Soliciting Your Best “Gotcha” Stories
The last few articles I’ve written were pretty serious. Not this one.
Every soldier I ever knew loves a great “gotcha” – a situation when they really “got” someone who truly deserved it. Could be a buddy, could be a superior, could be someone in another unit. Hell, sometimes it’s a civilian or foreign national. But “getting” someone who richly deserves it – in a humorous way that doesn’t cause permanent injury or damage – is a true pleasure.
And it’s especially fun when the “gotcha” is apropos – that is, when you can hoist them on their own petard, so to speak.
So I’m soliciting such stories. Here are the ground rules:
1. If anyone got seriously hurt or got their career ended . . . um, no. Probably not really appropriate.
2. If you committed a significant crime in getting even. . . again, probably not appropriate. And remember: some crimes have REALLY long statutes of limitations.
3. The intent is humor. If the story isn’t funny, it’s probably not apropos.
I’ll kick things off. This story still makes me chuckle, even after 30 years. It’s a true, first-person account – though after 30 years, I might be slightly off on a minor detail or two. And no jackasses were permanently harmed while being taught a lesson. (smile)
— — —
A bit over thirty years ago, while I was a young soldier my unit’s higher HQ deployed to support a NATO exercise. I was one of those selected to deploy with the HQ to provide support.
We deployed to an allied military installation in the Med. About 200 miles away was a US installation. That was the nearest location from which we could get US-military-unique supplies.
While deployed, we were billeted in allied quarters. They weren’t bad. And they even had orderlies for some of the quarters – junior allied troops detailed to do the sweeping, mopping, take out the trash, etc . . . .
All things considered, supporting HQ was real hardship duty during that exercise. (smile)
The exercise was a fairly long one, so HQ made periodic supply runs to that US installation. They’d also pick up health and morale items from the Exchange whenever they made a run if they had time to stop and space to back–haul the items.
Being American troops, once supply runs started most everybody accumulated their own little “stash” of favorite American-style snacks from the Exchange – cookies, candy, whatever. The items weren’t free, but back then they didn’t cost much either. And since you had to pay for some things on the Allied installation (coffee shops and clubs) the troops had brought cash.
After a while, we started noticing things appeared to be disappearing out of our quarters. Little things – mostly those American-style snack items.
The culprits must have thought they were being cagy. They wouldn’t take a whole package of cookies or candy; they’d just take some of the contents. I guess they figured no one would notice.
Wrong answer.
We were kinda pissed when we figured out what was going on. We didn’t say anything to the host nation’s forces – it wasn’t worth creating an incident. But we were also pretty sure we knew who was doing the pilferage. There were only a few people with the necessary access.
The pilfering continued. The proverbial “last straw” happened when the guy doing the pilferage ripped off my Company Commander, who was also at HQ supporting the exercise.
It wasn’t so much that the perpetrator filched a few of the Captain’s Fig Newtons. He – and the rest of us – could have probably overlooked that.
Rather, it was that he took a bite out of one of the cookies – and then had the nerve to the put the rest of that cookie back in the package.
Needless to say, this insult didn’t go over very well. The CO was fairly well liked. And the insult seemed very much “in your face” and deliberate.
At that point, we decided we had to get even. National prestige was now at stake. (smile)
We discussed how to get even. One of our medics thought he could get us something that would temporarily turn the culprit’s piss purple (literally), thus scaring the living hell out of him. But we couldn’t figure out a good way to get the culprit to ingest it without raising suspicion. So we declined the medic’s offer.
On occasion, I have an idea that works. I don’t like to brag, but IMO this was one of those occasions.
The next time I saw our Assistant S4 – who was in charge of supply runs to the nearest US base – the conversation went something like this:
Me: “Captain, got a minute?”
Asst S4: “Yeah. What is it?
Me: “You think you or your guys will be going on a supply run anytime soon?”
Asst S4: ‘Yeah – why?”
Me: “Think you’ll be stopping by the Exchange?”
Asst S4: “Yeah, probably.”
Me: “Think your guys could pick up a bag or two of Hershey’s Miniatures?”
Asst S4: “Yeah, if they’ve got them. Put them on the list.”
Me: “One of the guys seems to be having some problems with constipation. Could they pick up a box of Ex-Lax, too?”
Asst S4: ”If they’ve got it, sure. Put it on the list too.”
Me: “Thanks, sir. Need the money up-front?”
Asst S4: “Nah. Settle up when we get back.”
The S4 Captain and his folks came through. Two bags of Hershey’s Miniatures and a box of Ex-Lax came back on the next supply run.
For a couple of days, an open bag of Hershey’s Miniatures was left in the normal location. Soon, some began to disappear – “mysteriously.”
The location for the trap was now determined, and known to be frequented by the target. Now all that remained was to bait and set the trap.
Since it was my idea, I got the honor of baiting the trap.
I selected two Hershey’s Miniatures from the open bag. I carefully slipped them out of their outer wrapper without damaging same.
I carefully unwrapped each. I managed to do so without tearing the foil.
I opened and unwrapped the Ex-Lax. I then carefully cut segments from the Ex-Lax of approximately the same size as the Hershey’s miniatures.
