My Job, My Hell...

Share a survival experience with us and explain what you learned from it. You might help someone.

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Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Jun 11, 2018 5:16 pm

emclean wrote:
Often you can't win, well at least I seem to have issues with winning.
It ain't just you, it is all married men.

or look at it as you used up your winning by finding a girl who knows all your loose screws, and still loves you.



Yes, I used up a whole slew of wins and luck on that one roll of the dice. I have a strong feeling that she knows everything.......well in advance (at least three or four steps ahead at the very least) of any type of shenanigans that I get involved in.

The only reason I knew something was fixing to hit the fan (when James and I left the PI early) was because Lil kicked me in the leg and gave me a nod and I was still slower than her on the jump, when he slap jacked one of his brother-in-laws and tossed him off the top of Susan and his two story building.

I figure it was a note to self moment on their part.....no matter who you think you are, or how many times you pushed you sister or laid hands on her before she was married, you were a complete numb nuts when you laid hands on her in front of James.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Jun 11, 2018 5:27 pm

raptor wrote:
Laager wrote: Now I will say it certainly was not me. But I was impressed that the person or person(s) involved managed to shit only in the cup, nothing on the desk or floor. Just a coffee cup full of poop. He either picked the lock on the door or window and somehow managed to not only get into the Brigade Commander's office area but the building as well and the building was secured as well. No visible signs of break in anywhere.

No toilet paper left behind either.......then again there are some nasty people that do not wipe afterwards or even bother washing their hands afterwards either.
They have simply picked up dog shit with the cup.

Could be but I got a good look at it and it looked like something from a soft serve ice cream machine or yogurt machine pinched off and everything.

Then again at least for me it was not the fact that I could find something that belonged to someone else, but that I took the effort to provide them with something that came from me.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Tue Jun 12, 2018 12:50 am

emclean wrote:you would have thought he bird would have started with the HQ staff, followed by who eve had been on duty the night of the incident. . it would have been easy for someone who had keys, and was expected to be in the building.


No such thing as quitting the U.S. Military. Only a few ways out, finish your time and leave, end up non mission capable or combat ineffective and they discharge you, die and your out or get into trouble and they toss you out.

Now every once in awhile the First Sergeant would offer an out......usually it was if you were openly gay you could tell him and get tossed out. Or once I had a First Sergeant tell us any scum bag that wanted out of his army could come see him and he would help them get out.

The gay route was okay for awhile but they smarted up and made you bring in your "significant other" and from what I was told he made them kiss, and use tongue. I knew several people that went that route.

Oh there was a few chances if you admitted to drug use or popped positive of course popping positive cost you money and an honorable discharge. I know a retired PD guy that went the weed route, got out came home, got married and then joined the local PD.

The dirt bag route went ok, but of course they kept the ones they want and tossed the ones they did not.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Tue Jun 12, 2018 1:00 am

emclean wrote:
Often you can't win, well at least I seem to have issues with winning.
It ain't just you, it is all married men.

or look at it as you used up your winning by finding a girl who knows all your loose screws, and still loves you.


I found my Father's Days gifts just now. Lil called from Japan and wanted to find a color swatch......(I'm feeling lucky I even know what swatch is), but she had her swatches in her closet with my Father's Day gift. Winchester model 52 with peep sights and a nice used CZ527 in 7.62X39.

Not sure how she knew I would like the CZ or the Winchester because I usually collect Remington .22LR rifles and I have a nice Anschutz with peep sights. Still I went over both rifles and they look nice as heck. Guess I now own seven Winchester rifles now.

So you are right sometimes you never know how lucky you are till it is to late.....I'm glad that I know what I have and will never let her go.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Jun 14, 2018 12:41 am

Back in the middle 1980's I was stationed at Lee Barracks, Mainz Gonsenheim Germany in 8th Mech Infantry. All in all I don't think it was a bad place to be stationed. Could have been worse, back to 2nd ID on the DMZ or even up in 2nd Cav pulling border patrol.

I was pulling Staff Duty NCO for the Battalion I was in one night, glad that I was not working a pay day weekend and was pulling a Thursday night so I was supposed to be off duty at 0700hrs on Friday morning and was praying to the Gods that it actually happened. Basically I was bone tired and wanted a nice three day weekend, with Lil and Junior as far away from the U.S. Army or U.S. Air Force as I could get.

