My Job, My Hell...

[Bunsen]

Then I spooned two people. "No one checked I was dead, Knifed you, and Knifed you... well, spooned".

And the Knifey-Spoony Championship Trophy goes to OpFor!

[Laager]

Try life with me.....my daughter laughs now, but she was not a happy camper when she was growing up.........as in......Hey tell your Dad that we are going to the bowling alley and we will go to Shawn's house.

Kat - No you don't know her Dad.....He will show up at the bowling alley.

Bulldog twin - So we leave after he shows up.

Kat - No you don't undertand, he shows up more than once.........

I'd like to make a motion that a new thread be started with Laager's posts copied out and entitled "Storytime with Uncle Laager".

Do I hear a second?

I kind of want this thread to run to 100 pages, be archived and held high into the halls of glory and then we can start another.

But as one line responses arn't the way to achieve that, I suppose It's time for me to tell the story of the "Spooning to Death"

This is a story of stupidity, my own.

See, this is the same weekend as the 'Haunted Bunker'. Due to the electric fences found in the area, we had to improvise new sites for the rest of the guys to attack (we were OpFor). In charge of us was an old boy from the unit, who had now left and joined the regs. With his weekend off he came to come boss us about, but it was good to see him again, with his shiny pips and can do attitude.

In this case the can do was to make things a little harder for the guys training, a little more realistic and interesting. Insteading of just staying in one spot and waiting to be killed, fire and manoeuvre, use our 'skills and drills' and, importantly, resist their final attack. If they don't check you are dead, you aren't. Of course, this is what we heard and interpreted as orders, coming from on glorious high. Our old boy goes off to then convince the powers on glorious high that this is a good idea. Wether or not he convinced the CO, I don't know. I do know it didn't filter down to the DS staff. or the CSM.

So, there we were, Me and Bills in the first trench, ordered to have a fire lit, be nice and visible, sitting on the edge of our ditch for the first section to assault at dawn. When they finally contacted us, we could return fire, and especially if they weren't keeping our heads down enough.

This resulted in us able to crawl down into our ditch, and slither along to multiple points we could pop out from concealment and open up. It was rather splendid really, were it not for their dismal showing. Finally they began to assult the position. With Bills doing Rambo runs from one hedge to another, firing from the hip and hiting the deck before they can redirect their fire, I hid in a bush and emptied a magazine on them as they came in the trench, then snuck round the bush, had to change magazine, and then opened up from behind, and had them start shooting back towards their own lines. Causing a blue on blue, a proud moment for any OpFor. Then I died gloriously, another martyr for Cumbronia and Hibernian Freedom!

The DS staff weren't too happy about this, it was what happened the second time our position that really took the biscuit. Given that they should be doing enemy dead drills but weren't, I, obviously bit by the mong snake, decided to take my spoon from my KFS, and stick it in my boot, so that if I surrendered I could be hide it, and then Stab people. Obviously I wouldn't hide my Knife in my Boot, I wouldn't want to actually stab anyone....

I'm wincing as I write this, I seriously was bitten by the mong snake, but after a similar exchange of fire, they finally assaulted the position, cleared it. Then I spooned two people. "No one checked I was dead, Knifed you, and Knifed you... well, spooned". A DS told me to shove it, so I did.

The DS Staff were not happy. Apparently, we 'Delayed the sections advance' and 'really confused them'. Ah well. I didn't get into too much trouble either, and the rest of the lads even less. I think they were just weirded out by my actions.

And thats the story of the spooning. Man, I was just thick that day.

A soldier after my own heart.....lol

I never got to "spoon" someone, but we did manage to hide out during a Brigade level E&E.

Things not to tell me.........

1) The exercise will not end until 1600hs on Friday. So no matter what you hear or see it is not over till 1600hrs on Friday. Does everyone understand?
2) Sergeant I want you to take the Chaplain and his staff with your squad, use them as you see fit.
3) Four day pass to the ones that hold out the longest and makes it to our side of the wire.

Day one 2200hrs - Chaplain is slowing us down. Sir, I need you and your assistant to scout the road and let us know what you see. (Note to self: That lump under the trees that Roach saw and reported to me was indeed an OPFOR vehicle). To bad we lost the Chaplain and his assistant.

Day two approximately 1400hrs:

Assorted tracked vehicles as well as wheeled vehicles go up and down the roads in the valley (with loud speakers saying the Exercise is over, everyone can come out now.

Day three: 0700-0800hrs - Assorted U.S. Helicopters overhead......tricky bastards are trying to lure us out. No freaking way are we going to just walk out into the open now....we are insight of our objective.

Day three 1230hrs - Holy smokes, there certainly is a shitpot full of soldiers out here, but we can now see the DMZ.

Day three 1415hrs - OPFPR forces are stopping all civilian traffic, hmmmmmm was that the division commander's staff car that just drove by? Must be something big going on over there, lots of foot traffic, vehicle traffic and air traffic.

Day three 1545 - Looks like we are home free, hmmmm I don't see any one on our side of the DMZ. I thought there were supposed to be guards out....and hot chow. ??

Day three 1555 - Hey Sergeant! I'd like to report that we made it here undected.

SFC - Where the hell have you guys been?

Me: Escaping and Evading Sergeant!

SFC: The fucking exercise has been over since Day two, didn't you hear the people on the loud speakers? Didn't you see the helicopters searching for you? We thought you idiots were dead....Hell I was hoping it was true.....do I need to ask which one of you morons that came up with the idea to leave you fatigue blouses on the dam? I can't wait to get you guys to the Sergeant Major....he is not happy....oh no.....no happy at all and neither is the rest of the Brigade.

Me: Does this mean we don't get the Pass after all?

SFC - Just shut the fuck up and come with me......fucking morons......always causing trouble......I just don't know how you got into my Army......

Roach: The judge told us six years in the state pen or four years and an honorable in the military branch that would accept us.......

SFC: Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?

Me: You asked us a question.....

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!! Jumping Jesus Christ on a crutch!!!

Fitz: Hey Corporal - how high do you think someone can jump on a crutch? I'm thinking a foot or two........

Me: Hmmmm, I'd say pretty high, possibly unlimited he is after all the son of God.

Shut your pie holes!!! I swear to the Lord God that everyone of you are crazier than a shithouse rat! Just shut it!

Roach- Shithouse rat? Anyone ever seen one.....cause you know I'm just wondering.........

Devine - Think we can get a million dollar wound out of this?

Synder - I knew this wasn't going to end well.

Ski - Do you think they will let us be the POW Guards next time?

For some reason we were assigned the job of burning the barrels of assorted bodily waste from the portapotties......(Note to self - it may be prudent to remember not to burn shit from a position just up wind of the Battalion HQ, it makes the Senior NCOs and Officers upset for some reason)

However, we did get the pass.......next time we were not allowed to participate and the Chaplain and his assistant stayed away from us during Garrison time and field time.

P.S. I should point out that we were now two for two on causing issues during E&E training.....the last time Staff Sergeant Johnson lead us into a trap (note to self - walking down the middle of the road at night with no scouts out, no pointman or flankers is a sure way to get your ass caught real darn quick) where we were captured and taken to a POW camp.

Pvt Greene decided that as it was our duty to resist and of course attempt to escape he lead the charge towards the concertina wire barrier surrounding the POW camp, he then immediately flopped down on the single roll of wire and the rest of us used him as a stepping stone to freedom. Somehow Staff Sergeant Johnson was not "kept in the loop" and was accidentally left behind and subsequently blamed for the sections escape.

