rig like what's pictured below (but just the receiving part on the left, none of the delivery nozzle on the right).

I checked my conscience and told them what I thought they needed to know.

Fast forward several months, and I overheard my exact words, which had made their way down to the mess hall. A young Marine was explaining to someone...

"This ship sometimes goes to ports where they don't have tug boats to dock it. So we have rocket engines, fore and aft on both sides. Then the skipper can maneuver the ship sideways against the pier to tie up. Oh, yeah! It probably burns tons of fuel! Did you see the size of that rocket nozzle and the fuel line? It's gotta be loud as hell!"

I walked away chuckling. My work there was done and I could retire in peace.

 

[Jasonanddeonna]

First of all let me say Thank You ALL for your Service, and for sharing your stories!

I have no stories of my own to tell, as I did not serve.

My dad was in Okinawa (SF 3/c, 7th N.C.B. SeaBees) and my uncle was in Germany during WWII.

They are no longer around to tell their stories. Dad never really talked about his time in the war, either from not wanting to remember those times or just nothing to tell, I don't know for sure. I never really saw my uncle very often and he died before I reached my teens. All I have to share is some memorabilia that I've been going through the past few weeks. I finally found a box I was looking for and thought I'd post a couple of pictures.

This is a letter that dad received after returning home. While it is addressed to him, I believe it speaks to ALL the men who served during that time no matter the branch of service...

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My uncle, on the other hand, definitely could have told some tales, but I think this speaks volumes on its own...

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God Bless our fighting men and women, Past, Present and Future.

Thank you for sharing and for their service.

 

[Jasonanddeonna]

Everyone, thank you again for your contributions and stories. Some humorous, some heroic, and all greatly appreciated.

 

[USMC-03]

1990 I was stationed at Camp Pendleton and spent most of my weekends down in San Diego on Mission Beach. I always stayed at this little roach trap motel and got to know the manager who was from North Ireland and had served in the British army. He had some good stories but my favorite was about his father.

The father was a British infantryman and landed at Normandy a couple days after D-Day. Moving inland his squad was scouting ahead and came across a German strongpoint - machine guns, tanks, artillery, the entire army from their standpoint.

They got on the radio for support but everyone was busy elsewhere with their own entire German army. Just at the point of desperation, a small voice came over the air, "Need some assistance, mate?" Why, yes, who are you. "Look up", and there was a tiny observation plane overhead.

The map coordinates and situation was relayed to the plane. "Move back 100 yards and stay down." They did and in a few minutes the hand of God reached down from the heavens. The earth shook, the noise deafened them and falling dirt rained down...

What in the name of all that's holy was that?! "Oh, the HMS Duke of York's (I don't recall the actual ship anymore) main batteries. It's standing by just off shore and I'm the spotter..."

Two days later the squad ran into another area of significant resistance and got on the radio to call for support. "Need some assistance, mate?" NO! We'll take care of this by ourselves...

 

[OldBroad44]

I was in basic training, Fort Dix NJ, March 1973. At some point I was on KP, and was cut loose for an hour or so. I was hightailing back to the company area and I cut across what I took for a field, sandy sparse soil, weedy vegetation. Then I hear 'Hey troop get off the grass!". I thought can't be talking to me because this sure as heck isn't grass so I kept going. Again louder, "troop get off the grass!". Then I look around and sure enough someone shouting at me from a neighboring building. I stand there stupidly, point at myself like 'who me'?... "Yea you numbnuts, get the f*** off the grass!!"Well, I learned a valuable lesson that day. At least at Fort Dix NJ, anything between two sidewalks was considered grass.

Maybe there was just one and you were standing on it.

 

[zenbreath]

It was worth it and I'd do it again, but I'd join the Marines. Those guys are always into something.

Not necessarily.

I did 4 in the Corps.....in Data Processing. I missed out on deployment to Grenada and Beirut by one slot.

