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 » Tue Jun 30, 2015 10:27 pm

emclean wrote:
Still it has only been six months since I last had a haircut (High and tight) and shaved.
6 months? hell I haven shaved clean since I signed out of the army.
Tried it, but just can't get used to it. Usually stick to shaving daily, and a haircut every week to two weeks. Depending on when we get out to the local military base or if Lil takes me to work with her. Easier to check for ticks.........or at least less areas to search for them.

Now of course Lil's Mom says I planned the whole thing to embarrass her, oh and of course Lil. Her Mom is all about "face" or public appearance. Lil on the other hand has a rule that is as long as I do not get her involved in my shenanigans then press on....but if she is involved, run...run fast and run far, far away.

While I will freely admit that I do look forward to antagonizing Lil's Mom every chance I get (as well as her brothers and sisters) it really does not take six months of effort to do so.

Junior said nope, it's just the way the world works around Dad. Lil says, life with your Dad makes for good stories latter on.

I threatened to put the "Duck" on display....... :crazy:
“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.

SAEP
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Sat Jul 04, 2015 7:12 pm

"Summer time, and the living is easy..."

Well, not exactly. Early summer 1971, Chu Lai, RVN, and when you're in the gunship platoon of an AHC (Assault Helicopter Company) and you're on 5-minute standby, about all you can do is find some shade and pant. It's not actually all that bad if you have something to _do_, but just sitting around gets really old.

So it was something of a relief to have SP4 Seymour ask me for a hand. Seymour was a volunteer transfer from a grunt unit (oh, the siren call of flying above it all AND getting flight pay!). He'd been with us for about 3 months and was upped to Crew Chief and given a ship (UH-1C, the variety with miniguns and rockets, one of 2 in the platoon of 8 birds). His was something of an epic struggle, since his ship had become a hangar queen. This meant that it had been in maintenance for the best part of a month. Every time somebody else's ship needed a part fast, it got taken from one of the birds already down. This meant that the same ship was fair game for other "borrowings", and it could be a real problem getting the ship completely fixed. Basically, Seymour had to camp out in his ship for 3 or 4 days and run off poachers. Then, when it was ready, the ship had been grounded so long that not everything really worked properly. So it took two test flights (with more camping out in between) to get certified. Then came test fire, and of course there were weapons problems.

Specifically, the miniguns weren't working well. So Seymour grabbed a couple of exterior wiring harnesses (and me) and we headed out to his ship. All the way there he was cussing the miniguns, and he wasn't the first to do so - prior to the Dillon M134D, they had reliability problems. So we arrived at his ship, parked in a revetment alongside the active, and we started replacing harnesses. He finished first, then got in the pilot's seat, and started pushing in armament circuit breakers. He looked over at me (the pilot's seat is on the right, and I was working on the left side) and asked, "Have you pulled the plug?" "Roger that!" I respond. "Are you SURE?" he asks. Just to show him (He's being careful, right? Don't want any accidents, right? Oh, you're way ahead of me.) I hold up the connector to the minigun so he can SEE than it's not connected. Satisfied, he says, "OK, now watch the stepper switch for me."

Now I need to interrupt this gripping narrative flow to describe just how farked we were. Here's a picture of a UH-1C with the same armament http://www.174ahc.org/easy-1.htm Now, keep in mind that he'd been bitching all the way out about the miniguns, and I was working on a minigun cable (which I had showed him). When he asked about the stepper switch, alarm bells should have sounded in my head so loud as to give me tinittus. The stepper switch is part of the "f**king ROCKET system". It selects which tube actually fires. When the pilot or AC (Aircraft Commander) pulls the trigger, the stepper routes an ignition pulse to the rocket, then automatically steps to the next position. It has nothing to do with miniguns. So there's not much excuse for me holding up a minigun connector, now is there? Just as bad, the connection to the rockets is made by a stubby little cable and a pullaway connector which allows the rocket pod to be dropped in an emergency. So in order for me to hold up the rocket connector for him to see would have required me to lift the whole effin' side of the ship up. And trust me, I'm not nearly strong enough. So it's not like there was much excuse for him to miss it, either. But like the old saying goes, "It's hard to make things foolproof, since fools can be so very clever.

Did I mention it was really hot?

So I lean over the hole in the pylon that lets you look at the stepper position and say, "Go ahead". He pulls the trigger. There's a "click", and the stepper advances. "Did it work?" he asks. "Yup". "How about now" Click. "Works like a charm." He frowns. Obviously (in hindsight) during test fire a number of rockets did not fire. That means, for those of you who are slow on the uptake, that there are some unfired rockets in their tubes, just waiting for a chance to redeem themselves if called upon a second time. These were, I might add, 2.75 in FFAR (Folding Fin Aerial Rocket) with 17 pound warheads. Roughly the equivalent of a 105 mm howitzer round. Wait for it.

"Well, I'm going to try some more. Keep an eye on it, OK?"

Now, about this time a small portion of my brain actually started to function. If you look at the picture, you'll notice that the rockets are inboard on the pylon, so getting an angle to look directly down on top of the pod was most convenient if you stood directly in front of the tubes. Which was what I was doing. But I thought to myself, "You know, it's never a good idea to stand directly in front of a weapon. Nothing's going to happen, but it's best to develop good habits when you don't need them." Words to live by. So I moved over to the side where I had to lean quite inconveniently far over to see the switch.

Click.
Click.
Click.
FADOOOSH!

With a roar and a hiss, the rocket took off at a slight upward angle. 6 feet in front of the nose it encountered the revetment, which was a wooden frame containing 55 gallon drums full of water. The nose punched through both walls of the drum (thank God for setback delay arming), but when the fins tried to exit the drum the lower one hung up for a split second on the metal, which caused the nose to drop. It also sprayed hot water on yours truly, who was not entirely certain what was going on, but who was fairly certain it wasn't happening on the other side of the ship, and was in the process of low-crawling in that direction.