Greene was cut the heck up and taken to the Hospital to be sewn up, but he did not buy a single beer for the last three months of his tour of duty in the ROK.

[Viper shtf]

I'd like to make a motion that a new thread be started with Laager's posts copied out and entitled "Storytime with Uncle Laager".

Do I hear a second?

I second the motion!!!

[Laager]

Not a my job, my hell......but shit like this always seem to happen to me......................

Okay, I have absolutely no idea why I seem to always attract the "crazies", my way better half says it is because I'm a "Lunatic Magnet", so if there is one within say a half mile or so they are drawn to my location.

Anyway, today was another "range day" just me and my son (21 year old), today we decided to take our AR15s (his M4 style and my heavy barrel varmint AR) and our M1 Carbines. He took his Kimber .45ACP and I took one of my Colts in .45ACP as well.

Double checked the ammo count and decided it would be best to stop by the Air Force Base down the road to pick up some ammo to burn for today. So we drive out to the base and pick up 500 rounds of .223 and while I was there anyway I noticed 10 boxes of Tula 7.62X39 on the shelf for a tad under $5.00 a box, no tax. I'm thinking I could always use a hundred rounds of 7.62X39. So I tell the clerk that I'd like to get some X39 as well as the .223, the clerk says that is the last 10 boxes that they have, how many would I like. Now I'm planning on getting 5....I don't really need them, but figure at that price, what the heck. Besides I still have to buy four boxes of .30 Carbine ammo at Big 5. There is a guy standing behind me, with a couple of friends of his and he says in a loud voice......I hope this asshole doesn't buy it all.....I turn around to look (my son says......Daaaaad, don't...) one of his friends laughs, the other sort of looks at me and glances away......I turn back around and tell the clerk in a loud voice....well, I don't really need it, but you know I'm feeling kinda assholish right now, so just to be an even bigger asshole I'll take all 10 boxes.

I should have just went on home and called it a day, but hey.....I had things planned and my son is leaving in about two weeks, so I don't know when we will be able to hit the range together again....so I press on.....

Oh, son.....don't tell your mom......

Son: Dad.....why do you do things like that?

Me: Evidently because I am an asshole. Son honestly if they would have asked or said something other than calling me an asshole, I would have let them have the whole ten boxes. It's not like I really needed it or wanted it.

Son: You could have just let it go.......sometimes you can be so embarassing.......

Me: I suppose I could have, but then where's the lesson learned? I figured it was a teachable moment, besides I don't like people calling me names....especially ones that don't know me....

We stop at Sonic, grab two drinks and then off to Big 5, again no issues.

Off to the range we go.

No one there but the one range staff member. The range is empty. So, we have our choice of areas. Our range has one area that is set up all the way to 360 meters. Three are set up to all the way to 300 meters and then the rest are all 200 meter max and closer. We picked the one that was 50 - 360 meters. I like to ring steel at long distances, every once in awhile.

Since no one else was around (if someone had been there, I would have chosen another range that was empty), we took the middle bench and set up our targets. We had gone through about 200 rounds of .223 when a truck pulls up with three younger kids......older than my son and way younger than my mid 50's. They set up right next to us, now there are four firing stations per area so they could have set up on either outside bench, but nope they had to set up on the bench next to us. No big deal, a bit of a bother since there are still three long range areas empty. However, I like to see what other people bring to the range anyway...so really not much of a big deal.

Then they started to complain about the lack of slots left in the rack...we had taken up four of the six slots. There are three range racks on each range, they hold six riles each. Guess it was to far to walk to the other rack.

Son: Dad, lets move to the last bench over there.

Me: Sure why not......

So we shift all of our stuff over to the left bench which leaves a bench between us and them and they get the rifle rack all to themselves now. Since there is another one near our new bench.

They had some nice rifles, set up for long distance (three of them), then they pulled out a nice looking spotting scope and set up their bench, (they even had a sock filled with sand - although I'm guessing it was sand - to use as a rifle rest when they were trying to shoot prone. Then everyone went out for target maintenance or placement. My son and I checked our targets, covered the holes and walked back to wait for them to finish. They set up targets, then stapled a lolipop to the top of each one of their targets.

So we (my son and I) finish up with our pistols, wait for them to finish a string and then move our pistol targets off the range and set up at the 50 and 100 meter to play with the M1 Carbines.

After the first 30 or so rounds (my son and I were reloading), we hear one of the kids say something about how they hate it when people rip off fast strings or rapid shots.

My son gives me a look (sort of like the same one I often get from my wife) to just let it go. So I don't say anything, other than reach into my range bag and pull out a 30 round M1 mag and start loading it. I did offer my son another 30 round mag, but he declined with a look.

Now, these three kids are talking tactical....mall ninja....sniper talk......or what they imagine or have seen on TV.

One is playing at being the spotter, while the other was the shooter:

Giving the corrections or adjustments in the number of clicks on the scope, wind direction etc.....

One of them would say "send it", while the other said, "hit it", the other said get some......

Many of you know spotters help detect the target, or designate a target, they also make range, wind, drift etc calculations while the shooter finds the target, makes any corrections needed and then fires when they are both ready. Of course they also provide protection for the sniper as well as other duties. Then the guy playing at being the spotter would give the ready to fire signal, and fire. The spotter was supposedly watching the bullet trajectory and would then call out the point of impact, then give corrections and talk about the wind and drift. Of course the shooter was supposedly making the apropriate corrections if the target was missed.

Now I will admit that I have no idea if they were actual snipers or not, nor do I really care, but I was starting to get the itch.......so anyway I rip off 30 rounds of .30 carbine in a rapid string. Then stop and check the target with our spotting scope.

Again I hear them talking loudly about how they hate it when people do that when Ithey are trying to shoot......no respect.......what good does that kind of shooting do.....bothering us...and so on and so forth.

Son: Dad let it go.....just let it go.....we can finish up the rest of this box and then its my treat at Taste Freeze.

Me: Sure, sounds like a plan.....still its not like the other long distance ranges are in use.......

So these guys are trying to hit the target that they set out at the last berm on this range. Two of them have been telling the shooter that they read the target at 300 meters.....but everytime he fires he falls way short. Even I can see the bullet strike the dirt. This keeps up for another 15 round mag of .30 carbine ammo and my son and I start to pack up.

Now the shooter is looking through the spotting scope and says that he also reads the target at 300 meters......so now you have three idiots wondering why they can't hit the target. With the appropriate blame being placed on all that rapid firing we had been doing, as well as it must be the scope.....must be the mounts......got to be the ammo. But we are hitting the 100 meter target.......head scratching all the way around.

We've loaded up the Bronco and I'm getting ready to go when one of them says Thank God those guys are gone.....now we can get serious about our shooting.....

Me: Hey fucksticks!!!! Yep, I talking to you three morons (cause they are looking at me now)........If I was you I'd invest in a fucking range finder and learn to fucking read......there's a sign right here telling you what each berms distance is from the bench...It's a fucking 360 meter range!.... No wonder you can't hit shit! You're 60 farking meters short........Fucking posers!!

Son: Dad get in the truck.........I did and we left.

Still all in all it was a good day at the range...........