I placed each replacement block in the foil in the appropriate location, along the folds. I then carefully re-folded the foil.
The replacement bars were then slipped back into the outer wrappers. The payload was ready.
The allied orderlies normally were given the weekend off. So on Thursday, we executed OPERATION HERSHEY FLOW.
I carefully put the replacement miniatures into the bag, near the top. Word was passed among those billeted in the area that the trap was set.
Between Thursday morning and Friday evening, the bait disappeared.
On Monday, the allied troops detailed as orderlies returned to duty. One of them indeed appeared to have lost weight over the weekend.
Mission accomplished, and national honor restored. (smile)
As I recall, the pilferage of snacks didn’t completely stop. But it did seem to go down noticeably afterwards.
Today, I can’t remember what those bags of Hershey’s Miniatures cost and that box of Ex-Lax cost – and I damn well don’t care. They’d have been worth it at 10 times the cost.
— — —
OK, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. What have y’all got?
Note: hat-tip to Ex-PH2’s coffee-making story here in the comments to another article. That’s probably what spurred me to go down this path.
Category: Pointless blather
This morning I put soot from the potbelly on the binos. I think I’m funny, anyway
Sending a kid off my first boat to AMS (Aux. Machinery Space) for a 10-lb. water hammer and calling up before he got there with the simple instructions, “Keep it going.”
He almost missed underway, and would have had the COB (Chief of the Boat) not seen him and yelled at him to get back on board. Seems he was going to 38N shop on pier after having looked and been sent to every division on board.
I was a young butter bar and newly assigned a comm weenie job at a staff HQ working for a Major. The Major was an Academy grad in every sense of the word. He appointed me and the other Lt in the office responsible for his personal social calendar. In his words, “You are to never let me forget a birthday, anniversary, or significant occasions. “Yes, sir!” we replied and then followed with obligatory eye rolls. Then I conceived The Plan. It started with booking reservations at the most expensive place in town along with the honeymoon suite at the fancy suite for the weekend. 2 dozen red roses sent to his wife’s workplace with a romantic card, a limo booked to pick her and take her to the local couture store where they were instructed to outfit her in a stunning red dress. He was shocked to see the limo pull up to pick him up as he had no idea what was happening. The look of sheer joy on his wife’s face had him going along because he didn’t dare tell he had no clue. She thought he did it out of the blue. Monday morning comes and the Major comes in. Anger would be an understatement. Red-faced-spittle-spewing fury of biblical proportions would be a bit of an understatement. Summoned to his office and locked up at attention as he ranted and raved. “You two dipshits cost me $2800! I had to go fucking dancing with her! I am going to ruin your lives, I am going to ruin your careers. I’m going to…. “Permission To Speak Freely Sir!” I yelled. Figured I had nothing to lose at that point. He blinked and stared, “WHAT!?” “Sir, you are right. We were out of line. (reaching for phone) I will immediately call your wife and apologize for the weeken…” “STOP!, you will do no such thing! She can never find out I didn’t plan this weekend.” I just started at him. Calmly, unblinking. In a measured tone I said, “Then we have an understanding, Sir?” “Get out of my… Read more »
Faith+1: well played, lass. Very well played. (smile)
Aside from the news that Gaius Julius Caesar’s assassination spot has finally been located in Torre Argentine**, in Rome, next to what is now a bus stop:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2216396/Archaeologists-say-murder-scene-Julius-Caesar–bus-stop.html
which confirms that Caesar was, indeed stabbed by Brutus in the back, I have this tale to tell, for the moment:
This guy I was seeing when I was at NAVPHOTOCEN was one of the unfortunate souls on TAD to a female WAVE captain as a personal assistant. He told me that she had a very bad habit and that he wanted to find some way to cure her of it.
She was a crotch-grabber. No, I kid you not. As soon as she was settled in the back seat of her limo, with her assistant on the seat next to her, she would reach over and put her hand on the inside of that poor soul’s thigh.
She was thoroughly obnoxious about her status, too. She went through sailors like a hot knife through butter. No one, including enlisted and officer women, wanted to work for her. She was just a bit too full of herself. And I have no idea why she had a limo and a driver, but she did.
So my guy, who had requested orders to any place on the other side of the world — even Diego Garcia — asked for my help in putting a stop to this nonsense. I gave him a relatively thick candle and a roll of adhesive tape and told him to tape it to the inside of his leg, I told him what to say, and to wait for the right moment. Which he did.
According to him, the captain got into the limo first, settled herself, and he got in after her and closed the door. He looked at the captain, who smiled at him and then reached over and grabbed his leg.
He said her eyes popped open wider than usual. And then he said to her, “Captain, would you please get your hand off my candle?”