When the fin tore free, the rocket ran along the sand, parallel to the runway, until it was just about even with the gunship parked in front of us. At this point it hit a chunk of concrete and bounced the nose 90 degrees to the left. There was a shoulder about 2 feet high running along the side of the active, and this acted like a ramp. When last seen, the rocket was headed at about a 45 degree angle and disappeared over the South China Sea.

Having set a land speed record for the low crawl, I emerged about the same time Seymour got out of the seat. The ship ahead was pretty much invisible in the dust cloud, and I wondered just how in the Hell I was going to pay for it. It took us bout 10 seconds to realize just how we'd fooled each other (and ourselves).

Did I mention the roar and the hiss? Well, trust me - it was loud. This was not what you call a discreet failure. In the space of about 2 seconds we put the Brigade Headquarters, Brigade TOC, Battalion Headquarters, and 3 companies worth of maintenance personnel down on their bellies, thinking it was incoming. And, of course, as soon as anybody looked up, there was this big-assed cloud of dust with a rocket exhaust trail pointing out exactly where all the trouble had started.

So, the next half hour was spent making acquaintance with various officers up to bird colonel, and explaining yet again what had happened. Since no one was hurt, it slid by, especially when we laid out just how careful we'd been, but I'm not at all certain what was said at the O-Club that night. Nothing, good, I'm sure.

Oh, and for all you Elton John fans out there, I gained brief fame as "Rocket Man".

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Jul 06, 2015 1:47 pm

SAEP wrote:Oh, and for all you Elton John fans out there, I gained brief fame as "Rocket Man".
It was always easy to pick up an interesting nickname, sometimes they stuck and sometimes not, but it certainly was a relief when the next guy did something dumb and took the heat off you.

There is nothing like the sound (at least imho) of a UH-1 slick, funny how even after all these years, I can still pick out the sound of one. Sometimes accompanied by fond memories, sometimes seat of the pants, praying to the Good Lord that they get here....like now kind of memories and even the Holy farking shit that is a lot of hate being sent down range...kind of memories.

"How come all you guys sit on your helmets?"



I had to go back to the rear and ended up riding a slick back out with some Colonel and his cronies, the pilot was putting the slick threw some paces and the Colonel told him to stop, he thought the crew were messing with him by "performing unnecessary aerial maneuvers"

It ended up being a direct order...with protests from the pilot, who eventually gave in.

I was trying to catch some sleep, but peeked out from under my boonie and looked over at the door gunner and said "this isn't going to end well", cinched up my gear and weapon straps and tried to go back to sleep.

Right up until a round came up threw the bottom of the slick and proceed upwards.

I think one or two of the Colonels buddies caught some shrapnel (purple hearts and shiny medals all the way around - for the Colonel and his buddies. Inquiries for the rest of us, damaged Government property)......we ended up having to RTB so they could get some medical attention. Funny thing was we were closer to the Fire Base than the rear, but the Colonel ordered the Pilot to RTB to the rear. So we did.

I ended up having to write a statement, was asked several times if that was what I wanted written down (want to change our statement), said no...that was what I saw/heard. Seems the flight crew all said one thing, the Colonel and his buddies all said something else, and then I sided with the flight crew.

Managed to catch a flight out three days later....as usual persona non grada.
“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.

SAEP
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Mon Jul 06, 2015 3:54 pm

"and even the Holy farking shit that is a lot of hate being sent down range...kind of memories."

Well, the UH-1B/C/M gunships were right up there on the scale. Most of our gunships were hogs, each carrying a pair of 19-tube pods. This meant that, on a few seconds notice, a gunship on overwatch of an LZ could put down the equivalent of 2 battalions worth of 105 mm howitzer fire, and with pretty close to pinpoint accuracy - and all in less time than it would take an FO to set up a fire mission. Of course, the ship was then shot out and not good for much other than M60 fire until it reloaded, but the second ship in a light fire team could repeat the process and then the team would get out of the way while the tube artillery did its inimitable thing. In this respect the early gunships were better than Cobras, since the snakes never provided the really close-in support that we did (they were smarter and stood off).

Of course, dropping a full load was pretty extreme, and not very bright, since as I say you were then dry on rockets, but it did happen.

We were covering an extraction in the mountains southwest of Chu Lai. The LZ was just big enough for one ship, perched on the side of the mountain, and the exit route involved flying over the lip of the LZ and then dropping down a gully in the side of the hill to build up speed and maintain concealment while it was doing so. Of course, this meant that we gave the gully a VERY thorough looking-over before the lift started, but we were pretty sure there was nobody there.

Ha. About the third ship off the LZ reported taking fire in the gully. Oh boy. WO2 Chapman, our AC, took it personally. We nosed over the edge, then slid down the gully with Chappie slewing the nose back and forth and pulling the trigger as fast as he could, while us guys in back were just hosing down the area. We basically lit up the entire gully. He shot us empty, but we had no more problems.

And, just as a bonus, have you ever heard a guy have an orgasm over the radio? The battalion commander of the grunts was above us in the C&C ship, and I'd swear he was creaming his jeans (pardon me, jungle fatigues). "Oh yes! God yes! Keep it up! Just like that!"

Really, it was quite unseemly.

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Mon Jul 06, 2015 6:47 pm

SAEP wrote:"and even the Holy farking shit that is a lot of hate being sent down range...kind of memories."

Well, the UH-1B/C/M gunships were right up there on the scale. Most of our gunships were hogs, each carrying a pair of 19-tube pods. This meant that, on a few seconds notice, a gunship on overwatch of an LZ could put down the equivalent of 2 battalions worth of fire, and with pretty close to pinpoint accuracy - and all in less time than it would take an FO to set up a fire mission. Of course, the ship was then shot out and not good for much other than M60 fire until it reloaded, but the second ship in a light fire team could repeat the process and then the team would get out of the way while the tube artillery did its inimitable thing. In this respect the early gunships were better than Cobras, since the snakes never provided the really close-in support that we did (they were smarter and stood off).