I was passing a day room in the barracks building when I heard some noise. A swishing thud sound startled me and I spun back around he door frame and took a knee.

All I heard was some laughing and then a sort of thrumming sound followed by more sounds of laughter.

So I got up, hefted my personal Maglite flashlight, made sure I had my personal (used) German Police spring baton in my right hand and used the edge of my hand to flick on the overhead lights.

I found six guys in various types of clothing but all of them wearing those worthless military issue Flak vests, with two compound bows and a small box of arrows.

Then I heard that swishing thud sound again and a farking arrow appeared in the wall to my right.

Turns out that these morons were bored and decided to shoot arrows (Hey Sarge, they only have blunt tips on them, Hmmmm we will get into the Sarge part at a latter date moron) from one side of the barracks building to the other side.

Image

Image


As you can see the wings of the building to the left and right were the barracks the long central portion was the Post Commander/Brigade Commander's section. So these morons were shooting from the right wing to the left wing, across the road, over the top of the gate guard shack.

Sometimes you just have to wonder what is wrong with some people. I confiscated the bows and arrows (which I still have to this day) and then had the Sarge moron show up at the SDNCO desk at 0700 after he finished PT.

In the Army a Sarge is either a Bottom feeding fish or a fat cartoon character of which I was neither and I made sure he figured it out.

I gave them (even the other morons across the way) the choice of keeping the bows and arrows or at a later date come retrieve them from my duty wall locker. I also had "Sarge" come over and I explained to him (a former sailor who enlisted in the Army after four years in the Navy and he was only an E-3/PFC) what a Sarge was and meant in the Army but he wanted to argue with me, and said it was a sign of respect.

So I pointed out a soldier in a PT uniform and told the guy he was a Sergeant and could he go over there and tell him that I would like to talk to him.

So he went over and I clearly heard him say Hey Sarge.......I'm still to this day unsure of exactly what the Battalion Command Sergeant Major said but I know it started off with....."Do I look like a F...ing bottom feeding fish or a fat a..ed cartoon character to you?

I then turned over my duties to the Battalion legal clerk and went home for a nice three day weekend with Lil and Junior.

I never heard him use the word Sarge ever again.....



and this was the second time I caught soldiers shooting arrows at each other. The first time they were only shooting from one wing to the building next door.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Fri Jun 15, 2018 1:38 pm

emclean wrote:
Often you can't win, well at least I seem to have issues with winning.
It ain't just you, it is all married men.

or look at it as you used up your winning by finding a girl who knows all your loose screws, and still loves you.

Well I will admit that I "won" on my visit to Alabama, my brother knows a guy (lol.....I know a guy that knows a guy....lol) who evidently knows the upper management of Lancer magazines. He gave me two cases of Lancer Hybrid magazines. One case of 7.62X51 and one in 5.56mm.

Of course the down side or "lose side" is Lil and Bec are riding my rear end (even a couple of the Granddaughters) because I'll be replacing all of my Magpuls......they know me to well.

Junior's daughter was complaining about getting used ones......I told her that she should consider herself lucky that I'm giving her a stash of M16/AR15 magazines and not making her buy her own. I was waiting for her to say she is only 9 years old and does not have a job....but she is way smarter than I am and just smiled and kept her mouth shut.

I have not gotten any serious range time with them (other than some fast and dirty suppressed time at the guys ranch in Alabama) and so far I can say that I like them. They cost a bit more than the Magpul and standard metal mags but I do like the concept.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Stercutus » Mon Jun 25, 2018 7:01 pm

Oh my how the days flew by....

So there we were, Western Iraq. A shithole if I ever saw one. I am the old man now on my last hurrah. I was halfway through the deployment before I realized that some of the youngsters were too scared to even talk to me. Me, I am the nicest of nice guys.

Anyway we are getting ready to go on patrol to go somewhere and do something and I have a schedule to keep and just as we are about to roll out the gate of our tiny compound the lead vehicle stops dead. I am baffled. What the fuckity fuck is going on? We did pre-checks, inspections, convoy briefs.... I have a meeting to get to and I really can't be late.

There is a problem. It's going to be a few minutes. The back of the lead vehicle opens and out stumble two privates and an NCO. The staff sergeant is very, very animated. He is having a lively one-sided conversation with the privates. The privates are staggering like they are in the midst of a heat stroke. Yeah it is hot. Like Iraq hot. But they just sat down in the AC so what gives? Sergeant starts talking in to his little hand held base radio and I have no clue what he is saying. I open my vehicle door and start to dismount.

