Conference repair::reserve_forces

    Re .0:
    
    I don't think this will have you rolling in the aisles but it should
    bring a smile or two.....
    
    Last December, myself and some other sailors were waiting to be
    airlifted out of Morocco by a USAF C-130. Finally, the Herk showed
    up, landed, and taxied to a stop. The props had barely stopped turning when
    this USAF mechanic climbed onto the starboard wing, popped a cover
    off the inboard engine, and began pouring cans of oil (like you
    get at your local store by the case) into the engine.
    
    We Navy commo types were watching this with some interest. Now,
    things aeronautical are not really our line of work but we knew
    enough about engines to know that the starboard inboard engine was
    either burning or losing oil. When the mechanic hopped down off
    the wing, we asked him what was with the engine. He replied casually,
    "Oh that? Yeah, we were losing oil on the flight from Europe so
    last time we refuelled the pilot told me to run over the BX and
    pick up a case of oil just in case." :) :) :)
    
    Those zoomies........
    
    Mark
    RMC USNR

Here's one that's a little low-brow, but still hysterical. For our
UK readers, remember that we drive on the right.

Back when I was a young infantryman, my unit was based in Fitchburg,
Mass. Three or four times a year, we would travel to Camp Edwards/
Otis AFB on Cape Cod. In convoy with 2.5 ton trucks, this is a 2.5
hour ride. Those of us were familiar with the routine, knew that we
would only get one rest stop and then only if we were on schedule.
So here we were, at 0630 on a Saturday morning, climbing on the trucks
for Edwards. This young trooper was on his first trip and spent the 
night before drinking with his friends. We helped him on the truck,
where he promptly fell asleep. As luck would have it, this was one of
those trips where we didn't get to stop. We were cruising along the
highway when this guy finally woke up and announced that he had to
go very badly. We told him that he would have to kneel on the seat
and go over the tailgate. Well, he tried but couldn't do it while
bouncing around. So we told him to climb down on the tongue of the
trailer that we were towing. After convincing him that that was his
only option, he climbed down. Now he was smart enough to realize
that he had to face to the right, so that he would be away from
traffic. Once he got in position, the flood gates opened. Just then,
we came to the end of the highway and came into a traffic light with
another road that merged from the right side. I believe the lady's
words were something like "You pig".

    

This is as good a place as any to put this:

Back when I was in training I was instructed in unarmed combat by a long serving
sergeant major.

On one occasion he announced that only one thing on this earth scared him: a
subaltern with a map!

/. Ian .\

PS: in this context a subaltern is a second lieutenant (for our American readers)

    During Annual Training 88 our 8 inch, Self Propelled Howitzer
    Battalion was providing general artillery support for the ground forces
    at Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah.  One of our drills was called a "bug
    out" where all guns and other tracked vehicles would evacuate the
    firing point as quickly as possible to avoid incoming artillery fire.
    
    During one particularly hot and dusty afternoon we sounded the "bug
    out" alarm to test our Battery's reaction time.  Perched atop the Fire
    Direction Center track, I was impressed with the speed of one gun crew 
    as they quickly loaded up all essential items, pulled up the spade, 
    drew the tube back to travel position, and blew out of the area past
    the other guns.  It was then that I noticed, in the huge cloud of dust
    behind the track, the gun chief running mightily to catch up with his
    rapidly departing gun.
    
    I guess the crew forgot one essential item!  Or did they?
    
    Len    
    

    Every year the Royal Marines (the regulars) go to Norway for Arctic
    training.  They spend several weeks there, living off rat packs,etc
    etc practising one thing or another.  At the end of this period
    they are, to quote an unknown source, a lean,mean(green) fighting
    machine.
    Once their Arctic training is over they have one more task to complete
    before they are allowed home to their loved ones and beer and a
    rest.  They must attack a target.  Guess who defends it! Right,
    a few volunteers from my unit go north every year to offer resistance
    to a herd of charging Marines!!  Part time airman against full time,
    finely-tuned, yompers.  
    Apparently, however, the RAF group put up a respectable fight last
    year and delayed the Marines. They were not very pleased.  From
    listening to the stories bought back, it seemed to me that it was the 
    fear of being caught that prompted the fine display of stalking skills.
    Volunteers are required for next year- I'll let you know,  I want
    to think about it for a while.
    
