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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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by LowKey » Tue Nov 06, 2018 9:30 pm

Hang in there, Borther.
If you're passing through Florida (Tampa area) give us a shout if you don't mind hanging out with the Thai contingent of war brides and the troops that married them :rofl:
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SAEP
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:05 am

And about the screaming.

This was not your inarticulate, near-ultrasonic, girly-girl screaming.

This was in a lower register, although (as Laager notes) still well above normal pitch, and generally consisted of long, drawn-out variants on "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" and other similar catchwords.

You know, manly screams.

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:26 am

Of course, the other kind can happen, too.

This happened just before I joined the unit, so it is a second-hand story, and should be taken for what it's worth.

Our company area was built on the beach of the South China Sea, so it obviously could not dig holes for latrines. Instead, crappers were built using 55 gallon oil drums cut down to about 1/4 height, with an outhouse built above several of them. The container had an inch or so of diesel, and every day or so the drums were hauled out, a little gasoline added, and the contents burned off. Of course, this also required that some lucky soul had to stir the contents to assure complete combustion. This wasn't terrible as long as there was a breeze and you could keep upwind, but if there was a dead calm there was nowhere to hide. Hence, the general expression for any unpleasant job was "shit-burning detail".

On the night in question, a warrant officer went out to do his business, dropped his drawers and sat down.

Unbeknownst to him, there was apparently a rat perched on the edge of the can, surveying the buffet before him. The rat apparently felt that his personal space was being invaded from above, and proceeded to bite the offending member just behind the head, then scampered, honor satisfied, off into the darkness.

The resulting screams apparently had little manliness associated with them. And having to get the rabies series (a dozen very painful shots into the stomach muscles) just added insult to injury.

It was notable that, for several months afterwords, in a unit made up of volunteer flight crews who generally considered themselves to be something in the badass category, night-time visits to the crappers was accompanied by a remarkable amount of flashlight-shining and general thumping and banging on the structure.

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Mad Mike
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:36 am

yep, flashlights, thumping & banging were indeed called for!!! :lol:

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Nov 07, 2018 10:01 am

LowKey wrote:
Tue Nov 06, 2018 9:30 pm
Hang in there, Borther.
If you're passing through Florida (Tampa area) give us a shout if you don't mind hanging out with the Thai contingent of war brides and the troops that married them :rofl:

As of right now as far south as I think I will end up is maybe Destin. However evidently there are rumblings in the jungle mentioning Key West, Fla next year.

I'm pretending I don't hear it. But if we end up near Tampa I will be sure to let you know. Spent a few R&R's in Pattaya even though we pulled out in 1976 we still ended up flying in to a Royal Thai Air Base and then would load up on buses and head to Pattaya for a few days or more.

Interesting place......but boy were the Thai military serious about recreational drug use and really got upset with mass quantities.
“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 » Sun Nov 18, 2018 12:12 am

SAEP wrote:
Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:26 am
Of course, the other kind can happen, too.

This happened just before I joined the unit, so it is a second-hand story, and should be taken for what it's worth.

Our company area was built on the beach of the South China Sea, so it obviously could not dig holes for latrines. Instead, crappers were built using 55 gallon oil drums cut down to about 1/4 height, with an outhouse built above several of them. The container had an inch or so of diesel, and every day or so the drums were hauled out, a little gasoline added, and the contents burned off. Of course, this also required that some lucky soul had to stir the contents to assure complete combustion. This wasn't terrible as long as there was a breeze and you could keep upwind, but if there was a dead calm there was nowhere to hide. Hence, the general expression for any unpleasant job was "shit-burning detail".

On the night in question, a warrant officer went out to do his business, dropped his drawers and sat down.

Unbeknownst to him, there was apparently a rat perched on the edge of the can, surveying the buffet before him. The rat apparently felt that his personal space was being invaded from above, and proceeded to bite the offending member just behind the head, then scampered, honor satisfied, off into the darkness.

The resulting screams apparently had little manliness associated with them. And having to get the rabies series (a dozen very painful shots into the stomach muscles) just added insult to injury.

