# Your  Funniest/ Favorite War Stories



## Franko (26 Jan 2004)

Seeing how we have SO many guys and gals in uniform in this forum I thought what more fun than puttin‘ on your helmet and telling your funniest/ favorite war story.

Please don‘t name names UNLESS they are out of the CF...saves the moderator the trouble of putting out flame wars like last night   

LET ‘ER RIP!

Regards


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## Franko (26 Jan 2004)

I‘ll get things started....

A while back whilst serving with A Sqn 8CH in Gagetown a prank was pulled. The young lad was told to go and sign for a "skyhook" for the cam net so we could put up the cam net where there were no trees. He dissapeared for a couple of days, no one knew where he was except the tp Mcpl(the youngin‘ called every day to tell him of his progress). After 3 days he finally came in with his car, and backed it into our bay. The Mcpl asked him how he made out. His response was opening the trunk and there was this orange hook with the marking of "skyhook" embossed into the metal. We were all stunned, especially the Mcpl. The lad then looked at the Mcpl and said "MWO Bloggins want you to call him ASAP at 403 Sqn. He wants to know the reason why he gave up a $5000 piece of equipment. Jaws hit the ground as did most of us rolling on the ground holding our sides. The youngin‘ was in!   

Regards


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## Lexi (26 Jan 2004)

Well, the story that is passed along in my family isn‘t funny; but it‘s remarkable and it‘s the story that got me into the whole military zone. So, here it is:

My grandfather was a Ukrainian/German soldier, I‘m not sure of his rank, but he was in charge of a single platoon of soldiers. They were marching up a road headed to Sicily when a jeep carrying 2 G.I‘s came up and stopped. My grandfather could see in the distance several more jeeps, and knowing that he was out-manned and out-gunned, he surrendered to the two G.I‘s that had pulled up in the first jeep. (These two men were later credited with the largest capture of Ukrainian/German soldiers in WWII.) 

My grandfather and his platoon were taken to a PoW camp just outside of Sicily. There he stayed for quite a while, until one day he recieved a letter from a "Father Hrynyk." He opened the letter and discovered that his brother was in Austria, faking to be a priest, as priests were able to get places with less difficulty and could send letters without having them looked over by censors. Anyway, as time passed my grandfather and my great uncle, (or Father Hrynyk,) sent letters back and forth. When my grandfather started to arrange plans to escape the camp he could no longer send plain letters, as they were read before mailed. So he devised a plan, and he took books and made fake slip covers, and in those covers he stashed letters and photos.

On new year‘s eve, while the Italians and other Allied forces guarding the camp were horribly drunk, my grandfather and another Sergeant snuck out of the camp and then trekked some way until they came to the Alps. They knew what they had to do: and they did it.

They slowly trekked up the Alps, and when they got to the top my grandfather heard the crack of a rifle going off. He turned around and saw his Sergeant lying down amidst red snow. Off in the distance he could see a figure holding a rifle. It was a border guard who had been watching the border between Italy and Austria. In much haste my grandfather nearly ran down the other side of the Alps, and when he got into Austria he met with my Great-Uncle Hrynyk. They remained in Austria until the end of the war, which is when they recieved a letter from relatives here in Hamilton telling them to come to Canada, which they did.

And that, my friends, is the Spiwak family story.


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## Franko (26 Jan 2004)

Interesting...Fortunatly for him(not so much for the Sgt)...we wouldn‘t be able to hear this tale.

Regards


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## dbrock (26 Jan 2004)

:soldier:


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## nbk (26 Jan 2004)

Here is an interesting story told to be by my grandfather who was a German WW2 vet.

My grandfather was in a Fallschirmjäger (paratrooper) unit in the army. He had been serving on the Russian front in Minsk, and after they captured that town he got transfered (lucky him) to Italy, where he was dropped into battle with the americans. I wish I could remember the name of the battle, but I don‘t. I think it was a smaller battle of a smaller town, not a large battle.

At any rate, the Germans were outnumbered and outgunned but they hung in, although they were eventually overrun. My grandfather was taken prisoner by the Americans and brought to a POW camp in the southwestern USA. I believe it was licated in either Arizona, New Mexico, Texas or Nevada.

He told me about how he and his friends there were treated by the americans, they were always shown respect, they were well fed, and only a few times were they questioned about anything. My Grandfather said everyone stuck to the "name, rank, serial number" and that was it. He said one night when they were working outside there was a bright light, which lit up the whole sky. He said it was like the sun coming up, in the middle of the night for only about 30 seconds followed by a "klein beben" as he put it, meaning a tremor or earthquake.

Much later in life he found out that they were doing atomic testing around that time, in a nearby area of the desert.

One night in late 1944 he and his friends hopped the fence at night, by having a bunch of people start fighting at the opposite end of the camp, creating a destraction. He said they ran all night through the desert, heading south. One of his friends that was at the camp was a veteran of the Spanish civil war of the 1930s, and spoke some Spanish. The group eventually made it to the freedom of Mexico where they all stayed, doing odd jobs for the next few months, and getting into all sorts of adventures until the war was over.

After the war my grandfather returned to Germany where he found my suprised grandmother in the mostly destroyed city of Stuttgart. Some of my family was in Munich, which was heavily bombed, and in Dresden, which was now occupied by the Russians. Germany did not look like a great place to live since the south where he lived was occupied by the americans and the east was occupied by the Russians, so they decided to leave. They had my father, and then moved to Canada, because Mexico did not have the school system that they were after for my father, and my grandfather was afraid they would try to get him again if he entered the USA.


Overall I always liked this story...my grandfather told it and described all of the colourful charicters that he met in the POW camp, and he made it quite interesting. Old people have a way of telling stories that make them much more interesting then anyone else. He was a very smart old man, and taught me a lot about things, that I would not have learned about otherwise...


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## karpovage (26 Jan 2004)

That‘s a helluva story nbk. I‘ve read several books on the German perspective of the war against the Russians and U.S. in particular the final Battle of Berlin and Stalingrad and it is just so interesting to hear those very detailed battlefield stories in relation to the "big picture" 

My tidbit - my Great Uncle Joe Goral was a member of the U.S. Army‘s Merrill‘s Marauders in the China-Burma Theatre fighting the Japanese in WWII. I think (don‘t hold me to it) there were a good 3,000 soldiers who went in and a few hundred who came out of the jungles after the campaign (mostly I believe to disease) but anyways his story was that after he and some other troops became separated after a battle he ended up in China (our ally at the time) and was made a captain in the Chinese Navy patrolling some river until rejoining his original unit. Unfortunately, and rightly so, he never really opened up much about the details - a bit of an interesting story anyways though.


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## Lexi (26 Jan 2004)

> Originally posted by Franko:
> [qb] Interesting...Fortunatly for him(not so much for the Sgt)...we wouldn‘t be able to hear this tale.
> 
> Regards [/qb]


Hey, if he didn‘t make it, I wouldn‘t be here...

How would you guys ever survive?!


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## Franko (26 Jan 2004)

And Lexi we wouldn‘t have your company either    

As for how I would survive...no idea, have to play that one out for real...hope I‘m never in that situation.

Regards


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## Garry (26 Jan 2004)

We used to have 105 mm blanks (simulated a real round for war games)for the Tank main guns. These blanks stood about 18" tall. When they went off, they were hard to miss. Danger radius was 200 metres.

We also generated a little paper type garbage (mostly rations) that had to be got rid of. One time, someone stuffed the paper up the barrel ahead of the blank, and the paper just disappeared. One thing led to another, and after some experimentation, it was found that several rolls of naptha-soaked toilet paper, whatever paper garbage was around, and a 105mm blank made an absolutely magnificent fireball, and looked a heck of a lot like a real main round at night- even in the day!

On Exercise in Germany, someone issued us 104mm cans of beans. This was also the last year we used 105mm blanks, and we had a lot. From time to time, we fired a few off just to get rid of them.
The cans fired extremely well out the main gun, and when the mix of tp, garbage, and naptha was added to the mix, it was truly magnificent.

One crew had this potent (and dangerous, and highly illegal) "round" up the spout, intending to fire it into an empty field. They hadn‘t told the gunner, to surprise him. As they were about to fire, movement orders came. The gun was safed, and off they went.

Several hours later, that same tank was in a defensive position when an American M-113, troops sitting on the top, came out of a bushline to the left. Contact was called, and a battle range Hesh engagement was initiated. At the last second, the Crew Commander and the gunner remembered the "load", and near killed themselves getting to the CC overide and the gun safe switch to stop the engagement. The loader won, and the gun was safed. Both breathed a sigh of relief at the close call, until they heard the gunner call "misfire, emergency fire, firing NOW".

The sky was rent by a 200 metre square flash of fire and thunder. Out of the middle of this fireball emerged a 104mm can of German beans, tavelling at a high rate of knots. The gunner was on, as the beans exploded squarely in the centre of the APC, showering the troops with beans.

Needless to say,the troops were stunned. Not only were they startled by the truly magnificent fireball from the heretofore hidden MBT, but they‘d been hit!...and various sticky body parts were all over them.

It took a few seconds to realise that a) they were alive, b) just what had happened, C) no body parts, just beans, and d) that while they had an APC and the other guys a Tank, they were still a full section of pretty tough Infanteers, and they were up against four skinny panic stricken Canadians.

The Leopard made full use of it‘s speed that day.

Note: I hesitated to tell this story, don‘t need anyone getting ideas, nor thinking that all were this stupid. The guys involved were lucky: lucky they didn‘t kill anyone, and lucky the Infanteers didn‘t catch them!

Cheers-Garry


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## Danjanou (26 Jan 2004)

Garry I think I know that tank crew. They‘re probably the ones who almost ran over me one night while I was squatting with my pants around my ankles and leaning against a shovel for balance.    

Ok it's been almost twenty years so I figure it's safe to tell this story, even if one of the persons involved did make General, and it obviously wasn‘t me.

I was instructing on a QL4 Basic Recce Patrolman's Course being run by the 1RNFLDR. We'd reached field portion and I was preparing to take out my section on all night recce patrol that would take us to some abandoned chicken barn at a T junction several klicks which was our objective, when the course commander gave me the good news. 

Lucky me I was going to have company that night. In addition to the section of armed juvenile delinquents I‘d been training, and training with, our new Colonel would be tagging along, just to observe. 

Great just what I needed. Normally I got along well with the CO. In fact he was responsible for my last promotion when he was my OC. The M/Cpl chevrons on my sleeve were a result of his recommendation. That and the fact that I‘d aced all the necessary courses. 

However once again I‘d entered the promotion zone. I was due for a promotion to Sergeant. I‘d passed all the courses, even refusing to be RTU‘d from one due to injuries. This man however had the final say, and I‘d already run afoul of him that week. 

Earlier during one of our infrequent down times, he‘d been strolling amongst the boys and chatting. Something good commanders do. He‘d seen me hunched over and absorbed in a book and yelled out 

"What are you reading M/Cpl?â ?

"The Complete Works of William Shakespeare." I yelled back. 

"No really, what‘s the book?" He replied still jokingly. 

"The Complete Works of William Shakespeare." I yelled back again, showing him the cover. I was working on my degree at the time and had an English Lit. Final coming up when we got back from the field. 

You could here the pin drop as he beat a hasty retreat with his bonhomie and dignity mauled. 

Now he was coming along to observe, and I‘m sure that it was as much a coincidence as the fact that my promotion recommendation paperwork was in his in box awaiting action. 

He sat quietly as I went through the lengthy O Grp and other BP with the boys. Telling me to ignore his presence, or treat him like one of the boys he slid into the line of march as we slinked out into the darkness. 

I‘d worked out in detail our route there and back before going naturally. Within the first half hour though it became obvious that a detour was in order as the (insert profanity of your choice) map was wrong. Sometime since they‘d been printed a small enclave of summer cabins had been  established directly on our route. 

I wasn‘t really looking to intrude or trespass through a bunch of probably drunken (it was a Saturday night) Newfoundlander‘s summer homes complete with dogs, barbed wire, derelict cars and shot guns. I called a quick halt put everyone in all round defence and with my filtered mag light between my teeth, pulled out my map and compass began to plot an alternate route around this new obstacle. Satisfied, I gave the order and we began to move out again, carefully giving the "trailer park" a wide berth. I told the guys what was happening but someone at the end of the line with his own map did‘t get the word

My new route took us into a shallow valley. Not that it really mattered, as most of the route there and back would be in "low ground." Now before I go on, a brief description about Newfoundland geography and geology might be in order for those who‘ve neve rhad the pleasure. 