P.S. I would like to point out that both my Daughter and my Son do not seem to have the same "issues" as I do.....neither does my wife........if we are in the store and something "odd" happens and I am not in their immediate view, they all immediately call me on the phone and ask what I did.......

[Gyrfalcon]

Not a my job, my hell......but shit like this always seem to happen to me......................

Okay, I have absolutely no idea why I seem to always attract the "crazies", my way better half says it is because I'm a "Lunatic Magnet", so if there is one within say a half mile or so they are drawn to my location.


P.S. I would like to point out that both my Daughter and my Son do not seem to have the same "issues" as I do....

I'll wager that if you began to handle such people in a better way, they would stop being . . . put into your path.

[Laager]

Not a my job, my hell......but shit like this always seem to happen to me......................

Okay, I have absolutely no idea why I seem to always attract the "crazies", my way better half says it is because I'm a "Lunatic Magnet", so if there is one within say a half mile or so they are drawn to my location.


P.S. I would like to point out that both my Daughter and my Son do not seem to have the same "issues" as I do....

I'll wager that if you began to handle such people in a better way, they would stop being . . . put into your path.

Deleted, man in black was 110% correct.........

[airballrad]

I treat people exactly the way I want to be treated with respect.....that is how I treat everyone that I deal with, until I figure out they are not respecting me.

[Gyrfalcon]

Not a my job, my hell......but shit like this always seem to happen to me......................

Okay, I have absolutely no idea why I seem to always attract the "crazies", my way better half says it is because I'm a "Lunatic Magnet", so if there is one within say a half mile or so they are drawn to my location.


P.S. I would like to point out that both my Daughter and my Son do not seem to have the same "issues" as I do....

I'll wager that if you began to handle such people in a better way, they would stop being . . . put into your path.

I would treat them the way I want to be treated and I do, . . .

I treat people exactly the way I want to be treated with respect.....that is how I treat everyone that I deal with, until I figure out they are not respecting me.

That was a long post condemning behavior that I did not approve of, and I agree: what they did was bad. I said that if you handled them better, they might not pop into your life so frequently: something you complained about, by saying you were a "lunatic magnet." If you disrespected someone, whether through malice or carelessness, would you be contrite about your action if you got back what you gave? Conversely, wouldn't you be ashamed if they treated you well after you were rude? I know I have been ashamed in such a circumstance.

I've found that if I address people civilly (especially the insulting and/or crazy ones), it does more good to correct future incidences of their behavior. A soft answer does, indeed, turn away wrath. Doing evil to someone who does evil to me has never profited me. What's almost as bad is that my poor responses have also not been learning experiences for them. It merely reaffirmed their arrogance, their prejudice, and their attitude, much as your actions at the ammo counter likely did.

People are almost always rude to other people because they feel inadequate in who they are as a person, and they try to compensate for their inadequacy by stepping upon others to elevate themselves. If you respond in kind, their idea of you as an inferior person who is unworthy of respect will be validated in their minds, however unsubstantial the validation may be.

If your goal is to help both yourself and them become better people, go ahead and shock them when they're rude. Meekly submit. In a situation such as the ammo, what would have happened it you had calmly stepped aside, and said, "Oh, go ahead, sir." And meant it? I think the individual in question would have been a bit flummoxed, and embarrassed about how much of an ass he had been. He might have even apologized. But that possibility is shot now. Even if he wouldn't have apologized, and even if he had learned nothing from the encounter, you would have performed an act you could be proud of.

In the case of the rude people at the range, do you think that calmly turning to them and saying, "Gentlemen, if you have anything to say, please say it to me directly," would have altered the course of events in a way that wouldn't have merely ended with you simply calling them idiots? Idiots in groups affirm their actions among themselves. As soon as you left, they blew you off. If you had called them out calmly, they'd be forced to man up and say what they thought to your face, and probably would have made them feel pretty juvenile. As it is, they probably just mocked your response immediately after you left.

FerFal had a good example of this response on his blog a while ago.

"Get to know your neighbors and BE NICE. Again, BE NICE. I had this lady living in my building who was paid a few bucks to clean the building corridors and halls in the morning. She knew I was studying until late at night, sometimes going to bed at four or five AM, and she would make noise on purpose at 6AM, right in front of my door. I talked to her and asked her to stop, it didn’t help at all, she did even more noise. Eventually I just changed my strategy. I tried to understand that upsetting me was this old widow’s idea of fun. I started to be nice to her, asking her how she was doing, helped if I saw her with grocery bags. Not only did she stop making noise in front of my apartment door at 6AM, for years she would keep an eye on my apartment when I left. She would spend her entire day gossiping and eavesdropping in that building, she knew everything that went on and I couldn’t have asked for a better ally." http://ferfal.blogspot.com/2012_01_01_archive.html

In certain rare circumstances, calm words and meekly submitting are not options, as in cases of physical aggression. Such instances go beyond teaching moments and are, of their very nature, stopping moments.

[man in black]

take it to pm's please.

[deepwatermedic]

This isn’t a “Hellish job” story but was amusing to me.

During 2001 I worked for the Forest Service on a type 1 crew. After 9/11 we were dispatched to New York City to assist in ongoing operations. From what I understand from older more experience crew members, it isn’t uncommon for hotshot crews to assist during disasters such as floods and hurricanes.

So we arrive in New York and find out we will be running the warehouse out of an automotives parts warehouse building that’s been abandoned for quite a while. First night of working basically we clean and start to organize pallets of materials that have been shipped in and unload semi trailers as they arrive. Also we build shelves and tables to help make our jobs easier. For the first couple nights we moved everything by hand or with pallet jacks. When we requested forklifts we were informed that we were unable to operate them ourselves and would be getting members from a local teamsters union to help us with moving equipment.

I think it was the third or fourth night (can’t recall most of the days seem to roll one into the next) one of my crewmates and I were moving several pallets of uniforms to a secure area and had gotten one of the teamsters to give us a hand. So we’re walking along and the forklift operator pulls up along side of us and starts talking.

“So youse guys jump outta f**kin airplanes into f**kin fire and s**t?” he asks

“No sir, we have to walk everywhere we go.”

“HAW-HAW” he laughs “but seriously youse guys go out and play with those huge f**kin forest fires?”

“Yes sir” we reply

“Let me tell youse what I’m gonna do…. On my way home tomorrow morning I’ll stop by Central Park, and f**king light a tree on fire. Make youse guys feel at home.”

My buddy and I were laughing said thanks and got done moving the pallets. And you always hear how New Yorkers are rude.

[TheLastRifleMan]

Now that is respect!^

[Viper shtf]

Nice!

[Laager]

Okay, I am not sure about the rest of you guys and gals, but now everytime I see a repair Medical Equipment Repair van I give them a little nod and thank the good Lord that I don't have to do that....all thanks to TheLastRifleMan.

[colinz]

I do the same to the local equivalent.

Story Time with Uncle Laager? yes?

[Laager]

Okay, here we go.....again.....Sergeant (E-5) Johnson falls out of the back of the Deuce and a half truck that we were riding in. The truck was heading south (away from the DMZ) towards our FSB and ultimately to our R&R destination(s). I'm not sure where Johnson was going to, I avoided him like the Black Plague.....if the enemy did not get you killed, he certainly would, given half the chance and a shot at leading troops in the field.