It was notable that, for several months afterwords, in a unit made up of volunteer flight crews who generally considered themselves to be something in the badass category, night-time visits to the crappers was accompanied by a remarkable amount of flashlight-shining and general thumping and banging on the structure.
That was some of the worse duty I have ever had to pull, probably the worst. Right up there with riding the garbage truck on post in Korea.
“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 Nov 19, 2018 7:59 pm

When I get back I will tell you guys and galls about Private Enoch Wachter......I also have a story about a suppressed Marlin .22LR that the LT did not like for some odd reason.....
“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 » Tue Nov 20, 2018 12:58 pm

Laager wrote:
Sun Nov 18, 2018 12:12 am
SAEP wrote:
Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:26 am
Of course, the other kind can happen, too.

This happened just before I joined the unit, so it is a second-hand story, and should be taken for what it's worth.

Our company area was built on the beach of the South China Sea, so it obviously could not dig holes for latrines. Instead, crappers were built using 55 gallon oil drums cut down to about 1/4 height, with an outhouse built above several of them. The container had an inch or so of diesel, and every day or so the drums were hauled out, a little gasoline added, and the contents burned off. Of course, this also required that some lucky soul had to stir the contents to assure complete combustion. This wasn't terrible as long as there was a breeze and you could keep upwind, but if there was a dead calm there was nowhere to hide. Hence, the general expression for any unpleasant job was "shit-burning detail".

On the night in question, a warrant officer went out to do his business, dropped his drawers and sat down.

Unbeknownst to him, there was apparently a rat perched on the edge of the can, surveying the buffet before him. The rat apparently felt that his personal space was being invaded from above, and proceeded to bite the offending member just behind the head, then scampered, honor satisfied, off into the darkness.

The resulting screams apparently had little manliness associated with them. And having to get the rabies series (a dozen very painful shots into the stomach muscles) just added insult to injury.

It was notable that, for several months afterwords, in a unit made up of volunteer flight crews who generally considered themselves to be something in the badass category, night-time visits to the crappers was accompanied by a remarkable amount of flashlight-shining and general thumping and banging on the structure.
That was some of the worse duty I have ever had to pull, probably the worst. Right up there with riding the garbage truck on post in Korea.
Takes a while to get the smell out of your uniform, too.

"It makes a fellow proud to be,
What as a kid I vowed to be,
One ought to be allowed to be
A sol-ol-ol-dier! (At ease!)"

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Nov 21, 2018 2:49 pm

SAEP wrote:
Tue Nov 20, 2018 12:58 pm
Laager wrote:
Sun Nov 18, 2018 12:12 am
SAEP wrote:
Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:26 am
Of course, the other kind can happen, too.

This happened just before I joined the unit, so it is a second-hand story, and should be taken for what it's worth.

Our company area was built on the beach of the South China Sea, so it obviously could not dig holes for latrines. Instead, crappers were built using 55 gallon oil drums cut down to about 1/4 height, with an outhouse built above several of them. The container had an inch or so of diesel, and every day or so the drums were hauled out, a little gasoline added, and the contents burned off. Of course, this also required that some lucky soul had to stir the contents to assure complete combustion. This wasn't terrible as long as there was a breeze and you could keep upwind, but if there was a dead calm there was nowhere to hide. Hence, the general expression for any unpleasant job was "shit-burning detail".

On the night in question, a warrant officer went out to do his business, dropped his drawers and sat down.

Unbeknownst to him, there was apparently a rat perched on the edge of the can, surveying the buffet before him. The rat apparently felt that his personal space was being invaded from above, and proceeded to bite the offending member just behind the head, then scampered, honor satisfied, off into the darkness.

The resulting screams apparently had little manliness associated with them. And having to get the rabies series (a dozen very painful shots into the stomach muscles) just added insult to injury.

It was notable that, for several months afterwords, in a unit made up of volunteer flight crews who generally considered themselves to be something in the badass category, night-time visits to the crappers was accompanied by a remarkable amount of flashlight-shining and general thumping and banging on the structure.
That was some of the worse duty I have ever had to pull, probably the worst. Right up there with riding the garbage truck on post in Korea.
Takes a while to get the smell out of your uniform, too.