Newfoundland‘s nickname is "the rock", although why is beyond me. Trust me anywhere on the island the minute you step off of the Trans Canada Highway you‘re hip or waist deep in stinking bog and swamp. That is unless it‘s during the ten months of the year the place is covered in snow and ice. Then you‘re chest deep in snow, and hip deep in bog. Of course the minute you drag out a shovel and try and dig, the same ground mysteriously reverts to the consistency of solid reinforced concrete. 

Oh one more relevant detail before we go on. It was raining that night. Not that it really mattered as it had been raining all week, continually. 

Within another half an hour or so we were all soaked to the skin and then some and struggling through a particular wicked poplar swamp. Every now and then we‘d cross another little stream and after a while I began to look forward to this. Running cold water in my boots was actually preferable to stagnant cold water. 

We were still surprisingly actually moving the way we were supposed to, that is silently and tactically. There were the occasional grumbles and muttered curses coming from behind me, but a hiss to "shut the (again insert favoured profanity here) up" had the desired effect. Mind at the time I had no idea who was doing most of the cursing. 

I‘d stopped for a brief nav halt. As there were no landmarks at this point, I was literally shooting a bearing off of one of my own men who was scouting a few yards ahead of me. Every now and then we‘d skirt a clearing and I could check this by using some of the surrounding hill and other landmarks, you all know the drill. I was still confident of where we were and that we were on course and on time. I really didn‘t expect what happened next. 

Just as I was about to give the order to move on again, the Colonel crawled up beside me. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. 

"M/Cpl, do you know where we are?"

"Yes sir." I replied. 

After a few seconds pause, he gave me a come on gesture and asked. "Where?"

I was really trying to concentrate on the one square millimetre of my body that was still for some strange reason dry so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

"The woods."

He didn‘t say a thing, just shook his head and crawled back to his spot. 

About five minutes passed. I had halted again to carefully check out a small clearing before moving around it. I was just about to start moving again when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the Colonel again. 

"Do you think you could be a little more specific?"  He asked. Referring to my last answer. 

Right about now all I wanted was to get this job and miserable night over with and get back to my semi warm, semi dry sleeping bag. I threw caution to the wind and blurted out the first thing I could think of. 

"Yes." I replied. 

Again he gave me the little come on gesture asking me to elaborate for his benefit. 

"Newfoundland." I muttered. 

He looked at me, grinned, shook his head slowly and returned to his spot. He didn‘t speak to me or bother me for the rest of the night. 

Naturally it goes without saying that we reached the objective, the spot I had chosen on the map, without any problems. I actually came out of the swamp within fifteen to twenty feet of where I wanted to, not too bad considering the ground we were travelling over and the other conditions. 

About two weeks later, that self same Colonel handed me my Sergeant‘s chevrons with all the aplomb and ceremony, and later beer, that usually entails. When he did he shook his head slowly and grinned that same little grin.

One of the best officers I ever had the pleasure of working with.


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## Benoit (26 Jan 2004)

On new year‘s eve, while the Italians and other Allied forces guarding the camp were horribly drunk, my grandfather and another Sergeant snuck out of the camp and then trekked some way until they came to the Alps. They knew what they had to do: and they did it.

In response to lexi.....sorry dude but the italians were not aprat of the allies.


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## Danjanou (26 Jan 2004)

Actually they were. After the Allies invaded Italy, and Mussolini was first removed from power. Italy first surrendered and then later came into the war on the Allied side. 

Mussolini after his rescue by German commandos set up a "new" Facist Italian state in the north of the country which was still occupied.


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## holywars33 (26 Jan 2004)

I would very much like to commend Danjanou, Garry, lexi, and nbk for the stories.   I know it must take a while to type something so long and I appreciate the effort.  Danjanou, very well written.  Gives interesting insight to an outsider in how things work (comically sometimes).  Garry I'm still laughing.......


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## Yeoman (26 Jan 2004)

Perhaps this was just a "you had to be there scenario" but I‘ll post it anyways
Last year at stawlard guardian the section was getting a breifing for the fibua assualt that was going to happen in a couple of hours.
Earlier in the night it poured down when we were all turning in weapons to get those simmunation pieces put on the rifles. The company was caught in the rain with no chance to grab their rain gear.
Eventually we got a chance to change and throw the rain gear on incase is started up again.
My 2IC for the section had just changed her shirt She was telling everyone to feel how damp it was, and me being the company morale at the the time, I had to say something. At the exact same time the rest of the section shuts up and I go "can I sniff it?"
needless to say no one kept quiet for the breifing for the fibua assualt.

Another good story I like to share is again from my basic para course.
My section commander was the one that told us that the sheerwood was pretty much the only place to drink in Trenton whatsoever. Every morning after training he‘d come into the students lounge and ask "who go a stinky finger at the sheerwood last night?"
The one night the only two attractive adult dancers offered a t-shirt to the highest bidder and my buddy offered up $25 for the t-shirt and got it. He got up on stage, and the two of them proceeded to spank him with his own belt. Eventually he got off stage with the shirt, and the dancers came down with him (as we were on perverts row at the time). We found a permenant marker and got a couple of the dancers and waitresses to sign the shirt, one of them even wrote "AIRBORNE" in big black letters on the top of the back of the shirt.
The next morning for PT we had the same Sgt that asks that question about the sheerwood every morning; when my buddy walked up to him to proudly show off his t-shirt, his eye shon up like two big black pearls. The look on his face was priceless.
Needless to say we were hasseled to show the rest of the course staff.
Last time I heard, that t-shirt is now framed at my friends place.
Greg


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## Pikache (26 Jan 2004)

OMG. Sherwood. I was specifically warned off from going there. Instead got drunk at Matt and Joe‘s every thursday night.   

Anyways, I feel that no collection of army story is complete without a raccoon story.

Meaford is well known for its ‘coon population. Over the years, these critters became more evolved so that if you leave a hint that you have food in your tent, they will scatter around looking for food. Gets annoying when you‘re trying to get rack time and ‘coons wake you up. If you have food in your ruck and it‘s not sealed up tight and the ‘coons smell it, guess what. The ‘coons will get to it. They can open zippers, the little knot on pouches on the ruck.
One sergeant swore to me that he saw raccoons doing section attack. I don‘t know how sleep deprived he was at te time.

Anyways, there is this kid in our section that no one liked, a complete bag. So one day, we left a trail of food crumbs leading up to this guy‘s cot. 4 raccoons jumped him and he was screaming and hollering. Teach him for being a moron.
I was too tired to even care about the screams though.

Another ‘coon story is this girl in my tent had her pills with her. Birth control, IIRC. One night, she left them on the floor beside her ruck. Guess who came in that night to eat the pills.
She didn‘t know where her pills went.

Moral of the story: If you‘re in Meaford, leave no trace of food around ANYWHERE. The ‘coons will get ya.


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## Slim (27 Jan 2004)

Danjaneau

You made me laugh so hard over your swamp story that I nearly cried at my desk.( please insert vision of client coming into office to whitness big tough bodyguard laughing so hard he‘s in tears!)

Here‘s one I hope you all enjoy.

I was posted to TSS ( Armoured School) in Gagetown and employed as a track driver. 

While driving for a phase 4 course one day out in the Lawfield corridor ( Armoured training area-Gagetown) The troop pulled into Cambell woods for an o Group. The M113‘s backed into the woods and we cammed up. 

As we would be in that spot for some time I decided to heed natures call. Armed with a shovel, paper and various other nesseccities I set out to find an appropriate area to " mail a package" as it were. This being the days before the outlawed "cat sanitation" it was permissable to dig a hole and "fill it".

Now a bear lives in Cambell woods.

I had just finished and was gathering my stuff to head back to the track when the branches of a large tree near by began to sway in a most unnatural manner.

I made best speed back to the carrier and locked myself in with the one student left behind to guard.

Then I realized that while beating a hastey retreat I‘d left my tank driver‘s gloves behind. To anyone in the Corps it is unthinkable to loose those gloves. They, along with chocolate bar IMP‘s, made life in the field worth living. 

So I decided to go get them.

The bear had other ideas.

I had just picked the gloves up when a vicious growl and the sound of something heavy approaching sent me back to the M113 so fast I don‘t remember the trip.

The student in the back, who thought I would have been eaten for sure, saw me coming though.

He said my feet never touched the ground between the point where my gloves were and the back deck of the carrier.

I somehow managed to get off the ground, up onto the deck and into the top cargo hatch. To this day I don‘t know how I did that. I do know that I was very motivated to try though!

Hope you liked it. All true, I swear.

Slim


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## JasonH (27 Jan 2004)

I‘ll hafto remember that if I‘m in meaford


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## Danjanou (27 Jan 2004)

Slim, Ou Grizz, you‘re most welcome. Actually I wrote that piece for a civy website I write for. It was actually the prelude to a review of the Siva Compass if you can believe it.  I actualy had to edit out all the explanations of military stuff when I posted it here.

Slim, don‘t even talk to me about bears in Gagetown!!    

If I find the time I‘ll try and post my own cat hole vs Leo MBT story.     

Actually guys, anybody who‘s got the time to post a funny tale today should. With the bad news out of Kabul this morning I think we could all use it.


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## Franko (27 Jan 2004)

Danjanou and Slim great stories from both of you, I enjoyed them so much I sent them out to the rest of the guys in the camp! Nearly pissed myself laughing   

Garry...we did the same thing, less the beans, all the time. Worst one was when we fired under an Apache(he was giving away our position) It dropped  a good 150 feet then took off. Needless to say my CC was an idiot.

Regards

Keep them stories comin‘


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## Yeoman (27 Jan 2004)

Fusilier; I remember being told about those stories the day after it happend. you guys sure got bored in one platoon.
We had one guy in my platoon, just a complete phsyco when it comes to training. He was in one section. The one night all the tent was closed up and you hear a scream of "WHAT THE *insert friendly word here* WAS THAT?!?", and sure enough one of coons got into the tent, and the guy from one section jumps in there with a stick and a flashlight, chasing the coon all around the tent. Man that was something.
Hey Fusilier, remember the time on the range for the BIQ when we slept on it? I was doing morning piquet, and I swear maybe it was sleep deprevation, but I saw like 20 coons come out of the forest. I got up half frozen, and chased those things for the rest of my shift before I had to go around and wake you guys up. My buddy just sat there flabergasted at the amount of coons that just appeared from the trees.
Greg


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## Pikache (27 Jan 2004)

Hahahaha. I passed out during that range weekend. I don‘t think I had a fire picket shift.

I think few drunken sleeping with people we shouldn‘t stories would liven up this thread more.


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## Danjanou (27 Jan 2004)

You first RHF    

Slim Franko here‘s another one I just remembered and quickly typed about the same officer. (Hey I can sacrifice part of my lunch hour for the boys overseas)

A few years after my swamp recce incident we were in Gagetown for MilCon. I'd actually made WO and been in Aldershot instructing and joined the unit in the field. The CSM grabbed me and gave me the good news the CQMS was stuck out in Wainwright, and guess who was acting CQ for the next two weeks.

Our Coy and BHQ were co-located in the same biv area near WTP. Second last day there, it came over the net Endex. For us that meant tear down, prep for the smoker that night, and then a hung over flight on the Herc home the next day.

Now in the RNFLDR everyone works, especially when the drinking don't start until all the work is done. I'm running around like a chicken with his head cut off in a T-shirt, still cammed up with my SMG still slung over my shoulder hoping that I can get a chance to clean my wpn and get a wash before the fun starts, when I see this Iltis pull up. 

Out pops this Major in crisp pressed starched combats and spit shined boots. I know the driver, so I put down the cases of beer I'm offloading and stacking and wander over and ask who's the new guy. The Major is just standing there hands on hips on hips and a â Å“I'm disgusted with the whole situationâ ? look on his face. 

The Driver whispers that he's the new RSS staff officer assigned to Nfld Mil District 
(pre Bde days). Rather then wait until we get home, he's rushed halfway across Atlantic Canada just to fly home with us.

Anyway he gives me the â Å“Get the **** outta my way privateâ ?  look, remember I'm filthy and have no rank showing. And starts to walk towards the biv.

Just then our CO comes wandering out. He's dirty, still cammed up, unshaven and has an unlit smoke shoved in his mouth. He's also wearing his helmet, strap undone and a rain jacket, so no rank showing.