Some two months in the past:

In fact I had nice million dollar wound, thanks to Johnson and of course 1st Platoon. We were on an ambush patrol, we were tasked with setting up a Linear shaped ambush.

Now for an ambush to be successful, the ambush patrol must deploy into the area covertly, we liked to go in under the cover of darkness, but there were other was of going in. The patrol will establish secure and covert (with good cover and concealment) positions overlooking the killing zone. Usually, two or more “cut-off” groups will be sent out a short distance from the main ambushing group, into similarly covert positions. Their job is twofold; first, to give the ambush commander early warning of the approaching enemy, and second, when the ambush is initiated, to prevent any enemies from escaping. Another group will cover the front and rear of the ambush position (blocking force), and thus provide all round defence.

A lot of care MUST be taken by the ambush commander to ensure that fire from any weapon cannot inadvertently hit any other friendly unit. Bad things happen with they do not make sure of this....usually it is called as crossfire or friendly fire (trust me it isn't friendly no matter who is firing at you.

As luck would have it, Johnson, myself and a new private were assigned to job of blocking force ( at the rear or bottom of the ambush), so after we sneaked our way into our position, set up, ran the EE-8 wire back to the commander (field telephone), we disabled the ring tone and dulled the light so that it would not ring out or the light would not flash at the wrong time.

So we had been in our position for about three hours, intel said someone was coming down this way and they did not want them to, so it was up to us to stop them.

Me: Sgt Johnson, do you think we can stand down one guy at a time so that we can rotate some sleep, it is going to be a long night.

Johnson: No.

Me: Roger that Sergeant, just thought I would ask.

A few more hours go by, none of us are talking when I hear a noise coming from directly in front of us........heading towards the backs of our soldiers.

Me: Johnson......Johnson......shit, Private wake that worthless piece of shit up.

Johnson.....Wha, wha wha what is going on? SITREP....Deacon give me a SITREP damn it..

Me: You fell asleep while on watch, hows that for a SITREP?

Johnson: Deacon at ease that shit and get me up to speed.

Private: Sergeant we are hearing movement coming from right out front and headed towards us.

Johnson: What is it?

Private: Sergeant I do not know what it is at this time, but I can get back to you later.

Johnson: Deacon?

Me: Sergeant, like the private said, we have unknown movement from an unknown number of individuals to our direct front. I'd suggest two things.......1) If you want to know who they are take your goat smelling ass out there and ask them. 2) Stop calling me by my first name, we've already had this discussion already.

Johnson: Private, I need to you advance front and find out what is going on out there.

Me: Johnson.....Sergeant don't do that....don't send the private out there. Call the company have them make the call.

Johnson: I'm in charge here, its my decision. He goes forward until he makes contact then reports back to us. Then and only then will we contact company and inform them of the situation at that time.

Me: Sergeant, I'll go, the private has not been in country for very long........

Johnson: Negative, I gave an order and I expect you both to obey them. Private move out now....report back with a proper SITREP, don't worry we will be right here.

Me: (underneath my breathe) Rotton no good, shit head, asshole.......shit!!!!!! Private, listen here, be very careful moving around out there. It could be just about anybody or anything. Take your time, keep your farking head and ass down, look before you move, and move very, very slowly. Remember, keep your head and ass down...not up.....down and get back here as soon as you can.

Private: Thanks Deke.......

Me: Don't thank me now, thank me when you get you ass back here in one piece.

So up and over goes the private, I glare over at Johnson for a minture or so, then move to my extreme right - way away from Johnson, pull out a couple of Mk 2s, just incase....no sooner than I had set the last one down in front of me, when we heard a scream and then an M16 went full auto and blew that 20 round mag in what felt like mere seconds.....then we heard some more screaming (human and what sounded like a pissed off animal of some kind).

Then Johnson opens up with his 16 spraying the jungle that he just sent the private into....I'm yelling at Johnson to cease fire and to my surprise he does, then grabs the EE-8 and starts winding the ringer......sure enough company answers cause they want to know what in the hell is going on out there. I'm not sure what Johnson is telling them, because I've got my eyes focused on the jungle.....looking for the private.

Then another burst of full auto fire...some more screaming and crashing and a loud meaty thunk. I see what could either be the Privates arm or leg, so I crawl over to him, grab what turns out to be his left leg and pull him back towards our OP/LP.

His steel pot is gone, his weapon is gone and he has some type of large wound....from what has to be at least a 12.7...but I did not hear any 12.7 firing.

Me: Sergeant Johnson, Sergeant Johnson.......damn it Sergeant Johnson.....what the hell is going on?

Johnson: We are going to pull back to the company.......they are redirecting towards our location...we need to click the claymores and haul ass straight back to the company.

Me: Johnson, the private ain't going to be hauling ass or anything....he's got a hole in his guts as big as my fist......I've patched him up, but there is no hauling ass with him anywhere. Hell he's unconscious. It's going to take both of us to get him back.

Johnson: Listen here Deacon...............we have our orders, we follow our orders, so get your ass up and get ready to lay down some fire, grab the private and then I'll lay down some fire to cover you both. Once we get back to the FSB you and I are going to have a long talk.....you are way overdue for some wall to wall counselling.

Me: Don't call me Deacon........dipshit.

Johnson: Ready? Go!

Me: clicked the clacker....*boom*, followed by a quick one -two and away went my two Mk22s. Grabbed the private by the webgear strap and started hauling him backwards while trying to cover us both with my 16. I could not see a farking thing other than bushes, bushes and more bushes.

We made it back about 15 or more feet and then it dawned on me that I was hearing or not taking any fire, either from the front or from the rear.....freaking Johnson left us. Crap in a handbasket. What to do.....I like to think that I did the smart thing and headed towards our prearranged alternate RP (Rally Point).

Just as I started making my way towards the RP....all hell brokes loose.....the company opened up on where we had been moments before and where we would still be if we had followed Johnson's orders to head straight back to the company. Unfortunately, I felt a real strong blow to the right side of my chest, that knocked me off my feet. I could not move my right arm, and my 16 was a shattered mess. I crawled over to the private and we pressed on. Sounded like all hell was breaking loose over there....funny thing, I did not hear any AK return fire....just 16s going off up and down the line, a thumper and a couple of M60's.

Needless to say, we made it to the RP, I managed to keep the private alive until we were able to get in touch with our company.

I was given the choice of a Company Grade Article 15, Field Grade Article 15 or Courts Martial for disobeying a Non Commissioned Officer's direct order. After making my statement and when the private made his statement, all charges and all talk of charges was dropped. Especially since Johnson wrote his while we were in the hospital and from what I heard it was a really good one.......he did his best but lost us both to enemy action.

A 5.56mm round had struck my 16, went down the side of the barrel, crossed through the receiver and then into my flak vest (thank god I got rid of that soggy mess inside and had some C-Rats in there. Lost my can of Beans and Green eggs and ham.

Oh the enemy that attacked us? It was a water buffalo........

They kept me until they were sure that nothing seriously was wrong......broke a few ribs, the private was shipped back to the states and we never saw or heard from him again. He may even have gotten a Purple Heart....or so rumor contral said.

Back to the present and riding off to a nice R&R........Johnson (who was about to promoted from E-5 tp E-6, just found out that he was not going to be promoted, something to do with leaving his men in the field while he ran his chicken ass to safety, then told the company that there was a company coming in on his ass - he usually rides up front with the driver, but for some reason decided to ride in the back with us) is sitting up front on the pasenger side bench, while I am sitting by the tailgate on the driver's side with Fitz sitting right across from me.