He sees me open my door and screams some orders to the privates who respond as though they have been set afire and take off running at a clip towards our building. He tells me that he has everything under control and we will be leaving in two minutes and sorry about the delay and all that.

I mount back up and two new privates come running out of the building about a minute later. We mount up and are gone. I get busy and forget about it for a while. When we get back my boss wants to see me. Seems our heroes had smoked a bit of that new Spice stuff right before going on patrol as driver and gunner. They were laughing and giggling over the internal headset until the NCO had realized that something was wrong and asked what was up. They were happy to tell him because Spice was not illegal at the time (or so they thought). They were told to report to their boss and then failed to do so. Instead they smoked the rest of their spice until they were found near catatonic in the courtyard. The medics thought they were having a heat stroke and took them to the little aid station.

Poor little fellas. They finished the rest of the deployment guarding shit sucking trucks and burning trash. Gotta make an example.
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Jul 25, 2018 9:40 am

Just returned from overseas, so give me a day or two and I'll post another story.......it involves a C-47 Douglas Skytrain way back in 1976...and things you should not talk about when using a C-47 Skytrain as a jump platform.


On a side note England is a nice place to visit but it is certainly good to be back in the USA.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Aug 02, 2018 10:10 pm

Now I do not really pay much if any attention to what happens in the Army, I was in the Army, did my time and was medically retired. So I can not say if this is still the practice or not.

I am not sure who told us this, probably one of the jump masters but he used to say that "Parachuting or Jumping from airplanes wasn't a very big deal, and that we should count ourselves lucky because civilians consider it a sport and pay to do it. Of course he pointed out that Uncle Sam stupidly paid us to to it. He also told us that military jumping is different from civilian sport jumping.

While civilian parachuting was fairly safe and was supposedly to be done for fun. Military parachuting was by inherently dangerous. Because for the military it was nothing more than a means to deliver soldiers and equipment to battlefields in far off places. Once there we had to fight, kill and take a chance on being killed.

Anyway back in the mid 1970's while I was doing time at Clark AB, we received an offer from the Philippine Army to do a few jumps with them. Enough to qualify everyone who jumped with Philippine Army Jump wings. So we liked to collect jump wings from just about any country that would allow us to jump the minimum to qual with, it used to be five jumps from an altitude of 1,200 feet. There might have been something about type of aircraft and of course there was a bunch of the "the silver wings are coveted by many, but worn my a select few" propaganda going around.

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

As I was saying we used try to jump from any friendly country we could or countries that were at least not shooting at us.

Germany, Panama, South Korea, Republic of China and the PI among the many out there. Usually we had a wing exchange, we gave them a set of ours and they gave us a set of theirs and of course you could add that to your 201 file, if you made enough qualifying jumps from a qualifying altitude.

So here we are in the PI and word comes down that the Philippine Army is going to do some qualifying jumps and we were invited along. Of course they did not mention that if was out of a C-47 Douglas Skytrain.

We loaded up and worked out way through the four day light jumps and then came the last jump which was a night jump. imho things were going great, no fights, no one showed up drunk, no was was fighting or trying to kill someone else. But hey it was still early in the evening and stuff happens.

We had this one PFC who was a pretty decent guy, but he was not what the Army called a hard charger, he was more like a lets all just get along and take it one day at a time kind of guy.

As it came to pass he was the first guy in his stick, right behind me (I was the last guy in my stick) for our jumps.

Well I can honestly say that I am not a huge fan of flying, and especially in a third world country's planes. Like the C-47 Skytrain which had been in service or use since 1938.

Of course Republic of China and Canada were still using the Fairchild C-119 Flying Boxcar way past 1988 and I managed to jump safely out of it in both countries.

So like I said, here we go gearing up for the night jump, after we had a nice fall your rear end asleep slide show or what is now known as a death by power point presentation. But I think that there are a boat load of rivers, swamps and other nasty terrain features in the jump area can only be said some many times, no matter how you slice and dice it.

And PFC Ward was still stuck right on my rear end as the first man in his stick, so as we were sitting in our seats waiting for the plane to eventually reach the drop zone, Philippine pilots are just like American military pilots. They have to get so many flight hours in to stay current/qualified. What it meant to us (the jumpers) was that the planes just did not go up reach the drop zone, push us out the door and fly home. What they did is fly to the designated drop zone and then they circled around it for a set period of time and then they push us out.