 

[Artilleryman]

Once upon a time in Korea, 1990 the leadership of the 2nd Infantry Division was visited by the 'good idea fairy'. It was determined that Soldiers were not changing their socks often enough. Thus it was decreed that all personnel would carry a spare pair of socks in the left cargo pocket of their BDUs. Commanders & 1st Sergeants would have "sock checks" at formations to ensure compliance. Compliance would also be checked anytime you left or entered base, as well as many briefings, memorandums, etc extolling the virtues of the extra socks as well as threatening hellfire & brimstone if this "common sense" order was not followed.
Some weeks later one of the geniuses in command issued a revision to the order: apparently two socks rolled up & stuffed into a cargo pocket created an unsightly lump in the pocket, thus presenting an unprofessional & unbalanced appearance. Therefore to correct this oversight the socks should be moved to the right cargo pocket instead.
A period of time elapsed & eventually it was realized that the revised order did not in fact solve the problem. Much study was put into this heinous problem. The Division's best & brightest reviewed it from every angle. Eventually a proclamation was issued stating thou shalt separate thine socks & carry one in each cargo pocket, thus slaying the dragon

 

[USMC-03]

Some key points on evaluating sea stories...

7 signs that a veteran's story is 'totally legit'

 

[Jim Colvill]

No combat tales from me as I missed 'Nam and spent my time as a cook playing silly buggers in the Fulda Gap in the mid 70's. None the less:

There I was in the rear area mess hall while our tankers of the 3/63 Armor were pewing their big pews on the ranges at 7thATC in Grafenwohr. We were busy cooking up a healthy lunch of shrimp creole and rice; the kitchen smelled heavenly. Out of nowhere some yahoo in G2 decided that we all needed NBC training and that our position had just experienced a (simulated) gas attack; we were to follow NBC protocol TO THE LETTER. Our mess daddy, Sgt.Z, threw the order down on a table and shouted "If dey wants to play stupid bubblegum ,den I guarawntee dey ain't gonna like it" (No one can swear like a Cajun from New Iberia). "All dat der food is contaminated; dump it all, 'cept save some for ourselves." So we followed orders and reserved some shrimp creole for the mess section and the rest of the 15 gallon pot went out in the slop cans. We spent the next two hours wearing our gas masks playing cribbage or reading. When the tankers returned from the range all hot, sweaty, dusty, and hungry they were greeted not with hot shrimp creole but cold C rations.

The next time G2 sent out the NBC training order it stated that all sections would follow NBC protocol EXCEPT the mess section. Good times.

 

[Jim Colvill]

Another story I like comes from my roommate. He was in the Navy serving on the USS William M. Wood while I was mucking about in Europe. He was telling me about the time his squadron was passing through the Straits of Messina, between the toe of Italy and Sicily. That day it was high tide in the strait. The Willy Wood had already passed through without incident. The USS Belknap, however, wasn't so lucky. You see, there are massive electrical cables linking Sicily to the mainland and at high tide a ship needs to step down their mast and radar array to avoid running afoul of them. As my roomie tells it the Belknap failed to step the mast and to make matters worse, ran the strait at full speed. Radar array strikes power lines, bringing them down, and fried the on board system while depriving the entire island of Sicily of electricity. This story has been confirmed by a former Naval intelligence WO I am acquainted with. The Belknap repaired their radar just in time to collide with the JFK a week later.

 

[RicInOR]

Belknap after the up close and personal visit to the Kennedy

 

[Mica]

So there's was, chest deep in spent brass and grenade pins...

I thought I was the only one who survived that. Man, glad you made it out brother.

 

[JeremyK]

On my deployment to Iraq on a convoy security mission, it was put out by our commander that we were to keep all of our mission essential kit (Kevlar, body armor, etc.) at the motorpool so it was conveniently placed for when we left the wire. Well lo and behold, one night some fellas took it upon themselves to mortar our FOB. This happened frequently enough, and we all lackadaisically found our way to the mortar shelters, basically small huts constructed of concrete pylons. So there we were, smoking and joking and miffed that we have to hide in these things until the "all clear" is sounded. Along comes our first sergeant all kitted up: body armor, k-pot, eye pro with his M4 locked and loaded. "What the f——— are you doing?! Get your gear on!" He screamed at us. A guy named Smith said, very calmly over his cigarette, "our gear's at the motorpool, top." The look of befuddlement that came across our first sergeant was PRICELESS!

 

[USMC-03]

I thought I was the only one who survived that. Man, glad you made it out brother.

Me too. Thanks.

But it changes you, man. It changes you...