Now I should point out that our beloved CO, and I do mean that seriously, the boys would follow him anywhere, was a chain smoker. Even non smokers like me ended up carrying a pack because he was always running out. 

He winks at the driver and I, wanders over to the Major, smiles and says. â Å“Hey bud gotta light?â ?

The Major went about 30 shades of crimson and when he got his composure back (almost) screamed back. â Å“I'm Major ******* ********. Who the       (insert naughty short expletive here) are you soldier!â ?

The boss smiled and calmly answered. â Å“I'm Lt. Col ******, your new boss. So how about it, gotta light?â ?

It took every bit of self control to stop from laughing until I'd snuck back into the woods.


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## Franko (27 Jan 2004)

BBWWWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA   

Ah yes the good old days of the SMGs and FNs. When we were treated like adults. The district system was firmly in place(Res Brig were wishful thinking) and smokin‘ and drinkin‘ were the reward for a hard days work. Pulling tiller bars in a Lynx while opening beers was considered an art.

Ah the GOOD ol‘ days......I miss ‘em   

Regards


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## Yeoman (27 Jan 2004)

haha you probably got more experience of telling stories of my buddy in my unit then you would fusilier (you know exactly who I‘m talking about you just pmed me about him!)
how he accomplishes some of his feats I will never truly understand.
Greg


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## Pikache (27 Jan 2004)

Actually, *marauder* knows him too.

But only story involving ourselves is the unofficial rule of this thread?


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## Franko (27 Jan 2004)

General stories that you witnessed. No second hand ones please.

Regards


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## Yeoman (27 Jan 2004)

heck no, he‘s my closest drinking buddy I got, he wouldn‘t care that all much anyways.
I‘ll try and tell the story as best as I can.
Fusilier was on the DP2A with my one buddy that‘s in my unit.
Well they get leave for the weekend, and decide to reak havoc on Owen Sound by going and doing a drinking bend. And well this guy is NOTORIOUS for doing absolutely insane things while drunk. Fist-fights, breaking stuff that shouldn‘t be humanly possible to break, and like any classic drunk, passing over the hot chick for the.......other one. Anyways.

So they‘re all out drinking, and he just dissapears. On the way out there was this guy that started lipping off to him. He decided that he heard enough and proceded to beat the living tar out of him. All the guys come running out trying to find *******, and they find the guy that just got beat on by him. Someone asked what happend to him and all they got out of him was "I don‘t know, some short guy in a flower shirt just beat the **** out of me" ****** realised who he was talking about and attempted to find *******. But could not.

******* was out and about on the town, and found a wedding reception, which he proceded to crash. eventually someone realised that he did not belong there, and 4 guys "pleasantly" escorted him out of the building, but he wouldn‘t go as nicely as planned. Eventually they get him out of the building. 

Noticing that he had to be back at the base at some point in time, ******* decided to walk back to the base. He got very tired and decided to sleep it off in the ditch. A drunk man sleeping in a ditch never works, he some how gets into a cow field, and passed out on a pile of cow manuere. ******* wakes up later and now being somewhat sober, decides to walk the rest of the way to the base. 

It‘s about 1 pm when he finally gets back in the tent lines, smelling horrid, and no one having a clue where he was for a good 12 hours.
that‘s the story I got fusilier, I have no idea how accurate it is, but that‘s the story I got.
Greg


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## FutureTroopie (27 Jan 2004)

> Originally posted by Yeoman:
> [qb]******* was out and about on the town, and found a wedding reception, which he proceded to crash. [/qb]


LOL thats classic


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## Pikache (27 Jan 2004)

^More or less true. We hit Beach Brothers first and I got loaded too quick, so I decided to take it slow when we hit the Harb (bad place to try to pick up chicks. **** you reg force SQ) and basically it was me trying to keep track of 6 guys. At 1am or so, I see this guy disappear into the bathroom. I return to keeping an eye on other drunk buddies who were trying to pick up and failing miserably. 
So the closing time comes and we can‘t find this guy. We search the Harb to see if he was there and he wasn‘t. So there was  5 of us, I think and we ran a search party for him until 4am and it was drizzling wet that night. And we were pretty much drunk.

A story for every weekend of that 3 week course by this dude.

Another weekend we went the Harb and got drunk. This dude got tossed out so everyone decided to go back to base. 
At the parking lot this dude turns stupid drunk and he tries to beat the crap out of his car. His exact words being, ‘Guys, it‘s okay. It‘s my car. I can do whatever I want.‘ He put a nice big dent in his car even with 3 of us trying to restrain him.
I was in a cab with couple of the guys, but on the way back to base inside his car, this dude tried to open the door and try to slid on the pavement. And everytime someone would say ‘Who wants to go to Disneyland?‘ and this dude would cry out ‘Disneyland!‘

Moral of the story: If you‘re going to fornicate, do not get so drunk that you‘d pass up a hot chick and screw a fugly chick instead.

Good times.

PS: On that course, we had 3 guys from LFWA on it. So it can happen...


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## Slim (28 Jan 2004)

Danjaneau, Franko and all the rest...
Dan‘s story made me remember this one.

I was tasked to drive iltis one night for a group of officers who were at the CO of Suffield‘s house for a dinner ( we being in the field at the time.)

So while the officers went in and made nicey-nicey with the base people we stood around outside and smoked and talked (like any group of soldiers would.)

At the time I too smoked. 

As the evening wore on we sort of drifted apart to await the officers to come out. 

I wandered back to my jeep and, as I got there, noticed another soldier leaning on it already.

It was very dark that night and I didn‘t recognize the soldier in question but began to talk to him anyway, as soldiers will do in those situations. While we were talking I dug out a smoke and tried to light it. My lighter was out of gas.

Then I asked my new friend ( calling him Dude, I might add)for a light.

The glow from the Zippo illuminated Col. Hugg, the CO of the LdSH(RC) who happened to be outside smoking a cigar!

Another great officer who did actually spend about 15 minutes speaking to the young trooper before going back to the party.  

All the stories are great and we should give a round to Franko for coming up with this post!
Slim


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## Franko (28 Jan 2004)

My favorite is when we deployed Csqn RCD(C-Force) to the field one warm spring day. The sqn had a new troop WO and he was eager to get his troop of Panzers out for a spin. He did up the trace and went out with the boys.

Just a bit of a note here on the terrain of Gagetown for those of you who haven‘t had the PLEASURE of driving it, I‘ll sum it up. There are swamps on hills. If a new driver can get through a day of driving his/her Panzer without getting stuck, they got skills. Anyway back to the story...

So the trace was started at McKinney Defile and Lawfield road facing east. The LOD was the Lawfield itself. The trace followed the high features to the south to a dog-leg left going north to Butterfly wood.

Slim I hear you laughing already...

The troop WO could figure why the other tanks were going to the high feature then doing the dog-leg left. He was screaming to the other callsigns to get back in formation, what the _______ is Lost Lake...there‘s no lake on the map.

Just as he said that the tank buried itself to the turret ring and slowely started to sink. The ARV came up and did a 3-1 pull(aprox 120 ton pull) and had an extreemly hard time getting him out...as I recall it took about 12 hours.

His callsign got back in very early in the morning, sparing him an embarassment of rolling in with the sqn out doing maintainance.

So he thought.....

He and his crew went down to the tank park the next morning only to find a sail mounted on the turret, boat bumpers attached on the side skirts, and SS MINOW written on the turret, and a makeshift anchor attached to the ballard hooks in front. A map was placed with great care in front of the comanders hole with a huge red circle on the spot where he got stuck. Written next to it is "Lost Lake...don‘t go there!"

Ahhh the good ol‘ days....   

Regards


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## Slim (28 Jan 2004)

Franko

I laughed so hard I think I hurt myself...Is the WO anyone I know?

Slim


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## Franko (28 Jan 2004)

Maybe....he was at the school before you left

Back to the stories gents......

Regards


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## Armymedic (28 Jan 2004)

Too many stories to share...

Franko, hope your not still pissed at us for sending you for the "fillopian tubing for the turrent" back in the Sqn, and I still want my rain jacket back. Those FNG stories are priceless, and no matter how much they try to make us politically correct, the new guys still get it....

I wonder is the Lost Lake still marked with that tank divot?


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## Devlin (28 Jan 2004)

Best one I have seen personally involved a range and nice young french guy with a heavy accent.

We were on a range doing C9 for CAP(R) course. Now the young officer in question shall remain nameless, cause he took enough sh1t over this when it happened. 

Range was running just fine until Lt. Bloggins gets a hard extraction on the C9. He tries and tries and tries to clear it but is having some major problems as he is new to the weapon and what not.

Finally sticks up his hand for assistance and the MCpl asks what the problem is, by this time everyone has stopped. 

Lt. Bloggins looks over and with a straight face (remember the heavy french accent) "MCpl I‘ve got a hard c0ck."     

Everyone on the range loses it including the staff. 

What he meant to say was that he had a hard extraction of course.


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## Franko (28 Jan 2004)

Armymedic...that was Cunnigham you sent to do that...even got him to suck water through it when he was standing on top of the turret,almost passed out. What did you expect...the thing was 20m long!

You got me and THAT mixed up? That‘s like me calling you WEDGE...   

Regards


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## dwild40 (28 Jan 2004)

Okay my amusing story.

We HFoC (now RHFofC) on a trg weekend in early fall 1981.  We had an arrangement with a farmer in the Woodstock area to use his proprty once in a while.  At any rate prior to leaving the armoury on Gage St., we were given a map grid reference of our destination, and dropped off in sections within a 5 - 7 km radius.  Our instructions were to find our way to the destination.  BTW Royal Highland Fusilier our section commander at the time was M/Cpl Leffler.  Any way we were the last section dropped off and we had walked along this country road for about 5 minutes when a vehicle pulled over and the driver asked us what was up.  M/Cpl Leffler explained what was up and one of the other guys asked them where we were and showed them the map.  The driver pointed out where we were and offered us a ride.  Well it took us all of 2 minutes to convince M/Cpl Leffler to accept the ride.  There being only 5 of us in the section ( attendance in the 80‘s was a problem ) we easily fit in the car.  The driver even offered us beers which we gratfully accepted.  He dropped us off about 500 meters from our destination.  We thanked him profusely and he said something to the effect of it‘s not everyday that he offered rides to heavily armed individuals...We lounged at the side of the road for a suitable period of time then strolled in.  Hey a ride was offered we adapted and improvised.
On the last day of the weekend our mission was to contact members of the resistance holed up in the armouries and offer assistance.  One by one we ran across the road and entered the Gage st., armoury via the Sgt‘s mess door.  And each to our suprised were immediatly taken prisoner.  My webbing and weapon was taken as well as clothes and hood placed over my head and my hands were tied behind my back.  I was then shoved around and placed in a chair in another room and they must have been playing a tape of screams and yelling there was also some one smashing metal.  That‘s what it sounded like any way.  So I started to sing.  Some one clamped their hand over my hooded face and I bit the hand, and was promptly smacked.  ( We knew there was a chance of capture and interogation this was not abuse and it was not hazing !!!)  After about an hour I was picked up off the chair and shoved into another room where there was my gear piled up and two people were asking questions like What was my Regiment? Strength? What were we doing here?  Etc... I refused to answer so they had me sign a form which listed my gear.  I did and later found out that they had 2 papers on this clip board and i signed the second which was a cofession of war crimes.  Then a sympathetic officer came in and demanded to know what was going on.  He untied my hands and put his arm around my shoulder and guided me to his office.  He offered me some coffee and gently asked questions again I refused to answer.  He then took me to what was the Officers mess where there were 6 of so others standing there in their underwear like I was and anounced don‘t worry gentlemen Wildfong here told us everything we need to know.  We were soon rescued as one guy saw a struggle at the door and the rest of the guys went around back of the building and snuck in through the garage door and arrested our tormentors.  
This was one of my favourite trg excersizes.  We all both sides gathered in the Sgt‘s and Men‘s mess to discuss what had happened and what we had done wrong and what wwe had done right.  Oh yeah they also gave us the signed confessions back so we may destroy them.  

Another one.  I had just been sworn in and there was much revellry in the mess .50cent beers will do that.  M/Cpl Leffler was a neighbour so he drove me home.  In my state I fell out ouf his car just as my mother was getting home too.  Some one else in the car said Oh no it‘s his Mom lets get out of here.  M/Cpl Leffler being the gentleman ( after all he is now an officer) apologized to my mother and helped get me inside.