"It makes a fellow proud to be,
What as a kid I vowed to be,
One ought to be allowed to be
A sol-ol-ol-dier! (At ease!)"
Try to get a spit shine on your boots or get the smell out of them after you spilled some of that nasty liquid on them. I tried for awhile then ended up tossing a good pair of Cochran Jump boots and those darn things were expensive as heck. Worth the price, but back in the day they were close to $100.00 and that was the amount of our jump pay per month.

I was retied as an Staff Sergeant E-6, and made a tad over $1,600 dollars a month (without jump pay), I talked to my son in law and he was a Staff Sergeant and made more than that for his mid month so two times as much as I made in the mid 80's. Then again he was off in the Stans or Iraq and getting some nice pay bonus for getting blown up and shot.

Trust me I learned real quick just how far I could push the First Sergeant and not end up on the poo burning detail. I rode it to the limit all the time, with all the NCO's and Officer's. Especially the Retired On Active Duty (Roadies) and the non combat MOS or WAGs, POGUES, REMFs, etc.

Thankfully most of them back then were in the Specialist branch...Spec4, 5, 6, etc...and not considered to be in the "leadership" or chain of command like a Corporal, Sergeant or Staff Sergeant.

Anyway, got to run off again....my adult supervision (also known far and wide as my wife) is calling me...guess once again I packed to much stuff...hey better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.

I had to whip out my med kit at deer camp, of course everyone looked and laughed.

Darn cousins......one of which brought a Savage 110 in .338 Laupua....just cause he wanted to see what it would do to a deer or carp.

I thought I was over caliber bringing a .308.....holy smokes the deer aren't that darn big.....then again I only saw four darn does who laughed and flipped me off as they ran by...made me want to borrow James' LaRue in 7.62X51...and unleash that fifty round drum on them. Or bust out my .300 Blackout and go to town.

Cheeky darn deer.....
“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.

bellam0r
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by bellam0r » Wed Nov 21, 2018 6:57 pm

You don't have a choice for you have some bills to pay. Meanwhile, try to breathe in for it's almost Thanksgiving. :words:

SAEP
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Wed Nov 21, 2018 11:59 pm

Laager wrote,

"I was retied as an Staff Sergeant E-6, and made a tad over $1,600 dollars a month (without jump pay),"

Humph. Spoiled kids. Now, in my day, we had it rough. I retired...

Well, no, I never went lifer so I didn't retire. But at the end of 3 years, as a Spec5 I was getting 334 bucks a month basic pay. An E-6 with 20 years would get about 540. Combat pay and flight pay made a big difference.

Going to the All-Volunteer Army made a big difference in pay levels, that's for sure. It's amazing how little you have to pay the troops when the alternative is jail time, at least for the first couple of years. At the time, as I recall, minimum wage was 3 bucks an hour, so minimum wage was 480 a month, but that did not include room and board (such as it was). If you were lucky enough to be stationed at a post with WWII barracks which really needed to be torn down, that wasn't much compensation.

Granted, this was before the inflation of the 70's, but still.

"Though miracles come high today,
We have the wherewithal to pay.
It takes them off the street, you know,
To places they would never go
alone;it gives them useful trade,
The lucky boys are even paid."

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Nov 22, 2018 12:45 am

SAEP wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 11:59 pm
Laager wrote,

"I was retied as an Staff Sergeant E-6, and made a tad over $1,600 dollars a month (without jump pay),"

Humph. Spoiled kids. Now, in my day, we had it rough. I retired...

Well, no, I never went lifer so I didn't retire. But at the end of 3 years, as a Spec5 I was getting 334 bucks a month basic pay. An E-6 with 20 years would get about 540. Combat pay and flight pay made a big difference.

Going to the All-Volunteer Army made a big difference in pay levels, that's for sure. It's amazing how little you have to pay the troops when the alternative is jail time, at least for the first couple of years. At the time, as I recall, minimum wage was 3 bucks an hour, so minimum wage was 480 a month, but that did not include room and board (such as it was). If you were lucky enough to be stationed at a post with WWII barracks which really needed to be torn down, that wasn't much compensation.

Granted, this was before the inflation of the 70's, but still.

"Though miracles come high today,
We have the wherewithal to pay.
It takes them off the street, you know,
To places they would never go
alone;it gives them useful trade,
The lucky boys are even paid."