I have my steel pot pulled down low over my eyes, so that it looks like I am sleeping, but I'm keeping an eye on the crazy SOBs that are in the truck with me.....especially Johnson.......eventually I see Johnson move down the center asile and tells Fitz to move up front.

Johnson plops his ass down and then kicks me.

I push my steel pot out of my eyes and stare at him, so he leans over and starts poking me in the chest with his index finger.

Me: Sgt Johnson, you need to keep your hands to your self or else.

Johnson: You don't tell me what to do, I tell you what to do......Deacon you are a royal pain in my ass, if it wasn't for you and your shitbag buddies I would have been an E7 by now.....you are nothing but a cluster fuck up and if it is the last thing I'm going to do, it is to get rid of your ass, one way or the other....(all the while poking me in the chest with his finger)......so I waited till he poked me again....usually he poked while making a point of what he was going to do to me and the rest of the Penal Platoon....so I grabbed his finger, twisted it back and to the left, then still twisting pulled it down towards the tailgate, where Johnson's forehead met the nice metal top rail of the tail gate, and then he continued on out the back opening and onto the ground. With a nudge from me to his ass.

Fitz got up, walked back and we both watched him roll down the road in a sort of floppy, loose limb kind of way.....

Fitz: So is it alright if I call you deacon or am I going out the back next?

Me: I like you.......call me Deacon, Deke or whatever.....just don't let me down or call me late for chow.......I bet Fitz ten bucks that he had at least one broken arm.......I won. He actually had several.

Sergeant Major: PFC what exactly happened in the back of that truck?

Me: SM, Sergeant Johnson got up and moved to the back of the truck, he traded places with Fitz and then as he was sitting down the truck hit a bump and he fell towards me, when I reached out to help him he fell out.

SM: Hmmmmm, Two things.....1) Sergeant Johnson swears (and has written a sworn statement) that you snapped his index finger and then threw him out of the back of a moving truck. 2) His (Johnson's) section have all written sworn statements that Sergeant Johnson fell out of the truck after it hit a bump and he lost his balance. That you did not in anyway shape or form assualt Sergeant Johnson. So now I have one statement saying you broke his finger and then threw him out of the truck and I have eleven statements saying that you were trying to grab him before he fell out. Someone's not telling the truth....as a general rule I do not like it when I do not get the truth, it makes me feel like I am not in the loop and that makes me testy.

Something I want to mention to you PFC.......I know what happened two months ago, I also know what kind of soldier you are as well as the rest those rejects in that section. I know what kind of Sergeant Johnson is.......so I'm going to let this one go.

However, the next time your Sergeant accidently or otherwise falls out of the rear of a moving vehicle, do not wait until you reach the FSB to let someone know that three hours ago he fell out.

Dismissed.

Me: SM, do you know how bad he was injured, the section would like to send a get well soon card, you know to cheer him up.

I said dismissed......That means get the fuck out of my office.

Me: Yes Sergeant Major!

[Laager]

My Job, My Hell.......and My Future wife........2nd meeting....

Another boring payday weekend, for some reason, Roach, Synder (newly married I might add), Fitz and myself decided that we would just head over to the Cubi Point Enlisted Club....Sky Club....for a few drinks early on, before all the Sailors and Marines (drunk and or sober) start to show up.

Game Plan was to hit the Sky Club, have a nice American meal, some cold American beer and then hit the ville, hard and fast and then back to the hooches for the night.

We had picked out a nice spot, located in a corner with easy access to two near by emergency exits, plus a main entrance as well. Good tactical position, with limited frontage and three ways out, just incase.

As we came in, and while my eyes were adjusting I glanced around the club to see if there was anyone we knew, or if trouble was brewing. There was a group of females and males that looked sort of familiar, but hey it did not ring a bell so to speak so I took it that they were not on the threat radar...yet.

We sat down and caught a waitress and placed our orders, then leaned back and started talking about this and that....mostly which club we would go to first, everyone had their favority club/bar and in every bar was their favority bar girl......as we talked Roach looks over at me and says.....

Roach: Hey Deke....there's a female type over there giving you the eye.

Fitz: Where? Who the janitor?

Synder: Yea she is still ticked off because of the last fight......Don't look its the evil eye!

Me: Shut it.....shit you guys are fucked up.....she isn't looking at me. Let it go. Besides, how did I know she was going to get hit with the darn trash can?

Roach: No, look over ta that table, the one with the three white girls, the filipina and the five guys with them.

So we all look over and sure enough the one girl is looking over at our table and smiling.

Me: Well she is smiling at someone over here, you know I can't put my finger on it, but she does seem familiar. Like I have seen her some where.

Fitz: Mahal kita buong magdamag

Me: Stuff it moron......drinks are here.

Shortly after that the waitress is coming our way with a bottle Coors beer and a shot of tequila, so we flagged her down to place another order. She puts the beer and tequila on the table next to me.

Me: Excuse me Ma'am, I did not order this.

Waitress: I know, the lady at the table over there ordered it for you.

Me: Which one?

Waitress: The one that is smiling at you......gago asno.

Me: Well please tell her thank you, but no thanks.......the waitress leaves and I raise my drink, smile, nod and take a drink. I still have no idea who or even which one it is, but the guys with them are not looking happy.

We go back to our business and shortly afterwards a female shows up at our table.

I glance up and then go back to what I was doing.

Fitz, introduces everyone around the table, and she says I've meet you guys before. Mind if I sit down? So she grabs a chair and sits down between me and Fitz. I figure (and rightly so) that Fitz was as usual on target.

Lil: Leans her head down and looks me in the eye and says Hi, my name is Lil, whats your name?

Fitz: Deacon...his name is Deacon....

Lil: Hmmmm, so Deacon........did your tongue heal up yet? Is that why you aren't talking to me or is it something else?

Fitz: Deke isn't very sociable.......

Lil: So what does that mean, he doesn't play well with others? He seems to be doing ok right here.

Fitz: Its the right here and right now...later things change.

Lil: So Deke or Deacon.......tongue healed or what, cause you know where I come from its rude to accept a drink from a Lady and then not talk to her in person.

Me: Thank you.

Lil: For what?

Me: Thank you for the Drink and the shot.

Lil: You're very welcome. I just wanted to stop by and see if your tongue is okay, you know you can only bite it off so many times, then it won't grow back or be surgically reattached. Could make life interesting. Hope you enjoy your night.

Fitz: You as well.

Roach: Have a great night

Synder: I plan on it.

Lil: Well........?????

Me: Yes Ma'am.

Lil: Yes Ma'am what?

Me: I will have a good night.

Lil: You definately are a little odd.....but you are in luck.....I like odd. See you around soldier boy.

[TheLastRifleMan]

Okay, I am not sure about the rest of you guys and gals, but now everytime I see a repair Medical Equipment Repair van I give them a little nod and thank the good Lord that I don't have to do that....all thanks to TheLastRifleMan.

Thanks guys. And all those other poor repair techs thank you as well!

[Laager]

I'd been hearing rumors of either a Physical Evaluation Board (PEB), Medical Evaluation Board (MEB) coming up in my near future. I figured it was only a matter of time, so imagine my surprise when Spindler (Re-enlistment NCO) contacted me about re-enlisting in the U.S. Army.