    Bye,
    Dave
    
    fight last year. 
    

    Annual Training in the Massachusetts National Guard was Humorous in
    General...at least in the company of part time citizen soliders
    I was in...for instance during 1970-1977
    
    Camp Drum New York....
     -Our new platoon leader 2nd Lt. ____ has our squard trek 2,000 meters
     thru muck mire and swamp boogies up to our waists, in the wrong
     direction, because he was reading his map upside down.
    
    -Holding up a whole battalion of infantry while we wait in the lead
    Duece and a half to roll one of those wackie tobackies...
    
    -Digging foxholes so deep that you can't see out from over them
    
    -Getting busted by the staties on the New York Thru way because
    you are throwing beer bottles out into the woods along side the
    road on the annual trek to camp
    
    -Ritual burnings of your draft card at your first camp
    
    -Unloading over 300 cases of beer for camp for your company
    
    -Stealing jeeps from the motor pool and going on a joy ride to 
    Watertown
    
    -Wearing Hairnets to keep  your shoulder length hair underwraps for
    inspection by the C.O.
    
    -Making Piggy noises as the Yankee Division Commander inspects your
    company as he drives by in his car, and getting weekend 
    priviledges recinded
    
    -Stealing pounds and pounds of choice steaks from the divison company
    officers mess...and chowing down on some good steaks middle weekend.
    
    -Seeing half the company go on sick call the day of CS Gas Training
    
    -Cleaning the grease traps in the mess hall because your platoon
    sargent didn't like your excuse to get out of training for the day...
    [Hear that McCarthy...You know Who You Are...if you still work at DEC
    ;-)]
    
    Hey what can I say...I have the Quayle syndrome...joined the ANG
    during the Vietnam War because I didn't want to get my ass shot off
    for no good reason in the Nam, but didn't want to go to Canada either.
    
    -Arthur

    
    
    This past June, myself and three other swabbies left Boston Logan
    Airport for Norfolk, Va. where we were to connect with a MAC flight to
    Guantanamo Bay, Cuba...Known to us as GITMO.
    
    We arrived in Norfolk only to find out my seabag, was still flying
    around somewhere. We hit the base, only to find out the cabbie dropped
    us off about 3/4 of a mile from where we should have been. So being the
    nice nice guy that I was, I helped the others carry thier seabags and
    misc. other bags around the base until we landed at what used to be the
    Chief Quarters.  Ahhhh...finally settle in for a good nights sleep
    since we'll be on the 0645 flight to Gitmo...Wrong....Let's
    see..Siren's,...late night swabbies returning and oh yeah...my seabag
    arrives a 0230, where I now have to take that 3/4 mile trudge to pick
    up my seabag and carry it the 3/4 mile back to the quarters....Yeah..I
    can hear all Army and Marine comments now...
    
    
    Reville @0430 to make sure we get to NAS in time...We do....Only to
    be evacuated from the terminal because of a Bomb threat...About the
    fifth one that they had that week...Soi we stand around for two hours
    while they "clear the plane.  Finally airborne....As we approach
    Gitmo the plane heads back north into the bay then takes a SHARP...I
    mean like...hard left....to approach the airport. I was on the
    starboard side of the plane and if I hadn't been wearing a seabelt
    would have joined the others on the port side rather quickly. 
    
    Only after we land..do we find out that the previous week, one of
    the planes landing scrapped the wingtip on the approach...Apparently
    they have to make such a hard turn because Fidel won't let the US
    military overfly the Cuban territory.
    
    It may not be all that humorous, but after all the events (the Iowa, my
    old ship colliding and then trying to comfort the wife that everything
    will be OK....It definitely was one of my more..rememberable two weeks.
    
    			sw
    
    

    Seeing the Sheridan tanks riding around Panama City on the evening
    news last night reminded me of the time I was on deployment in Puerto
    Rico in '84......
    