All well and good for them, but we were geared up and in uncomfortable positions and had to sit that way till we were given the go ahead to stand up.....so you either prayed, wrote a note home, fell asleep, talked story to the guys around you or just stared at the guy in front of you.

So the C-47 that we were on was a creaky old girl and you could hear loud creaking sounds as well as other noises like pings and screeches, the cracking and popping noises were the worst, imho.

I don't know who started it, but someone started talking about air worthiness of the C-47. I eventually chimed in that everyone should know that Uncle Sam sent just about everyone to war with the bare minimum of training. That in WWII some pilots were sent to England with less than one hour in their assigned aircraft. On average that 6,600 men died per month, that breaks down to about 220 per day, mostly ground pounders like us and that I think that somewhere around 95,000 planes were lost/destroyed with about 53,000 written up as operational loses the total was for both theaters.

I did not notice that Ward was looking a bit pale, and continued on with some C-47 crashes, one in 1957. That one happened in the PI and took the life of the 7th President of the Philippines (Ramon Magsaysay) and 24 other passengers. Of course 28 men died in the Naper Nebraska crash back in August of 44, 19 more men were lost when Pushy Cat crashed in the Australia in 1943 and on I went for quit some time, just before the signal came to get ready, I mentioned after a particularly loud snapping sound/groan and a subsequent bit of turbulence that if we hit the ground we would probably leave a nice sized debris field approximately 200ft wide and around a mile and a half long. PFC Green and PV2 Horn weighed in with some gory details of picking up bodies after a crash and a few other guys tossed in some gory details.

Then came the command to get ready, quickly followed with stand up.....then the following six commands came......

There are eight or were eight commands when getting ready to exit a perfectly good aircraft.

1. Get Ready
2. Stand Up
3. Hook Up
4. Check Static Line
5. Check Equipment
6. Sound Off For Equipment Check
7. Stand In The Door
8. Go.

And out the door you go. Of course in a best case scenario you do not have to pull the D handle on your chute, the static line does (If you are jumping static line) the static line automatically pulls it for you once you exit the door and have reach a certain distance (there is 15 foot of static line assembly). Just in case a static line is a fixed cord (permanently)attached to your chute pack or a large stable object. What it does it automatically open a parachute.

Then all of a sudden I felt Ward (the guy in the stick behind me) fall into me. So I shoved him back and then I guess the guy behind him pushed him back towards me and then we were shuffling/moving forward towards the door and Ward was riding my rear end like he was planning on asking me for a date or something. While flattered, I just do not go that way, so a pushed him back again and then he came back and was riding my rear again, but then I figured he was good to go and was just messing with me since he would not answer me when I pushed him off of me, no time to worry I was next and out the door I went.

Now there are at least two goals or "Five Points of Performance" when parachuting (not sure about the civilian world) but they are 1. Land safely and 2. Land where you want or were supposed to. The Five Points of Performance are: Maintain a good body position and count (until the main parachute opens around the count of 4 or emergency steps have to be taken), Check canopy and immediately gain control, Keep a sharp lookout during descent (avoid collisions), Prepare to land, Land, and of course executing a PLF.

As soon as I figured out that my parachute was functioning properly, I went to the next step which was check the canopy and to check my immediate surroundings on all sides as well as above and below, after that you really need to start thinking about the landing zone/area. While the briefings covered the drop zone/landing zone it at least in my book is very important to check the area for level areas that did not have any obstacles (I never cared about landing in the established zone/area that the Army wanted you to land in, because the people that plan things do not typically go out and make sure the area is obstacle free)

One of the things I liked to do once my chute popped, was to check/count the chutes below me to try to make sure the number of chutes totaled the number of guys in front of me. Thankfully the totals matched and I went back to paying attention to picking out my landing zone.

Like the Five Points points requires (Keep a Sharp lookout while descending) I would periodically check the area around me and when I did the second time I noticed someone in a chute a little above me and to my immediate left that looked like he was dead. His hands were hanging by his sides and not engaging his risers, his head was tilted forward and resting just above his reserve chute.

So I pulled a flare maneuver to try and get a better look at the guy, although I had an idea of it had to be, since he was immediately above me. Sure enough it was PFC Ward.