**I believe Torre Argentine means silver bull, or something like that.
Tried to pull a gotcha and got caught. Landing on a small soccer pitch/grass field an Army camp near the DMZ with a platoon of infantry in two Chinooks. We were Chalk 2, and Chalk 1 did not land at the far end of the field, so we had to shorten up our approach and land closer to the near edge of the field than we intended. In the process, we flew low over the battalion headshed and the door to the battalion commander’s office got caught in the rotor wash and blew off its hinges. I saw it fly right out of the hand of some guy in the doorway as we were on short final, but it didn’t go flying up into the rotor system so I ignored it as no factor. We’re sitting there in the field in ground idle while the infantry guys offload their mortars, baseplates, rucksacks, etc when this LTC taps me on the shoulder. (mind you, I’m standing 8-10 ft from the exhaust cone of a T55-L-712 engine, with rotor blades turning, SPH4 helmet and earplugs, etc. I can’t hear a damn thing) I turn toward him, and I can see he’s _pissed_. His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear a word. “What?” I shout. More facial expressions, lips moving, hand waving. Finally, I pull my helmet away from my ear a little and shout “What?” “WHAT FUCKING UNIT ARE YOU WITH, SOLDIER?!” I lean toward him and shout the name of our sister unit. He turns on his heel and stomps off. I figured “Hahaha, I just put the shit to our entire sister unit. I’m a smart son of a bitch!” (we had some rivalries there, just a bit) We arrive back at our airfield and as we taxi in, our company commander is waiting by the taxiway. Uh oh. My pilots are briefed as to what I told this LTC, and they’re ready to take a little heat for being a little low on short, short final into this field and causing the door to blow off. The blades… Read more »
I’m thinking; I’m thinking. Does handing a trooper a fake static line when he’s 2 or 3 back from the door with a green light count? I did not do this but saw it.
Camp Fuji, summer of 1985. I was the comm puke sent up there with Delta Company (Tanks) of 1st Tracked Vehicle Battalion. To say this deployment was agoat rope would be a vast understatement. We were supposed to be at Fuji for a few weeks, then head north with the tanks to Sapporo for additional exercises. Well, the Japanese decided that the M60 tanks on lowboy trailers would exceed their highway standards, so the rest of the BLT headed north, and we were left behind to, well, we don’t know what we were supposed to do. Camp Fuji was now devoid of all Marines with the exception of our short staffed company and the Mrines at Range Company. Marines at Range Company had the life of Riley. BEQ’s on mainland Japan less than two hours from Tokyo. Not so for us dogs at Delta. We had Quonset huts, and were persona non grata at Range Company facilities. So Quonset huts with no AC, heads down the bottom of the hill, no televisions or rec facilities. So, we are in formation when our estemmed 1st Sgt comes out to formation to let us know that “The CO wants me to get you guys a pool table for our rec hall.” Our rec hall consisted of a Quonset hut with absolutely nothing in it. So a few weeks later, a 5 ton rolls up to the “Rec Hut, and the 1st Sgt has a few guys unload the pool table. End of story? Not quite. Although the 1st Sgt did deliver a pool table, that is all that he delivered. A pool table. No pool cues. No rack. No pool balls. No green felt carpet. No pockets. It was a slate on four legs. Great job. So what the hell can you do with it? We being Marines, it turned out that we threw all of our cammies on the table to sort them out after returning from the field laundry (which is actually an oxymoron). So eventually, the Rec Hall had a soda machine and candy machine installed. For some reason,… Read more »
THIS IS A NO SHITTER: As a young Fireman Apprentice I was selected by my Chief to be the Mess Crank in the CPO Mess. Best place to be for 90 days. Our CMC at the time was an old ratchety fart who hated everyone but his fat girlfriend who was always at the “Lighthouse”. Now mind you I was raised quite well under a strict father who loved his country his family and he taught us never to stray. However, the CMC had pushed me too far(bossing me around like I was a steward on a cruise ship). Our ship was visiting Portmouth England and the CMC wanted to make an impression on the Royal Navy Chiefs with food from the CPO Mess (far better than the rest of the crew, because they had to pay for it). You see we had no booze onboard and food was the only offering. The CMC knew I was from a big family and asked, “what can you make that will impress our guests”. Being Irish, I replied, “I can makes the best potatoes.” The fix was on and my plan was set. I was going to get the Master Chief and the English for everything the CMC did to me and all the troubles the English had caused the Irish. The meal was set, the guests came and went, and all said it was a success. My Chief was absent, he had an excuse that he needed to be in the hole (fireroom). The meal consisted of a salad, steak, frozen lobster cooked to perfection, mixed veggies, and my special baked potatoes with dry onion chips. Several days after the meal my Chief approached me and asked how I was able to do it. I replied that it was easy because I wanted to help the CMC impress the Royal Navy. He started to laugh and said, “I know what you did.” I thought I was screwed. He laughed more and indicated in his own way that I was not in trouble. You see none of the Chiefs ate the potatoes… Read more »
A shot out to my old buddy Kevin. Greatest wing man I ever heard. He introduced me to my wife, 27 years ago today. I’ll get even with you someday, Kevin.
Well, not mine, but I’m the one who informed them that they were idiots 🙂
1988, on-board the USS Midway. We pulled out of Subic Bay on the way to Hong Kong and then Team Spirit. I was one of the CCSC (Combat Cryptologic Support Consol) operators, up in Supplemental Plot (a fancy way of saying “direct tactical intelligence center”). The Intel Specialists up there decided to show me their fancy patch they had made a few months ago. Had an eagle with a set of headphones on (note: its the CT’s who do the listening, you idiots). Anyway, some Russian linguist on their previous trip had given them what was supposed to be “If we told you, we would have to kill you” thing in Russian around the edges.