    Our equipment was set up on the taxiway at Rosie Roads Naval Station
    airstrip close to a hangar. The 82nd Airborne Division was
    participating in the same exercise and located their tank park of
    Sheridans on the other side of the hangar from us.
    
    A fellow Radioman was interested in the tanks and being an ex-Army
    type, I wanted to impress him with my knowledge of Sheridan tanks
    (155 mm main gun etc). So off we go to the 82nd's tank park. After
    giving him a brief on the Sheridan, he said, "Let's climb up on
    top of one and look inside - see if any hatches are open." I said,
    "OK" and up we go. Unbeknownst to us while we're climbing around
    the turret, a gung-ho 2LT of Armor (Airborne) spots somebody in
    OD green fatigues (us) crawling around the tank. Since everybody
    else is in cammies and since he had given orders that nobody was
    to touch the tanks, the next thing we hear is, "What the f**k are
    you doing on my tanks!"
    
    Thinking quickly as only sailors can, I said to myself, "Oh sh*t!"
    We turned to face the obviously angry 2LT. Whereupon I hopped off
    the tank, saluted him, and proceeded to give him a song-and-dance
    about how I used to be in the US Army, how I was stationed near
    the 3/8th Cav in Germany, and how my shipmate and I were *very*
    impressed with the Sheridan.
    
    I must have caught him off guard (lucky for me) because he seemed
    impressed and proceeded to give us a guided tour of his tank! I
    thanked him, saluted, and my shipmate and I beat feet out of there
    at flank speed.
    
    The morale for you Army guys is to watch out for glib-tongued sailors.
    We usually have lots of practice at talking our way out of tight
    situations! :) :) :) (example: "You see, Chief, it was like this....how
    was I supposed to know the guy I slugged in the bar was an SP? He
    didn't have his armband on....." Well, you get the idea.)
    
    Mark
    RMC USNR

    
    Several years ago while practising with the small arms team, we
    were at the ranges in CFB Borden.
    
    It was the end of the day and we were policing the firing point
    when a message came over the radio from the butts to engage the
    targets.
    
    As the green flag was still flying, we weren't sure what was happening.
    Then three of the target frames came up. On each was a team member
    giving us a 300 metre moon.
    
    Luckily the Base Commander who happenned to have stopped by to see
    how we were doing had a sense of humour.
    
    Roger

      While flying in a 2 ship UH-1H formation last summer at AT, (I
was in the same chopper as the Brigade Commander) our "wing man" came
whipping by us and to my surprise the crew chief had his "pressed ham"
up against the door window. I tapped on the shoulder of one of the
female passengers and pointed out the window towards the other chopper.
She went hysterical!! Needless to say, I think that it was a good thing
that the BC was sitting on the other side of our chopper! :-)

Kevin

Sometimes the best laid plans just seem destined to fail. But sometimes 
they work like a fine clock.

====

My wife was eight month pregnant when the members of my flight crew put 
together plans for a long weekend trip to Anchorage, Alaska. I fly as 
communications operator on the P3 Orion out of NAS South Weymouth, 
Massachusetts. (A combat air crew is a tightly knit group of 12 and in the 
reserves, crews tend to stay together for a long time. Several of us on my 
crew have been together for over 16 years.) The planned trip dates would be 
just two weeks from her due date. Concerned about being away at a bad time, 
she and I visited the doctor. "No problem", he said. "There's no way she'll 
deliver that soon".

Well, a crew evolution to Alaska got changed to a "routine training flight" 
to Jacksonville, Fla only to be changed again to an operational North 
Atlantic flight for the Canadians out of Greenwood, Nova Scotia. We 
departed NAS on Friday with a pick up crew. Only two of my crew members 
decided to make the trip; the co-pilot and myself. 

The flight to Nova Scotia was uneventful, as was the mission brief on 
Saturday morning. We were to search a designated area for an unidentified 
target which was making unusual underwater sounds. It didn't take long to 
pick up the emissions, but localization was another story. Finally, there it 
was on the surface. Whatever it was supposed to be, it looked like a 55 
gallon steel drum with an antenna and was drifting with the Arctic 
currents. Photographed, and monitored acoustically, our mission was 
complete. The trip to homeplate was uneventful except for one message from 
Moncton Center air traffic controllers.