Of course, dropping a full load was pretty extreme, and not very bright, since as I say you were then dry on rockets, but it did happen.

We were covering an extraction in the mountains southwest of Chu Lai. The LZ was just big enough for one ship, perched on the side of the mountain, and the exit route involved flying over the lip of the LZ and then dropping down a gully in the side of the hill to build up speed and maintain concealment while it was doing so. Of course, this meant that we gave the gully a VERY thorough looking-over before the lift started, but we were pretty sure there was nobody there.

Ha. About the third ship off the LZ reported taking fire in the gully. Oh boy. WO2 Chapman, our AC, took it personally. We nosed over the edge, then slid down the gully with Chappie slewing the nose back and forth and pulling the trigger as fast as he could, while us guys in back were just hosing down the area. We basically lit up the entire gully. He shot us empty, but we had no more problems.

And, just as a bonus, have you ever heard a guy have an orgasm over the radio? The battalion commander of the grunts was above us in the C&C ship, and I'd swear he was creaming his jeans (pardon me, jungle fatigues). "Oh yes! God yes! Keep it up! Just like that!"

Really, it was quite unseemly.

Our Lt (who eventually made LTC) was well known for having moments exactly like that.......he loved to send massive amounts of hate down range. Once we had to call in "Puff, the Magic Dragon" in danger close and he jumped up and started running around screaming something along the lines of "Did you Fking see that" Look at that!!" as trees, shrubs, NVA an just about everything in the area was being shredded. Periodically he would stop and grab one of us and scream something at us, then continue to yell and scream. I was 100% certain we were fixing to loose another officer. Not a single scratch..not even a darn hang nail. It wasn't the last time he pulled that, he did it once when he was a Sergeant and they called in Artillery fire on their own position (on purpose) turned out the people that sent the hate were on the U.S.S. New Jersey, some where off the coast. I wasn't there for that one, but from what I heard it was epic. The entire hill they were on ended up being flattened as everyone ran like mad. He was laughing and screaming the whole way, the medic threatened to sedate him.

I was tasked to drive him, he was an acting Battalion Commander at the time (Major) to a Korean (South) range exercise.........things were going fine, right up till the Koreans had a flight of Warthogs come in and blew the living snot out of the entire valley, as well as all the stationary armor positioned like a North Korean armor thrust. I thought he was trying to hump me from behind....not sure what the South Korean Officer's thought. All though the ROK Sergeant seemed to like him, and got a good laugh out him.

Some years later, we were on a stateside range (he was an LTC) and I was a Staff Sergeant waiting to make SFC, in charge of a Platoon. It was a combined combat arms exercise. Armored Cav, Air Defense (M113 Vulcan Air Defense System VADS (M167)) and a platoon worth of infantry.

Basically each platoon was to assault forward, taking out assorted targets, deploy infantry to secure a structure, then a drone would fly around and the two Vulcan M113s would take it out. Followed by a massive enemy assault, which overwhelmed every platoon and company in all of the battalions. No one could win........well except for the enemy...which were a bunch of pop up targets. Target rich environment does not do it justice. It was a platoon up against a company of armor, mech infantry.

Every platoon that went through that exercise were deemed combat ineffective.

Right up until I ran second platoon through it. We killed them all and managed to blow up the target building.

The LTC was screaming in the radio, then ran down the tower over to where we were pulling up and then grabbed me all the time screaming like a madman. I was not sure if he was going to kiss me, hump me or beat me to death or all three.

Range control said I cheated.....the LTC told them to F-off, right in front of the entire battalion. complete with hip thrusting motions.

I used the Vulcans as direct fire platforms.............they tagged the drone and still had ample ammo left....so I had them fall back (they were located on the wings of the cresent) and had them spray every thing that popped up.

They cut every single target in half.....armor and infantry. Made one heck of a mess.

Hey it wasn't my fault no one else thought of it.

There is something to be said for massive fire power....but you are right, usually when it happens you end up bingo on ammo and that could put you in an ugly spot. It never gets them all.........
“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 Johan » Fri Jul 10, 2015 10:17 am

Laager
I have to say, I always enjoy your storys!!!!
Thanks for sharing!!!

And of course, thanks to all the other guys sharing good stuff..
Firepower...
-Is One Bullet that Hits!

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by LyraJean » Tue Jul 14, 2015 11:32 am

I a registered pharmacy technician. I'm working on getting certified. Our pharmacy provides a range of adult vaccinations.

When the ebola scare was happening we had a customer come in and demanded a flu shot so she wouldn't get the ebola and die.
My blog: Beyond Tourism: Florida's Yesteryear A blog about Florida History

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Tue Jul 14, 2015 8:03 pm

Well back in the room again.........

Evidently I have issues.......(okay, I know I do, but hey they are my issues and I love them, in fact many of them have kept me alive, not out of trouble but alive).

Some years back when I was a young PV2, up on the Korean DMZ a guy I went to basic with warned me that a couple of the guys in my Platoon liked to mess with the new people. Sometimes it was pretty rough stuff, sometimes it was not, just depended on how much they had to drink and smoke. All the way up to a beating, to petty extortion (making them buy them stuff off their ration card or taking their off post pass).

Usually, it just involved them getting drunk and one of them pissing in your bunk, either with you in it or not. Sometimes it was something along the lines of dropping trou and farting (if you were lucky) in your face, while you slept. that is if you were lucky, if you were unlucky, well the old saying (from our DI) "Never pass up a bathroom, never waste a hard-on, and never trust a fart." comes to mind.

Let's just say that large amounts of Korean alcohol, beer and food tended to mess up your system a bit, after being on C or K rats. It worked like Drano.....got rid of the clog so to speak.

I made sure that I told them that I did not sleep well at night and slept with a knife in my hand, not under my pillow. Evidently even after seeing me sleep like that they thought it would be a good thing to mess with me.