 

[Jasonanddeonna]

No combat tales from me as I missed 'Nam and spent my time as a cook playing silly buggers in the Fulda Gap in the mid 70's. None the less:

There I was in the rear area mess hall while our tankers of the 3/63 Armor were pewing their big pews on the ranges at 7thATC in Grafenwohr. We were busy cooking up a healthy lunch of shrimp creole and rice; the kitchen smelled heavenly. Out of nowhere some yahoo in G2 decided that we all needed NBC training and that our position had just experienced a (simulated) gas attack; we were to follow NBC protocol TO THE LETTER. Our mess daddy, Sgt.Z, threw the order down on a table and shouted "If dey wants to play stupid bubblegum ,den I guarawntee dey ain't gonna like it" (No one can swear like a Cajun from New Iberia). "All dat der food is contaminated; dump it all, 'cept save some for ourselves." So we followed orders and reserved some shrimp creole for the mess section and the rest of the 15 gallon pot went out in the slop cans. We spent the next two hours wearing our gas masks playing cribbage or reading. When the tankers returned from the range all hot, sweaty, dusty, and hungry they were greeted not with hot shrimp creole but cold C rations.

The next time G2 sent out the NBC training order it stated that all sections would follow NBC protocol EXCEPT the mess section. Good times.

Ouch! That'll learn "em...

 

[Jasonanddeonna]

Missing my nightly stories from you folks. If you are up to sharing, I am very grateful to read them. Thanks again!

 

[gmerkt]

I did 19 months in Vietnam but no combat heroics came of it. I've got many stupid little anecdote-type stories. Sometimes, I think there ought to be a ribbon for sheer duration, that is, serving out a long stretch of time on a tour or tours. Some people can't do it, even as civilians.

Okay, one stupid little story. Family clean. I spent my Vietnam time mostly on Long Binh Post. Big perimeter surrounding it, needed lots of guarding. So enlisted men stood guard duty. Two hours on, two hours off, all travel time to and from the bunkers came out of your two. Command bunker where we spent the off time was filthy, smelly and crawling with roaches. There were old WW2-type metal bunks to lay down on; thin, dirty mattresses from who knows how many muddy boots that had been laid down on them.

We went on guard duty in pairs. Each guy had his own rifle, plus we had an M60 machine gun and an M79 bloop gun (40mm grenade launcher). If the rifle that had a launcher built onto it had been invented by then, we didn't have such. We took a spare barrel for the M60 along in its carry bag. But on one night, I removed the spare barrel and replaced it with a radio. Which was not allowed on guard duty. Neither was sleeping, but it was pretty routine to take turns at that. I never did; my guard duty partners usually did their share and mine.

So this night, we were driven out to our guard posts to other dirty bunkers only much smaller. These were spaced out along the perimeter wire with dirt berms going out from each side to the adjacent bunkers about 50 yards away. There was a ledge looking out over the perimeter where we'd set up the machine gun. Oh, we also had a Starlight scope and that was placed on the ledge too.

My partner this night was a young fella from Fresno, Calif. His main interest was sleep so he went right to work on that. I was checking out the machine gun, looking it over. Since I was a gun guy even then, I liked doing this. After it got dark, I decided to strip a couple of rounds out of the belted MG ammo and fire them off single shot. Which you aren't supposed to do, "you will give away your position to the enemy." But these were permanent bunkers, the enemy already knew where they all were. I went ahead, chambered a round, aimed at one of the wire stakes out front, and let it go. Funny thing was, I noticed the cartridge case didn't eject. I pulled on the op handle, it wouldn't open. So I put the butt of the MG on the floor and stomped on the handle with my boot. It opened but still didn't eject. Whereupon I looked in the chamber, and there was the fired case - stuck. Oooo, now here I am on guard duty, and my MG won't work. Is this the night that we get a human wave attack like we've heard about in the Korean War and some of the hairier battles in Vietnam?? Surely I'll need the MG if that were to happen.

At this point, I decided to take the barrel off the M60, which is an easy thing, turn one lever and it comes off. With the barrel off, I could look at the breech face. I could see the extractor had ripped the edge off the case head where the extractor groove is. From when I tried to forcefully clear it. Oops. Well, it wasn't coming out anyway. Then I looked at the sides of the breech on the barrel. Where it locks onto the receiver, there is a locking slot cut into the breech. I looked at the barrel and noticed there was another locking slot on the other side of the barrel, 180 degrees off. I thought, "Gee, if it locks onto that on one side, it must lock onto the other side the same way. With the front sight facing down, and the bipod facing up." Well, that worked. I locked the barrel in upside down, stomped on the handle again and this time the extractor groove didn't break off and the stuck case ejected. Whew, now I was ready for the human wave attack.