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## dwild40 (28 Jan 2004)

BTW I shall accept full responsability for mentionting that M/Cpl‘s name.  He is a great man and I am proud to have known and served under and with him.


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## Pikache (28 Jan 2004)

^Definitely a good man, Mr. Leffler is.


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## Veteran`s son (28 Jan 2004)

Thank you for starting this thread, Franko, as it is a really good idea!


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## Danjanou (28 Jan 2004)

wildfong, RHF, I knew a M/Cpl Leffler back in 1980, a real class act. Glad to hear he‘s still in.


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## Armymedic (29 Jan 2004)

Now Franko, thats low........

When I get back from leave.....


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## Danjanou (29 Jan 2004)

Ok blame Franko. He told me some people are actually reading these and that‘s all the encouragement I need. This one is no Bull, literally.

In the mid 1980's I was working as a platoon 2ic for a summer Basic Infantry Course (TQ1 QL 3, whatever it's called now) with the RNFLDR (yeah it seems all my best stories are from the time I was with them.) It was six days in the boonies, and bring them back into St. Johns on Saturday afternoon, clean kit, get paid and pick up the hung over bodies up Sunday evening to take out again. Kept that up for 6 weeks and then dragged them to Gagetwon for Milcon.

We were running it out around Conception Bay Harbour Grace for those who know the Rock using a lot of the crown land out there as training areas. Great training areas BTW, rolling hills, copses treelines, fields, valleys, creeks, bogs.

This one night we're sending the boys out on section sized recce. As luck would have it one of the section commanders (Marshall your favourite instructor from CLC) developed this wicked cough and the Pl Comd thought it best if he not go. hard to sneak and peak with someone acting like an extra in a Fishermans Friend commercial right.

So guess who got to take his place. Hey I figured it was better than spending half the night sitting in the vehicle cab leafing through the platoon commanders new junior general's kit and listening to his take on the world at large.

Besides what could go wrong? It wasn't raining, the CO was nowhere around, and I'd already made Sgt.

So a couple of hours later and we're out blundering through the boonies when he hit this wire fence. No problem we cross it tactically and silently. Hey it was an instant training aide for obstacle crossing drills or so I thought. On we go and in the distance about 20-30 yards away we see another fence. This one appears to have a metal or wooden sign tacked on it.

It's time for a brief halt anyway so I put the boys in all around do a quick nav check and decide to satisfy my curiosity about the signs. We might have blundered into private property, but most of the locals know we're in the area as we've been there for about 4 weeks and don't mind. I task one of the troopies to jog over to the sign and see what it says.

A couple of minutes later he's back and tells me it said, â Å“beware of bull.â ? Ok no big whoop, I pass the word quietly around that nobody is to stray into the other field and why. A few minutes later and we're on our way again.

What the numpty didn't tell me was the sign was on the other side of the post.

A few minutes later I notice a large dark shadow a few yards off. We moved past it and I thought it was a rock or a bush until it a) moved, b) stood up c) snorted and d) charged. 

Well I'll tell you adrenalin is a wonderous thing. I've never in my entire lengthy and undistinguished military career seen a fully equipped, heavily armed section of 031s move as fast as those guys did that night towards and over that fence. One second they were all behind me in single file and the next they were ahead of me and moving faster than the locals at the legion when they ring for last call.

For their part they were talking about the demented Sgt Matador for days after. 
It turns out I wheeled brought my SMG up and let loose with a whole 30 rd mag of 9mm blanks at the bull by pure instinct before running and clearing the fence faster than the troopies.

The rest of the evening's patrol was scrubbed. It's hard to be sneaky when you keep breaking out in nervous giggles and your heart‘s still pounding a mile a minute.


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## Slim (30 Jan 2004)

Priceless Dan, Priceless...

Ever try that with the Buffalo in Wainwright?

Some Brits attempted to run across the paddock one evening...I wasn‘t there for that incident but the end result is a sign on the fence outside warning would be thrill seekers that if they are going to run across this field they should do it in 9 seconds, cause the Buffalo can do it in ten...  :skull:


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## Franko (30 Jan 2004)

BWWWAHAHAHAHAAAaaaaa   
Glad all of you are enjoying the thread I thought up.
Master Blaster...care to share?

Great stories guys! Keep ‘em comin‘!

BTW Armymedic...I‘ll take you on in the Dojo...even let you take the first swing    

(just kiddin‘ troops...we actually get along great)

Regards


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## Lexi (30 Jan 2004)

> Originally posted by Franko:
> [qb] And Lexi we wouldn‘t have your company either
> 
> As for how I would survive...no idea, have to play that one out for real...hope I‘m never in that situation.
> ...


I feel special


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## portcullisguy (30 Jan 2004)

Well, I must say I have been enjoying all of these stories immensely, and am a little sad because with less than two years in, I hardly have any stories that come even close to those already here.  I have nothing that can top ‘em.

But I can share a couple of slightly quirky snapshots of last summer, when I was at Meaford for SQ/BIQ.

- First weekend, and confined to base, our pl comd decided to give us some R&R and do a trip to the "beach".  Fully expecting sand and surf, I packed accordingly: pt gear and towel.  Well the "beach", it turns out, was a stoney shoreline, the water was ice cold (in was still only June), and the sun never came out all day.  In spite of this, several lads were sun-fooked as the UV was hitting us all day (we had to spend the ENTIRE day there, as it was "out of sight, out of mind" for the pl comd‘s boss).  The lads got extremely bored, and some fun and games involving crayfish and exposed nether regions were started.  Several bets were taken and several arses became meals for hungry crayfish.  Instructors owed us beers, but we couldn‘t collect until the end of the course.

- I got duped REAL good by a friendly A&SHofC Sgt during the SQ FTX.  After being awake for many hours, and trying to dig our trench through the night, only getting down about 18" in the hard red Meaford clay, Sgt So-and-So pops around to check on the morale (and alertness) of the troops.  "Hey, I got a hammock set up back in the admin area, if you need to catch some winks, I‘m letting troops take turns".  We already had our morning stand-to, and it sounded like a reasonable offer at the time, so I fell for it.  "Sure, thing Sgt!" says I.  "Well grab your rifle, and come on back with me," so off I go!  Half way there, "Oh, you‘re gonna need your sleeping bag, you can‘t use mine".  So back to the trench I go, grab the sleeping bag valise, and then double back to the admin area, all the while following the track plan.  On arrival at the admin area, I‘m standing around waiting for the Sgt, and the other staff are averting their eyes and semi-stifling their giggles.  Took me a while to catch on.  Sgt comes back: "Oh, yeah can‘t do it today we‘re about to start the patrols and stuff, go on back to the trench"... ha ha, joke‘s on me!  Now I am very wary of offers for a "hammock set up at the admin area", especially from A&SH CAN Sgts!

- A particular sect 2ic had irked our entire section, no matter what we did to try and do things right, like every new MCpl, he was always able to bring us down several notches and rub it in to boot.  It became very tiresome, and so as a result, we started working to rule a bit, and taking his instructions literally.  During the BIQ FTX, my fireteam partner and I were one of the security elements on a simple road/bridge ambush (we started out night recce, and got zero sleep the whole night waiting for the main force to arrive).  So, MCpl Unpopular arrives and gives us instructions, telling us to take up a position over there in the tall grass and to remain standing.  It was still dark, but dawn was fast approaching.  At one point, one of us crouched down, but the good MCpl, in an urgent whisper, said to keep standing.  Ok, if you insist!  Receiving no further instructions, we were STILL standing at day break, and about 25 mins later when the EN force coasted down the road, led by our course officer.  "What the *&%@ are those two troops doing standing in the middle of that field?!?!?"  Of course, the "ambush" still went off, and MCpl Unpopular lost a gasket when we tried to explain that we were ordered to remain standing.  But, it was the God‘s honest truth!  Gotcha, Lorne Scots!  Needless to say, neither me or my partner got Top Candidate!

Hope you get a chuckle out of those at least... it may take me a while to get some really high calibre "war stories" though...


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## Danjanou (30 Jan 2004)

portcullisguy, see you do have a few. Just imagine how many you‘ll have in ten years! Then they‘ll be ones about how you picked on the newbies. 

That by the way is a time honoured tradition as Franko noted in the sky hook tale. Ok hands up how many were sent to QM looking for a BFA for the mortar or a pull through for the Carl G or whatever when you first got in?    

Slim there were Buffalso in that Paddock? now you tell me!

Yeah I found that out the hard way on my first time in Wainwright. Walking home from town after a few too many brewskis and decided to take what looked like a good short cut at the time. Hey I knew I was drunk but when the rocks and bushes started moving and snorting I decided to get back over the fence and use the main road.


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## stukirkpatrick (30 Jan 2004)

...there is a pullthrough for the Carl G... 

 

I don‘t have much to tell, but there were a couple incidents off my SQ that I can think of off hand.

*Before a field ‘trip‘, we were waiting around outside of the Dundurn stores when one of us pitiful recruits managed to leave their bush cap inside.  The Master Corporals, being the amused-sadists (respectfully) that they are hung the cap up on the door frame, had us all gather around and pray to the bush-cap gods in a pagan ritual until we were forgiven! 

*Another less amusing (at the time) incident occurred when on the FTX we had a stand-to in early morning, where we all frantically rushed out 
to our trenches, (approx 75 metres uphill from our treeline biv) and begen returning fire from the attackers.  My section was feeling quite happy, until we realized that we were missing two people, who were still sleeping...Since they happened to be the Carl G team, had any armour come at us we would have been helpless.  Needless to say, we were quite chewed out over that, but it did expose a fatal flaw in the buddy/fireteam system


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## Franko (30 Jan 2004)

I got one guy real good. Told him to go get the boresight for the MBGDs from the FCS techs. He looked at me with a weird look. The WO yelled at him"Well...what are you waiting for? The Cpl told you to go get it..SO MOVE!"

He came back 4 hours later...shaking and pure white, looking to see if the WO was around. From around the back of the tank rushed the WO. The poor guy let out an"eeeep!" in shock. The WO passed him a coffee and said "Welcome to the troop".

Regards


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## Pte. Bloggins (30 Jan 2004)

As portcullisguy, I‘m about as newbie as they come but I hope you guys‘ll enjoy these fairly amusing moments from my BMQ/SQ last summer.

Story #1: I‘ve already told this story on another board but it‘s a classic and worth repeating. 
So we‘re out on our SQ FTX and it‘s time for lunch, and time to learn how to light them Coleman stoves. Well, this one guy (not the brightest penny in the fountain) turns the gas on, lights the match and gets distracted for a moment, and the gas catches, this HUGE flame shoots up and gets some of the scrim on his helmet.
So he‘s just sitting there smiling away, pleased that he managed to get the stove lit on the first try, and we‘re all staring at the huge flame coming from his head saying ****** your helmet‘s on fire! He‘s looking back like ‘what?‘ (with this dimly confused look on his face) YOUR HELMET‘S ON FIRE! So finally the MCpl instructor gets himself together (he was trying really hard not to laugh) and grabs his helmet and puts the fire out, as we all roll around on the grass laughing hysterically.

Story #2: So it‘s the end of another week, and the idea in Shilo here was that the best platoon of the week would win the ‘commandant‘s pennant‘, and some much-coveted reward that went with it (a trip in to brandon, for example.) 

So anyway, this week 2 platoon had won, and the course senior goes up to the commandant to collect the pennant on behlaf of his platoon. I guess the moron must have been asleep when they taught ‘saluting with arms‘, cause he halts, salutes the commandant with his LEFT hand, and was about to take the pennant while the commandant gives him this look that could melt ice. So he transfers to rifle over to his other hand and salutes with his right, as all the instructors standing behind her bore holes in the guy with their eyes. I don‘t know what happenned to the guy (he wasn‘t in my platoon) but I wouldn‘t have wanted to be there when his instructors got to him.

