Nostalgia:
These are turtle ditches. Garry Owen, a western corridor US military outpost near the demilitarized zone, separating North and South Korea, was covered in them. Around the barracks, chow hall, Saber Club, anywhere you walked really, the ditches patiently waited for their prey. Their victims, the lowest form of life on base, were known as Turtles. They also went by FNGs: the fucking new guys.
Their reptilian moniker, bestowed on them for their speed in task execution, was worn as a badge of Shame. That badge sometimes accompanied a Scarlett Letter: casts and crutches. Symbolic of turtle ditch victimhood, the crutch became a source of ridicule, as lowly Turtles would limp across the base to their light-duty assignment, lovingly referred to as the Broke Dick Brigade. So how did the ditches mercilessly take the ankles, shins, and wrists of unsuspecting Turtles? Stealth and Stupidity. It always happened at night, and usually, alcohol was involved. Seasoned GIs had the base memorized back to front, and even under the influence of a few Soju kettles, could successfully navigate the ditches for a safe return.
When you weren't part of the Quick Reactionary Force, you could head downrange and tie one on at the local watering hole. With a curfew in place, you had to either be on base before the posted time or, be back before the Sgt. Major got to the front gate. The Sgt. Major liked to drink a little late some nights past curfew and found perverse pleasure in spontaneously popping up from his marathon kettle session, and hauling ass back to base. The entire bar of GIs would panic and flee, moving at warp speed down the street to avoid punishment. If you were a slowpoke, you earned a "Smoke Session, " a battery of unpleasant physical exercises. The smoke sessions were courtesy of the Sgt. Major, who exuded drunken devilish pride in making his men fitter, while 'saving' them from a Uniformed Code of Military Justice paper trail.
Unfortunately, not all the winners came out victorious. In the alcohol-fueled adrenaline rush, mindless Turtles continued the run home, misjudging last-minute jumps to save themselves, or, just blindly, running into their cruel fate.
Garry Owen, and the 700 odd men that inhabited it, we're known as the 'speed bump.'
Garry Owen was one of the first lines of American defense on the peninsula and had the suicidal responsibility of slowing down any North Korean invasion. I served at Garry Owen in the 4/7 Cavalry between 2000-2001. We were the last Cavalrymen to call Garry Owen home, right before the US government returned the western corridor bases to the South Koreans in 2005. It was a wild place to spend a year. Anyway, I tripped in the grass the other day, victim to a camouflage sinkhole, and after regaining my composure, I blurted out, "Fucking Turtles." Twenty years later, and it feels like yesterday.

Garry Owen may be gone, but the legend of the turtle ditch remains. #OutFront #RIPElandt