When I say I was retired, it was not at 20 nor was it by choice. I was injured in a helicopter crash in October of 1982. It took them a few years to figure out that I was broken beyond repair. At the time the Army was not keeping crippled soldiers, but I managed to snag a instructor billet at a nice school for wayward boys from other countries.

Then they told me that I would be an E-6 till I hit 20 and retired. Why? I had 12 years to go, I already had a slot in the upcoming ANCO class and my Command Sergeant Major (of the Brigade) had given me a used pair of SFC/E-7 stripes to pin on when I walked out the door of the school (of course I had to graduate first).

Since I was on a permanent profile I was ineligible for promotion because I could not take the PT test and pass. Of course the really funny part was they then allowed me to re-enlist with a huge bonus for six more years and I manage to wrangle a billet in 8th Mech Infantry for a few years.

Eventually they caught up to me, and gave me a choice instructor duty till I grew old and died or hit 20 or get out. Well with no promotion potential I said have a nice day, took my bonus and family and retired.

I believe that is about what I made when I first went in, then I fell for the Airborne recruiter's line of BS while in what is not AIT. Hey why not get a hundred dollars more a month while on jump status and get some extra promotion points out of the deal. Should have ducked and sought cover and concealment immediately or at least ran screaming like a maniac or hysterical person in the opposite direction. Or joined the Navy with my cousin James at least they always fed those Navy boys and girls really, really well.

Oh yea, you don't have to tell me about the 6 years in prison or four years in the military branch that would accept you, with an honorable discharge you were good to go, anything less and back to jail you went. My section had 13 people including the Section Sergeant who was a Corporal and not a Staff Sergeant. 11 of them where jailbirds, the Corporal and myself were the only two without the prison alternative. Of course no one believed that I didn't have a record and there was a pool for the longest time betting on what I had done to be put in the military at 16, turned 17 in Basic at lovely Fort Benning, Georgia.

Yep, I was sent up to Fort Knox in 82 to do a two week course on the 113 and M60A3. We stayed in the barracks that Stripes was filmed at and someone found a liberty head dime dated 1918 stuck in the wooden wall near his bunk.

My son-in-law did 10 years on active duty (EOD) and left as an E-6, of course out of the ten years he was AD he was deployed six times. Blown up by IEDs a couple of times and shot at least once. I believe it was three IEDs and shot once on four different deployments. He decided he did not like the odds and turned down E-7 and punched out.

My son (or Lil's depending on what he has done or not done) is AD Air Force like his Mom. I do believe he is the only cook to get the Army CAB. In fact the Warrant Officer in Charge of the FOB he was assigned too, always asks for him. Now every time he deploys the Army refuses the other AF cooks and name selects him.

Of course he Mother is not happy, since he mans the M240 and goes out on foot patrol with the Army. They shut the chow hall down and issue MRE's and away he goes. Guess he spent his first tour (six months) with an Army M4 and daily trips to the range with the Chief or someone he appointed. If I must say he is pretty darn good with that weapons system. Can't say anything about the M240, since he does not have one at home to practice with.

If you take the pay and benefits then you have to play their game. Granted times have seriously changed from when there were maybe one or two cars in the barracks parking lot, and those were group owned vehicles, when you had to ask your Corporal for permission to marry, permission to purchase a car among other things. In fact up in the attic in my U.S. Army OD green foot locker I still have my written request and granted permission to marry Lil and purchase a car.

Yep the all volunteer military certainly changed a lot of things. Some for the better and some for the worse.

Take care, stay safe and watch your six.

Time for me to head out Carp hunting.......I really need to look into getting a whole new set of relatives...or at least trade some in for new ones.
“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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Mad Mike
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Mad Mike » Thu Nov 22, 2018 2:39 am

SAEP wrote:
Wed Nov 21, 2018 11:59 pm
Laager wrote,

"I was retied as an Staff Sergeant E-6, and made a tad over $1,600 dollars a month (without jump pay),"

Humph. Spoiled kids. Now, in my day, we had it rough. I retired...

Well, no, I never went lifer so I didn't retire. But at the end of 3 years, as a Spec5 I was getting 334 bucks a month basic pay. An E-6 with 20 years would get about 540. Combat pay and flight pay made a big difference.