====

Before leaving, my wife and I made arrangements for a friend, a Boston 
nurse, to come up to New Hampshire to stay with her "just in case". Since 
the friend had no car, she would take a bus and my wife would pick her up 
at the station on Saturday.

Saturday morning, my wife got the first signals that this might be the day. 
She called the squadron to see if they could get me home. "Sorry Mad'am", 
replied the young petty officer, "we can't get him back 'til tomorrow, and 
they're due back then anyway". Before she had time to get really upset, the 
Operations Officer called her to say he would arrange to get me home if she 
needed me. They agreed, she would call him if, indeed, she was admitted to 
the hospital. 

Needless to say, things progressed normally. After talking to the doctor, she 
harvested produce from the garden, cleaned the house, and called the Ops 
Officer before leaving for the bus station to pick up her friend on the way 
to the hospital (which was a one hour drive in a Triumph sports car).

====

Twenty thousand feet over Halifax.

Moncton 	"LY02, do you have a Dick Aiken on board?"
Canter 

puzzled		"Yes, we do ... why?"
Co-pilot

Moncton		"Tell him his wife has gone into labor and is in the hospital 
		and the squadron is sending another plane for him."

Co-pilot	"Roger that, thanks."


As we pulled up to the ramp at Greenwood, there was a Canadian staff car 
waiting to take me out to the hotel to get my gear. I would skip the mission 
debrief. My pickup plane was already in the pattern. Be the time we got
back with my bags, the second plane was shutting down the port engines to 
take me on board. Before we could taxi out, we were stopped and shut down 
again so the Navigator from the mission could come on to talk to me. The 
squadron cameras were defective. I had photographed the target with my own, 
using a long lens, and they wanted the film.

On what seemed an interminable flight back to Weymouth, I learned this 
flight crew was doing practice approaches at Griffis AFB in upstate New 
York when they were told by New York Center to refile enroute and head for 
Greenwood to get me.

As soon as we landed at Weymouth, a customs agent, who had been summoned 
from Logan Airport in Boston, came aboard to clear me. With nothing to 
declare, I was soon gone. As I entered the hospital, still in a flight 
suit, the receptionist just pointed to the elevator and said, "Fifth 
floor". 

I arrived at my wife's bedside exactly four hours after receiving the 
initial message from the Canadian air traffic controllers. I arrived with 
three hours to spare.

One month later, I received a small package from Canada. They had developed 
all of my slides and sent them to me, including some great shots of a 
floating 55 gallon drum with an antenna.

    
    I was reminiscing last night with an old buddie and this event was
    remembered.
    
    This occurred early in our carreers when we were both relatively
    new platoon commanders.
    
    He, I and another platoon commander were observing machine gun
    training. The instructor, who was our CSM (Company Sergeant Major),
    was conducting a little competition among the crews from our respective
    platoons. They were not doing well according to his standards.
    
    He berated them with the fact that it was quite probable that even
    junior officers could do better, and in fact, because their platoon
    commanders were present, he would prove it. Accordingly he requested
    our assistance in proving his point. As you know requests from the
    CSM to junior officers are commands, so we readily agreed. Besides
    we had all recently returned from course and had done a fair amount
    of machine gun drill.
    
    The dress of the day for the troops was combat, but for officers
    was tunic, kilt, etc. We can't remember why, probably a visiting
    dignitary.
    
    In case some of you don't know, a heavy machine gun crew consists
    of three people. One who carries the tripod, one the gun itself
    and the third the ammo, whom we will call No 1, 2 and 3 respectively.
    The drill consists of 1 moving into position, adopting the prone
    position and setting up the base. No 2 jumps down and lays the gun.
    No three assumes his position and the gun is loaded. In the field
    it is not done by numbers but in training it is and every movement
    is precise.
    
    My buddie was No 1, I was 3 and the third officer was No 2.
    