What it really said is “If we told you, we would have to smoke you”
The linguist obviously could not remember the correct verb for “to blow,” or else it would have been better 🙂
Needless to say, they were pissed when I started laughing….
Oh … I neglected to mention that the toe nail clippings were lightly salted, a wee bit of pepper was added, and to add a touch of texture and flavor … cooked in extra virgin olive oil. Apparently quite tasty.
@MCPO Brother, that is just wrong 😉
Okay, jerking the new guy around story. I was a radio tech with 1st Combat Engineers on Camp Hansen. One of the wire dogs comes over and asks me to help him with hazing the new guy, a radio repairman just out of school. So I call L/Cpl Schmuckatelli and start the ball rolling. Sgt Hack Stone: You know how the new guy always gets the shit detail, like mess duty or guard duty? L/Cpl Schmuckatelli: Yeah, does this mean I have mess duty? Sgt Hack Stone: No, this is a combat engineer battalion, and we have flame throwers. The Marines have to qualify with flame throwers, like they do with the rifle range. L/Cpl Schmuckatelli: Okay…… Sgt Hack Stone: Well, like the rifle range, they need someone to pull targets. L/Cpl Schmuckatelli: Seriously? Are you effing with me? Sgt Hack Stone: No, they’ll be up on the line with the flame throwers, and you’ll be down in the pits pulling targets. L/Cpl Schmuckatelli: You’re shitting me, right? Sgt Hack Stone: No, I’m not shitting you. So you need to go over to supply and get an asbestos suit. So L/Cpl Schmuckatelli heads over to supply. I call over there, give my buddy the back story, and ask him to fix the guy up. About twenty minutes late, he returns with a large cardboard duct taped closed with a freehand black magic marker reading “Suit, Asbestos, 1 Each” with some BS NSN written on it. So how does hack let this play out? Sgt Hack Stone: Okay, you have the suit, now you need the flame thrower. L/Cpl Schmuckatelli: I get a flame thrower? Sgt Hack Stone: Hell yeah, you get a flame thrower, you’re going to qualify with the flame thrower, too. Now go over to the armory and draw a flame thrower. Schmuckatelli heads out the door, time for another call from Hack. I call up the armory, give them the back story, and see what they can do. God bless those armorers, twenty minutes, Shmuckatelli returns with a flame thrower, which bears an uncanny resemblance to a… Read more »
This happened to me while I was Drilling with 4th LSB over in Lathrop, CA.
The term is “Machete Qual” and it happens right after the weekend of Rifle Qual. The new people in the unit are taken off to the side and escorted to a tree stump or some other suitably elevated place. Their covers gets removed, they are blindfolded and told that they have to hit the target with the machete that is put into their hand.
Just before the person swings, his cover is placed on the stump. When done right, the cover gets destroyed.
So there I was, a Lance Corporal who had been clued in about Machete Qual just a few hours prior. I figure that I was not going to let my cover get destroyed. Naturally, along comes one of our Corporals who calls me over to test my resolve.
“OK, McCurry, come on. We got Machete Qual going on.”
“No thank you, Corporal,” I say politely. “I’d rather not.”
The amused look on his face goes away and he gets in my face. “Oh, I see. You’re going to disobey an order from a goddamn NCO?”
He was not ready for my response.
“That’s exactly it, Corporal. And you know what? I should be reported for it.” I look behind him at our new Platoon Sergeant. “Sergeant Acorachi? Do you have a moment?”
He walked over with a concerned expression on his face. “What’s going on, McCurry?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I am refusing this Corporal’s order to take part in a hazing activity.”
“OK, McCurry. Carry on.”
I looked back at the Corporal with an expression of complete innocence. The man shook his head and walked off.
Here’s my story with pictures to prove it: http://ci-roller.blogspot.com/2012/10/operation-payback-ci-roller-dude-style.html
@13 Jorge … I joined the Navy at 17 and 4 months …. Yes it was!
On deployment to NAS Bermuda. O’dark thirty pre-flight. Get to bed early and can’t sleep because the moron in the room BELOW mine is cranking his stereo. Being a civilized aircrewmen, I go and knock politely on the door to ask that the music gets turned down. It’s Boston, being played REALLY loudly and apparently the occupant of the room can’t hear me as my tapping, then knocking is now gone to pounding.
Alright, I figure, I’ll go outside and look through the window, see what’s up. I pull myself up and look and there is the room’s occupant, Airman Rotorblade, passed out with an empty bottle of Jack on the floor, his stereo on full-bore, and a lava lamp blurping slowly up and down beside it.
Being by this time well and trully pissed off, I also happen to spot the young sailor’s rented moped. I push it over to the wall, get a good swing, and up and through his window it goes. I use a stick to clean off the glass, then follow it in.
Not wanting to waste time with all the knobs, and knowing someone was probably intrigued by the bump-crash-banging sound, I simply picked up his stereo system and tossed it out the window, followed by the speakers, then turned off his light and let myself out through the door and went to bed.