Story #3: (I‘m remembering more)So it‘s the night of the course party. (Ours had been a completely bone-dry course and none of us had seen any alcohol for almost 2 months.) One guy (again this was in another platoon) is completely drunk and is lying on his bed. Our pl comd (an Lt, who happenned to be on duty that night) walks in. He goes right up to the guy: ‘pte *****, were you drinking tonight?‘ 

The guy answers back, ‘yes corporal!‘ 
the Lt‘s expression changes and he says, ‘wait, say my rank again‘
‘Corporal!‘(I guess he was so drunk, the bars looked like hooks, I don‘t know)
‘Here, look, I‘ll even take my epaulette off for you. Just....just tell me what I am‘
‘Corporal! (meanwhile, his roommate, with this look of horror on his face, elbows the drunk) uh.....Master Cpl? Sgt? Warrant?....(he leans closer) holy $hit! Lieutenant! I‘m sorry sir!
I think the Lt was too disgusted by this little display to say anything further.


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## Pikache (30 Jan 2004)

A story of what happens when I get stupid drunk.

It was during Cold Fusion last March (work up training ex for reservists going to Bosnia) and I was a GD.
One night we just decided to drink inside, play some euchre. Normally I pace myself, but that night I had 5 beers and 10 shots of JD and vodka. Being small Asian that I am, it meant bad news for me.
So, the guys in there see me get horribly drunk and one guy dared me to do a crazy russian. (snorting a shot of vodka through nose) By this time, I was so out of it that I would have slept with the most fugly girl in the world. I did two.
Somehow I stumbled back to my shacks, (apparently I marched back with full extension of arms and everything) and I insulted everyone I met. I don‘t know why I didn‘t get beat up. (By this time, I don‘t remember much, so this is what my friend tells me)
My friend puts me to bed and goes away. When they came back to check on me, I was gone. Couple of shouts of ‘Where the **** is he?‘
They find me in the bathroom hurling chunks into the water fountain apparently. It must have became the amusement of the entire floor as everyone got inside the bathroom and bunch of guys with beer chanting and my face looking like a prune. (My friend took a video of this with a digital camera)
Somehow they drag my *** back to bed and I shouted stuff like ‘Wipe my face! Wipe my face!‘ and ‘My liver hurts!‘. The medic was brought in to see if I was going to die. A sentry was posted on me just in case I did die or something.

Next morning I get up and you can guess how I felt. Actually, I didn‘t feel too bad. I got dressed for work and got transported to range where I was sentry. The range officer wants to talk with me and I almost pissed my pants as this big black guy who‘s also in a SWAT team jacks me  up for being stupid.
The hangover really didn‘t hit until I was at my post. Luckily, all I had to do was sit inside the truck with the radio.
For next couple of days, I was known as ‘the kid who got horribly drunk‘. Even some reg force guys knew about this. Stories does travel fast in the army.


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## Danjanou (30 Jan 2004)

Sorry kirkpatrick, hadn‘t had my morning coffee. Meant to say M-72.

Hey I‘m old give me a break.


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## stukirkpatrick (30 Jan 2004)

Perfectly alright,

even us young upstarts make mistakes too.

The difference is that we get yelled at more...


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## meni0n (30 Jan 2004)

Pte.Bloggins I remember that Lt well. I think he liked to walk around give everyone crap. Is that 4 platoon you‘re talking about in #3 because I think we had this happen. We also had one guy sleeping on his bed fully clothed. The Lt came in, asks if the guy is drunk, kicks the guy‘s shoe to wake him up, guy gets up half way, says "Sir" and passes out.


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## Franko (30 Jan 2004)

OK troops...everyone has a drinking story. Everyone‘s been there and done that.

Let‘s try to keep it to being sober...like you would be if you were on ROTO...can‘t stand hearing all the booze stories...sweet drunk talk...er..

Like I said...NO MORE DRINKING STORIES   

Regards


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## Pikache (30 Jan 2004)

I smell jealousy.


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## Franko (30 Jan 2004)

Just miss being treated like a 32 yr old adult should.   

Mind you some of the youngins‘ can‘t handle 2 beer a day   

Regards


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## Korus (30 Jan 2004)

Alrighty, I‘m one of the newish troopies too, so.. well.. yeah.

Anyways, SQ FTX this summer in WATC Wainwright. I was in the Pl that got cocked relentlessley. (For those who were in the other platoons, remember that weekend you guys got off? And *we* where sweeping the ******* roads around the shacks? yeah.. that Pl)

Anyways, we did out FTX beside another platoon, although not togethor. I don‘t even think they where attacked in thier defensive positions once. 

I‘ve got a couple of short stories..

Firstly, I was C9 gunner for half the ex (The previous c9 gunner twisted his ankle in a gopher hole). This one evening, We where on 25% stand to, and we‘d gotten a meal downrange, and I figured it was prime opportunity to field strip my C9 to clean it up a bit. Out Sect Commander strolled down to our hide where we where sitting, with his hands clasped behind his back. He asked us how we where doing. "Not bad Sgt" where most of the replies. The Sgt then smiled, and from behind his back produced an arty sim. The second I saw that, I looked back to my now field stripped C9, and back to the SGT again, just as he threw it. Needless to say, I had a fun time scrambling to get that thing back togethor and run up to the trenches.

I‘ve got some more recruit course stories (from the angle of a recruit    ), but I‘ve got to bug out right now...


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## PTE Gruending (30 Jan 2004)

Yeah Korus, what was up with your course? I heard you guys got cocked because it was full of plugs (present company excluded of course). Your PL comd must have had something to prove ;-)... As for me, I had a delightful time in WATC this summer...




> Originally posted by Korus:
> [qb] Alrighty, I‘m one of the newish troopies too, so.. well.. yeah.
> 
> Anyways, SQ FTX this summer in WATC Wainwright. I was in the Pl that got cocked relentlessley. (For those who were in the other platoons, remember that weekend you guys got off? And *we* where sweeping the ******* roads around the shacks? yeah.. that Pl)
> ...


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## kosstro (30 Jan 2004)

First of all, i‘m no veteran, but this a story we can all laugh at. 
Last winter i was on my winter sq course(reserves) and we were headed out to the bush for our winter indoc( i won‘t reveal where) Anyway, soon we were trudging down a trail, full marching order, wearing snowshoes, and pulling the ‘boggans, despite offers of help from the dozens of skidooers ripping past us.  Anyway, the section with the Carl Gustav Gunner (a certain russian troop who will go unnamed for his sake, herein to referred to as ‘russian‘) was a few minutes ahead of our section.  After about an hour of this, we looked up to see the section ahead of us come running down the trail past us. Yes, running, with all their kit on snowshoes. The corporal asked their sergeant just what was going on, and this sergeant, with an anger voice mixed with panic, replied "russian forgot the gustav" Oh my ******* god were the first words out of everyone‘s mouth.  A couple hours later, Gustav slung with care around said russian‘s neck, one of the troopies told me what happened: they were going down the trail, when the sergeant noticed something just wasn‘t quite right. He stopped the section and stared at them for a few moments when a shocked look came over his face. He asked russian where the gustav was, and instead of telling him that he had left it at hq tent, he simply said ‘i don‘t know‘. The sergeant started screaming, and they ran for their lives, paranoid that perhaps a curious snowmobiler had picked himself up a souvenir from the side of the trail. Anyway, they found the gustav, the sergeant smoked half a pack to calm down, and everything seemed ok.  They were punished by the sergeant waking them at 5am, and taking them for ‘a search for the gustav‘ on a hilltop a few km‘s away.  However, this was not the end of russian‘s antics.  when we were leaving, i happened to be course senior, so i was instructed to get everyone on the bus with weapons, and kit, and we would be on the way home. This would be quite, easy, and was, except for the russian. When everyone was on the bus, and i counted them, i was one short.  i went back outside to see russian wandering around the parkinglot frantically scanning the snowbanks for something. Now, he was holding his gustav( he wouldn‘t put the thing down after the first incident) he had his rifle slung, and was wearing his webbing, helmet and kit. He mumbled something about looking for his rounds, but i didn‘t catch what he said.  I reassured him his rounds were with the CG assistant on the bus, and to get the **** on before we got in trouble. Just then, this same sergeant wandered over and said ‘what‘s wrong?‘ russian responded " i can‘t find my rifle, sergeant" Both me and the sergeant screamed at him simultaneously "it‘s on your ****** back, you moron!!" everyone on the bus, who was watching this out the window, howls with hysterical laughter, and russian sullenly gets on the bus.  The sergeant takes a couple deep breaths, and we sort of look at each other and shake our heads. As we get on the bus, he says to me,"if i was one step closer i would‘ve decked him"
Just one, of many, many hilarious/stupid things that guy did during that course


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## Franko (30 Jan 2004)

Seems like a common occurance with every course in that there is one ‘Wedge‘ in there somewhere.

MASTERBLASTER....We‘re waiting   

Regards


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## Danjanou (30 Jan 2004)

Kosstro, please, please tell me this numpty was not a Foot Guard. We‘ll never hear the end of it from Michael Dorosh if he was and he sees this post.


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## Korus (30 Jan 2004)

> I heard you guys got cocked because it was full of plugs


Yeah, there where a lot of "individuals" on my course. Most of them where fresh of their basic too so, naturally, they knew everything. I at least had a year with the unit between my BMQ and SQ.. (I didn‘t want to do a part time SQ)

Hey, Kosstro.. is that "russian" who I think it is? (BMQ)


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## Garry (31 Jan 2004)

Lots of funny ones, here‘s one that‘s not funny, and is burned into my memory.......

I spent a year in the PEIR before going regs. 1977 MILCON, somewhere in Nova Scotia. We were Jeep Recce, and had had a ball roaring around the back country roads. While I had no idea how the "Big Picture" was making out, I did know the smaller stuff. We had been chasing a Highland Regiment for quite sometime, and had finally cornered them in a small copse of trees surrounded by large open fields. There were several fence lines of barbed wire between us and them: getting past us was near impossible. We ground mounted the GPMG‘s in the treeline, and waited to see what would happen. Our "Artillery" started pounding them, and we knew that whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon.

Their mortars threw a smoke screen up halfway between us and them. The smoke soon developed into a lovely screen, blocking our view of the woods entirely.

Suddenly, I could hear the sounds of the pipes loading up, and through the smoke I could see a single piper advancing. Close behind him was the entire Company, advancing in line, bayonets fixed.

It took me several seconds to get my act together- the sound of the MG‘s going off on either side of me brought me back to reality, and we chewed them up.

I still get goose bumps each and every time I remember this.

You may not be able to choose when you‘re going to die, but you can sure as hail choose how.

Cheers-Garry


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## Spr.Earl (31 Jan 2004)

Garry,that derserve‘s a Army Bumper Sticker!   
Never under estimate our Cross Dresser‘s!    
(I‘m going to get stick for that one)  :warstory:


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## Spr.Earl (31 Jan 2004)

This is a gooder!!!

Every one know‘s who Big Bird is?
(that Megafugly yellow thing)

Well back in 78/79 in 1 C.E.R. we‘s in the Field for the usuel 2 month annule Ex.
Well the Officer‘s mascot was Big Bird.


It whent A.W.O.L.!!

All Troop‘s and Sqn.‘s in Order‘s got the info of Big Bird is missing.

All us Sapper‘s are going who‘s got the B*&$h?
Non of us!!

Ransome note with Photo!!!

Big Bird with a 9 M.M. to the head!
x case‘s of beer or the Bird get‘s it!!


All **** let‘s lose!!!
Tent line‘s being searched etc.!!

All the J.R.‘s are being accused but non of us knew anything about it and are getting blamed.

Next Ransome Note with Photo! 
Big Bird‘s arm sent and the ransome increased xx case‘s of beer!!


The Officer‘s are going spare!!!  :crybaby:  

Well to make a long story short.

The last ransome photo and note was Big Bird shot to **** on a range!!   

What happened was the Reg. Small Arm‘s Shoot Team came in and took the F‘n thing and shot the life out of it !!    

And one of the guy‘s who did it I work with him today and only learnt the truth a couple of month‘s ago.   

Amongst us old Fart‘s from 1 C.E.R. will know about that one!!

Note:Not to be mistaken for our "Big Bird" yes we have a Big Bird in the Engineer‘s.
Good Man!!


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## Slumsofsackville (31 Jan 2004)

Wont tell you the Ice ones about me. 


OK, but on Ql3 on our 5 day field ex last day, and one night left, where in the defensive, So the other guy and me digging the trench for the HQ, so I dug in a area where one was just covered over, (GOOD THINKING) and it was some hot 35+ and I see a bunch of ppl dropping of somehting to the trenches, Oh good extra ammo, but when they came to us it was popisicles, OMG IAM IAM dreaming, SO I had to lick it, Still though I was Dreaming, So I ate it, then 10mins later another ones comes, HOLY CRAP, This is sweet. 