I managed to stay a tad bit ahead of Ward as we both managed to land inside the designated drop zone. I did the required and preferred method of landing, the PLF landing while Ward just hit the ground and while I was trying to disengage from the harness and chute Ward was heading towards the jungle/wall of trees surrounding the drop zone.

Not under his own power of course but the chute was caught by the wind and filled with air, dragging him off to point unknown.

I got out at the same time as both Green, Horn and Santos so we all ran towards Ward and managed to catch him when Green and Horn threw themselves on his chute.

Santos was our designated Medic and he went to work. Finally Santos just snapped some smelling salt under his nose and he snapped awake. Now he was a bit banged up but other than some bumps, bruises, contusions and some sore ribs he was good to go. I may have cracked a few ribs as well as his sternum when I jumped up and landed on his chest with my knees.

Seems he was terrified of flying and he freaking fainted. Since there was no room and no way for him to fall to the ground, we were sandwiched in their like sardines in a can and all we could do was shuffle towards the light (which was next to the door where there was plenty of room and clean air). He was dragged along by the guys behind him pushing forward towards the door and freedom and smashed up against my back/chute.

Trust me when I say those old small planes are horrible. Shove in a couple dozen men,chewing tobacco, eating, farting, burping, drooling, throwing up, sneezing and the smell is trapped in the fuselage along with you.

The Battalion command eventually found out eventually and Ward was transferred to a straight leg Infantry Unit stateside somewhere.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Aug 02, 2018 10:14 pm

Sorry it was so long....but I have some more stories to tell. Some good and some bad, but right now I have to wrestle a 10 year old for my HK USP. Even though it is a .40 S&W it is one of four HKs pistols that I have and I have had it for 20 years.

She told me she bites, and I laughed back and said so do I and I have not had my shots lately......
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Thu Aug 02, 2018 10:22 pm

great story! :clap:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by CG » Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:23 am

Laager wrote:
Thu Aug 02, 2018 10:14 pm
Sorry it was so long....but I have some more stories to tell. Some good and some bad, but right now I have to wrestle a 10 year old for my HK USP. Even though it is a .40 S&W it is one of four HKs pistols that I have and I have had it for 20 years.

She told me she bites, and I laughed back and said so do I and I have not had my shots lately......
I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we don't mind the long ones. They're all entertaining. Thanks! :clap:
Mater tua caligas gerit!

...I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to what I was thinking.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Stercutus » Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:45 am

Never saw anyone pass out during a jump but did see one of the most fucked up landing ever in Airborne School. It was during a final jump, a night jump and a captain landed one leg down well over extended, breaking it instantly, then went down on hard backwards on his left arm breaking it, and then twisted on to his other leg breaking it as well as he was getting drug. It was pretty sick to watch. What do you call a man who breaks three limbs on his final jump at Jump School?

First a medic and then: Airborne Qualified.
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by emclean » Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:51 am

There are eight or were eight commands when getting ready to exit a perfectly good aircraft.
they aren't a perfectly good aircraft, they are Air Force maintained.
and of course executing a PLF.
mine were mostly PFL's (Pretty F**ked Landings)
Sorry it was so long....
no apology need for good stories.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by raptor » Fri Aug 03, 2018 10:27 am

I enjoyed the long story. They are always welcome here. :D

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by CG » Fri Aug 03, 2018 5:21 pm

Stercutus wrote:
Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:45 am
Never saw anyone pass out during a jump but did see one of the most fucked up landing ever in Airborne School. It was during a final jump, a night jump and a captain landed one leg down well over extended, breaking it instantly, then went down on hard backwards on his left arm breaking it, and then twisted on to his other leg breaking it as well as he was getting drug. It was pretty sick to watch. What do you call a man who breaks three limbs on his final jump at Jump School?

First a medic and then: Airborne Qualified.
Hubby says that sometimes, you learn best what not to do by doing it.
Mater tua caligas gerit!

...I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to what I was thinking.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:02 pm

Stercutus wrote:
Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:45 am
Never saw anyone pass out during a jump but did see one of the most fucked up landing ever in Airborne School. It was during a final jump, a night jump and a captain landed one leg down well over extended, breaking it instantly, then went down on hard backwards on his left arm breaking it, and then twisted on to his other leg breaking it as well as he was getting drug. It was pretty sick to watch. What do you call a man who breaks three limbs on his final jump at Jump School?

First a medic and then: Airborne Qualified.

Dang that had to hurt and he did make the Jump and lived to tell the tale. I don't remember anyone saying you had to walk away from your fifth jump, you just had to exit the aircraft.