Let's just say that one of them went to the medics tent with a knife wound to his butt cheek, which required almost a dozen stitches to close.

For some odd reason no one wanted to wake me up, by touching me or pissing in my bunk with me in it. Granted someone pissed in my bunk while I was out of it. Later on someone put a amur viper in someone else's sleeping bag. The fun and games stopped after that, guess it is all fun and games until a snake bites you. Funny how something that is usually never seen, and only in the mountains or around streams managed to find it's way into a sleeping bag.

The next day I ended up getting orders to attend Imjin Scout school and was reassigned for some reason.

Now my Father and Mother in their infinite wisdom some years ago adopted a boy from Thailand. We just met him about five years ago when Lil (or as my Mother calls her Lilith) retired.

I don't know him, but he still lives with my Father and Mother and his is 25 years old, the same age as our son who is married and Active Duty AF. It is none of my business and I do not really pay much attention to him, if any. So my son who is 25 years old has an uncle that is 25 years old.

Occasionally he will come over to our house for family diner or the usual family holidays he will show up.

My birthday was last week, so we had a BBQ at our house and he showed up with a couple of his friends (male) and had a bit to much to drink.

I was sitting in my chair when he came in and told me he had a present for me, I told him that he did not have to do that and that he should have spent the money on something else.

He told me that it was hand made.......he then turned around and farted in my face.

I honestly have to think that it did not go the way he thought it was going to go....he started to laugh (his buddies as well) and then it sort of died off in his throat........I carry a Esse 4 and well I pulled him down into my chair, pulled it out and slid it up underneath his chin. Edge up.

We had a short discussion about me not enjoying his gift, well it was more like me talking and him just agreeing to what I said.......I probably should not have poked him with the tip as a parting gift, but I figured it would encourage him to think a bit more before doing stupid stuff.

All in all I thought we had a real nice brother to brother moment about actions and consequences, one of which was about how if he ever messed with me again I would kill him and bury him in the desert out behind our house somewhere.

Afterwards he had to leave to change his pants....it seems that I may have literally sacred the piss out of the boy, based on the crotch stain.

My youngest brother Gabby is here in town visiting with his wife and we had a wonderful visit. Went out shooting and did some work up in the mountains with Dean and Jeff, hit the local gun stores, sat out back (hiding from the wives) and drank a couple of beers.

Lil and his wife did some shopping and general female type maintenance stuff....nails, pedis, hair and whatever else they do in those salons.

We (Gabby and I as well as our son and his wife and sister-in-law) were at home this morning when our Father called over to say that he wanted to talk to Gabby, and he would be over shortly.

It went something like this:

Father came over and started in with "Gabriel" we have had this talk before.

Gabby: Dad what are you talking about?

Father: About threatening Ben.

Gabby: Dad I did not do anything.

Father: Gabriel, I let you have that flippy knife back the last time, and you told me that you would not do it again, do not make me take your knife away.

Now you have to understand Gabby is over 50 years old.

It went on for a bit, then Father shook his head and told Gabby he was disappointed in him and left, but not before he took his knife away.

Gabby looked at me with a what the heck expression?

I started laughing. I could not help it. According to my Father and Mother Gabby can do no wrong. When something goes wrong, they immediately forget about it or it is all the fault of whomever he is with or mostly my fault.

While I was still laughing I said did it go something like this, and pulled my Esse out and laid it up underneath my jaw. I will keel you and buries my body in the dessert. What can I say, other than Ben has been here for 24 years and still can't speak English worth a darn. I once asked him what he was going to do after he graduate from High School, and he told me he wanted to become a Waitress. I said don't you mean a waiter, a waiter is the male counter part of a waitress. He said no, I want to be a waitress. Ben came over to the house last year and asked me how to mail a letter, he wanted me to do it. Since our Father and Mother were not home. I told him what to do, and then Lil wrote down exactly how to mail it, where to get the stamp and what to say and do when he got to the post office. I actually thought for a minute she was going to make me do it for him.

Anyway Gabby looked at me and said you bast**d...you could have said something.

I was still laughing and said about what....how was I to know that a respected Doctor went around threatening to kill people, with a "flippy knife". Hey what exactly what the heck is a "flippy knife" anyway?

Gabby: It was that Bali-Song knife, you gave me.

Me: Nice........so what did the little monster do to you?

Turns out Gabby was sitting on the couch at Mother and Father's house some years back (about 15 or so) and Mother kept asking Ben to empty the trash (which is one of the only chores he has in the house, other than putting salt in the water softener) when finally Mother turned to Gabby and told him to do it. Gabby told Mother he would take care of it.

So when Ben walked by, he grabbed him and shoved that Bali-Song up under his chin and told him that it was bad enough that he was a lazy turd, but to get him involved in his chores was beyond the pale. If he ever did anything like that again, he was going to wind up dead and buried in the desert.

Ben told Father, and Father took away Gabby's knife.

Evidently it was not the first time Gabby did that.

Our son saw it happen, and even told Ben that he told him not to mess with me, that I was a touchy about my private space and had once stabbed a guy in the rear end.

He then told his Mom (Lil), who then told me if I could not behave to go to my room.....especially since I did not own up to it when my father came over to talk to Gabby.

I told her, if the little turd could have remembered my name or which one of us did it, then Gabby would not have gotten into trouble and lost his knife. Besides Gabby always acts like he is in control and it was fun to see Father chewing him out, while he stammered about how he did not do it.

I felt bad and loaned him a knife (it was a Bench made Bali Song and I bought two) until Father gives him his back. Probably won't see it till next year, since last time Father confiscated Gabby's knife it took him six months to get it back. Father's punishments always double. Okay, Lil shamed me into it. Gabby gets a bit touchy when he does not have his EDC stuff, and I usually loan him a EDC pistol and spare mags when they come to visit.

Oh and now I have to go across the street and tell Father that I did it. Lil said I have a tendency to go over board.