Going to the All-Volunteer Army made a big difference in pay levels, that's for sure. It's amazing how little you have to pay the troops when the alternative is jail time, at least for the first couple of years. At the time, as I recall, minimum wage was 3 bucks an hour, so minimum wage was 480 a month, but that did not include room and board (such as it was). If you were lucky enough to be stationed at a post with WWII barracks which really needed to be torn down, that wasn't much compensation.

Granted, this was before the inflation of the 70's, but still.

"Though miracles come high today,
We have the wherewithal to pay.
It takes them off the street, you know,
To places they would never go
alone;it gives them useful trade,
The lucky boys are even paid."

Talk about having it made - as an E-4 I got $66 every two weeks - and my car payment was $65 a month...... :(
That was back in the dark ages - 1966.

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Stercutus
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Stercutus » Thu Nov 22, 2018 7:36 am

My son-in-law did 10 years on active duty (EOD) and left as an E-6, of course out of the ten years he was AD he was deployed six times. Blown up by IEDs a couple of times and shot at least once. I believe it was three IEDs and shot once on four different deployments

Not trying to be a big meanie but I am highly skeptical of this.
These days of dust
Which we've known
Will blow away with this new Son

But I'll kneel down wait for now
And I'll kneel down
Know my ground

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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Thu Nov 22, 2018 9:21 pm

Stercutus wrote:
Thu Nov 22, 2018 7:36 am
My son-in-law did 10 years on active duty (EOD) and left as an E-6, of course out of the ten years he was AD he was deployed six times. Blown up by IEDs a couple of times and shot at least once. I believe it was three IEDs and shot once on four different deployments

Not trying to be a big meanie but I am highly skeptical of this.

Hey so was I, but he has the darn paperwork and the 100% disability to go with it. I know he went three times once they were married and I had to ask him. Why do you deploy so much, don't they have more than four units of EOD (I don't know how Combat Engineers are set up), and he just said I go out for a year then come back to WSMR for a year then we deploy for a year. Six deployment pistol in his gun vault and from what I understand to get one you have to be there. He went to Fort Knox in a training slot and then deployed again after that he punched out and came home, went to VA and PTSD and TBI with back issue from being rolled around inside an MRAP gave him 100%.

I know they used to try to rotate us, so either we were out, or we were on stand down or we were training to go out and then would go out. But I was stupid and they were always short NCO's all the way up to when I got out. Some units did not have a full compliment of NCOs or even soldiers.

Border Cav and 1stAD sucked them up and the joke was Border Cav did 10 months in the field and two month training to go to the field, then back to the field they went. Not sure if that was true or not, but that was the rumor and people did everything they could to stay away from `1st AD and Border Cav in Germany.

I know I did...I fought them tooth and nail...Nope I am not re enlisting for Border Cav, Bad Tolz Army base in Germany nor do I want to go to the 504th Combat Support Team at Vincenza, Italy. My days of jumping out of Airplanes, helicopters, boats, armored vehicles is over.

I ended up in 8th Mech Inf....hmmmm, so much for not being in an armored vehicle. Although 113 and the old 114s (I loved those darn 114's, Gas V-8 engine would snap a track and 25mm main gun....short and small and nasty as a pregnant rattle snake. They had a huge bite with that 25mm chain gun. I have to admit I wanted to get into a Bradley but they were coming in as I was being retired out the 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 » Thu Nov 22, 2018 11:01 pm

This is how my Thanksgiving went:

Now this one goes way back to when I was five years old, so right around 1960 or so. My Father and Mother decided that it would be a good idea for me to come live with them. After spending my first five years of life being raised by my Maternal Grandparents and one crazy uncle in the wilds of southern Alabama.

My Grandfather sent me up to KI Sawyer AB with my clothes, a Western Field single shot .22 rifle, a Western Field .410 shotgun again single shot and a High Standard .22LR pistol in a holster and my wall hanging wooden gun rack.

Anyway shortly after I was there my Father was cleaning out some boxes since they had just PCS'd or moved from Duluth AB and he pulled out a WWII Japanese helmet with bullet hole and blood stains, a complete set of leather LBE and the mag pouches were still loaded with 7.5 Jap rounds, also included in this wonderful gift was an attached Japanese bayonet and canteen. All of the equipment was singed like it had been in a fire.