I looked into the chamber and it was coated with red rust. That's what had caused the stuck case. We had no cleaning equipment, rod, nothing. So I thought about this for a minute, then remembered that I had insect repellent with me. Which is oil based. So I shot some bug juice into the chamber, reassembled the MG, put in a length of belt, and let a short stream go. Now I had a working machine gun. Whereupon the field phone in our bunker started going off too. It was the sergeant of the guard wanting to know what was going on in our sector. I told him honestly that I was doing a weapons check; he said, "Knock that sh*t off you moron" or words to that effect.

Live and learn. I never again left the spare M60 barrel behind when going on guard duty. I always visually checked the MG when I drew it out from the armorer. Oh, and my partner from Fresno, he never woke up while this was going on or he just tolerated my fussing around without comment.

 

[gmerkt]

One of my dad's WW2 stories. He was an army air forces pilot in the Pacific. When the war was over, everybody wanted to get home at once which of course was impossible. My dad and his buddy Whip were on the SS Robin Wentley. This was in early October, 1945, there was a typhoon in the far east. Many US naval vessels were sunk or damaged, look it up on Google, it was a big deal at the time.

Anyway, the Robin Wentley had made its way partially across the western Pacific. The weather was hot and humid. Whip and my dad were officers so had been assigned to a small stateroom with some other guys but it was intolerably hot so as many other men did, they went out onto the open decks to try to sleep. They were laying on top of a large hatch cover laid over with canvas. As they were sleeping there, suddenly there was a big disturbance as the stern end of the ship was lifted out of the water. Everyone was instantly awake; some panicky men were saying things like, "Is the ship sinking?" My dad was known as a very sound sleeper but even he had been jolted awake. My dad heard the "ship sinking" comments around, turned to Whip and said, "Criminy, Whip, I can't swim!" Whip's response was, "Well, I can swim but I sure as Hell can't swim back to San Francisco!" As it turned out, there was no danger; the ship had experienced a brief tidal wave that had been generated by the typhoon.

 

[gmerkt]

hahahahaha. I still think of that dumba_s from time to time and wonder what he must tell people about his time in the Air Force and if he says anything about chopping his fingers off. hahahaha

He probably came away from that situation with a compensible disability from the VA. After all, it occurred during military service so it was service connected. He gets a check every month for the rest of his life.

I was in basic training, Fort Dix NJ, March 1973. At some point I was on KP, and was cut loose for an hour or so. I was hightailing back to the company area and I cut across what I took for a field, sandy sparse soil, weedy vegetation. Then I hear 'Hey troop get off the grass!". I thought can't be talking to me because this sure as heck isn't grass so I kept going. Again louder, "troop get off the grass!". Then I look around and sure enough someone shouting at me from a neighboring building. I stand there stupidly, point at myself like 'who me'?... "Yea you numbnuts, get the f*** off the grass!!"Well, I learned a valuable lesson that day. At least at Fort Dix NJ, anything between two sidewalks was considered grass.

Same old stuff at Fort Ord. You didn't find out what the real army was until you left such places and got to your first permanent duty station. Unless you were unlucky enough to be assigned to some similar training establishment. I never knew it at the time, but in general such assignments for career soldiers and officers were like poison. For officers, these assignments were often their last stop. Either they weren't staying in the service or they were officers over 20 years who weren't gonna get another promotion. Some incentive to do a good job training up newbies.

 

[ZigZagZeke]

Leaving Subase Pearl one fine Saturday morning in 1969 through the east gate on foot, I set one foot outside the crosswalk about 100' from the Marine guardpost as I stepped onto the sidewalk after crossing the street. I hear an angry Marine voice shout, "Hey Squirrel! Come back here!" I stopped, turned around, and did my best "Taxi Driver" impression, "Are YOU talking to ME?"

"Yeah, get your bubblegum back here!"

I walked back to the Marine corporal and got right in his face MSgt Ermy style. "Do you have a problem?"

"Yeah, you walked outside the crosswalk. I'm going to write you up for jaywalking."

Me: "Apparently, you do not understand the sergeant/corporal relationship, sonny."

Now somewhat subdued marine: "What do you mean? You've got two stripes and so do I."

Me: "In the Navy, two chevrons is an E5, not an E4. You've just called a superior non-commissioned officer a squirrel. While you're getting that report chit you want to write up, I want you to call the corporal of the guard and get his bubblegum over here."

Corporal of the guard shows up and I explain the situation. Yes, his minion can write me up if he wants, and then I will also need a report chit so I can write him up. Or, we can all forget that this ever happened and let me go have a beer in town.

They decided that nothing happened after all.