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You know what I'm talking about. That time that you saw on your phone that 1SG was calling. Or the time you were told to report to the battalion headquarters. Your stomach dropped and your palms got clammy.
Maybe it was a close shave?
Maybe you didn't shave and the division CSM noticed?
You've all got them, and we all want to learn. Or at least feel your pain.
Maybe it was a close shave?
Maybe you didn't shave and the division CSM noticed?
You've all got them, and we all want to learn. Or at least feel your pain.
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Lessons Learned
Humor
Lessons Learned Humor
Posted >1 y ago
Responses: 67
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Surprise barracks walk through by the Battalion CSM (who looked like Uncle Fester and sounded like Ross Perot).
I was 19, my roommate was 20. Fridge FULL of beer we didn't get to over the weekend.
"Private First Class Oakes, how old are you?"
"19 Sergeant Major."
"So if I open this fridge, we won't have any problems, right?"
Opens fridge. Beer rolls out. He pockets the beer.
"Let's try this again...Private First Class Oakes, how old are you?"
"19, Sergeant Major."
Under his breath: "I don't think you're getting this Oakes ..."
"21, Sergeant Major."
"Good man. I hate paperwork." Starts to walk out. Stops. Turns around. Comes back to fridge. Opens it up, beer rolls out. Pockets beer. Walks out and says under his breath "It's like a god damn slot machine!"
I was 19, my roommate was 20. Fridge FULL of beer we didn't get to over the weekend.
"Private First Class Oakes, how old are you?"
"19 Sergeant Major."
"So if I open this fridge, we won't have any problems, right?"
Opens fridge. Beer rolls out. He pockets the beer.
"Let's try this again...Private First Class Oakes, how old are you?"
"19, Sergeant Major."
Under his breath: "I don't think you're getting this Oakes ..."
"21, Sergeant Major."
"Good man. I hate paperwork." Starts to walk out. Stops. Turns around. Comes back to fridge. Opens it up, beer rolls out. Pockets beer. Walks out and says under his breath "It's like a god damn slot machine!"
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1SG (Join to see)
Freakin' Awesome. I would have loved to hear his response at the next leaders call. I also would have hated to be you the next day once my 1SG found out.
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Suspended Profile
Suspended Profile
When the Charge Nurse came into the OR to tell me two MP's were waiting in the corridor with orders to immediately escort me to the Base CO's office. I apparently stirred up a bit of a ruckus when I politely but firmly invited an Austrialian and his RVN protégés to leave my hospital and never darken my doorstep again. My demeanor and requests were apparently considered to be in poor taste . . . and maybe a little over the top . . . by host nation & allied command. When we arrived he poured me a drink, told me to report to an embassy liason officer for debrief, and not to even raise my voice to anyone else for the next few days . . .
SSG (ret) William Martin
So basically services of the MP, law enforcement, was abused by a superior officer?
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Suspended Profile
SSG (ret) William Martin. There was a formal show to be put on for sake of diplomacy. I had interrupted the physically coercive questioning of a severely injured young woman on my ward . . . in a manner that the allied and host government complained gave aid and comfort to their enemies . . . disrupting legitimate questioning employing torture. The Aussies and ARVN were apparently distressed by the somewhat less than soothing tone of my voice when I suggested in my best formal Vietnamese that he should call off his filthy little dogs and never darken my doorstep again. Warmest Regards, Sandy
p.s. They were also rather concerned I was holding a borrowed M1911 in Condition 0.
p.s. They were also rather concerned I was holding a borrowed M1911 in Condition 0.
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I was LPO / acting Division officer for A-gang on a destroyer underweigh during wartime. The command decided to have an awards ceremony to which I had put in every one of my troops for (and they received). However, we had an evaporator down (1 of 2) and it had to get back on line. As the LPO I knew how to fix it and thus I sent everyone else to the awards - after all they had AWARDS to receive!
I'm down in the bilges, wet, hot, sweaty, twisted up and stuck like a MF trying to get this pump out so I can replace a strainer assembly on the evaporator...I hear a voice somewhere but I can't make it out...so I figure it's someone on watch trying to take a reading on a downed piece of gear. I yell up: "it's broke you F&*(ing moron come back in 6 hours!" Again, I hear a voice - but can't make it out. I yell: "listen, unless you're pants are on fire or you have a serious need for a beat-down foxtrot oscar!"...or words to that effect.