Spindler: Staff Sergeant it's time for us to talk about you re-enlisting. Now is the time, you have a huge bonus and of course you get to pick your next duty assignment.

Me: Bonus? Did you say bonus? How much are we talking about here?

Spindler: Well you can max it out by reupping for six years and of course you get to pick your next duty assignment.

Let's just say it was a shitpot full of money. So I talked it over with the wife and was told to go for it. So I did.

Now I am not sure how it works now days, but back then you had three chances to submit your request for a duty assignment, after the third chance you either took it or got out.

I went down to fill out the paperwork at the re-enlistment office and studied the map of the world (all the current U.S. Army bases had pins in the spots where they were at) and found this little spot way down in the southern part of Germany. It was the 4th Infantry Division.


1 response back from the Army:

No: your choices are:
1) Bad Tölz, Germany
2) Caserma Ederle, Vicenza, Italy
3) 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment in the Fulda Gap Germany


2 response back from the Army:

No: your choices are:
1) Bad Tölz, Germany
2) Caserma Ederle, Vicenza, Italy
3) 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment in the Fulda Gap Germany

3rd response back from the Army:

No: your choices are:
1) Bad Tölz, Germany
2) Caserma Ederle, Vicenza, Italy
3) 4th Infantry Division Lee Barracks-Mainz Gonsenheim Germany

I settled for 4th Infantry Division Lee Barracks-Mainz Gonsenheim Germany.

After a brief fight at the 21st Replacement Battalion with the clerk that tried to assign me to BT, then tried the Border Cav, followed by an argument with a SFC and then the Replacement Battalion's Command Sergeant Major....who for some reason did not like my response to his "needs of the Army" line. I ended up leaving for Lee Barracks the next morning, much to the surprise of the battalion driver that came up to pick me up. Seems all NCO's were being diverted (needs of the Army) to the Border Cav....(no shit Sherlock, they went to the freaking field 10 months out of the year, so no one wanted to go there willingly....)

By that afternoon I was feeling pretty good.....so far the Brigade and Battalion HQ was looking pretty good......then at about 1500hrs I had my unit assignment...Bravo Company....with directions off I go to the Company HQ.

I find the building, enter the doorway and was in 7th Heaven....the floor gleamed, the place was in perfect order. The CQR (Charge of Quarters Runner) behind the desk was STRAC! Damn......now this is a nice change.

Then came the news.....

CQR: Infantry? Staff Sergeant, you are in the wrong part of the building. You need to go up stairs to the second floor, that is where your unit is.

Me: Okay. No big deal thinks I, so I grab my duffel and head up stairs.

Holy Shit! The place was a dump. The CQR had his feet propped up on the desk, his boots looked like shit, as did his uniform, and his military manner had flown out the freaking door a long time ago. Hey you must be the new Platoon Sergeant for Second Platoon.....I'm the Ratman.

Me: Son of a fucking Bitch!! As I looked around in stunned disbelief.

Then I noticed that he looked like he was wearing sometype of female muffler or wrap around his neck, then I saw the tail...then the tail moved.

Me: Jesus Christ soldier...what in the name of hell is that?

Ratman: Oh that's the Platoon's mascot...its a rat....

Me: Rat my ass, that fucking thing is the size of a goddamned house cat! Rats don't get that big!

Ratman: Sure they do.......I found this one over in Africa and brought him home. Now he's the Platoon's mascot and they call me the Ratman.

Me: I'm sure they do...among other things. Once again 2nd Platoon the Goon Platoon...where they stuck all the odd balls....only now I was the Platoon Sergeant.

I spent two years in that unit, made Sergeant First Class (E-7), while waiting for either the MEB or the PEB board.....finally they offerred me either a chance at a Black Hat slot (teaching at a school) or getting out.....I took the out. Kept my bonus.

Medically retired just shy of my 29th birthday.

[Laager]

On a hike into the jungle -


Me: Synder - why the heck are you limping?

Unknown: Hey Corporal its cause he's a limp dick. Followed by a chorus of agreements, catcalls and other observations.

Me: No seriously Synder you been dragging ass over half the freaking jungle, wtf is wrong?

Synder: Corporal - my ass hurts......

Me: What the fuck have you been doing?

Synder: Nothing Corporal, its juts that I have a huge bump thing on my ass cheek and it hurts like hell.

Me: Hang tight......hey Staff Sergeant, we need to take a minute, can you get the medic up here......Synder's ass hurts.

Staff Sergeant: You?

Me: Nope, not me....

Takes a minute or two to find a good place to stop and for the medic to make his way up to us.

Medic: Corporal whats going on?

Me: Its Synder, his ass hurts.

Medic: You.....?

Me: Nope.

Medic: Okay Pvt....drop trou and let me take a look at your ass. Holy fucking SHIT!!

Everyone else immediately looses situational awareness and looks....then adds in individual preference on cusswords.

Me: Sweet Mother of God...what the hell is that?

Medic: Looks like some kind of inflamed boil......darn its a big one....

Me: What they all aren't that size.

Medic: Nope, never seen a boil the size of a fucking softball before.

Staff Sergeant: Pvt exactly how long has your ass been hurting?

Synder: Oh about two weeks, just about the time we roped in......

Fitz: I've got to get a picture of this! No one is going to believe this one.....followed by the sounds of a Kodak 110 camera going click....snick...snick...snick....click.

Medic then cuts that freaking thing open, and out pops a huge ball of some hard white substance......left a hole the size of a freaking softball in his right ass cheek. We had to get a dust off in to pick him up. Funny thing, the medic did not use anything but some kind of topical.....no morphine for you....

[MasterMaker]

Glad that its almost 1 AM here and that I'm done eating for the day..........

[TheLastRifleMan]

Damn...that brings up some painful and pleasant memories for me. And job related as well...

Year ago I worked for a major retailer giant in the parts and service side of the business. We had to wear these good awful cheap uniform shirts that were issued to us. Not bad, really, not having to buy shirts that were going to get ruined by any number of nasty chemicals or ripped by broken appliances. but these things were made out of low grade fiberglass made by the lowest bidder. Scratchy, stiff, the kind of thing monks used to wear to keep them selves from being aroused. No amount of fabric softener would even get them close to wearable. You get the idea. And you had to wear them tucked in. Okay, I can even see that. Look professional, be professional.

Well, one of these 200 grit wonders rubbed me raw, in a single spot, along the belt line on the left side of my lower back. I thought nothing of it. It hurt, I smeared some anti biotic cream on it, the pain went away.

That is for about two days. It had been a tiny bit sore and wearing that damn burlap sack uniform shirt was not helping. In less then eight hours, I could suddenly feel a hard lump that felt like being branded at the lightest touch. Work that day was hell and there was not much I could do about it until I got home. I came home from work having to stuff my coat behind me and the car seat to enable me to drive home. My mom took one look at it, nearly gagged, and went for the phone to call the doctor. Luckily I had worked an early shift and the doctor's office had an opening.

After a painful ride and even more painful 20 minute wait, the doctor came in and took a look.

"Damn!" he exhorted. "That has got to hurt like hell!" he went on to say it the was one of the nastiest infected cysts he had seen in a long time. But not to worry, he tells me, we can take care of this. He has a nurse go out and bring some of those tools they show in horror movies. Me on my stomach, a nice shot of some kind of local pain killer and he went to work like a proud family patriarch carving a ham at Christmas dinner. I could feel him rooting around a bit , pauses, steps up from the chair holding his nose.