    On command my buddie ran forward, dropped to the ground, unfolding
    the tripod as he went. With both hands busy, he couldn't do anything
    else. As he hit the floor his kilt flew up in back and came to rest
    with the hem at his collar. As Robbie Burns would say 'O what a
    glorious sicht'. 
   
    He quickly flicked the kilt back down while trying not to go completely
    red. He didn't succeed because at that moment two of our female
    officers were passing by and had stopped to see the three of us
    make fools of ourselves. 
    
    We continued the drill even though the troops were having a hard
    time stifling themselves. They didn't dare laugh as the unflappable
    CSM calmly stated 'What's so funny, that is the proper way to conduct
    gun drill'. 
    
    God, I've rambled and rereading this makes me realize it's one of
    those 'Ya gotta have been there'
    
    Roger 

    I figured it was about time to tell a story from my "doggie"
    days.....it wasn't funny to me at the time but it is now.
    
    Although I spent a good portion of my US Army/Army National Guard
    career (1970-1976) as a Radio Relay type in the Signal Corps, I
    did have good fortune (?) to also serve something over a year with
    the HHC 1st Battalion 169th Infantry Connecticut Army National Guard
    where I was assigned as commo chief (MOS 31G40).
    
    Now, commo chiefs in the combat arms have to be mutli-skilled people.
    Not only do they have to know how to string wire for field phones
    but they have to be able to set up RC-292 antennas, operate various
    radios, develop CEOI's, and, oh yes, be able to double as infantrymen
    when necessary.
    
    Well, my first chance to play infantry came in the Spring of 1975
    when my unit was supposed to be airlifted into a simulated LZ at
    a NG training camp in southeastern Connecticut known as Stone's
    Ranch (remember Lewis Stone from the Andy Hardy movies of the late
    '30's - he was a first sergeant in the Connecticut NG and his property
    was donated to the National Guard as a training area hence the name
    Stone's Ranch).
    
    Anyway.....back to the story. The helos couldn't make it that day
    because of bad weather so we all piled into deuce and a halfs (which
    simulated Hueys) and proceeded to make an "airmobile assault" on
    the bad guys. So I, loaded down with ammo pouches, a PRC-77 radio set,
    my M-16, gas mask, poncho, and all the usual junk, hopped off the
    truck and made a mad charge in the direction of the bad guys.
    
    Just at that moment I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a
    cloud of smoke ahead of me. Were they using smoke grenades? Oh no,
    CS! Quickly I reached for my gas mask and like I was taught in Basic
    got the mask on and began clearing it.
    
    Unfortunately, in my panic (I hate CS with a passion), I *inhaled*
    instead of exhaling while clearing the mask. You can guess what
    happened next - there I am with a mask *full of CS* and more rolling
    in one me and I reacted in the usual fashion. Tears, coughing, hacking
    wheezing, you name it.
    
    I recovered about a half an hour later and made my way to the battalion
    CP somewhat embarrased to say the least.
    
    Mark
    RMC USNR

    When all our wire was strung and the battalion command net squared
    away, my commo platoon would often take our 3/4 ton truck off of
    Stone's Ranch to a pizza place not far away where we would load
    up with pizzas and other assorted goodies (it beat C-rations).
    
    We would coordinate the run on a bootleg frequency. Typical
    transmissions heard were, "Better hang loose outside the gate for
    awhile until the Battalion CO is done talking to the Comm. Officer"
    and similar.
    
    Of course, an OD green M-37 3/4 ton truck loaded with pizzas and
    stopped along a road outside a base is just a little conspicuous!
    :-)
    
    Mark
    RMC USNR

    I think I related this another conference but in 1986 I was on
    deployment with a bunch of other sailors in Norway, quite a ways
    above the Artic Circle.
    
    Well, needless to say, like most sailors we missed our beer. The
    Norwegian beer just wasn't quite the same as the British beer we
    had enjoyed in Scotland the year before.
    