3-4 hours later the Trench is all complete, YAH, not bad for one guy and a Etool  Wile the other was on the radio. Durring that night we got bumped, STAND TOO, So where were stilling in our trenches, All messed up from lack of sleeping, start hearing animals sounds, at first we thought we were dreaming. No where wern‘t, So I took the radio, CONTACT, WOOOOT, SO Where in Depth, No firing :-( No dirty Weapon 

Then Our OP gets on the radio, saying that there was movment on the road, and permission to engage. Of Course the officer diddn‘t want to give there position away, and told them to just watch. So the OP says they getting closer and against asks to engage, the officer asks how many, he says 8, HMMMM So The officer asks what are they, the OP Says PPL, No officer says What are they Civi or military ( BECUASE PPL SNEAK IN) OP Not sure, Then the officer Asks what they are wearing, OP army fatigues. (SO BINGO THEY OPFOR) 

SO I dont know, OP must have been too loud, the enemy bumped them, And I though cops were on, becuase all I heard was repeat I need backup, Repeat I need backup. ( I dont remember but alot of Funny things Said ) Then the radio was Dead, OPPS OP Over run..

Where pissing out selfs in the HQ Trench. Everything went smoothley. in the morning, The OP returns, looking like bags of crap. they were bound and gaged, sandbagged, weapon in pieces, and radio apart. We think someone fell a Sleep. man was it the best night of my life.

I think the pink bunny visited me 2 Durring the attack. 

Man QL3 Stories. 


Another, Seeing a Training Grenade Fall on the officer Groin From the rafters, And watching Him Try to point It away from the Goods. His face wasn‘t nice.


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## Spr.Earl (31 Jan 2004)

Here‘s another!!

"The Pink Gelly Bean"


Forget what year but I built the Shower‘s and all the plumbing in the Field,we had 15 Fd,5 Tribe RCA along with 6Fd and 44 Fd all in the same area.

The night of the BIG EX. I was stuck in the C.P.

Well I‘m shoonzzing away and letting the young Jimmy‘s monitor the net(about 03 dark) 

It was a silent Net for the Ex.

When over the net come‘s! 

"Who‘s got The Pink Gelly Bean?"

Well being a good Sapper I wake‘s UP!!
NET ALIVE!!!

First call sign come‘s on and say‘s 
"Un called sign stay off net."
It was the Seaforth‘s!


The  bugger had all the call sign‘s and answerd them back in a Scot‘s accent and said "Up Your Kilt!!

Next thing was the net whent nut‘s!!

Whoa!! The investigation of who broke radio silence and who was it was un real!

I got interviewed!!


Just bored Militia Plug I guess!!! LOL

It created quite stir that one did!!

Who‘s got the Pink Gelly Bean!! LOL


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## Franko (31 Jan 2004)

PAGEING MASTER BLASTER

We‘re waiting   

Regards


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## Foxhound (31 Jan 2004)

Hey troops.  Just joined the forum and thought that this would be the perfect thread for my first post.

It was one of those rare Northern Norwegian nights where the weather couldn't have been colder.  We were 1 RCR and had just entered the tactical phase of a six-week NATO exercise.  My section had a standing patrol out, and the rest of us back in the tent came to the conclusion that except for the patrol, there was no reason to venture out into the â â€œ20 air.  Well, there was ONE reason.

Try as he might, Cpl. Bloggins (no names, no pack drill) was not going to be able to avoid taking a stroll down the hill to the shi**er.  Now the commode, as you have probably surmised, was lacking several features that in civilian life I have come to take for granted, most notably â â€œ a seat.  As time went by, the visible discomfort on Cpl. Bloggins' face began to convey the amount of discomfort that was going on in Cpl. Bloggins' other bits.  When the reason for Cpl. Bloggins' distress became known to the rest of the section, we naturally encouraged him (gently) to go on and take care of things.  Much hilarity ensued.

Now Cpl. Bloggins was a nasally voiced Newf whose pitch and intonation was such that he could have us all in stitches within five sentences of one of his famous war stories.  His main hobby, as far as we could tell, was to eat every unwanted ration in sight.  He had augmented this hobby by buying a fair selection of Norwegian cheeses during the non-tactical phase of the ex. and bringing a lot of it with him in his ruck.  As we sat around watching the sweat start to run down his ruddy face, we took turns offering helpful suggestions, most having to do with things like corks and 84 mm ordnance.  Bloggins himself was most helpful by describing in vivid detail the interesting sensations he was experiencing, punctuated frequently by plaintive interjections like, â Å“Oh jeez!â ? and the odd prayer.

There naturally came a point where internal pressure overcame the desire for warmth and the company of sympathetic comrades.  A sudden look of what can only be described as a realization of imminent disaster came over Bloggins' anguished features briefly before he hit the tent's zipper like a madman.  Unable in his hurry to manipulate said zipper, he simply lifted the bottom of the tent and rolled out into the freezing night followed by our compassionate howls and barks of laughter.  Then he was gone.

For twenty minutes he was gone.  Upon his return, the look of pure relief he brought back with him had us busting out again.  After the sincere congratulations for his endurance and bravery, Bloggins, with coffee in hand, was again in fine form to begin one of his often-heard tales.  He resumed his place near the stove and began to hold forth.  About ten minutes into his story, we began to detect a peculiar fragrance, which had not been present before Bloggins' hasty departure earlier.  At first, we began accusing one another of excessive flatulence, but no one would admit to anything conclusive.  A search for the source was initiated and after much tossing of air mattresses and sleeping bags, there was not one skunk or dead wildebeest to be found.

It was Bloggins who discovered the origin of the odor by turning around to get more coffee and showing us the (now melting) brown stain leaking out through the fabric in the back of his whites.

The following morning we all showed up for sick parade to have the M.O. stitch our asses back on after laughing them off the night before.  Our section commander reserved for himself the right to be the one to tell the quartermaster why Bloggins needed new whites and wind pants.

Beaver!


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## Danjanou (31 Jan 2004)

And we have a winner. Foxhound, welcome aboard. 
Well we‘ve gone from animals, to sex in the shacks, alcohol abuse, and now we‘ve reached it, toilet humour. 

I don‘t know about the rest of you but I‘d rather be sitting around a table telling these to each other in person with an endless supply of cold ones. However this will make do untio then.

The domestic niner is giving me dirtyy looks. I‘m supposed to off running errands for an upcoming trip and I‘m sitting here peeing myself I‘m laughing so hard, and I just spewed my cuppa tea over the keyboard with the last one.

Keep it going Franko I think we all needed this. I‘ll try and post a couple more before I take off for a month. Everytime I read one it triggers another similar incident.


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## Mike Bobbitt (31 Jan 2004)

Ok, I've been reading and loving this thread, it's one of the best one's I've seen in a long time. Had some good laughs over the stories and I figured it was time to contribute...  There may be inaccuracies in this story, but it is told as I remember it.

The night before our Phase IV Infantry grad parade, we had a full blown Mess Dinner at the Officer's Mess in Gagetown. Our instructors made it plenty clear that proper conduct was expected, and while "Behaves at a Mess Dinner" was not a PO (contrary to popular belief) we could still be failed at this late stage. Blame it on being from a â Å“country Regiment,â ? but I probably had a skewed view of what was acceptable at (or after) a Mess Dinner.

We did the usual mingling beforehand and when the call came, we shuffled in and took our assigned seats. The place next to me was reserved for Col Ike Kennedy (of the Airborne) though he hadn't yet shown up. I decided that as his courses arrived, I'd make good with them. Especially the drinks. I sure hoped that he didn't show up at some point and see his half-eaten filet mignon and empty glass.

Well after 10 weeks of slogging away, a great meal and a double load of sherry, wine and port, I was not completely prepared for what came next.

We retired to the basement and sat around talking.

I quickly decided this wasn't how my night was going to end up, and tried to â Å“rally the troopsâ ? to something more interesting. There was mild interest, but cooler heads probably decided they could wait one more day to celebrate. However, my long time partner in crime (who I'll call Lt. â Å“Cohort,â ? though I suspect Doug knows who it is) was ready for action, as was the norm. From different Regiments, we'd been room-mates through all the Phases except this one, and had been the C6 team nearly every time we went to the field.

The next little while was spent coming up with a suitable plan. I don't remember whose idea it was, though I suspect it was the suggestion of an instigator that sealed our fate.

Since grad parade was tomorrow, we thought it would be eminently witty if, when the Leopards dropped their barrels in salute on the drive past, fresh fruit rolled out onto the parade ground. We armed ourselves with apples and oranges from the dinner and promptly left. We made a quick stop at the shacks to change out of our CF's, replacing them with combat pants, our course T-Shirt and generous amounts of cam. As I recall, there was a case of beer on the go as well, so we refuelled before heading out.

Knowing roughly where the vehicle compounds were in relation to our shacks, we plotted a straight line route, taking is directly through one of the only copses of woods in the entire base. (West of J7.) The forest was full of deadfall and stumps but as this is pretty much the norm for any wooded area in Gagetown we weren't slowed from our running pace.

We spent the next while running around the compounds near Range Control, trying in vain to find our tracked targets. It wasn't long before the fun started to wear off, and we decided to amend our plan. Fate had placed us near the Arty compound, where several ADATS were parked, waiting for our willing hands. Knowing full well that the Arty's guns are their colours, we had brief reservations, but after all, it *was* the Artillery, and bird gunners at that.

I scaled the fence and was approaching the ADATS when out of the blue a Military Police car came screaming up the road. Lt. â Å“Cohortâ ? dove in the ditch and I, lacking cover, simply lay still next to the track of the ADATS. It seemed impossible, but somehow, someone had detected our stealthy approach. To reinforce the fact that this was no co-incidence, the MP car stopped dead directly across from us. It couldn't have been any closer without driving into the ditch with Lt. â Å“Cohort.â ?

The God of Comfortable Vehicles smiled upon us that night though, and after a few tense minutes, the MPs drove away without ever getting out of their car.

We gave each other a smug look and with Lt. â Å“Cohortâ ? keeping watch, I went immediately back to work. It was clear what had to be done. All summer the trades had engaged in friendly rivalry. Simple vandalism was unacceptable, it would be vulgar and without class. We had to use our limited supplies of fresh fruit and cam sticks to send a message to the gunners about the superiority of our trade...

Our work done, we returned to the shacks, where the party was still going on. We joined in wholeheartedly, getting to bed sometime before dawn.

The next morning, my eyes cracked open and I dragged myself out of bed. Nursing a bit of a headache, I sauntered over to the window and threw back the drapes to let in the day. I couldn't believe my eyes, and literally leapt back from the window in surprise. There, parked directly outside my window, was *the* ADATS with â Å“INF #1â ? hastily scrawled on the side facing me. Clearly jig was up, and I was about to be marched out to clean the vehicle with a toothbrush before being failed off the course in disgrace.

But wait... The ADATS was flanked by other AFV's in a line extending down the street in both directions. It slowly dawned on me that the vehicles were simply lined up in preparation for grad parade, and it was blind coincidence that the â Å“markedâ ? vehicle ended up directly outside my window.

As the sun got hotter, I watched in relief as the mixture of cam stick and fruit bits seemed to dissolve. By the time the ADATS rolled past the brass on parade, it was all but invisible to the untrained eye. The rest of the day passed uneventfully.

No good story is complete without visual aids. Here are a couple pics I managed to track down of the actual parade and the vehicles involved...

  
	

	
	
		
		

		
			




*The Leopards we couldn't find, doing the fateful salute on parade. Oh how I wish I had been able to make this picture more memorable.     *

  
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	



*The "marked" ADATS. The writing on the side is effectively invisible, which is just as well in retrospect.*


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## hoganshero (31 Jan 2004)

I guess I should contribute.

While doing basic we had a SGT who liked to instill us with the proper amount of pride when we did just about everything. In formation at the postion of attention before the shacks awaiting the order to turn and begin marching we were suddenly ordered to at ease and then to stand easy. The SGT directed our attention to a local red-tailed hawk in the tree in fornt of us. We were advised to admire it‘s pride and bearing. after about a minute we were brought to attention and marched to the parade square for a lesson in drill. About 5 min into the drill lesson the Hawk flew over the shacks and was heading toward the parade square. We were extolled th evirtues of such a proud hunter and advised to be more liek it in all of our tasks. Mid sentence the same Hawk swooped low over us and.... shat on one of us privates. Without finishing his thoughts the SGT ordered the private to fallout and report to the shacks to change his shirt. Nothing more was said about pride or hawks for the day. However the training cadre did nickname the private ****hawk for the rest of the course.