Now this helmet and LBE hung on my gun rack for at least 11 years or right up till I boxed my stuff up, took it to James's house and was put into the Army at 16..

For 11 years I asked him where he had gotten this stuff and by year two he would complete deny that he had given it to me, my Mother would back him up 110%. Nope I have not memory of ever giving you something like that, you must have brought it with you. No amount of arguing would sway them.

Even when my Grandfather came up and said nope that did not come from my side of the family.

Every once in awhile over the years since I left home they would see it hanging in my gun room from the same old wooden gun rack and I would ask them if they remembered giving this too me.

Now around 1984 Lil and I PCS'd to German so we just had to bring our daughter Junior home since we had the nerve to steal her away from her loving Paternal Grandparents...oh and Lil you know you could leave her here with us. My response over your dead bodies.

Anyway, I was throwing some trash away and saw a box full of photo albums, I almost turned away but I thought they looked familiar and so I pulled one out and there was pictures of my family. I thought about just leaving them but realized there were pictures of me when I was young, and with people I actually gave a rat's behind about. So I took them all out to my car and we took them with us when we left.

Now I admit I have not done anything with them, they are still in the original Mayflower shipping box that they were in when either my Father of Mother tossed them in the trash. I have realized that my brothers and sisters have asked them where the photo's went because they do not have any childhood photos.

Once I did tell them well that is because one of them threw them all in the trash. I saw them all in the alley garbage can. I did not tell them I pulled them out nor did they ask.

Anyway they are sitting or were sitting in my gun room and today my oldest and favorite Granddaughter (I only have one Granddaughter so of course I tell her she is my all time favorite Granddaughter, now that she is older she has told me that she is my only Granddaughter) decided to root around in the box, after all it has a pretty ship on it and says Mayflower.

I asked her, what you think I'm old enough to have come over on the Mayflower? She looked around, then said no but Grandpa and Grandma are. Heck maybe they are, who am I to dissuade her.

So while I was cleaning my Deer and Fish Camp guns, she was looking threw all the pictures (something in over 60 years I have never done) and asking who this was and who that was and low and behold she pulls a picture of my Father out, in his Air Force Security Forces uniform from the 1950's, specifically 1950 - 1953 or so (during the Korean Conflict when both of them were stationed in Japan, holding that dang Japanese helmet and LBE and smiling for the camera, next to a hole in the ground.

So I take the photo and some others out and show them to my Father in front of the entire dang family and say hey Dad isn't this you? And he says with a straight face. Oh yea that is me and my best friend Johnny Boy Thompson, while we were stationed on Iwo Jima back during the Korean War. I wonder where that Japanese stuff went. So to dig him a bit, uhhhh Dad that is officially considered a conflict. At least I got one dig in.

I wanted to slap the every loving crap right the heck out of him. Not three weeks or so ago when my dog got ticked off at them he saw it hanging in my gun room and asked me where I got it. I told him I got it from him and he said no, no you did not. My Mother and MIL actually backed him up.

That stuff has been hanging in my room or gun room since 1960!!!!!

Mother of the Gods!!!! It is now 2018!!! 58 darn years!!!

The only change is back around 1965 or so I managed to get my hands on an Arisaka (War bring back)Type 99 and the bayonet fit on it, so I had it fixed on the rifle for a few years. Other than that I have had it out in the open and all together for 58 years!!

To make matters worse before I told him it was hanging on my gun rack in the gun room, he told my Granddaughter (his greatGranddaughter who calls him Grandpa) that if he still had it he would give it to her. Then told her all about the Great Typhoon that hit the island and all the Air Force guys took cover in the old Japanese tunnels for WWII. They lived in the tunnels and explored them for over a month, every building on the Air Base was destroyed and was not habitable.

Then he said that Johnny boy had the rifle that they found with the soldier who had carried it, and they stripped the stuff off him and took it home. Now he thinks someone stole it from him.

My Grandaughter then said....no Grandpa, pops (oh that is me by the way) has that stuff hanging in his gun room.

He then said I don't remember giving that to you, did you get into my private stuff? Where did you get these pictures?

No I didn't go through your stuff, you gave that crap to me back in 1960 when you drug my extremely unhappy rear end up to KI Sawyer AB, instead of leaving me alone to live happily down in Alabama with my Grandpa.