    As luck would have it, a certain US Coast Guard aircraft was on
    the exercise with us and we got to be pretty friendly with the crew.
    They told us they would be flying into Prestwick soon for some
    "maintenance" and we asked them if they happened to be at a pub
    there in Prestwick to bring us back an extra can/bottle or two.
    
    As I recall, the "extra can/bottle or two" lasted us right through
    our last night in Norway - over two weeks later!
    
    I don't care what you other sailors say - Airedales are alright!
    :-)
    
    Mark
    RMC USNR

    For those of you who are unfamiliar with some of my extra actitives
    I am very involved in the restoration and flying of WW II aircraft.
    I've been fortunate enough to be tied into a foundation that owns
    a B-25, a B-17, A-26 and just finished a B-24. Doing this can be a
    lot of fun but its also a lot of work to do the restoration and to 
    keep it going. But there are times that exceed the normal level of
    fun. Since we all are military types I believe you can appreciate
    what kind of reactions you sometimes get from the general public
    when they encounter you flying a restored, guns and turrets included
    B-17 or B-25. The following are examples...
 
       (orignally posted in the Flying notes file)
    
       Well as promised in 787  theres been a break in the action so 
    Ill relate whats been up over the last few months. It all started
    out at Oshkosh I struck up a deal between the owner of the 25 and
    Tom Reilly (the chief pilot for both the B 25 and B 17) that I 
    would trade off time supporting and working on the A/C for instruction
    to get rated in the 25.
    
    The first 1/2 hr was in the left seat on a return hop over to
    Madison, Wis to pick up Tom's wife that came in on a commertial.
    This was to " get the feel of the aircraft and how it reacted to
    changes in the contorls. Two days latter  we downed the 25 
    at Oshkosh due to a problem with the right engine eating about 
    5 gals of oil an hr on a 30 hr rebuilt engine. So we pulled the
    engine there and had it trucked back to the rebuilder to find out
    what the problem was.
    
    I returned to Boston on a fellow Escadrilles members Beach D 18.
    Two weeks latter Phil Cooper (owns the Beach 18) and I hopped 
    a jet out to Rochester NY to meet up with Tom for the air show
    at Geneseo NY. Since the 25 was still down I was "forced" to 
    spend time helping support and fly the B 17 :-) (its a tough,
    rotten job but some one had to do it ) :-) I wound up getting 
    about a 1/2 hr in the right and a 1/2 hr in the left seat of the
    17 that week end during the show and the return trip out to 
    Bradly field in Conn.
    
    One side note of intrest, Phils parents live in Syracuse, which
    was inroute of our going to Conn that Sun aft, so we decided to
    stop in to show them the 17. Actuall conversation between us and
    the tower (17 = us, TWR = tower)
    
    17;  Syracuse tower Boeing 012, 25 west, request a flyby of the field 
         with a circle for landing. (BTW weather is VFR clearvu )
    
    TWR; AAAhh negitive 012 report right downwind runway XX
    
    17;  Understand report rt downwind runway XX, roger 012
    
    TWR; (about 2 - 3 min latter) AAAhh 012 are you aware we show 
         your ground track to be only 185 mph, are you in trouble.
         ( at this time they must have thought we were a jet)
    
    17; AAAhh negitive twr 185 is correct speed for a B 17
     
        (dead silence for a few moments)
    
    TWR; AAHH 012 say type again
    
    17;  Twr be aprised 012 is a B 17 WW II bomber
    
    TWR; ARE YOU GUYS FOR REAL OR WHAT ????
    
    17; No guys were an oversize Cessna 172, Yes were a for real B 17
    
    TWR; AAAhh 012 permission granted for low pass fly by of field,
         with circle to land runway XX. (large smiles in cockpit at
         this time)
    
    Right about now TWR has every other aircraft out in a holding 
    pattern.
    
    DC 9 Capt ;  You have us out here holding for a WHAT ????????
  
    As we make the flyby of the twr
    
    TWR; No SH** you actually are a B 17
    
    17;  Well we told you so guys NOW do you beleave us ??
    
    Needless to say half the place came over to meet us once we landed.
    