Like the Sergeant said or sort of said, everything in the Army is designed to kill and it does not care if it kills the enemy, you or a half dozen of your buddies, so pay attention to details and avoid getting yourself killed. It would make me look bad. I can't say how many times someone forgot his situational awareness and caught a Large Alice Pack to the face, head, chest or other body part as the guy flared around trying to land.

But we had a guy that was already Qualified and well should I just put it in a story.....it is pretty short and comes to an abrupt end.

I'll toss that out later on, still fighting the good fight and trying to convince her to stick with her Ruger SR22 and since she is spending the weekend here it could be a long fight.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sat Aug 04, 2018 3:51 am

This would have been sometime in the early 80's or so. Back in the old days there was a "natural" progression to becoming what is now known as SpecOps.

Join the Army as an 11B, apply for and graduate from Airborne School (if possible attend Air Assault school as well), apply and be accepted to Ranger School and make it through to the end of the 60 day course (I can't recall off hand if it was exactly 60 or possibly a bit longer). They came up with hen apply for Green Beret and finally they came up with Delta. There was no way to enlist for Ranger, Green Beret or Delta. You had to work your way up the chain.

Awhile back I was at the local Army recruiting station and noticed that people were enlisting right into Ranger school. Of course they had to (or at least I hope they had to) pass the course.

The absolute worse school I ever attended while on active duty in the Army was the ROK Ranger school. I heard later on that they pulled all of the American soldiers that had volunteered for the school. What I heard was that they (the U.S. Army) decided that the attrition rate was way to high for them to stomach it. Bottom line is that they had almost zero safety measures, we thought their philosophy was better to bleed in training than bleed in a real world situation.

However I can tell you that there was a metric poop ton of PT and of course the ROK Instructors were absolutely brutal in their handling of the ROK soldiers. I'm talking major league butt stomping to the point where they would almost put them in the hospital. Physical abuse was the norm back then, not sure about now, but I was always told that the rich kids or the ones whose parents had pull got them assigned to the U.S. Army for their mandatory military time. They were known as K.A.T.U.S.A. or Ka Tu Sa.

But the badge was (imho) way cool, it is a sideways dagger that has a wreath and a star on the tip of the blade. Now when wearing it, you wear it on your right breast pocket, along with any foreign (non-U.S. Army) jump wings you have earned.

Anyway went sideways their for a moment.

We had this guy that was with stationed with us in Korea and from day one all he had to say was we "sucked", the unit "sucked" and he was going on to a real Army unit, he was going to be a Green Beret....yada, yada, yada.....to the point that no one liked him and none of us could stand to be around the guy.

Well we were tasked to do a couple of jumps (four, two day and two night) in conjunction with the ROK or as we pronounced it Rocks. So away we go. I was actually surprised when they loaded us up in regular civilian (Korean style) buses for the trip down to the Kimpo to catch the ROK Air Force plane.

Turned out it was a Fairchild C-123 Provider, beat the heck out of the C-47s I jumped out of back in the 70's to get ROK Jump Wings.

Anyway, the two day time jumps went extremely well, no one died (from either Army) and we only had three minor injuries that required us to ship them to the hospital at Osan since it was close to where we were at, as well as being a U.S. hospital. We were told never, ever, never go to a Korean hospital...if you were dying and crawling by, keep on crawling and pray you make it past the open door before they see you.

So we come up to the first night jump and things were going smoothly, of course Bell was still being a jerk. All we could do was hope his orders came down soon before someone clocked him once or twice.

Nothing really stood out, other than during the briefing we were told that their was a major river running though the jump area and to avoid it.

Now I will admit that I was a bit worried because at the time they were not using Pathfinders as far as I could tell and since I did not know them personally it made me feel funny....and not in a good way. A good pathfinder is a jewel, a bad one or none at all is asking for trouble. Even (imho) on a well established drop zone. Granted it was a three week course, but still I thought it was a good class and jumping at night, into an unknown drop zone, without pathfinders set up....might as well drop in over the DMZ and check out all the North Korean hotties, cold beer, air conditioning and non war-mongering leaders. Or so the propaganda said...

Anyway we loaded up and shuffled towards the plane, got in, go situated and promptly went to sleep. Well as usual some did and others did not.