He said but your Grandfather died....I said yea in freaking 1973 not 1960!!

The pictures? I dug those and about a dozen albums out of the trash back in 1986, and before you say one more word, and I mean one more word. Lil was with me and can and will back me up. I dug the Mayflower moving box that they have been in for a majority of my life out of the trash bin at 2014A Bernailillo Court Holloman AFB, NM.

Lil, before you say a single word and that goes for you (Bec) and then I looked over and you as well (Sam)...I'll do it myself.

I'm going to my room!!! Just before I slammed the door I said, and my farking shit better be hanging from my farking gun rack when you people are done eating. Oh and a Happy Darn Thanksgiving to you all!!

They are all gone, and my farking Japanese gear is still hanging from my gun rack in my gun room. As always I locked the door when I left and while Lil, Bec, Junior, Sam and the Boy all know the combo to get in, no on touched it and they better not even suggest that I give it back to those people.

I'll burn it and take it to the farking grave before I give it back.

Sadly that was the best gift I ever received from him. A bullet ridden helmet complete with blood stains and a scorched complete set of leather load bearing equipment.

Well other than a 2X4 to the head.....that was a good gift.

Just another strange day in an all to strange life. I mean come on, really you can't remember poo for 58 darn years??? Other than all the bad stuff I did while growing up? One of these days....."You're going to the moon! .... Pow! right in the kisser!" or "BANG, ZOOM!" or "You're going to the moon!"
“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 Nov 22, 2018 11:06 pm

P.S. Most okay all but Gabby and the Pope John Paul are ticked off because I have all the pictures and have not shared them. One I don't like you dill weeds and two you never said anything to me about pictures or I would have. I'm burning those and taking them to the grave...every single one.
Last edited by Laager on Sun Nov 25, 2018 4:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
“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 » Sat Nov 24, 2018 7:43 pm

It would have been cheaper and easier just to toss that stuff back at the old man.

My Granddaughter came over to spend the day and I took her back to my gun room and told her if she wanted it, since her Grandfather wanted to give it to her, that I would give her the LBE.

She said, no....then she said she wanted one of my Samurai swords, that came from her Maternal Grandfather (Lil's Dad, who was a great guy and a serious gun nut). He took four NCO swords and LBE and two Officer Swords (they stripped the dead of everything and I mean everything. I have personal letters as well as their uniforms and equipment that he took and gave to me when Lil and I married. In fact he gave me a bag of Silver Pesos and showed me where he stashed all the weapons and ammo he took and stored for a later date.) during the Raid at Cabanatuan. He severed under Captain Juan Pajota and worked with Major Bob Lapham, not raiding the Japanese POW camp, but holding the bridge over the Cabu river and they certainly were happy to pay the Japanese soldiers back for the Mania Massacre (he lost some family there and for his entire life he had a serious hard on and not in a good way for Japanese of any type).

So since Lil is going home and then over to Guam to work she will bring two sets of LBE's and the stuff that goes with them and I lost an NCO sword and an Officer sword. I lost a Nambu as well, but the one with the web gear is still in the PI.

Sometimes it just does not pay to opt out. Then again it wasn't like she wasn't getting first dibs on some stuff.

I'm saddened that the majority of his loot will forever remain in the PI, but considering that his father fought the Spanish as well as the Americans and would have fought the Japanese as well but was a bit long in the tooth. The driving concern was they were caught without firearms once and would never ever be caught without them again.

HerGreatgrandfather told me he killed a lot of Americans....I smiled and said that's okay my Greatgrandfather killed a metric shit ton of Filipino's and helped steal the Balangiga bells in 1901 and was in Company G of the 9th Infantry. Oh and I had a few Filipino swords that could be considered War Trophies or Loot. I guess depending on your point of view.
“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 » Wed Nov 28, 2018 11:25 am

Ever have one of those days when you think to yourself......I should have listened to the 10 year old?

Well, as she said "Pops, Lola always says you like it when you are in poo and the poo is rising, should know by now, since you say it all the time, if you poke the rabid grizzly bear, it will maul you" Lola is going to maul you and not in a good way"

I will say that #1: she was absolutely 100% correct in both statements. #2: I now have to go with Lil when she works for the next few classes. #3: Lil was not amused (note to self: see #1 & #2 when in doubt of mauling).