    Two weeks latter finds Bob flying a smoker (jet) out to Oshkosh
    to help Tom rehang the fixed rt engine back on the 25. Lovely
    weather greeted me called rain and thunder bumps all thru the aera.
    The EAA people let us use the Kermit Weeks hangher to put all the
    parts back on the motor and get it rehung on the 25. To put it mildly
    they were really super to us and helped out a great deal.
    
    The remounting was a success and the A/C and new engine performed
    perfectly for the test flt performed in a 500 ft cealing under a
    special VFR clearance from the TWR (they wanted to see it fly).
    The crummy weather was present from Thurs when I got there thru
    the test flt on Sat morning right into the next day. What got to
    us was the fact we were suspost to join up with the 17 in Conn 
    for a airshow on Sun.
    
    I was just about catch a jet home on Sun afternoon when the weather
    people told us that there was going to be a two hr break in the
    crap about 3 pm and if we went south over the top of Chicago, we
    could then turn East and miss the front. Shure enough 3pm the sky
    opens up enough for us to blast off and climb out over the top of
    the junk. Were talking to the different TWR's and such along the
    way and as usual we get the most interesting comments over the top
    of Chicago's TCA. were at 9500 ant the TCA tops off at 8000.
    
    As it happens the tops of the cover was at about 7500 - 8000
    so were keeping a contact with TWR contorl to insure we dont
    get run over by a DC 9 or such. Of course no one at TWR has 
    smarts enough to ask what North American 76G is so as a DC 9 
    come up out of the merk TWR askes if he has a visual on us.
    The reply is
    
    DC 9; " YA   but youll never beleave us on what it is "
    
    TWR; Well whats going on up there
    
    DC 9; WE now have a visual on a WW II bomber
    
    A few moments of silence
    
    TWR; What have you guys been drinking or smoking ????
    
    By now were out of sight of each other and contorl hands us
    off rather than deal with it.
    
                                      Bob B

    heres one to bring a smile to your face.
    It was reported in the Dutch newspapers about a week ago.
    The Story: with the movement of American and British forces to the
    Gulf it seems the best way to move 600 helicopters (U.S.) is 
    to fly them from Germaany to Rotterdam (Holland) and then load them on
    ships. However, a formation of 8 helicopters got a bit lost so they
    did what every tourist does.... call at a farmhouse and ask directions!
    The best part was the choppers parked very neatly in the farmers
    field and the crews and passengers ALL went indoors for coffee!!!
    Thats what I call GUEST FREE !
    The lead pilot was then given an approximate direction fron a 
    road map and they went happily on their way.
    
    As a matter of interest the same method was used during WW1 and 2 as
    most of the signs were taken down.
    
    all the best
    Paul

    The coffee story reminds me of a situation I had in southern Germany
    in the late 70s. 
    
    I was stationed in Neu Ulm with a Pershing Ia missile battalion.
    As a part of our training, we maneuvered through southern Germany
    in search of "authorized training areas" where we could "park"
    our ELs (Erector-Launchers). 
    
    We were required to pass through several small towns and late one
    afternoon, we arrived in the middle of a Medieval Village in on
    edge of the Schwarzwald. ("Once upon a time, on the edge of a large,
    dark forest there lived...") 
    
    The bridge in the middle of town had a weight class sign that was
    quite a bit less than what our ELs (with missile on board) weighed!
    This took us by surprise, as our maps indicated that this bridge
    was OK! OK enough even to support an M-60 tank! But, the weight
    class sign said "No-go" so we first thought it had been damaged
    and needed repairs. 
    
    Not far away was the local Feuerwehr (fire department), so we sent
    a "delegation" (one fluent German-speaking NCO and an officer
    who could give a greeting or two and order a beer).
    
    The Feuermeister (fire chief -- I may have the German term wrong
    here) laughed and went down to see what had happened...carrying
    a weight class sign with him! 
    
    He explained that the lower weight class sign was to keep the 
    _German_ army tanks out of the town! They had just forgotten to
    put up the correct sign after the last maneuvers! :)
    
    What got me was that when my NCO and I got back to the convoy, the
    local shops had reopened, and were GIVING (not selling!) bread,
    cheese, wursts, AND BEER to the troops!!!!! I thought I'd walked
    into a mini-Oktoberfest!! My NCO and I went from truck to truck
    saying "DON'T TAKE THE BEER!! DON'T TAKE THE BEER!!" 
    