Eventually we did the drill....get ready, stand up, hook up, etc...and shuffle to the door and out we went. It was a static line jump, as were most of the jumps we did in Korea were.

Now one very, very important thing to remember is that when jumping out of an airplane if you should land in a body of water (lake, river, ocean), just before you hit the water you need to disengage your crotch straps and once your boots hit the water you slips out of the shoulder straps.

Now at this point the non weighed down parachute settles on top of the water, you sink straight down and then swim at an angle towards the surface and theoretically come out to fresh air instead of getting tangled up in the parachutes or assorted cords and straps. Getting tangled up means you will more than likely drown.

Now I should mention that at night rivers look surprisingly like roads and roads look surprisingly like rivers. Back then we did not have a lot of NVGs and what we did have was Gen I stuff and it was better than nothing.

Now the one thing that you do not want to do is release your self from the crotch straps and then the shoulder straps until your boots hit the water and get wet.

Otherwise as Bell found out very, very bad things happen when you drop approximately 9.1 meters (30 feet) to the asphalt highway.

It seems Bell missed the memo and since we did not have any pathfinders out and we were with the ROK and using their shall we say less strigent safety measures/rules Bell released both and it was not pretty.

Bell managed to shatter both legs, starting with the metatarsals and flanges all the way up to both of his femurs. I found out later he even managed to break his patellas. Now before they decided to break, both of his femurs were shoved up through his hip bones, damaging both of them as well as both of his legs.

He had some other assorted broken bones, sprains,bumps, contusions as well as some lacerated internal organs but he managed to live and is probably wheel chairing it around somewhere in the U.S. or possibly crutching it or limping it around.

While we were all gathered around watching the medics go to work, Green asked me if now was a good time to tell him his orders came through for Green Beret training at Fort Bragg located in North Carolina. It used to be both the beginning and end of what is now called a SpecOps career or a career in SpecOps.

While Bell was getting stabilized at Osan AB prior to being shipped stateside to Fort Sam in San Antonio Texas, there were six different fist fights, well mostly fists, over who would be the lucky guy to tell him about his orders. Our unit made it a point to ship people down from his unit to visit with him in the hospital at Osan. It was not the visit they were interested in, it was the at least one night at Osan AB,shopping, drinking and looking for love in all the wrong (or right depending on your viewpoint) places that caused the fights as well as everyone wanted to be there if not the one to tell him about his orders.

You know it probably would have made him feel better knowing he was living the dream of being a Green Beret or Green Beenie.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by emclean » Sat Aug 04, 2018 10:06 am

Laager wrote:
Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:02 pm
I'll toss that out later on, still fighting the good fight and trying to convince her to stick with her Ruger SR22 and since she is spending the weekend here it could be a long fight.
Skip the fight and just get her a HK P30 40S&W V3 for $500 from CDNN sports.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sat Aug 04, 2018 2:17 pm

emclean wrote:
Sat Aug 04, 2018 10:06 am
Laager wrote:
Fri Aug 03, 2018 7:02 pm
I'll toss that out later on, still fighting the good fight and trying to convince her to stick with her Ruger SR22 and since she is spending the weekend here it could be a long fight.
Skip the fight and just get her a HK P30 40S&W V3 for $500 from CDNN sports.

I was actually thinking about getting her the new S&W M&P .380 Shield EZ, well new to me since I just managed to get my hands on one down the road at the gun store.

I don't think she is ready for a full size pistol, even if it is in 9mm, it is still a rather large double stack pistol. Besides she just scabbed a Rock River Arms AR15 and a kid sized tactical vest and the mags to go with it.

I'm sure she will eventually snatch the darn thing out of the vault, I bought it way back 1995 and still have the three 10 round magazines that came with it. I do not shoot it as much as I used too, but then again Lil says I can not take them all with me when I go so I have to make sure they go to good homes or are schedule to go to good homes so to speak.

Besides if you just give someone something they do not usually tend to take care of it, but when they have to work for it, put some skin in the game then they tend to take good care of whatever it was they purchased. Now that is not a "everybody" kind of thing, I have been given a few things over the years and I cherish them even more since they came from people that I admired and respected.

Many years ago I was assigned to the Brigade XO as his jeep driver, I'm not real sure how that happened but since we were in a mixed unit of Armor, Scouts and Infantry he told the Command Sergeant Major that he wanted a jeep driver that was an 11B (like he was). Next thing I know I was being called up to see our 1SG, then our Battalion Command Sergeant Major, then over to the Brigade Sergeant Major and finally into see the Brigade XO.