I'm off to pack my bags and away I go. Still at least I'm heading back to Asia for awhile, it could be worse.

I should be back in the "real world" or CONUS on the 19th of December. Providing she doesn't kill me, cause man is she mad.
“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 » Wed Nov 28, 2018 2:15 pm

Something I learned from my six months in the Sinai with what I call the 13th Régiment étrange pooped into my mind as I faced the two irrate AAFs in what is my family ( Bec and Sam) when they asked me if I had anything to say......

I was torn between Sauve qui peut or chacun pour soi......since the Gods are laughing I went with Sauve qui peut......and now I really must go as my ride to the airport is yelling (quite angrily I might add, see you can always tell when they are really mad. They go native and start yelling in Tagolog).

Take care, stay safe and watch your six. The Gods willing I will return with all of my body parts where they are supposed to be. They are really pissed......i wonder if I should ask for an advance on my allowance....for Hookers and beer? Why 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.

SAEP
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by SAEP » Sun Dec 30, 2018 7:18 pm

While Laager's comments about choosing the Army or jail are quite correct, what I was referring to when I wrote about jail time was the draft. I suppose that if I had said "the alternative was jail or going to Canada" I would have been clearer.

While it is true that overall about 2/3 of the troops in Vietnam were RAs (and for those who don't understand this, people who enlisted, voluntarily or "voluntarily", had an RA (Regular Army) in front of their serial numbers, while draftees had a US), this is something of a misleading statistic.

In the summer of '69 I did my Infantry AIT at Ft. Ord, California. Now, at the time and I suspect even today, the standard technique of the instructors was to start each class with a joke or some other way to get people's attention. Johnny Rottencrotch jokes were a favorite. In one case the instructor started off with, "OK, how many of you are RAs?" I raised my hand and looked around. As far as I could tell, there were 6 of us in a training company of 200. The instructor shook his head and said something like, "Man, you guys are weird."

It's sort of like the situation today, in which the races are pretty evenly represented in the military. Thing is, blacks are underrepresented in the combat arms, and tend to enlist in the supporting branches, where they are more likely to get training which will translate to job prospects in civilian life. It also provides a potentially interesting argument concerning the relative intelligence of blacks vs. whites, and not one which favors whites.

Laager
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Jan 09, 2019 3:43 pm

SAEP wrote:
Sun Dec 30, 2018 7:18 pm
While Laager's comments about choosing the Army or jail are quite correct, what I was referring to when I wrote about jail time was the draft. I suppose that if I had said "the alternative was jail or going to Canada" I would have been clearer.

While it is true that overall about 2/3 of the troops in Vietnam were RAs (and for those who don't understand this, people who enlisted, voluntarily or "voluntarily", had an RA (Regular Army) in front of their serial numbers, while draftees had a US), this is something of a misleading statistic.
I had to stop referring to any of my active duty years as “doing time” or I did time there”.

Evidently it is not considered even remotely funny when your 1st grader tells her teacher (in response to a question from said teacher) my Dad did time.

Teacher: He did time? Do you mind if I ask why? What did he do?

Junior: He killed a lot of people. (I evidently said metric shit ton and so did she.

We received a note requesting a parent teacher conference.
“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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Joined: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:25 pm

Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by Laager » Wed Jan 09, 2019 4:45 pm

I should point out that our son told his teacher that I was in “the war”, so she asked which one and he said WWI or WWII.

Another parent teacher conference........

Results: I am not allowed to say Metric Shit ton or when asked what I did in the service (Evidenty saying you killed people for money is not something young impressionable minds shoukdbir need to hear).

Dang DoDs school teacher were feisty, then again so was I.

Unfortunately or fortunately Lil was between them and me also the 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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woodsghost
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Re: My Job, My Hell...

Post by woodsghost » Wed Jan 09, 2019 7:28 pm

Welcome back Laager! I was wondering how it all turned out.
*Remember: I'm just a guy on the internet :)
*Don't go to stupid places with stupid people & do stupid things.
*Be courteous. Look normal. Be in bed by 10'clock.

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.” -Bilbo Baggins.

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