Again, I hear a voice and yet again I can't make out what they're saying - but it's obvious that they are trying to get my attention. So, I crawl out, bitching to myself about how it took me 20 minutes to get into that location and into that convoluted, twisted postion and how I was gonna reposition someone's physical attributes..... So, I popped up, pushing up the access panel only to be met by the Carrier's Admiral, his entire staff, My Commanding Officer, XO, Cheng and my entire Division - all proudly wearing the awards I had so painstakingly written up, justified, argued and debated about and smoozed to the top in order to ensure they got them. However, I was never informed I was also getting an award - something I abhor! (Frankly, I'd rather get every tooth in my head removed, without pain killer, than attend an award ceremony or any type of formation.) They had decided that if PO1 wouldn't come to the awards ceremony, the awards ceremony would come to PO1.
OH CRAP.
I'm down in the bilges, wet, hot, sweaty, twisted up and stuck like a MF trying to get this pump out so I can replace a strainer assembly on the evaporator...I hear a voice somewhere but I can't make it out...so I figure it's someone on watch trying to take a reading on a downed piece of gear. I yell up: "it's broke you F&*(ing moron come back in 6 hours!" Again, I hear a voice - but can't make it out. I yell: "listen, unless you're pants are on fire or you have a serious need for a beat-down foxtrot oscar!"...or words to that effect.
Again, I hear a voice and yet again I can't make out what they're saying - but it's obvious that they are trying to get my attention. So, I crawl out, bitching to myself about how it took me 20 minutes to get into that location and into that convoluted, twisted postion and how I was gonna reposition someone's physical attributes..... So, I popped up, pushing up the access panel only to be met by the Carrier's Admiral, his entire staff, My Commanding Officer, XO, Cheng and my entire Division - all proudly wearing the awards I had so painstakingly written up, justified, argued and debated about and smoozed to the top in order to ensure they got them. However, I was never informed I was also getting an award - something I abhor! (Frankly, I'd rather get every tooth in my head removed, without pain killer, than attend an award ceremony or any type of formation.) They had decided that if PO1 wouldn't come to the awards ceremony, the awards ceremony would come to PO1.
OH CRAP.
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1SG be callin' and I'm all like
My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on my PT's already, MRE spaghetti
My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on my PT's already, MRE spaghetti
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SGT William B.
Actually, after thinking about it, I have a really good one. I had just enlisted in March 2010 in 301st MI in Phoenix, and my first drill as a pre-basic soldier was the following April. I show up, fresh-faced, long hair, in civvies, not really knowing what to expect. I didn't really get a tour of the reserve center, so keep in mind I had no idea where anything was.
One of the first SPCs I met in the unit sent me to find some tape (he's definitely a prankster, but a really great guy overall, SGT-type now). Well, I only knew where the company HQ room was, so I ran down there as fast as I could to ask where I could find some tape. The door is open and I see the company commander having a conversation with an older uniformed gentleman facing away from me. I knock on the door and say, "Excuse me sir, but do you know where I can find some tape?"
Well, the CPTs face was priceless. He had this wide-eyed stare and his jaw just kind of hung open as the other soldier turned around. Being a good little HUMINT collector-in-training, I saw from the nametape that the other guy was the new battalion commander who had literally assumed command the previous month. Now HE'S staring at me like "who the hell is this guy, and why does he want tape?"
Without missing a beat, I WALK IN, shake the BC's hand, and say "Oh hi sir! I'm PVT Bradley, I just enlisted last month! I was really hoping to get some tape." I mean, I'm just oblivious to courtesy here. From off to my left, further down the hall, I hear a thunderous "OH HELL NO PRIVATE!"
I look over, and in the doorway of another company's office stands the biggest, MEANEST looking 1SG I've ever seen. He tells me "GET OVER HERE" and I run over, snap to parade rest, not realizing what obscure by-law I had just broken. He tells me, "BEAT YOUR FACE," and this is where my n00b status really shows. I remember being really red in the face, embarrassed, not thinking clearly, wondering if I had eaten my last meal, when I left parade rest and started slapping my forehead with my hand. I mean, we're talking deer in the headlights here.
The 1SG laughs, and just says, "No dummy, do pushups." I pop down, crank out the sorriest ten pushups I've ever done and he tells me to recover. I go back up, and he takes me to the side and tells me "Listen, I know you're new, so I won't be too hard on you, but please, don't ever interrupt your company commander and battalion commander when they're having a meeting. If you need anything, go find your sergeant. Hell, don't even do that, just come to me if you need tape." He goes back into his office, shuffles around in his desk, pulls out a roll of tape and throws it at my face. I even managed to mumble out "thank you 1SG" before running back upstairs to give the tape to the SPC that had asked for it and presumably go into the bathroom to cry.