Slept soundly, too. 🙂
Next morning there was all sorts of ruckus while we were gone, and airman rotorblade spent the next couple weeks stateside at the Norfolk Detox facility, followed by some tap dancing in front of the skipper at mast.
never hard anything else about it after that either.
@16: Well done, sir! Well done indeed! 🙂
Love the stories. @ Jorge Team Spirit 88 huh didn’t miss many of those. Loved getting over on the IS/EW community although we never shared a lot of respect for Rulings.
CI Roller Dude: sounds like the Scot met some Navy guys from the old “Horse and Cow” who indoctrinated him in the sacred ritual of the dance of the flaming asshole – but he ran out of matches while recreating it for posterity.
SJ: never saw that in my brief time on jump status. But I did hear a story or two about old hands doing that with a cut static line to screw with a new jumpmaster. (smile)
Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner. Congratulations, CI Roller Dude! The best anyone can hope for is a distant second now.
This is post service and more of a screw-ya than gotcha story. I’m in my car in Baltimore and a car is stationary at Howard and North, waiting under the NO LEFT TURN sign to make a left. I’m pissed and traffic is backed up. I see that his wheels aren’t turned so I inch up behind him, engage his rear bumper with my front bumper and start to push. The guy looks down and around, clearly a what-the-hell-is-happening moment for him, as he is pushed through the intersection. I may have heard applause coming from the cars behind me.
1994. Was an MTI pushing at Lackland and was training my rookie MTI, Fitz. Fitz was always pulling shit. Well, it’s middle of the summer and we just got done running the dinks through the confidence course. We march back in 100 degree heat, 95% humidity. I’m on my 3d uniform of the day and we’re just nasty, sweaty smelly bastards. We had a MSgt who had pushed one flight after graduating MTI School and not only was he a worthless MTI, but he was an all around jerk. We get back, have the trainees drop their shit off and run them to chow before the chow hall closes. The dorm is a wreck, dirt, mud everywhere. But it’s confidence course day and even Stan Eval stays out of your shit for two days so you can get things squared away again. MSgt Genius decided it would be a good time to run an inspection of our dorms while we’re feeding the troops. He sends a runner down demanding me and Fitz meet him in his office in 10 minutes. Fitz and I look at each other with the “you have to be shitting me” look. We’re not worried, because MSgt Wonder Dummy can barely chew out a trainee. So we head to his office. He’s not around so we’re standing there extolling his brilliant leadership and Fitz says “dude, shut the door.” First thing I say is no you can’t grab my ass, and then Fitz looks at the big glass jar of Boston Peanuts MSgt Wonder Dummy kept on his desk. You know the red, candy covered ones with the bumps. I SLAMMED that door. Remember Fitz and I smell and look like we just crawled through the Amazon jungle. Fitz grabs the jar and starts shoving hands full of boston peanuts into his spider man undies. Whole jar. He rubs them in, front and back so much I was actually worried he was going to impregnate the whole jar. 1 minute later, a nice full jar of boston peanuts. For the next 3 months every time we… Read more »
I don’t know about that, AirCav. Tangonine just moved the bar a notch higher.
Back in the 90’s I suggested to a young, fairly naive coworker that “The Crying Game” would be a good date movie for him and his new girl friend. They went and saw it. Dave was horrified. Dave and Shannon have been married for almost 20 years. Dave got me back about a year later. It involved some fake damage to my work station while I was at Annual Training, an unsuspecting third party to take the blame and my hair trigger temper . Well played Dave, well played
I got this second hand so it very well could be an urban legend.
Supposedly right before I got to my first unit one of the Squad Leaders in another Platoon sent his new guy for a box of grid squares. Somehow the new guy ended up in the CSM’s office. The CSM took a 1:50,000 map and cut out all the grid squares, put them in a box, and then told the PVT to tell his Squad Leader to come see him when the map was put back together.
Tangonine: well, I guess we now know where Shaq got his inspiration for that famous rapped question to a former teammate about how things taste. Well played indeed! (smile)
Our adventures with Tinkerbell…
http://museshank.blogspot.com/2012/10/sunday-morning-sleep-in-23-tinkerbell.html
I wasn’t there when this happened, but here’s one I heard about:
This Day in Aviation History
October 14, 1947
Captain Charles ?Chuck? Yeager becomes the first person to fly faster than sound. Yeager breaks the sound barrier in the Bell X-1 airplane, Glamorous Glennis, named after his wife. He was able to reach 670-mph or Mach 1.015 at Muroc Dry Lake, California.
Captain Yeager ignited the four-chambered XLR-11 rocket engines after being air-launched from under the bomb bay of a B-29A at 21,000 feet. The 6,000-pound thrust rockets, buringing an ethyl alcohol/liquid oxygen mixture, pushed him up to a speed of Mach 1.06 and to an altitude of 45,000 feet.
And they said it couldn’t be done. Well, some peckerwood had to take that thing up and bring it back, and GEN Yeager is still around to prove he did it.