I'm leaving my EDC stuff at home, just in case.

On a side note, Lil's Father gave me a Bali-song knife many years ago. I ended up cutting my fingers with the darn thing, until Lil showed me how to open and close it. I put it away after that.
“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 » Wed Jul 15, 2015 8:27 am

LyraJean wrote:I a registered pharmacy technician. I'm working on getting certified. Our pharmacy provides a range of adult vaccinations.

When the ebola scare was happening we had a customer come in and demanded a flu shot so she wouldn't get the ebola and die.
my hospital added internal bleeding to the posters of the symptoms of the flu.
when the infection control nurse was asked about it, her answer was "well we can put ebola on it."
[and just for clarification, she was serous]

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Jul 16, 2015 11:13 am

I had to go to VA yesterday, where much to my surprise not only am I suffering from PTSD (among other things), but according the the VA doctor as well as some posters in his office, I am also sufferring from PSTD.

Hmmmmm, I asked Lil what the heck was a PSTD (was it Philippines Sexual Transmitted Disease or possibly Persian Sexual Transmitted Disease?), which earned me an elbow to the ribs. I figured she would know, since she worked in Military Public Health for over 20 years.

So since it was a mental health check I figured it was some new type of mental issue.....or maybe it was something they found in all the blood and urine samples they make me do at every appointment.

She told me to let it go, but I had to ask....cause you know it might raise my rating and well they certainly are not treating me for it......it could be terminal or something.

I'm not sure what the Doctor thought, since he was the nimrod that kept asking me about my PSTD issues. Then he got mad because I tried to look at his computer screen, I did point out that I could request a copy of his notes covering my visit, which I did.

I also pointed out that he kept telling me I had PSTD.

He never told me what it was....but he certainly typed away at the keyboard for a long time and did not look happy. I suppose I should not have asked him if he was a real doctor.

Guess that's another black or red mark in my "official" school records or something. I suppose that I should have just written it off as a transcribing error, since he was reading my file. But still what the heck, I mean PSTD??

Lil told me one of these days I would end up seeing Doctor Strong and she was going to leave me there until they let me out.

For those of you that do not know about Doctor Strong........there is a code that summons a couple of large orderlies and one with a syringe full of Thorazine and they come to the office that summoned them. Jump the patient and pump him or her full of Thorazine and then you wake up in the nut farm......all for your own good of course.

Of course they only use it for violent patients or those that they think are a threat to themselves or others.

I told her that I am a model patient. I never ever threaten anyone, never ever even hint that I might hurt myself or others and never get angry or violent.

She said I enjoy pushing their buttons to much and embarrassing them.

It's not my fault that there is no such thing as PSTD.......well at least nothing that shows up when you do a Google search. I checked when I got home, just in case.
“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 Jul 16, 2015 11:42 am

Laager wrote:I had to go to VA yesterday, where much to my surprise not only am I suffering from PTSD (among other things), but according the the VA doctor as well as some posters in his office, I am also sufferring from PSTD.

Hmmmmm, I asked Lil what the heck was a PSTD (was it Philippines Sexual Transmitted Disease or possibly Persian Sexual Transmitted Disease?), which earned me an elbow to the ribs. I figured she would know, since she worked in Military Public Health for over 20 years.

So since it was a mental health check I figured it was some new type of mental issue.....or maybe it was something they found in all the blood and urine samples they make me do at every appointment.

She told me to let it go, but I had to ask....cause you know it might raise my rating and well they certainly are not treating me for it......it could be terminal or something.

I'm not sure what the Doctor thought, since he was the nimrod that kept asking me about my PSTD issues. Then he got mad because I tried to look at his computer screen, I did point out that I could request a copy of his notes covering my visit, which I did.

I also pointed out that he kept telling me I had PSTD.

He never told me what it was....but he certainly typed away at the keyboard for a long time and did not look happy. I suppose I should not have asked him if he was a real doctor.

Guess that's another black or red mark in my "official" school records or something. I suppose that I should have just written it off as a transcribing error, since he was reading my file. But still what the heck, I mean PSTD??

Lil told me one of these days I would end up seeing Doctor Strong and she was going to leave me there until they let me out.

For those of you that do not know about Doctor Strong........there is a code that summons a couple of large orderlies and one with a syringe full of Thorazine and they come to the office that summoned them. Jump the patient and pump him or her full of Thorazine and then you wake up in the nut farm......all for your own good of course.

Of course they only use it for violent patients or those that they think are a threat to themselves or others.

I told her that I am a model patient. I never ever threaten anyone, never ever even hint that I might hurt myself or others and never get angry or violent.

She said I enjoy pushing their buttons to much and embarrassing them.

It's not my fault that there is no such thing as PSTD.......well at least nothing that shows up when you do a Google search. I checked when I got home, just in case.


Yeah, I had poor results when saying "hey you - almost a doctor" for some odd reason! :clap:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sun Aug 02, 2015 11:34 pm

As I have said before, every Sunday unless Lil is going overseas to work we have a family dinner at our house. Tonight was beef stew night.......my Father requested it and of course Lil made it, there went the pot roast that I had asked for.

You know it is going to be a long family dinner when your loving wife decides to tell everyone how she me her husband......the first time, second time and then the third time.

The first time was not so bad....outside the Post Chapel at Clark Air Base in the Philippines. Granted at the time I was screaming and running around.

The second time, she bumped into me while I was waiting for some of the guys to finish getting rooms (with their bargirls) in the Salem Hotel in Olongapo City, right outside of the Naval base. Hey she asked me what I was doing and I told her, she asked me why I was downstairs, instead of upstairs. No girl, no plans on spending the night downtown so I do not need a room.

The third time.......health and wellness room check. The U.S. Navy, along with U.S. Air Force public health personnel and our Company XO, First Sergeant and Platoon Sergeant pulled a welfare check.