One of the first SPCs I met in the unit sent me to find some tape (he's definitely a prankster, but a really great guy overall, SGT-type now). Well, I only knew where the company HQ room was, so I ran down there as fast as I could to ask where I could find some tape. The door is open and I see the company commander having a conversation with an older uniformed gentleman facing away from me. I knock on the door and say, "Excuse me sir, but do you know where I can find some tape?"
Well, the CPTs face was priceless. He had this wide-eyed stare and his jaw just kind of hung open as the other soldier turned around. Being a good little HUMINT collector-in-training, I saw from the nametape that the other guy was the new battalion commander who had literally assumed command the previous month. Now HE'S staring at me like "who the hell is this guy, and why does he want tape?"
Without missing a beat, I WALK IN, shake the BC's hand, and say "Oh hi sir! I'm PVT Bradley, I just enlisted last month! I was really hoping to get some tape." I mean, I'm just oblivious to courtesy here. From off to my left, further down the hall, I hear a thunderous "OH HELL NO PRIVATE!"
I look over, and in the doorway of another company's office stands the biggest, MEANEST looking 1SG I've ever seen. He tells me "GET OVER HERE" and I run over, snap to parade rest, not realizing what obscure by-law I had just broken. He tells me, "BEAT YOUR FACE," and this is where my n00b status really shows. I remember being really red in the face, embarrassed, not thinking clearly, wondering if I had eaten my last meal, when I left parade rest and started slapping my forehead with my hand. I mean, we're talking deer in the headlights here.
The 1SG laughs, and just says, "No dummy, do pushups." I pop down, crank out the sorriest ten pushups I've ever done and he tells me to recover. I go back up, and he takes me to the side and tells me "Listen, I know you're new, so I won't be too hard on you, but please, don't ever interrupt your company commander and battalion commander when they're having a meeting. If you need anything, go find your sergeant. Hell, don't even do that, just come to me if you need tape." He goes back into his office, shuffles around in his desk, pulls out a roll of tape and throws it at my face. I even managed to mumble out "thank you 1SG" before running back upstairs to give the tape to the SPC that had asked for it and presumably go into the bathroom to cry.
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SGT William B.
Ha, just thought of another good one, although it's not really my story, just something that happened in my battalion between a really great SSG that I worked with and his troop.
We had this young PFC that a lot of the sergeants had given up on. He was really brash, really headstrong, and a lot of folks just didn't want to deal with him. Well, this SSG took up another SGT on a bet; the buck said that "Sometimes you just can't polish a turd," and the SSG, being one to play devil's advocate (a very common trait in my MOS, mind you), made a drug deal to pull the PFC into his squad in exchange for another soldier for the sole purpose of proving that you can, in fact, make bad soldiers into good ones in certain situations.
Well, fast forward a bit, and the SSG has got the PFC trained pretty well, acting more professional, etc. Well, at this point, we were at North Fort Hood on pre-deployment, bored out of our freaking minds, when our other company decides to steal our company's guidon. The company commander is mad, we're mad, but most of all, the 1SG is mad, because instead of giving it back after the "haha, you got us, good job" admission, the other company's commander and acting 1SG didn't give it back, despite us *really* needing it for battalion formations and such. Well, our 1SG was the old school type: grizzly, southern, could flip between crazy and papa-bear modes at the drop of a hat, drank his coffee black and had his smokes unfiltered. Great guy, probably the one of the best senior NCOs I've had the pleasure of working with. Anyway, he lets it be known that we were to exact revenge and also find our guidon.
Well, a couple days later, we get the guidon back, but we still haven't gotten justice for it because they kept their guidon locked up. One night, the PFC comes bolting in the door holding something, while yelling for the SSG to come look. We run over to see the PFC holding a guidon and looking really happy about it, but the SSG looked *MORTIFIED*.
If you haven't been to North Fort Hood, you should know that it's a large pre-deployment center out in the middle of nowhere, and you're typically locked down most of the time. There's other units coming in and out for deployments, but there's usually a host unit and corresponding headquarters there that works with deploying/redeploying units to get them what they need.