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## Spanky (31 Jan 2004)

A number of years ago at CAC, my cougar gunner (Recce Guy)sent the driver off for a metric adjustable.  She spent a period of time asking the mechs for one.  She finally returned with an adjustable stamped with the manufacturers name "Imperial" tool company.  It was too good to be true.


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## dwild40 (31 Jan 2004)

Alright Here‘s another.  
On Ex in Shilo attatched to the RCR playing enemy force for the CAR.  It‘s mid February and on the move mostly piloted around in hueys by 427 sqdn.  Which was great.  We, the section, are lounging during down time in our bell tent.  One guy Ramsbottom, loved to do the cooking.  This is back when rations came in a can.  Canned ham and eggs, Canned bacon, Canned chicken stew, Canned cake, etc... And they were heated up in a pressure cooker on the coleman stove.  We all handed Ramsbottom our cans of stew and some how we / he got distracted and lost track of time.  Well there was a loud explosion as the lid blew off the pressure cooker, and stew was sprayed all over us and the inside of the tent and our sleeping bags.  We all dove for cover behind our air mattress sofas at the sound of the blast but there was one guy from the GGFG with nerves of steel.  He didn‘t even flinch I guess.  He just sat there and calmly wiped his face.  But picture this if you will.  Gravy, veggies, mechanically deboned chicken and beef all over everything and everyone, and the steam.  Me, I scrambled out of the tent via under the wall.  We all did.  Days later we‘d start laughing so hard whenever we looked at each other because of the image of that GGFG Cpl calmly blinking with stew bits all over his face.  Fortunately no one got hurt, and we found the pressure cooker lid 10 meters away. 

At the end of the excersize we were assembled in one of the bldg‘s on base and were tasked to cleaning our gear before retiring to the barracks.  I was on of the first ones finished so I walked over to our assigned barracks.  Nobody else was around so I got to hit the facilities first.  In the washroom was the biggest and deepest tub I had ever seen.  I had myself a nice long hot bath.  Lounging in the tub reading a book the only thing missing was scented candles.  HA!  ( that was a joke by the way ) Pretty soon someone was pounding on the door to hurry me up.  Okay I got out finished my business.  How was I to know I used up our entire allotment of hot water.  My Name was MUD for a month till that flack blew over.  I really felt bad cause we had been out in the bush in Manitoba for 10 days in the middle of February, and I knew every one was looking forward to a hot shower.


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## Franko (1 Feb 2004)

Mike...I used to drive that dumb___ parade every summer for the grads and the fresh fruit thing in the barrels we let go for the practice...the parade we clear guns and check the barrel so nice try.   

We even put up banners on the sides of our Leo‘s with such slogans as "Eyes Front Monkeys!" and " It‘s almost over Crunchies!"   

As for pulling a prank on the RESO students it‘s a known fact that Phase and Reso Armour students drop their pants during the roll past...an honoured tradition? I don‘t think so but it‘s funny none the less. So back to the RESO students, I warned one chap that if he did that in my Cougar he‘ll get one big surprise. The entire troop of Reg force guys threatened the same for all of the student CCs for parade. They thought we were kidding...until roll past time. So we roll out and swing&dip the guns, students saluting. I look over and all I see is crumpled trousers on the seat. Out comes the tube of bearing grease and it is deposited...er...well you know where.   

After the rollpast was completed the students made a mad dash to the shacks, all to our and the DS‘s laughter   

Regards

BTW...Keep ‘em comin‘ !


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## Foxhound (1 Feb 2004)

Aw, thanks Danjanou.  I'm with you 100% on the cold beers 'n bullshort session.  All this helmet-wearing puts me right back in that tent with Cpl. Bloggins swapping a few lies before we rack out.  These are all great stories, so this thread could go on a while.

wildfong, I was on that ex.  We had four Googy-Foogies attached in to our pl.  That Airborne drop was billed as the largest Canadian drop since Korea.  After getting into defensive positions, that night even though it was frighteningly cold, we all stayed outside to watch the drop.  Afterwards we went to ground with OP's out at the crew-served â Å“trenchesâ ?.  Naturally we RCR's made the reserves stand the first watch.  Our pl., our very section was on the FEBA.  In fact, we were the â Å“contactâ ? in â Å“Advance to contact.â ? as far as the Airborne was concerned.  The two young lads we had out at the MG trench apparently preferred another role for themselves and buggered off at the high port as soon as they heard the boots on the ground headed in their particular direction.  The Airborne Regiment introduced themselves by tossing a lit thunderflash through our stove hole.

So this one year, at band camp ..........

Well, R.V. '81 actually.  Gagetown.  Summer.  It was hot in exactly the same way that the planet Pluto isn't.  Thank (insert name(s) of deity(ies) here) I got out of it!

1 RCR Corps of Drums was tasked to spend the first half of the ex. in the field, then was yanked out to rehearse for the Nova Scotia Tattoo at the Metro Center in Halifax.  Now, we were a band, sure.  But we were going to be sharing a stage with REAL musicians like the RCR band, and the USMC band from Quantico.  Our job was to go â Å“Oom-pahâ ? and keep some sort of a beat.  (Big shout out to Bobby Scott, voted â Å“The Ugliest Man in NATO, 1978", and Nelson â Å“Boom-boomâ ? Bishop)  We had to PRACTICE!  When I come to think of it, while the guys on the ex. were probably able to find some shade somewhere, even if it was at the bottom of a trench, we were bivouacked in a steel shed off the side of a highway and had to practice our drill for hour after hour in its gravel parking lot.  Maybe I didn't get out of anything.

In fact, if you were in Halifax at the time, you will probably remember seeing advertising posters all over town with the drummer in scarlets.  That was Rick Fortune, one of our buglers who was picked to be the poster child (his nickname for a while) because he was this big, photogenic lad, former Golden Gloves boxer who, when he smiled, showed just how many teeth he'd lost in the ring.  He's holding the drumsticks wrong in the poster.

Eventually the platoon is flown to Halifax to start dress rehearsals and naturally, our pl. cmdr. was with us.  Now, Lt. er..., Condiment was one of the very best infantry officers ever.  A real gentleman we would have followed anywhere he led.  Lt. Condiment had little to do with our musical side beyond supervising our booking schedule, but he was our cheering section everywhere we went.

There were six days of rehearsals and dress rehearsals before the opening show.  Lt. Condiment tried to stay interested and occupied during rehearsals, but eventually must have gotten bored and started bringing stuff to read.  Then he would disappear, we assumed to find some purveyor of liquid refreshment, and sometimes re-appear slightly squiffed.

One of the units performing at the tattoo that absolutely fascinated us grunts was the USMC Silent Drill Team.  If you ever get a chance to see these guys, go see them.  For those of you who haven't had the chance, a brief description is in order.  The Silent Drill Team is exactly that.  I believe there is a single word of command given at the start of their routine, then not a sound save the slap of palms against the wood and chromed steel of M-1's with bayonets fixed.  Their drill routine is such that they seem to defy death as they march between rapidly spinning blades without blinking an eyelash.  During rehearsals, everybody in the Metro Center stopped what he or she was doing when the Drill Team was on the floor.  The units that were on after the Drill Team watched from the â Å“wingsâ ?, the performers' entrance on the floor, while the units that had already performed watching from the seats.  They always got standing ovations from the other units present.

So, opening night.  There were a few dignitaries in attendance, I forget exactly who, but I believe â Å“Lt. Governorâ ? or â Å“Governor-Generalâ ? was mentioned.  We were on after the Marine Band and the Drill Team.  Lt. Condiment had nipped out that afternoon for supper at the above alluded-to establishment, intending to return for the RCR bit.  In fact he returned just as the Drill Team was taking the floor.  The entire audience at the Metro Center was held spellbound for the entire routine.  Occasional oohs and aahs would be heard from the audience as the Drill Team performed some dangerous-looking or impossible manouvre.

There is a point in the routine where all the rifle-spinning ends and the team is in one rank in front of the dignitaries' section.  There is a pause, which is the time where the audience is supposed to realize that the routine is over and it is now time for much-deserved applause.  This pause is exactly long enough for somebody watching from the wings, with a voice exactly like Lt. Condiment's to speak out loud enough for at least eight sections to hear in the afore-mentioned silence:  â Å“YAAH, BUT CAN YA FIRE THE FORKIN' THINGS!â ? before the applause actually occurs.  Thankfully, the applause covered our laughter.

D.D.C.O.S.U. & F.


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## Franko (2 Feb 2004)

BWWHAHAHAHAAaaaaaa   

Keep ‘em comin‘

Regards


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## Bruce Monkhouse (2 Feb 2004)

I posted this a long time ago but here it is again. We were firing in Otterburn, England and started some pretty good grass fires. Anyone who has been there knows what the ground can be like. Anyway we are all stuffed in the back of a large english vehichle and come to a sudden stop. The very new and very KEEN lt. comes running around the back of the truck and yells "follow me men!". He then steps off the road and promptly sinks waist deep into a solid-looking bog complete with arm still pointing the way for us to follow. Needless to say our good Sgt. declined the offer and we went another way.  CHEERS


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## Franko (3 Feb 2004)

So I understand that everyone is having a good time. So am I. Gimmie some freakin‘ votes (good) will ya?    I don‘t care ‘bout that stuff. Anyway on with the stories......

Has anyone sent a newbie for a metric adjustable...or sent them to pick up laser dots off the IMR floor, or retrieve the road wheel repair kit?   

Speaking of which...had a new guy in and he wanted to help us work on the M548s. We looked at each other and said "Sure but wait until after lunch". He went off and I went with a bud and saw the guy working the tool crib. He went by the name of "Groovie" Kean, a Queens Cpl with 32 years service...a good man. So he put toether a "road whell repair kit". It consisted of chunks of road wheel rubber torn from the tanks, rubber cement, a blow torch, and some knives and files.

We told the new guy the chips and chunks in the road wheels HAD to be fixed or the track could be thrown. He asked where he could get such a kit and we sent him to Groovie.

He came back with the kit...with a puzzeled look on his face. He then got to work...cleaning the tears...applying the rubber cement...heating the rubber with the torch...carving the chunks to fit..etc.

He worked well past after we left...he‘s a darn good worker.

We all come in the next day for a good laugh...the 548 is DONE!   

The patches held so well that when we had to change the road wheels months later the patches were STILL there...

Needless to say the guy was in...as for the patch kit we got rid of it in case someone thought it was a good idea   

Regards


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## Mike Bobbitt (3 Feb 2004)

Here‘s another qiuck one... We were on a full blown combat team attack, complete with 80 or so vehicles from M113‘s to Leopards. Probably don‘t see too many of those these days...

Anyway, our OC was a fairly stern man, could make a seasoned soldier break a sweat just by tearing a strip off him.

The attack is going in fairly well (down the Lawfield, as I recall) and we‘re screaming towards the objective like madmen. Doesn‘t take long before we‘re almost there, just another 500-600m or so before we dismount to put in the attack.

Some joker in the hull decides he‘d play a trick and goes on the intercom (not the company net) and yells "DISMOUNT! DISMOUNT! DISMOUNT!" Well the driver thinks it‘s the OC‘s word of command and jams the binders on. We come to a screeching halt, the latches let go and the ramp begins to drop. Meanwhile, the rest of the combat team is zooming past us, towards the objective.

Well joker realizes what the OC will do to him if he throws a wrench into the attack, and doesn‘t think it‘s so funny any more. He scrambles to tell driver and crew commander what happened before people start bailing out.

Somehow we managed to get the ramp up and get going again before anyone too important noticed, but we were all sweating bullets over that one!


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## Franko (3 Feb 2004)

What year was that Mike? 

CTCC courses was a complete wate of time for the troops in my sqn, we knew every nook and crannie of that training area. BORING   

Seriously though...what year?

Regards


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## Garry (4 Feb 2004)

Groovie- he‘s still around? Excellent guy...

General is in to inspect the C-Force panzers. We‘re all at attention, inside the hangar behind the tanks, and my Bud immediately across from me is waving his arm, telling me to sneak across and see something. Inspection party is still at the Sqn HQ Tanks, so I have time. Over I go. He‘s glued valve stems to the roadwheels!!!