Evidently it is not socially acceptable to answer the door to your own barracks (okay it was a quonset hut) with an open bay, in your boxers, jungle boots with no socks and a Viking helmet...while taking a slug off of a large bottle of White Castle rum in your hand. We called it White Castle five day old rum.....I saw some peel the paint of of a U.S. Navy GSE cart once....all the way down to bare metal. Supposedly it was five year old...

It probably did not help that when the Navy Lt asked me where I thought I was going, I told him to take a piss. Either in the latrine or right here, your choice.

In my defense, I will point out that my family originally came over from Ireland....well the English were nice enough to empty the prison they were in (debtor prison) and put them on a leaky boat to the New World.......besides it was a Viking Spangenhelm style of helm with cheek guards and Celtic knot work engraved on potions of it. Someone gave it to me, they picked it up in Skansen Sweden. It is not an original, but something that was hand made, I still have it.

Supposedly in my favor, was the fact that I did not have a half naked or naked Filipina hanging on me, or in/on my cot. There were 15 soldiers in the hut and 14 females. Dodged that Company Grade Article 15, well the Company Commander let the section choose either a Article 15 or two weeks of working for the First Sergeant after duty hours and of course on weekends, with no passes (extra Duty).

That was eventually dropped, since the Captain had not said that females were not allowed in our hut or alcohol. Afterwards the Company Clerk typed up orders to that effect, no females, no alcohol inside. So we drank outside and had barbques with female companionship outside.

However, with Lil telling the story it was way worse than what I remembered.

I replied with, well she must have liked what she saw, since she chased me all over the Island of Luzon and asked me to marry her.

She slapped me in the back of my head.

I did point out that the guys that ended up with an STD kept telling me some AF girl was asking questions about me.......when I asked what she looked like they told me she was about his high, with brown skin, brown eyes and black hair...dressed in an AF uniform.

I also asked weren't you supposed to be treating them or at least finding out where/when/how they ended up with an STD?

Then someone asked if I went looking for her.....she said no, its not like I was hard to find. But he just never came by or even called the office.

Let's just say that I had my reasons and that Lil knows what there were and leave it at that.

Three and a half years later or so we were married......she really did ask me to marry her and it really was to get back at her mom.

I had to go get the helmet out of my room, but I refused to put it on.
“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 Aug 04, 2015 12:01 pm

I did forget to mention that Lil told them it could get worse........

I have a Roman Gladius that I bought a while back (its functional) and a couple of years back Lil bought me a Ferrous Wolf (made by Zombie Tools, I have a few of their blades) and she caught me running around the house in my boxers, with my helmet on, carrying a sword.

Okay....so I got bored one night and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Or as we like to say "dumb or stupid decisions make for good stories"...........

At least she did not get a picture of it.........
“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 » Wed Aug 05, 2015 5:12 pm

I dislike not wearing a shirt and long pants, because of all the accumulated scars that I have. Of course who has not played the my scars are bigger, better or worse than yours and how I got them, especially after a few beers.

Some time back in the early 80's when I was doing time in Korea, payday weekend and our platoon was on a 72 hours pass to Camp Casey (located in Tongduchon, South Korea). I was not interested in hitting the town, other than to hit the used bookstore that was located outside the main gate to the left, then a restaurant for some food and a beer and then back to the quonset hut that we were staying in to get some rest.

I was asleep when the CQR comes running in (the noise he was making woke me up before he reached my bunk), so when he got there and before he could say anything I asked him what he wanted.

He told me that I had a phone call and that the CQ had sent him to get me.

So I got up, wondering who in the heck would call me, glanced at my watch and noted the time was 2315hrs. First thought, hey maybe Father and Mother died in a fiery crash or one of the assorted foster kids killed them.

Alas it was not to be, it turned out to be my Section sergeant calling. Now I should point out that he was drunk as a skunk and had six other guys from my section/squad with him and that they could not make it the 2.5 miles from the front gate to the Q-hut before midnight.

If they did not make it, then they would be written up and receive an Article 15.

I asked him what he wanted me to do.....he replied I do not care what you have to do, but get us a vehicle and pick us up on the main road ASAP and don't say anything to anyone.

Me: Are you sure?

SS: I'm ordering you to come and get us.....do what you have to do.

Me: Roger that, I'll take care of it.

CQ: What did the Staff Sergeant want?

Me: He wants me to do a Health and Wellness check on the Wall lockers and foot lockers to make sure they are all locked up.

CQ: It's after 2300hrs, who does he think is going to show up to check to see if the foot lockers and wall lockers are locked up?

Me: How would I know.........all I know is that I need to get going.

I ran down the road, out of the Company area past the Battalion area and made it to the Senior NCO's Q-hut, where all of the First Sergeants and Battalion Command Sergeant Major parked their assigned jeeps.

As my luck had it, all of the First Sergeants had locked up their jeeps, and the only one that was left unsecured was Battalion Command Sergeant Major.

I suppose it did not really matter, since they kept bolt cutters under the rear seats, but I was running out of time, so it was the CSM jeep that I shoved into neutral and pushed down the road a bit.

No issues, it fired right up and away I went.

Imagine the Section sergeant's surprise when I found them on the side of the road, loaded them up and then we raced off, back up the hill with time to spare. Seven people in a jeep makes for a tight fit, so people were sitting on each others laps.

The Section sergeant eventually looks over at me and says:

SS: Is that a dog hanging on your arm?

Me: Yes.

SS: Shit, Please, please, please don't tell me that this is the CSM jeep and that is the CSM's dog.......

Me: Okay.

SS: SOB!! SOB!! SOB!! You stole the Battalion CSM's jeep and his dog?

Me: No I borrowed it.

SS: Borrowed my a$$, you stole it! Stole it!!! He's going to court martial you!

Me: You mean he is going to court martial us.

SS: No, not us, you! There is no us!! There is just you!! You!! I thought you were going to borrow the Company's jeep from the CQ.