Well, the PFC had "liberated" a guidon, but it didn't belong to our sister company. In the middle of the night, he had stolen the battalion guidon of the FREAKING HOST ARTILLERY UNIT AT THE BASE. As soon as we realized it wasn't a guidon from one of our battalion's companies, we collectively freaked out because of the potential ramifications (our battalion command was notoriously harsh with us at times).
The SSG handled it like a boss though. He patted his joe on the back, told him "good job, now I need you to put it back without getting caught." Sure enough, it was back at that particular building the next morning and no one was any wiser for it.
We had this young PFC that a lot of the sergeants had given up on. He was really brash, really headstrong, and a lot of folks just didn't want to deal with him. Well, this SSG took up another SGT on a bet; the buck said that "Sometimes you just can't polish a turd," and the SSG, being one to play devil's advocate (a very common trait in my MOS, mind you), made a drug deal to pull the PFC into his squad in exchange for another soldier for the sole purpose of proving that you can, in fact, make bad soldiers into good ones in certain situations.
Well, fast forward a bit, and the SSG has got the PFC trained pretty well, acting more professional, etc. Well, at this point, we were at North Fort Hood on pre-deployment, bored out of our freaking minds, when our other company decides to steal our company's guidon. The company commander is mad, we're mad, but most of all, the 1SG is mad, because instead of giving it back after the "haha, you got us, good job" admission, the other company's commander and acting 1SG didn't give it back, despite us *really* needing it for battalion formations and such. Well, our 1SG was the old school type: grizzly, southern, could flip between crazy and papa-bear modes at the drop of a hat, drank his coffee black and had his smokes unfiltered. Great guy, probably the one of the best senior NCOs I've had the pleasure of working with. Anyway, he lets it be known that we were to exact revenge and also find our guidon.
Well, a couple days later, we get the guidon back, but we still haven't gotten justice for it because they kept their guidon locked up. One night, the PFC comes bolting in the door holding something, while yelling for the SSG to come look. We run over to see the PFC holding a guidon and looking really happy about it, but the SSG looked *MORTIFIED*.
If you haven't been to North Fort Hood, you should know that it's a large pre-deployment center out in the middle of nowhere, and you're typically locked down most of the time. There's other units coming in and out for deployments, but there's usually a host unit and corresponding headquarters there that works with deploying/redeploying units to get them what they need.
Well, the PFC had "liberated" a guidon, but it didn't belong to our sister company. In the middle of the night, he had stolen the battalion guidon of the FREAKING HOST ARTILLERY UNIT AT THE BASE. As soon as we realized it wasn't a guidon from one of our battalion's companies, we collectively freaked out because of the potential ramifications (our battalion command was notoriously harsh with us at times).
The SSG handled it like a boss though. He patted his joe on the back, told him "good job, now I need you to put it back without getting caught." Sure enough, it was back at that particular building the next morning and no one was any wiser for it.
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Was at the golf course and got a case of the BG's. Was literally sprinting to the nearest porta potty which was about 200 yards away. Half way there, retreat begins. The golf course was packed with military personnel all standing at attention....What do you do? Literally an "oh crap" moment.
Longest minute of my life.
Longest minute of my life.
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SGT William B.
SSG, is it just me, or does anyone else plan life around how close they are to the nearest latrine/porta-johns/hole in the ground? I'm not sure my level of intestinal fortitude could have handled that particular situation, haha.
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MAJ Robert (Bob) Petrarca
Yeah, had one of those on an FTX while lying in wait on an ambush. Couldn't leave but had to go, went but not where I wanted to have gone, did the GI Trot through the ambush and into a bush so I could un-oh-crap and carried on until I could make it back to my tent to change. Holy Crap, Batman.
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MCPO (Join to see)
Oh, you poor bastard. You have my most sincere sympathies. That is the most heartbreaking story I have EVER heard. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuu....
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When I came back from Ranger School and found out that my "Saluting LTs Question" became an war waged among the members of RP.