“The Right Stuff”. Fine aviation/space film. Two points about the film. First: the the actor playing Jack Ridley – and providing the rather distinctive voice of the film’s narrator – was a gentleman named Levon Helm. If the name’s familiar, you might of heard of some of his other work. He was a member of a musical group called, simply, “The Band.” He played drums, and sang lead on several of their most famous works, including most of “The Weight”, “The Night they Drove Old Dixie Down”, and “Up on Cripple Creek”. Helm passed away in April of this year. RIP, Levon. Though Yeager gets the credit, Ridley may be more responsible for the X-1’s level-flight breaking of the sound barrier – as well as for Yeager living to tell about doing so. He figured out how Yeager could control the craft as it transitioned into supersonic flight. This concept, the “flying tail”, became a standard method of control for supersonic aircraft. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Ridley_%28pilot%29 Indeed, Ridley is responsible for Yeager getting to fly that day at all. The story portrayed in the film of Ridley giving Yeager a section of broom handle so he could close the cockpit on the X-1 is based on reality; Yeager really had broken some ribs 2 days earlier and didn’t have full use of one arm. Although whether Yeager asked Ridley if he had any Beeman’s or if Ridley actually used the words “Just use this and whang it down good” may be artistic liberties. (smile) However, the scene implying Ridley was present at Yeager’s NF-104 crash in 1962 is bogus. Ridley unfortunately had been killed in a airplane crash five years earlier, in 1957. The second point: there exists fairly strong evidence that 14 October 1947 was actually not the first time a US pilot had broken the sound barrier, and that Yeager and the X-1 weren’t the pilot and plane to do it. The sound barrier appears to have been first broken thirteen days previously – by George Welch, flying an F-86, on 1 October 1947 – and again on the morning of… Read more »
This did not happen to me, I heard it 2nd or 3rd hand, a good example of a backfired joke.
I was stationed at Fort We-Got-Cha (Huachuca), AZ, being the commo puke that I was, for the second of three times in my Army career.
Another unit of the 11th Sig Bde had to move some CONEXs from point A to point B. So this smart-ass Sergeant told a newbie private to get him a sky-hook to help move the CONEXs. The newbie private immediately takes off to Libby Army Airfield just down the road, goes in to the OIC/OOD (Officer of the Day), and informs said officer of what his NCO wants.
Next thing, there’s a helo at the CONEX’s location, & a pilot wanting to know where the Sergeant wanted the CONEXs moved to.
I believe the CONEXs did get moved, but I also heard that the Sergeant got charged fuel and pilot time. D’OH!
And be careful what you tell a newbie private. Sometimes they know just enough to be dangerous. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
OK, Hondo, but send Yeager a ‘happy anniversary’ anyway. The movie was load of fun, the music was stirring, the cinematography was excellent, and my math teacher thought it was more important for us to watch the launch of Mercury 7 than do math, so he brought a portable(!) TV to school that morning.
I just spent 2.5 hours watching Felix Baumgartner take a high altitude freefall jump from 128,177 ft (24+ miles up) with an temp of outside the capsule at 16.3F, reaching a max speed of 729 MPH. Broke Kittinger’s 1960 record (102,800′), but Kittinger was right there doing the check list with Baumgartner before he jumped.
1992, A Co 1/87 Infantry at Fort Drum.
I was assisting the armorer in the arms room when a new soldier to the unit just walks through the door to the arms room and pulls his weapon from the rack. Armorer loses his mind and starts screaming at him (mind you, the 1sg and commander didn’t just walk into the arms room, they knocked on the door).
The armorer literally tosses this kid out of the arms room on his ass and tells him to go get his PSG. When they get back, this young soldier was sent to Bn S-4 to get a case of blank adaptors for our M-203s. He leaves, the armorer calls up there and alerts them to the scheme. S-4 sends him to every company in the Bn, and then finally points him at Bde S-4, where he is told to go to the basement and get the case out of storage as so we can get out alloted number of blank adaptors.
About 30 minutes after he leaves Bn to go to Bde, we get a visit from the Bde CSM, who found this kid wandering around looking for the basement. he was not amused, but understanding why this young man was sent on a snipe hunt.
As a commander, I was about to lose my maintenance test pilot, Walt, to retirement. He had earned it: huey crewchief in Vietnam, shot down and injured, Warrant Officer course and flight school, had been in Blackhawks since Blackhawks had been. He had a great job lined up overseas after retirement, making $180k a year test flying another country’s aircraft as a contractor.
He was really excited about it.
Too excited.
I faked a set of orders rescinding his appproved retirement due to the needs of the service…Saddam was acting up again and we had just sent some folks back that way for Operation Desert Fox, so they were believable.
Adjutant General stamp, 50 copies run through an overworked xerox, big staple in the corner, the works.
Then I left them on his desk.
The explosion was impressive, but I was laughing so hard i couldn’t get there in time to stop him from calling his assignments officer and cussing him out. Told him during that phone call, then I had to explain and apologize to the assignments officer. Luckily, we had served together and he knew I was a smartass.
I didn’t fly again until after Walt retired.
When I was in Korea 01-02 we used to send cherries to the artillery unit that was down the street from us to ask for silencers for the Howitzers.