"Man, that was really infected! Can't you smell it?" he says. I am thinking that this is something they should show in med schools as an example of bad bedside manner. Just get it done, I tell him, before the pain meds decide to end their stay. He gets back to it, says he has got the core out and tells the nurse to get a stitch kit to sew me up. Stitch me up? I ask. Yep, he said, it was pretty deep. Another 8 to 12 hours and your would have been in the hospital for blood poisoning.

You shitin' me doc? I ask him. He tell me the infection would have spread quick. It was some kind of staph infection in a subaceous cyst he says as he sews me up with three quick tight stitches. Those shirts, he thinks, literally rubbed me the wrong way (his bad joke, not mine). He then tells me he is going to write me two scripts for an anti biotic and pain meds. He tapes a gauze pad over his work, puts his illegable signature to the scripts an I am on my way home. Or so I think.

We are five minutes out of the doc's office when the original pain shots punches out for the day. I thought the original boil hurt but I was wrong. Something is trying to drill out one my kidney's with a dull bit. I can't stand, I can't sit. We get to the drug store and find out it is a very popular day to get any kind of medication. Half hour wait, the nice lady at the counter tells us, maybe longer. Son of a bitch, I think. I try to ignore it and find I can't. The pharmacist happens to see me trying to sit and stand and knows I am really hurting. He comes out from behind the counter with a worried look on his face.

"Hear, take this right now. I'll get the rest filled up in just a few!" he says, handing me a pale blue pill. I go over to the water fountain and swallow the pill pronto. In about a minute, the pain was numbing. In about two minutes, I couldn't feel my feet. My head felt like it was filled with foam insulation. I wandering around and my Mom catches me and pulls me over to the counter. The pharmacist tells me something about "darvocet" and "no driving" but that is about all I get. She turns me around and the next thing I know I am home.

I can only take a half of one of those pale blue wonders a day, I find out in the morning. He has given me five in all plus a large bottle of some foul smelling red and white speckled pills for the infection. I have no idea how big the first pain pill was, but it was great! But alas, I have to go back to work the next day, wearing my nice soft polo shirt with the company logo, the one we can only wear on special company designated occasions. My boss was pretty sympathetic, though and in about a week, the stitches had dissolved (they were supposed to, the doctor told me) and the hole he had dug out of me, about three quarters of an inch around my mom told me, closed up nicely, leaving only a very slight scar.

About a month later, we received brand new shirts. Half cotton, half polyester. I guess I had not been the only one who complained or who had been wounded in action. Softer, much. But we were always sure to stay clear of open flame...

[Laager]

Funny how those things can just "pop" up and cause all manner of problems.....and the smell......man I've smelled some really nasty stuff and that stuff almost made me puke and all I got was a whiff from a few feet away.

Poor old Synder, we took his ruck and gear and half carried him till he could make it on his own. Apparently dust offs for infected boils/cysts was not a priority.

I don't know how the medic stood it........he did not seem phased at all, other than a bit put out that he had to bust open his pack. Then again he never really seemed bothered by any kind of medical issue. Heck he even had those kiddy bandaids in his bag and would slap those on if given half a chance.

Now I'd rather have an infect boil or cyst than worms...........unfortunately I ended up with a case of intestinal worms and not only was it messed up, but thats a whole different story.

[Viper shtf]

Feel free to tell us about it.

[Laager]

Feel free to tell us about it.

Nasty story..............(note to self: never ever drink the local water and try not to eat under cooked meat)

I'm not sure when or where it happened, but let's just say that October of 1983 was a busy month and not in a good way......since in the Army no good deed goes unpunished after a short side trip to an island paradise, or so I've been told it was or is one (people shooting at you on an island is not an island paradise imho)........ in January of 84 I ended up being sent to 2d Battalion of the 187th Infantry Regiment (Let Valor Not Fail) which turned into an assignment to Alpha, 2nd/187th Abn Inf (L) (No Ground to Give) which had been moved to Panama (while I was on my island vacation), I had been expecting a reassignment back to a base close to my wife (since my wife was at Maxwell Gunther AFB) but like I said no good deed goes unpunished (I violated one of the golden rules: Never, ever, ever volunteer for anything......especially in the Army or like my Navy friends used to tell me.....Navy it stands for Never Again Volunteer Yourself).

Anyway, after my island vacation in October I ended up wandering around in Panamian jungle, followed by some down time in beautiful Panama City, Panama and of course Howard AFB. Anyway I was only there for 10 months months and ended up going to the 197th at Benning (seems my joint spouse paperwork caught up and my wife could not get an assignment to Howard, so the Army sent me to Benning).

Shortly before I left for the states, I remember that I started feeling kinda run down.......loss of appetite kind of thing. By the time I got back to the states and settled in I was having some upper abdominal pain....not a lot of pain but some, by the time REFORGER 85 rolled around and I was in Germany I had lost my appetite completely, still had that pain in the upper abdominal area and then to top it off started having diarrhea.

Great that was all I needed.....wandering around the woods in Germany looking for the enemy who did not seem to want to cooperate or maybe it was because we were just wet, cold, tired and hungry and weren't taking this exercise very seriously. Thankfully we got the chance to stop in some German villages/towns and buy supplies. We did get one bath at a German Schwimmbad, so we were feeling pretty good. Well everyone else was, I was feeling like shit......

I never really felt hungry, my stomach hurt, I still had diarrhea and to top it off my weight was dropping as well. I went to the medics, but they gave me the Army's answer to every ill....Motrin 800's, take two and you will feel okay... nope that did not work. We ended up with a chance to go into some German village, so I grabbed some Pepto thinking that might help, all it did was take the place of water. After two weeks of wandering around the woods, REFORGER was over and we ended up going to some make shift camp in a field.

It wasn't to bad, GP Large tents with wooden floors, all the green German beer (at the German beer tent - that's another story) you could afford to drink, three hots and a cot, plus a mini PX, barbershop, free books and magazines and best of all a shower trailer - they also had indoor latrines in them (now that's another story).

I'm not real sure but it might have been the German beer, maybe the bratwurst and pomfret, but anyway I ended up making a run to the latrines.

Everything seemed to come out okay, right up till the end. Now I'd been having the squirts for almost two weeks....and now for the last day or so my asshole has the itches.

No big deal........ran down the row of tents, hit the first shower trailer, go in, sit down *whoosh* its over and then out the door until next time.

Well this time things went a bit differently.........right at the end as I was getting ready to wipe, I felt something "stuck" half in and half out.....WTF?

Can't be a dingleberry....I've got the squirts......can be toliet paper....I have not wiped yet....yuk...some must have gotten stuck the last time.....crap...that's nasty. Funny, that's never happened before....oh well...suck it up and drive on....next time pay attention to detail.

So I grab some TP and wipe.....nothing....no dingleberry stuck on the TP, no stain nothing but scrunched up TP....hmmmm, its still there, wipe again...shit...its still there and well it feels like its moving and trying to tuck back inside.

WTF? Did I bust something? I hope its not my guts coming out of my ass......what the hell is that shit called again..... hemorrhoids....that's what its got to be...cause they always say that it causes pain in the ass and it makes your ass itch something bad. Shit how the hell did this happen......