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Not so much an "oh crap" moment but it was funny under the circumstances. My years as an SGL teaching BNCOC (ALC) gave me a huge network of 68W NCOs. I was in Mosul on a MITT when 3d ACR rotated in. The PSG for the 3/3 ACR's BAS was a former student and he told me he had some good guys but they were young. A day or so later my team, the IA, and Thunder 6 + PSD are rolling outside the wire touring the battle space when the gun truck in front of me is hit by an IED. I get out and start triaging, removing, and treating casualties from the wreckage. This PFC runs up to me with an aid bag and proceeds to tell me how to treat the IA patient I was working on. I told him "I got this, take the other patient." He paused then stared at my chest (noticed the rank), then looked at my aid bag, then stared at my rank again before scurrying off to the other patient. I talked to his PSG later that day and he told me that the kid was so nervous that he threw up before roll out. Turns our the young man was a recent graduate of AIT and this was his first mission. He said he was scared when he knew he had to use his skills but then he saw a SFC and he felt much better at that point. I should have told the kid that the anxiousness never really goes away. It was funny as hell watching the realization that a E-7 medic was outside the wire putting in work. They tell the AIT kids at Sam that they will be all alone out there and that there won't be any NCOs to help them.
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While I was station on Guam at the Naval Transmitter Site, Barriguada we had around 225 High Frequency Transmitters that were supporting communications to Vietnam and back to the rest of the world. Most of our Transmitters were 10,000 Watts AN/FRT-39, but we also had a few AN/FRT-40 that Transmitted at 40,000 watts and even a couple of AN/FRT-62 Transmitters that put out 200,000 Watts.
As long as we had 220 Transmitters up and working we were in good shape, but once we dropped below that level, we were in trouble and needed to get our equipment back on line ASAP. Design flaws in the 40s were basically in the high power sections of the transmitters and sometimes required some disassembly and rebuilding at a rapid pace. Whenever a 40 went down, it was a major exercise in sweat and immediately got attention from the higher ups. It was not unusual for a chief or even our OIC to come out and see what progress was being made.
One day I was working on a 40 that had been down for about an hour. I was a Third Class Petty Officer (E-4) and was running the section because I was the best tech and leader, inspite of having a E-5 working for me. I was deep inside of the transmitter and both the Chief and OIC had already come out to check on me and I had given them an update. I was almost finished, but still buried in the innards of the beast - putting it back together when another pair of brown shoes and khaki pants showed up and asked how it was going. Without looking it said, " Chief, I already told you I would get this damn thing working, Leave me the F*** alone." And he went away with out saying another word. About 10 min later I finished putting it back together and took another 10 min to check it out and make sure it was working. Cleaning the area took a few min and then I walked into the Maintenance Office and told the Chief his Damn Transmitter was back up and he could stop bugging me. About that time the Commanding Officer of the Base apologized for bothering me and said he was very happy to know I had fixed the F***ing Transmitter. He then took me to the club and got me a beer.
As long as we had 220 Transmitters up and working we were in good shape, but once we dropped below that level, we were in trouble and needed to get our equipment back on line ASAP. Design flaws in the 40s were basically in the high power sections of the transmitters and sometimes required some disassembly and rebuilding at a rapid pace. Whenever a 40 went down, it was a major exercise in sweat and immediately got attention from the higher ups. It was not unusual for a chief or even our OIC to come out and see what progress was being made.
One day I was working on a 40 that had been down for about an hour. I was a Third Class Petty Officer (E-4) and was running the section because I was the best tech and leader, inspite of having a E-5 working for me. I was deep inside of the transmitter and both the Chief and OIC had already come out to check on me and I had given them an update. I was almost finished, but still buried in the innards of the beast - putting it back together when another pair of brown shoes and khaki pants showed up and asked how it was going. Without looking it said, " Chief, I already told you I would get this damn thing working, Leave me the F*** alone." And he went away with out saying another word. About 10 min later I finished putting it back together and took another 10 min to check it out and make sure it was working. Cleaning the area took a few min and then I walked into the Maintenance Office and told the Chief his Damn Transmitter was back up and he could stop bugging me. About that time the Commanding Officer of the Base apologized for bothering me and said he was very happy to know I had fixed the F***ing Transmitter. He then took me to the club and got me a beer.
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CMDCM Gene Treants
Thanks for the Link to the historical pictures Sandy!!
1LT Sandy Annala The red light on top of the 40 means it is transmitting at full power out (40KW) and can be operating in either direct mode (one voice or data transmission) or up to four single sideband modes. In Single sideband you may send up to 4 different signals at the same time. If you heard a loud BANG and the light went out and stayed out plus the smell of ozone, something burned out - probably the high power transformer - one of the largest and weakest components. That transformer weighs about 150 lbs and can only be changed from the right side (looking at the right) by one person (a very tight squeeze).
You do not turn the 40 back on - either a Radioman or and Electronics Technician (like me at that time) does. Takes a lot of training to get it back up safely.