Another classic was sending them to commo to ask for the PRC-E-6. lol
This WAVE I knew from the barracks at Great Lakes loved working on cars and wanted to be an MM (Machinist’s Mate). That was before women were assigned to ships, so the best she could hope for at the time was OJT in the motor pool. She complained to me one day that the guys weren’t taking her seriously. I asked her what they were doing. She said they were sending her on errands for things like chow line, fallopian tubes, bottles of smoke, etc. – all the things you send a newbie to find. I told her they were just hazing her, because she was new and she was a WAVE. They also made her do all the field day work while they took off for the weekend. And they always left their tools out instead of putting them away. And they never locked the doors on anything. So one Friday night, after all those guys had left, a few of us ladies went to the motor pool to help our ‘friend in need’ get even with her coworkers. The field day took place in record time. Everything was put away, the floor shone, and when we left, our young friend locked the doors behind her. All the doors. The heads, the equipment lockers, the tool drawers, all of the vehicles, and the front, back, and all side doors. She had the one and only set of keys and took it with her. She told me that when she showed up at work on Monday, she was confronted by a group of rather agitated sailors who wanted to know why the doors to the building were locked. And how come the trucks were locked? While they were yelling at this poor soul, the division chief pulled up in his car and got out and asked “What’s going on? Why aren’t you guys working?” The sailors immediately gathered around the chief and started yelling and pointing at that young lady, so the chief asked her what was going on. She told him that they had left her to do field… Read more »
Tips hat to Ex-PH2. Well played ma’am, well played.
Vicenza 2006: I was a newly promoted E-5 and since the “rule” you cannot stay in your platoon once promoted I had to move companies. I was given a squad as in E-5 due to the lack of E-6’s. Since we were just back from a year long deployment a lot of PCS’ing and ETS’ing was going on. I took over my squad and since they were all brand new cherries I immediatley took a disliking to one cocky private who believed he was going to take on the whole world. He was always asking questions about firefights, dead bodies, etc, etc. Everytime I would overhear him talking or asking other Combat Veterans questions I would smoke the ever living dog piss out of him. He never fully could contemplate why we hated him so much for that. One Friday night I am drinking with some other NCO’s when I get a call that said private is at Club V(only bar on post) bragging to the Camp Adventure girls about being in A-stan. (Now these camp adventure girls come over ever summer, they are usually all Freshman and Sophmores in College…and are very……..nice.) So being the liquored up NCO’s that we are we go through the barracks and find as many drunks joes as we can, we tell them to get in uniform and stand outside on the basketball court. We informed them to some extent that nobody is in trouble except for private dipshit. They all agreed to our plan and got dressed. We had one extremely drunk SPC run over to club v and find private dipshit, he yelled “Recall formation, SGT so-so just got a DUI, get your ass back to your room, get dressed and get on the basketball court in 15 minutes.” Meanwhile 5 stories above the basket ball court we had 4 trashcans full of water and ice…..you now know where this story goes. He shows up still trying to fix his beret, He bends down to tie his boot laces and does not notice all the drunk joes (only 3 of which are… Read more »
@40. Now, that’s a story–and a helluva finish.
We were on a CAX one summer and the two NCOs from Motor T decided that it was time to have fun with the new kid. They sent him out of our hut to get “Chemlight batteries and a can of beep” for the five tons. Being the eager young man that he was, he headed over to the MotorT area to get said items.
The Sergeant in charge of that area went off on him. “HELL NO! YOU TELL THOSE BASTARDS THAT THEY AIN’T GETTING ANYTHING FROM ME UNTIL I GET MY GRID SQUARES AND FLIGHT LINE BACK!” He returned to his Sergeant, ears still ringing. Sergeant tells him that everything is fine, just head over to the Engineering folks and get said items back because that was where they were sent to.
I’m sure you know where this is going. Did I mention this is out in 29 Palms? In June?
Forty five minutes later, he runs into our CO who demands to know what he’s doing. Young man explains things in detail and how frustrated he’s getting at acquiring the needed items. Silence falls for a few seconds before the CO says “Who told you to get this?” Upon hearing the names, he nods and says that he’s being messed with and he’d like to see the two NCOs right now.