    It was truly an exercise in futility, but most of the troops were
    considerate enough of their poor platoon leader to hide the brew
    until later! 
    
    <sigh> 
    
    John B.

    As camp seems to be over this year, at least for two of us, how about
    some stories?
    
    Dave

    
    Being a Drill Sgt. gives me the opportunity to see a lot of stupid
    (aka funny) things being done by a strange group of individuals we all
    (aka funny) things being done by a strange group of individuals we all
    know as "Trainees" or "IET Soldiers" (we're not supposed to use the
    word
    Trainee anymore).
    
    
    Trainee anymore).
    
    I had one PVT in my Company (I am a Senior Drill Sgt.) who we were in
    the process of trying to get discharged for "Mental" reasons.  We had
    the
    worst time trying to convince the Doctors at the Mental Evaluation
    Board
    that the PVT was all in one piece.  They were all convinced that the
    PVT
    was not being given the chance to prove his potential and that any one
    of them would be willing to get in a foxhole with the PVT in a combat
    situation.  HAH!
          
    
    One small example:
    
            PVT XYZZY was crossing the road (a very busy one) to go to
    the weapons repair truck, because he had assembled his weapon
    incorrectly and broke a spring.
    
    As he was about to cross the street he fell (we couldn't figure out
    what he tripped over) and dropped his weapon.  Without thinking twice he
    dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups.  This would have been ok
    if he had only thought to remove himself from the middle of the road before
    he started.  We had to yell at him, repeatedly, to get out of the road.
    
            BTW: This happened on Qualification Day.  PVT XYZZY shot 3, yes
    3, out of 40 targets.  He was consistant though, on his refire he also
    shot a 3.
      
    
    Serv

    DURING A BREAK OUT IN THE FIELD WE RECIEVED WORD OF OUR NEW 2ND LT.
    THAT WAS GOING TO JOIN UP WITH US THAT DAY. OUR PLT SGT. BEING A SMART
    ASS AS HE IS DECIDED HE WAS GOING TO FIND OUT HOW QUICK HE WAS, UPON
    ARRIVING THE PLT. SGT. TOLD THE LT. TO GO UP TO THE CP. TO DRAW AMMO
    FROM SUPPLY AND HE SAID DON'T FORGET THE INFARED SMOKE. HE ASKED THE XO
    AND NEEDLESS TO SAY THE LT. WASN'T HAPPY WITH JOKE. THE PLT. THOUGHT
    IT WAS HILARIOUS THE PLT. SGT. SAID HE WAS SORRY AND ASKED THE LT.
    TO GO UP TO THE COMMO TENT AND ASK FOR A PRC-E5. (PRICK E-5).THE COMMO
    SGT. WASN'T HAPPY HE DIDN'T SEE THE JOKE. NOR DID THE LT.
       BEFORE WE WENT TO SAUDI WE MADE A HOMEMADE SMOKE GRENADE THAT SAID
    I.R.SMOKE ON IT, WE WERE DOING PUSH UPS FOR A WHILE. HE WAS STILL
    BITTER. SO WASN'T THE PRICK -E5.
         SCOTT 
            11B-101ST.
               26TH YAN. NOW.

    I was a private in a helicopter company and some of the jokes that were
    played on me were somewhat funny.  (I didn't think so then....)
    
    Definitions:
    ROTOR WASH--The wind caused by a spinning rotor blade.
    
    FLIGHT LINE--The runway.
    
    While washing one of the "birds"  the crew chief tells me to go to the 
    supply room and get a gallon or two of rotor wash for the blades and 
    some flight line to tie the helo down with.
    
    While a new 2LT in a transportation unit I was told to go and check the
    air in the fifth wheel to be sure people were doing their proper 
    maintenence.  (The fifth wheel is the large greasy thing the trailer 
    connects to.)