I think I had been driving him around for about 45 days or so and he required me to always show up in battle rattle no matter what I was driving (he was assigned a Jeep and a Ford LTD) or wearing (OD greens or some class of dress uniform). Anyway one day we were on our way to Yongsan Army Garrison in Seoul South Korea and he asked me where my fighting knife was, I told him I did not have one and he made me stop at the Yongsan PX and he bought himself a new Gerber Mark II and tossed me his old one. I still have it and I can say that it has saved my life more than once and he told me that he had purchased it new in 1967 (it is one of the serial numbered, slanted blade gerbers) at the PX in Vietnam during his first tour as a Mustang Officer and it had saved his life more than once over the years.

No one touches her but me, the leather sheath maybe a bit worn but she is still as sharp and blemish free as the day he gave her to me.

Anyway she is a good kid, and more than likely I will work her up in calibers and when she turns 18, I tell her the combination to the different safes and have her pick out some two rifles, a shotgun and two pistols and assorted gear to take with her like I did with our two kids and a couple of the ones that were in my opinion good kids and adults that would take good care of the firearms and not do stupid stuff with them.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Sat Aug 04, 2018 2:59 pm

yep, gifts - or paying for college - many kids do not appreciate it...... :roll:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sat Aug 04, 2018 5:34 pm

Mad Mike wrote:
Sat Aug 04, 2018 2:59 pm
yep, gifts - or paying for college - many kids do not appreciate it...... :roll:
Don't I know it, one of James' granddaughter asked me to find a car for her and rebuild it. Without her doing anything to help pay for the junker, find the junker, run for parts or turn wrenches. I guess somehow since I am her great uncle it is my duty/responsibility to do it all for her. Boy was she mad (and still is) that I gave it to one of Dean's sister's daughter. In fact it has been about two years and she still wants to give me the cold shoulder when she used to come over. She asked Lil why I would not let her come over to our house anymore, and Lil made her ask me. I flat out told her why in the world would I want to invite someone to my house, to eat my food who wanted to be a spoiled brat who was to lazy to work on their car, yet wanted to try and make me feel bad because I gave it to someone who came over and worked her rear end off working on it.

I was told that I am mean and expect to much. Maybe I am, but around my house if anyone is going to get a free ride it is going to be me and if I don't do it or am not allowed to do it, then no one is going to be able to do it.

James does not even let her come over to his house if his wife Susan is not at home and if she does come over he either finds something to do somewhere else around the house away from her or calls me to see if I have a pass to roam free around southern New Mexico.

Who I might add found it, paid for it, helped me get it home and showed up just about everyday after school as well as weekends, holidays and during the summer. I told Bec it might have been cheaper for us to just buy her a decent used car because that girl spent the night a lot and even without that she ate here at the house and man could she pack away the chow. Must be nice to be 16 and have a fast running metabolism cause I'd balloon up in weight and then die from all the food in my stomach just from one meal.
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sat Aug 04, 2018 5:47 pm

emclean

Dang it......Lil's going to kill me she is off working in Europe for the next two weeks....the last thing she said well almost the last thing other than be safe and she loves me was not to make any major purchases........500.00 isn't major and she never did say what a major purchase was......


I thought it over and nothing says I can't purchase a NIB HK P30 40S&W V3 for myself and leave it in the vault for a few years or so. Of course by then she may have grown into something larger than what she is currently carrying and the S&W M&P .380 Shield EZ that I ordered at the local Military Exchange this morning at 1000 when they opened up.

Besides $500.00 for a quality pistol is a price I can not pass up and I think just to poke the rabid grizzly bear I will tell her that it has been extensively tested and has been adopted by several European police agencies. You just can't argue with several European police agencies......

I really appreciate the heads up.

Also I can continue the fight because what she does not know will not hurt me.......
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by emclean » Sun Aug 05, 2018 8:11 am

Laager wrote:
Sat Aug 04, 2018 5:47 pm
emclean

Dang it......Lil's going to kill me she is off working in Europe for the next two weeks....the last thing she said well almost the last thing other than be safe and she loves me was not to make any major purchases........500.00 isn't major and she never did say what a major purchase was......
just something i do to all my friends, find guns they didn't know they wanted, and point them out

https://www.cdnnsports.com/hk-p30-40s-w ... 2b3PdJKiUk

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