Mayday and Grey Lady Down means a Submarine has sunk and is a call that only goes out if a sub has sunk and is only sent by the submarine or in a movie! Someone was pulling your leg, Sandy.
The FRT-62 is a 200 KW model of the Transmitter and, yes it is more powerful. Most of the time all of these transmitters were used to send messages using teletypes and crypto gear. Very seldom did we use voice, but it was possible as I said above. More power did not necessarily mean better communications, just possibly a better chance of getting through since High Frequency was often not reliable due to weather and sun conditions. However HF is great as a reliable means of communication with all parts of the world in case of satellite failure. We often used HF to talk from Antarctica to all parts of the world on only 100 and 1000 watt transmitters.
1LT Sandy Annala The red light on top of the 40 means it is transmitting at full power out (40KW) and can be operating in either direct mode (one voice or data transmission) or up to four single sideband modes. In Single sideband you may send up to 4 different signals at the same time. If you heard a loud BANG and the light went out and stayed out plus the smell of ozone, something burned out - probably the high power transformer - one of the largest and weakest components. That transformer weighs about 150 lbs and can only be changed from the right side (looking at the right) by one person (a very tight squeeze).
You do not turn the 40 back on - either a Radioman or and Electronics Technician (like me at that time) does. Takes a lot of training to get it back up safely.
Mayday and Grey Lady Down means a Submarine has sunk and is a call that only goes out if a sub has sunk and is only sent by the submarine or in a movie! Someone was pulling your leg, Sandy.
The FRT-62 is a 200 KW model of the Transmitter and, yes it is more powerful. Most of the time all of these transmitters were used to send messages using teletypes and crypto gear. Very seldom did we use voice, but it was possible as I said above. More power did not necessarily mean better communications, just possibly a better chance of getting through since High Frequency was often not reliable due to weather and sun conditions. However HF is great as a reliable means of communication with all parts of the world in case of satellite failure. We often used HF to talk from Antarctica to all parts of the world on only 100 and 1000 watt transmitters.
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Suspended Profile
CMDCM Gene Treants. OMG! Chief, you mean someone may have overheard us dishing about the really cute guys traveling with us? Maybe we should have plugged one of the car phones into the 40 and turned on the "PRIVACY" mode before we started dishing? No wonder it sounded like a party line with so many people calling us back to make sure we were not on a sinking ship somewhere . . . before the operator at other end finally got my friend on the line. Maybe best not to say who was calling. Warmest Regards, Sandy
A Few More Recent Barriguada Guam MI Photos:
o http://public.fotki.com/frupac/
o http://www.navycthistory.com/guam_intro.html
A Few More Recent Barriguada Guam MI Photos:
o http://public.fotki.com/frupac/
o http://www.navycthistory.com/guam_intro.html
CMDCM Gene Treants
BTW 1SG (Join to see) the CO of the Base was a Navy Captain (O-6) and I was very glad he had a sense of humor. I was very red faced as I realized what I had said and to whom.
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Seated to the left of a submariner O-6 in the US-3A transiting up to Northern Arabian Sea from Diego Garcia, watching as the tail skeg of the KA-6 tanker ripped the nose off our aircraft when our pilot lost it while hooking up to refuel at 30,000 ft. We immediately went into a negative-G pull-over in order to reduce the likelihood of an explosive decompression since the pilot's wind screen was totally glazed and the only thing holding it together was the inner laminate layer. I reached up into the overhead and retrieved the O-6's camera that he had been using to take pictures looking out between the pilot and co-pilot during the evolution. I handed it to the nearly catatonic Captain with the comment "You might want to keep the strap around your neck, sir." It was only after we recovered on RANGER and I got out and saw everything forward of the cockpit was GONE (!!) that I said "OH, SXXt!" and then went below to start writing the repair orders. (The O-6 submariner vowed that the next time he came to the IO, it would be a few hundred feet below the water's surface, not 30K feet above it.)
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CDR Thomas Gatliffe
I don't know but since he was a submariner, he may have left the lens cap on. ;-)
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Sittin' on a latrine/wooden ammo box at a fire/patrol base in the Centeral Highland of VN (1969 2nd tour and a Captain at the time). We started taking mortar/RPG/small arms fire....... somewhere there is a picture of a Captain running across the Fire Base with his pants at half mast. We had all been commando since 67'. I hope Charlie laughed as much as we did. After the "crap" was over of course.
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