Me: Exactly how was I supposed to do that without telling him what I wanted it for? Besides you ordered me to do whatever it took to find transportation. Just be glad I did not borrow the Battalion Commander's jeep.

SS: Borrow!! There was no borrowing, you f**king stole it!! In mid rant he threw up all over the passenger side of the jeep and the dog that was attached to my right arm. He told me the later on that he must have passed out, I think he fainted.

I let them out just below the CQ's Q-hut, and then released the strap and shoved the Section sergeant out of the jeep. Drove the jeep back down the hill and into the area where the Post pogues lived, parked it in front of their building, grabbed the dog, popped him in the head a few times, until he let go and then I tossed and locked him inside their nice barracks. Then ran back up the hill and hit the latrine for a shower.

I am sure the CSM had his suspicions, the darn dog hated my guts from then on.....he growled every time he came near me or vice versa. But other than the dog bites, there was no proof. The MPs did not even bother to check for prints, since they found the jeep and no real damage was done. Plus there was some blood in the jeep, so he knew his dog "had gotten a piece of the SOB that stole his jeep and assaulted his dog, good dog."

Thankfully we left Camp Casey two days later and headed back up to the DMZ.

I'm sure the Company CQ and CQR had their suspicions as well, since the guys that showed up to sign in were covered in puke. Especially the Staff Sergeant and the guy that had been sitting on his lap.

Well other than the puke that had to be cleaned up. Evidently some people have a problem with not throwing up once someone else starts or possibly the smell hits them or some combination of both.

The only interior part of the jeep not covered in puke was the driver's seat.

Our Company medic fixed me up, but it was a huge pain in the rear end. I had to get shots, stitches and I could not get a profile to avoid PT or heavy lifting. Our medic was good for stuff like that, no fuss, no muss and no paperwork.

It took a while for the bites to heal, and they do stand out, because I popped a few stitches here and there and had to let them close over by themselves.

Still beats the heck out of letting the Battalion CSM get his hands on me......he used to have his driver wax and polish his jeep and had custom seat covers made downtown. The CSM was also not happy that he had to give his dog a bath early, I guess it took a few baths to get the puke smell out of the dog.
“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 Sep 18, 2015 11:40 am

Today, many, many, many years ago (back in the 1970's) I became one of a select few...........a Towed Jumper. Let's just say that it was not a pleasant experience.

Still it always could have been worse.
“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 » Mon Sep 21, 2015 10:02 am

Laager wrote:Today, many, many, many years ago (back in the 1970's) I became one of a select few...........a Towed Jumper. Let's just say that it was not a pleasant experience.

Still it always could have been worse.
feel free to tell me to bugger off, none of my business (cause it really isn't), but would you give a more detailed AAR?

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Sep 24, 2015 5:19 pm

emclean wrote:
Laager wrote:Today, many, many, many years ago (back in the 1970's) I became one of a select few...........a Towed Jumper. Let's just say that it was not a pleasant experience.

Still it always could have been worse.
feel free to tell me to bugger off, none of my business (cause it really isn't), but would you give a more detailed AAR?



We were doing a jump with the Philippine Army out of a Douglas C-47 Skytrain (static line jump), when it was my turn out the door, my static line hung up and my main chute did not deploy.

A towed jumper is a parachutist whose equipment does not deploy properly, my static line basically turned into a tow rope, dragging/towing me behind the plane.

To say that I was shocked and scared would be an understatement. At the time I was not sure how it happened, just that it did happen.

Train like you fight.........all I could remember was that I needed to maintain a tight body position. Which I did.

Turned out it was not my fault (exit technique) but an equipment failure.

The standard SOP is they try to pull you back in, but that turned out to be a no go. Which was good since I was not unconscious at the time.

After being banged around a bit, I was still conscious (being unconscious is not a good thing), I managed to look back up towards the plane and could see the Jumpmaster pull his knife and cut the static line.

I ended up banged up a bit, twisted my ankle and had some broken ribs. I did get one good whack or two to the head (my helmet and I parted ways after the second whack) before he cut through the static line and the last thing I remember before I hit the ground was thinking how beautiful my reserve chute looked.

It could have been way worse, I was lucky that I did not get tangled up in the main chute which was partially deployed or hurt worse than I was.

After the jump, the Jumpmaster came over to the Post hospital and gave me the knife he used to cut me loose.

Later on when I returned to duty, I gave him one that I bought him while I was on con leave.

I think I came out ahead in the deal.
“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 » Fri Sep 25, 2015 8:31 am

you really do have a guardian angle watching over you.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Fri Sep 25, 2015 10:01 am

Talk about lucky!

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Fri Sep 25, 2015 9:47 pm

emclean wrote:you really do have a guardian angle watching over you.

I have not always walked away with out a scratch, and have the scars to show for it, but you are 100% right and I have a feeling they poor guy was doing some serious overtime when I was younger.


Granddaughter: Tops what's that?

Me: A scar.

Granddaughter: How did it happen?

Me: A monkey bit me.

Granddaughter: Tops, what about that one?

Me: Someone stabbed me.

Granddaughter: Oh wow, that's a big one.....what happened?

Me: I was hit in the head by a hatch.

Granddaughter: What's a hatch?

Me: See this, it is the hatch for a tank.

Granddaughter: I bet that hurt.

Me: Yes it certainly did.

Granddaughter: What happened there?

Me: A dog bit me.

Granddaughter: Is that a burn?

Me: How did you know, it was a burn?

Granddaughter: Because Rollo (Lil) has a burn on her arm, from an iron and it looks like that.

Me: Yes, she does have a burn.

Granddaughter: Yours looks nasty. Did you get burnt by an iron?

Me: No baby, I got burnt by a tank.

After a dozen or so more times..............

Granddaughter: Tops.......What happened there?

Me: I was hit in the head by a rock.

Granddaughter: Wow....who did it?

Me: A monkey.

Granddaughter: Tops you are a mess........