So I wrap some TP around my finger and start poking around back there....hmmmmm.....wtf is this shit? WTF!! Its freaking moving!! Up down and all around and trying to get back in the outflow only valve.

Ahhh crap....I got to shit again......damn it what in the hell is going on here......

Take a crap when I'm done the darn thing is gone......so I figure wtf do I have to loose, so I glance into the freaking bowl before I toss in the TP or flush and theres this long assed flat looking white thing looking back at me........no telling how long the darn thing is but him and his buddies do not seem to be happy in the crapper, nope not at all.

Now I thinking freaking worms......the first thing that pops into my mind is some stupid song from when I was a lot younger....

he Worms Crawl In,
The Worms Crawl Out,
Into your stomach,
And out your mouth.

They eat your intestines,
They scramble your heart.
Now you feel like
You’re all apart.

This is how
It is to die
You end up looking
Like apple pie!

So I wipe and flush the bastards down the shitter and head to the medics.

Medic: You again, all out of motrin already? You're only supposed to take four a day.

Me: To hell with that...I've got freaking worms coming out of my ass. Motrin ain't going to cut it this time.

Medic: Really? Did you bring a sample with you?

Me: Sample? Sure, hang on and I'll crap on your farking desk.

Medic: No need to get testy about this, I'll have to call the PA.

He calls up the PA (I have no idea where the hell the duty doc was, but he was not in the medic tent) and then turns to me and says the PA is on his way, in the mean time here's a plastic cup, he is going to need a sample. Follow the directions we need a sterile sample......oh and here's one for you to piss in.

Me: Piss in? Are you telling me they are going to come outta my dick?

Medic: I don't know, the PA said get a urine and stool sample. I'm just following orders.....oh and I'm going to need a blood sample as well.

Me: Got a cup for that as well? As I trot off to the latrine to get some samples. Sure enough old wormy had left some friends and family behind so into the jar they went and back to the medic tent I went. No PA.

So I sat there for about an hour or so.....not counting the frequent latrine runs until the PA shows up. Not only did one PA show up but four of the bastards are all there with a few senior NCOs (medics), all for the free show.

Now the medics have a stool sample (complete with worms), a urine sample (with no worms) and some blood (no visable worms) and the PA talks to me about where I've been and how long has this been going on.....after talking with me for about 30 minutes he says he is sending me to a military hospital in Fulda Gap (Germany), it seems he can't do anything at his level.

Me: So when I get to the hospital they will be able to get rid of these freaking worms? A shot or something?

PA: Oh yes, they have everything they need there.

Me: Great...how am I going to get there?

PA: We have a jeep with a driver on the way.

Jeep with said driver shows up and off we go to some base in Fulda Gap with a large hospital. I go in to the front desk, tell them my name and the medic says oh yea, you're the guy with the worms. Hang on a minute.

He picks up the PA and says something along the lines of: Attention in the Hospital, the Sergeant with the intestinal worms is here, he will be in room 101, that is all.

Me: WTF?

Medic: Well the Docs here have never seen anyone with worms, and they all want to see you. Oh can you stop by the lab on the way, we are going to need a stool sample, a urine sample and a blood sample.

Me: Shit, they just did that back at the camp.

Medic: Well we need some new ones...the lab is that way.

Me: Shit to hell this place sucks.

Hit the lab and then off to room 101 or whatever farking room it was, all I remember was it was on the first floor.

Doc(s): Come on it.......shit it might as well have been the freaking conference room, they were packed in there nut to farking butt. Got poked, prodded, samples passed around (yep you guessed it, more worms in the stool sample) and then was told that I would have to go to the 97th General (hospital) in Frankfurt.

Me: Sir, you guys don't have the meds here or what?

Doc: Oh well we do have the pills here, but they want to see you over at the Frankfurt Army base hospital.....no one over there has seen anyone with a case of worms like this before.

Me: Well couldn't you just send them the samples or something and slip me the pills?

Doc: Oh no, these are our samples....they are going on display. I'm afraid they will just have to get their own samples. Your jeep and driver should be waiting for you out front.

Me: Shit...fuck...son of a bitch...assholes....as I walk back out towards the jeep.

Long assed drive in a jeep to Frankfurt and the 97th General hospital.

Same freaking thing.......

PA.....The soldier with the worms is here, he will be in room 202....Sergeant please go to the lab, they are going to need a.....

Me: Yea, yea I know.....a freaking stool sample, urine sample and some more freaking blood.....

Medic: Sterile....

Me: Kiss my ass........

Medic: Excuse me Sergeant?

Me: I said for you to kiss my ass Specialist. Where's the farking lab?

Same deal....tons of docs and some medics this time......happy as larks.....

Me: Sir, when can I get thos pills?

Doc: Pills? What pills?

Me: The ones that kill the farking worms....those pills....sir.

Doc: Oh no we can't have that.....the Air Force would like to see you...down at Lindsey Air Station.

Me: The Air Force?

Doc: Oh yes, you see this is not just a normal everyday thing like bunions or something......you are quite popular and so you are going to need to go to the base hospital at LIndsey Air Station....its in Wiesbaden you know...

Me: No, I did not know........sir, whats my chances of getting those pills at Lindsey Air Station?

Doc: Hmmmm, well I don't know.....I'm sure they have them there. I mean we have them here so I would think they have them there.

Me: Jeep and driver out front?

Doc: I don't know ask Specialist at the front desk on your way out.

Jeep Driver: Where to now Sergeant?

Me: Looks like we are going to Wiesbaden, some place called Lindsey Air Station.

Driver: You still got the worms?

Me: Yep....it looks like its going to be a really long day.....

Lindsey Air Station turned out to be a pretty nice base....the hospital was older than dirt, but still all in all a nice place to visit. At least the Air Force receptionist had the decency to not advertise my arrival over the PA.....until after I had left the immediate area on my way to........you guessed it the lab.

Doc(s): Another room full of docs only this time they are AF ones.......I finally asked if I could talk to my doc alone (after all the poking and prodding and stool sample viewing).

Me: Sir, look I know what you are going to say.......so go ahead and tell me...where am I supposed to go now?

Doc: Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.....

Sir: Look, I've had these bastards riding along for free for months now....I really need to get them the hell out of my ass and right now....you know I've been to four freaking hospitals (if you count the medic tent) and no one has lifted a finger other than to shove me down the road. My wife is in the Air Force....

Doc: Really? What's her AFSCs?

Me: (thinking to myself...oh you tricky bastard...nice try) Military Public Health 4E0.....(They changed names several times over the years and I'm not really sure what the hell they were called back then or now) she is stationed at Maxwell. I know the AF would not treat one of its Airmen like this........

After much wrangling and bull shitting I finally got my script and hit the pharmacy..got my pills and went back to camp. It seems the word did not get to the AF docs about sending me on to Landstuhl Regional.....must have been a miscommunication or something.

Thankfully the meds were to be taken by mouth, and normally in a single dose. Shortly afterwards dead worms for awhile and then nothing.......

Worms......who would have thought it.......lets just say there was some mental issues resulting from the worms.......nothing serious just what is often referred to as an Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

I heard from the AF Doc that I was lucky....the little bastards can move around and sometimes move up to the brain and cause all kinds of problems........headaches, seizures and other neurological problems.......

Officer: Sergeant just what in the hell is wrong with you?

Me: Worms Sir! I'm sufferring from worm induced headaches and neurological issues........