Playing catch up. I had just joined my first unit. An FSB. Within a month I was assigned Shop Officer. Tihs job is/was the cream position for Ordnance LTs and normally the senior OD LT’s job. Well…it seemed the Battlaion CO had fired nearly every OD LT in the company prior to my arrival. Well about three weeks into this high adventure I got a blistering call from the rat in battlaion HQ (he was a medical LT who LOVED to rat on others) he told me that 1/67 had three tanks down and I had to get them fixed by midnight. So I high tail it down the my team’s shop in 1/67 (remember Shop office was DS level then) to find out WTF. My team chief there filled me in tha 1/67 didn’t care if they weren’t fixed they were leaving early today. I freaked, hell I was new. My Warrant and team chief calmed me down and said they would work on it. So in a few hours they got permission for a few organzational mechanics to stick around with us. Being the good LT I was I stayed as well. About 9pm I was elbow deep in cherry juice deep in the belly of a tank when I hear my warrant and the NCOs outside getting yelled at. “Major Queen, sir. we got permission to work late.” No Major Queen had this deep southern drawl to his speech. So much so you would think it was faked. “Bullshit!” “No, sir. My LT is in there right now he can tell you.” “Bullshit (bullshit was Major Queen’s favorite word). There ain’t no LT in that tank.” Then I climb out. Well Long story short I impressed him by being there. It seemed that my FSB leadership was renonwed for leaving on time every day. We then walked around the motor pool fixing stuff. Major Queen bought us beers, pizza, turned into a fix it up party until about 2am, when the major looks at me and says. “Where’s your leadership at, LT?” I shrugged and assumed they… Read more »
This was in the late 90s. Operation JFK. Just F*#& Kearney. We had a new CSM. CSM Kearney if I remember the name right. I’m aviation and was stationed up in Alaska at the 4/123rd Sugarbears… In the field we were told that we had to perform a convoy. Along said convoy route we were going to be ambushed. Killed even. By the CSM’s favorite company no less. It’s not like us flyboys are known for doing ground movement by the book. Our NCOIC of PC (also the platoon daddy) came in the night before with the butcher block board, and a funny plan. Operation JFK. The convoy would roll out and park outside the field zone we had set up in. CSM would pass by and review it while on his way out to the ambush, a few minutes later we would roll out. I was TC in the second Hummer. That morning we lined up and parked and watched the CSM take off to the ambush. Seconds after he vanished out of sight a twenty vehicle convoy of aviation mechanics transformed. Rucksacks were thrown on the outside and gilly suits suddenly appeared. Unlike your average bunch’o’mechanics in the back of a duece and a half staring towards the center in MILES gear, we turned into a unit of grunts who were eager to play the game. Outward facing, crouched behind rucks and facing outwards scanning the trees on either side. Concertina wire appeared on the hoods of the hummers. Camo was applied in totally hoaah ranger streaks. And right before we rolled out a few construction vehicles luckily joined us. And so we rolled. (Not to mention lead vehicle decided to roam a mile ahead and spot the ambush alone…) So the radio is breaking with codes our PC invented. I perked up when I heard they were at the book depository. The scene was spotted! Soon we heard OSWALD and knew that we had entered the kill zone. So of course the ambushers decide to let us pass. Which was fine till we had everyone in place.… Read more »
And I just got out of the box at NTC rotation. Just to let you guys know, the F&#*ing chemlights in front of the TOC were AA battery operated chemlights…
Last person who sent me to get a box of grid squares got a military UTM map cut up into little boxes, a can of Dehydrated Water from the french (yeah they have it) a chunk of cement with a line (Flight Line), Rotor Wash (Which is a real Air Force product), the keys to the back 40 (which to gods know what), a push pull tube stretcher kit for a CH47, along with the swivel lock keys (bwahahah only us Hookers know that one!), some headlight fluid for their HUMMVW, and a few other goodies.
I was stationed at Fort Suckfest (aka Hucahuca) Fresh out of AIT, my SGT tried to get me with the grid squares and chemlights batteries. I asked him if he also needed a 40MikeMike blank fire adapter…but I degress.
We are on a quote “field excersize” unquote. Had the Satcom terminal up and running, everything going good on our end. The idiots on the other side didnt know which was was up and were going on and off every few minutes.
So as we are sitting there, contemplating how much booze we were going to drink that night, the door to the mobile office flew open and some cherry PVT screamed “I need a roll of orderwire STAT”. Yes he said stat. (Orderwire if you dont know, is part of the transmission circut used for trouble shooting and insulting other operators via satellite transmission)
My SGT and I looked at each other for about a second before he snorted (quietly) and I said “No we just gave our roll out. Try the Motor Pool CSM.”
Saw the PVT later that day, low crawling from the upper lot to the back 40 where we were, the CSM calling cadiance the entire way.
Another time, one of our fiesty (and crazy) PFC’s we called catgirl shows up in formation with a inflated bag of exhaust. The 1sgt asked her what it was for and she told him a mechanic (who was a femmine hygene product) said he needed a sample from her humvee. The 1sgt told the rest of us to vanish but catgirl and the mechanic. We could hear the yelling from the barracks.
#40 “As for dipshit private, he deployed in 07 and was awarded the Silver Star for his actions during the Battle of wanat.”
That part right there reinforces my belief that the loudmouths just need a little direction and they will end up being your best troops.
#43 Steafast. I needed that! Great stuff my friend and thanks for sharing that story.
Tangonine–about the only thing your buddy could have done to improve the Boston Baked Beans prank would have been to leave a single “hair” in the bottom of that jar.
Ok, so maybe a couple of guys got the terrible “squirts” they deserved! We were at 29 Stumps and some brilliant general decided to have a JCSX “dog & pony”. So, everyone was there, zoomies, doggies n even some swabbies. Of course everyone else lived in these palatial tents while us Jarheads lived in our Amtracs and our grunts were in “shelter halves” (pup tents to you lower life forms). The zoomies set up a ‘field kitchen’ where we ate evening chow. I don’t remember who did it but some “higher up” got us some ICE CREAM!!! It was put in these large “refrigerated unit” things but eventually it started disappearing. Well every other weekend we got to go to main side to ‘really’ shower and sleep in a real rack. so during one of the main side ‘visits’ “someone” bought a box of Exlax and ‘spiked’ the ice cream. A couple of days later a couple of airmen came down “stomach flu”!!! Ain’t life a bitch?!