Me: Why yes, yes I am..........
“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 Oct 03, 2015 9:11 am

Well, let's see where to start............issues......I have a lot of issues and rules. One of which is do not touch my stuff. My stuff is my stuff and your stuff is your stuff and if I do not give you permission to touch my stuff, then that means keep your hands off my stuff.

I also have very little tolerance for thieves and liars.


Jr's husband's sister moved here to "start over" and brought all five of her children who do not understand boundaries, rules or the simple keep your hands off my stuff.

Now I can understand the 5 year old and the 3 year old, but the 13, 11 and 9 year old should know better. Yet they don't.

On Sunday they all came over early (before dinner) to swim.

After they all finished swimming, I ended up having to make a run into town to pick up some goodies for Lil.

It was pointed out by higher management that it would be beneficial for all of us, if I would invite and take the three older children with me in town.

So after some negotiating (also known as whining), we piled in my newer truck and away we went.

Everything went fine, the drive was nice, I found a really nice parking spot right up front and the parking lot was almost empty, which meant the check out lines would be short.

I asked them if they wanted to go in with me and they all said no......so I said ok and away I went.

This is where things started going south......or sideways.

As I am grabbing the items Lil sent me after, I hear a page for the owner of a blue extended cab Ford Pickup.

Hmmmmm, that sounds like my truck.........so I head up front to see what they want.

The store manager and a couple of women are up at the stores main entrance. From their body stance and language as well as their raised voices, I get the feeling that they are upset about something.

When they see me coming they start to ask me if I was the owner of the truck with the kids in it.

I said, yes, yes I am. Why what's going on?

They are now heading towards the doors and out into the parking lot.

All three are talking at the same time.......something to do with the kids having some type of epileptic fit.

Fit.....what the heck........then I see them (all three) are rolling around on the ground screaming and hollering......so I hustle over there, I'm starting to dial Lil to tell her that I will have to take the kids to the ER and can she tell their mom to meet us there.

I get to the truck (the passenger door is open) and as I get closer I catch a familiar smell.

So I look down at the kids then look inside the truck........imagine my surprise when I see my can of Sabre Red laying on the bench seat.

I reached into the glove box and grabbed a pair of gloves, put them on and then started grabbing kids and "assisting" them into the back seat. I tell the growing crowd of on lookers that the kids are not have a seizure of any kind.

Other than the red swollen eyes, snot, spit, drool, shit and piss coming out of their bodies that they will be okay.

I was told by Lil, Jr and other females that I should have taken them into the restroom and tried to wash out their eyes or used my water (in the truck) to do it in the parking lot.

Instead of driving 30 miles back to the house.

Evidently my thought of well it served them right for snooping around in my truck and touching my stuff.

Of course they lied about it......

It seems (according to them) that right after I left my glove box decided to open itself up and the Sabre red can decided that it no longer liked being kept in the dark glove box, so it attempted to escape. Only to fall down and end up on the floor of my truck.

So the kids thought that they would step in at this point and pick up the escaping can of Sabre red and return it to the glove box.

At this point the can got mad and just sprayed them.

Cause you know they were just minding their own business, sitting there waiting for me to come back. It wasn't their fault.

I should point out that my truck does not have AC, well unless you count rolling down the windows and driving fast.

It also does not have electric windows.

Or windows in the back seat area.

I do not know how long the smell will stay in the truck, nor do I care.

I figure that they may have learned their lesson or not. Pepper sprayed in yourself in the face, peed and pooped your pants.

Lil sent me to my room..........I am not sure if it was because I wanted them to pay for a new can of pepper spray, or my complete lack of empathy for the little turds. She told me we would "talk" later............

Jr told me that they finally admitted to going through my truck looking for "stuff", found the can in the glove box. Thought it was perfume or body spray and let it rip.
“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 Viper shtf » Sun Oct 04, 2015 12:11 pm

Well, I bet they won't do that again!
PistolPete wrote:Seriously, fashion is dumb. But my wife likes the way they make my ass look or the way you can follow the veins on my balls through the denim or something. Whatever. I can dress up once in a while.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Sun Oct 04, 2015 5:44 pm

Viper shtf wrote:Well, I bet they won't do that again!


I was thinking the same thing............but well I've been watching them since June. Not really watching them, more like studying them, and well they are not the sharpest tools in the shed (Lil says I can't say that in front of them, or that they are dumber than a box of rocks), but they are certainly liars and thieves.

Lil says I can't booby trap my stuff.........but I have started locking the door to our bedroom and my room. They are told every time they come over that they are not allowed in my room.

One of them responded, we can't get in because the door is locked.

I just looked over at Lil, who gave me the say one more thing and it is on look. I decided it was a lost cause and he who runs away, lives to fight another day.
“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 SAEP » Wed Oct 07, 2015 4:08 pm

Oh yes, airborne. My brother had a pretty good story.

First, for the legs out there (non-airborne) a few bits of terminology. A "streamer" is what happens if your chute won't open. Streams out behind you and doesn't do you a lick of good. Very sad. A "Mae West" occurs when one of the shrouds loops over the canopy, pulling it from a circle to a much smaller figure 8. With less area to catch air, you fall a good deal faster than you should. Again, very sad. Finally, a bit of technique. If you're not falling as fast as you might, and you need to deploy your reserve chute, your airspeed may not be high enough to reliably inflate the chute, so it's important to grab an edge of the chute to start it inflating. So.

After his third jump at Ft. Benning, my bother was standing around waiting to move out when another drop occurred. As luck would have it, one of the jumpers got a Mae West, and was coming down way too fast. The NCO with the bullhorn called out "Will the man with the Mae West activate his reserve chute!" Well, he tried, but the reserve streamered. As he approached the ground at speed the NCO called, "Will the man with the Mae West and the reserve streamer prepare for crash landing!"

As it happened , the jumper had been a circus acrobat before he ran away and joined the Army, and he executed a perfect PLF (parachute landing fall) and came up basically unharmed.

A hardcore bunch, those NCOs.

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