Note: we‘d been having some road wheel problems, and trial on new types were ongoing.

General, CO, and asorted hangers on arrived, and my Bud and his crew are at attention. General notices the valve stems, and asks what‘s up with these. Bud answers "New Inflatable Road Wheel trials, Sir!" General answers "very good. Major, keep me informed"...Major, BC, et al are losing it, as are all the rest of us. Funny, but the SSM seemed upset.....

It‘s the people that make a Regiment.


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## Spr.Earl (4 Feb 2004)

This happened yonk‘s ago.
The man who did this ended up in the US. S.F.

Only seen him once since he left Van.
May still be US S.F.

Every year we used to a full dress Annule  Inspection by the Area Commander.

Well old Spr. Bloggin‘s made up a name tag of S@$thead and wore it on parade!
Not even the Gen., C.O. or S.Sgt/Maj caught it.

Yup old ShitHead passed muster!


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## muskrat89 (4 Feb 2004)

I haven‘t seen too many stories involving fecal matter....

How about the time the lads saw so-and-so headed off to the woods with shovel and roll of bumwipe. His plan being obvious, some creative thinkers scampered off to the woods, cautiously snuck up behind him, caught everything with a long-handled shovel, and retreated. Don‘t know if you‘ve noticed, but when you poop in the woods, it‘s almost a sub-conscious compulsion to turn around and admire you handiwork, before leaving. So-and-so returned, looking kind of sheepish. Curiously, he wouldn‘t tell anyone what was bothering him....


A hearsay, which I know is verboten.. but from a reliable source. Maybe Gunner or RCA have heard of this one. This good friend of mine, while in another Unit, told me of the day they were moving the Regiment‘s Guns, via Chinook. Sgt So-and-So (a different one, than above) had finished with the recce at a new Gun Position, and decided to take advantage of one of the porta-potties located nearby. Seems he was in there, enjoying a comfortable moment, when one of the Chinooks decided to settle in with the first Gun. Seems it was close enough that the propwash caused said pottie to tumble, end for end, almost the entire length of the Gun Position. Buddy was beat up pretty good, but apparently not good enough for the medics to let him ride IN the ambulance, on the way back to camp. Covered as he was with the chemical concoction, the back of a 5/4 cargo had to suffice...

On a winter warfare ex, a good friend of mine showed up at an O group looking somewhat bedraggled, and sans his winter white covers. Upon questioning, it seems that nature called in a hurry. He ran over to the trench-latrine, quickly dumped his webbing and rifle, and with no further time to shed clothing, dropped his drawers, and took up position. As he was standing there, straddled, the sides of the trench caved in, and down he went, into the pit. He became quite animated while telling me all this, exclaiming that the harder he struggled to get out, the more he seemd to flounder. The biggest casualty it seems, other than his pride, was his winter whites....


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## Foxhound (4 Feb 2004)

This one was told to me by my father.  Dad was an R.C.A.F. Photo Tech. in the early fifties where he met Mom, also a Photo Tech. and between them they could tell some tales, so here goes.

During his recruit trg., I believe at the time it was at St. Hubert, he had an especially crusty and cantankerous Sr. NCO.  Dad and his buddies were kind of a group of class clowns and Sgt. Krusty had a sense of humor about equivalent to that of a .50 cal.  The kind of humor that Dad's clique were into was apparently not for the squeamish and they used to pick mercilessly on this one chap who had rather a weak stomach.  Y'know, the kind of stuff like cramming mashed potatoes into their mouths at the mess, then going:  â Å“Hey look George, I'm a pimple!â ? then squeezing their cheeks.  Reportedly, young George lost his lunch every time.

Anyhow, they were due for an OC's inspection at one point, so there was much scrubbing of, well everything.  Sgt. Krusty had been riding Dad's *** for about week and there was no possible way to have his station job cleaned to Sgt. Krusty's satisfaction.  Dad decided to get even, a pretty dangerous thing for a recruit, but that's Dad.

After breakfast on the morning of the inspection, Dad put a glob of peanut butter on a piece of wax paper and brought it back to barracks in his pocket.  Dad's station job that week was the toilets, and was very proud at how extremely clean he thought they were.  He also knew that they weren't going to be clean enough for Sgt. Krusty.  So, the inspection chain-of-command begins with Sgt. Krusty going through first.  The bed & locker inspection goes about as well as can be expected with Sgt. Krusty picking over everything.  Then the section is told to make ready for station job inspection and immediately they all double-time it over to their areas.  Sgt. Krusty goes through the crappers and calls Dad in to correct various gross deficiencies in cleanliness.  Sgt. Krusty then re-inspects and pronounces it passable then leaves.  Now the fun begins.

As soon as Sgt. Krusty is out the door, Dad digs the peanut butter out of his pocket and puts the glob under the edge of one of the toilet bowls, stuffs the wax paper back into his pocket and resumes his position.  They are called back to their racks to wait for the next inspection which was the Group Sgt's.  (Any Air Force types should correct me on the rank, I mean the equivalent to a Company Sgt. Major.)  Group Sgt. goes through the sleeping area and pronounces it up to standard, then heads off to the squad areas followed closely by Sgt. Krusty.  There is silence throughout the barracks because the troopies are trying to hear if anything's being said in the areas now being inspected.

Suddenly the silence is broken by an earth-shattering scream.  You know the scream when an NCO blows it and his voice goes straight into the John Cleese Sergeant-Major voice?  The scream is one word: my last name, coincidentally, the same as my father's.  Dad doubles into the crapper and comes up to the chow in front of Sgt. Krusty who is absolutely LIVID!  The Group Sgt. is standing over to the side with a concerned look on his face.  Dad guessed he was probably thinking how he was going to get Sgt. Krusty out of a murder charge.  Sgt. Krusty is pointing to the peanut butter and can barely get out the words:  â Å“What ... is ... THAT!!!â ?

Dad, with a puzzled look on his innocent puss, marches two paces over to the toilet,

bends over,

sticks his finger into the blob,

stands up straight,

about-turns,

puts his finger in his mouth and says,

â Å“It's S**T, Sir!â ?

Thank the Gods of little green privates that the Group Sgt. did have a sense of humor and after he laughed for about ten minutes straight, he convinced Sgt. Krusty that it really was a great prank and he wished he had thought of it.  He had Dad clean up the peanut butter before the OC came through and had a little â Å“chatâ ? with him later.

Per Ardua Ad Astra
(Through adversity, the stars. â â€œ Air Force motto)


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## muskrat89 (4 Feb 2004)

On my CLC course, the evil instructors (like Danajnou) had assured us that we were done for the day. We had gone into relax mode for the evening, cleaning, polishing, yada yada yada. Well, the Agents of Satan had decided some more games were in order, and we had found ourselves, once again standing by our beds, having crap flung out of the lockers, etc. There was a RNFLDR Sergeant that we had dubbed the "Gargoyle". He seemed to have a knack at being particularly melodramatic with his attempts at degrading us. Anyway, I‘m by my bed, and across from me is Bdr Smith, also from my Regiment. While trying to keep eyes front, I‘m watching him endure Sgt _____‘s inspection. The Sgt has one of his parade boots, and is making a big show of holding it up and closely examining the welts for dust specks. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, the boot had been freshly filled with foot powder, which is now pouring all over the front of his uniform. I‘m trying not to laugh; Bdr Smith is silently freaking out. Sgt _____  looks down, turns about 3 shades of crimson, and absolutely goes beserk on poor ol Smith.....


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## kosstro (4 Feb 2004)

i‘m back with another story about the russian, whom i‘ll call ‘boris‘
-no, he is not in the ggfg‘s that was another incident
-yes, korus, this is exactly who you think it is, and he has done things you wouldn‘t believe.

anyway, this another boris story, which happened the weekend after the first story i mentioned.  We were at the armoury friday night before heading out to the training area, and were getting kitted out, weapons, imps, etc.  The staff told us it was very cold, and we should wear lots of warm kit, and bring extra civvy kit if necessary, as long as it was green or black.

so, boris takes this advice to heart.  at the armoury friday night, he is on the ground clearing a C6, when i happen to notice he has jeans sticking out of his pants where they are supposed to be bloused.  i burst out laughing and tell a few other people, who just shake their heads, knowing it‘s gonna be another long weekend, with boris.

so, we get to the training area, and everyone sets up the tents and starts to bed down. Except boris. he won‘t move, cause when he takes his pants off to go to sleep the sergeant will see his jeans, and we have informed him of the consequences of his wearing jeans.  

so, the sergeant says‘boris, you‘re pretty eager tonight, you wanna take the first stove watch?‘
he agrees, and everyone snickers quietly.  The sergeant notices this immediately(like any good nco) and asks ‘what‘s so funny troops?‘ no one wants to blade boris, but the sergeant threatens them with some snowshoe pt at 3am, so someone just blurts out, "boris is wearing jeans"

The sergeant looks confused, so he asks "boris, are you wearing jeans?"  boris says no.  the sergeant says "stand up, and drop your pants"
boris does, and he is definitely wearing jeans.  The sergeant and master corporal just stare at him, shaking their heading. then the sergeant gets and idea: "boris, drop those pants, too."
boris does, and it shows he is wearing purple and blue striped pyjama pants.  the sergeants jaw drops.  after that, he asks to see what is under those pants, and he is wearing longjohn‘s, thankfully.  

after the sergeant regains his ability to think, he says"boris, this is what i want you to do: go to the officers tent, walk in, and say ‘sir, sergeant _____ said to show you this, and drop your pants"  boris left, and the sergeant and master corporal discussed this event, saying stuff like "15 years, dumbest troop i‘ve ever seen, by far", etc.

so, boris changes into military clothing, and the staff decide to deal with him later.

However, boris still has some stupidity up his sleeve. 

Later that weekend, we are at the grenade range, and are instructed to take off our parkas and put on flak jackets, despite the -30 cold, because we will only be outside for a few minutes.  Pretty simple, except for boris.  he is struggling to put the biggest size flak jacket on over his parka, stumbling around and knocking over piles of equipment while doing this.  another sergeant sees this and starts jacking him up.  It goes something like thissergeant)‘what the **** are you doing boris, take off your GD parka" boris does, and it turns out he is wearing his four season‘s jacket underneath his parka.  "boris, for crying out loud, why the **** are you wearing two jackets, for **** sakes? it isn‘t that ****ing cold, for **** sake!" the jacket comes off quickly. boris puts on the previously too small jacket, which now overlaps on his chest "oh, fits now don‘t it boris?" boris, agrees, and the sergeant helps him by putting his helmet on his head. the helmet won‘t fit on his head. the sergeant, appearing puzzled, decides to pull off his toque, and then put the helmet on.  when he pulls off the toque, he discovers that boris is wearing his white balaclava rolled up underneath.  the sergeant loses it, the next few minutes are filled with expletives, and us troops trying not to fall over laughing, and culminates with the sergeant screaming at him: "you‘re from russia for cryin‘ out loud! you‘re supposed to be used to the cold! what‘s the matter with you?" (of course, with more swears) then the sergeant opens the door of the range hut, throws boris out and screams at him: "go throw your ****ing grenades, and get out of my sight!"

so, in the end, there was a decision not to charge boris on account of the jeans incident, as it would damage his ‘career‘ he was let off with a large amount of screaming and threats if he did anything stupid again.  

true story, he did something stupid everyday on course, i‘ve got tons more stories,  just about him


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## Infanteer (4 Feb 2004)

Alright my turn...

In Bosnia, we had to haul ALL of the company‘s ammunition out of the bunker in order to inspect the frags and build a special little spot for them ("like two sandbags thick would stop hundreds of grenades from going off...." we grumbled)...anyways everything from 9mm to Eryx was piled up outside of the bunker, with some Ammo tech going over all this ****.
So here I come along, looking at this neat pyramid of about 15 Eryx missiles ($$$)...cool, they don‘t let the infantry guys play with these, lets take a peak. I am trying to read the label, hmmm, what does this say. So I try and rotate the one to read the label and CRASH, the whole pile comes down like jenga blocks, and takes out a huge stack of Carl G rounds right beside it. I look around, no CSM, whew.... The rest of the work party is pointing at me and giving me the "Ooohhh" so I look at this ammo tech, whos eyes are bulging out her head, and say "It‘s not every day you can say you did THAT, eh."
Needless to say, I spent the next little while stacking this **** up again.


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## Mike Bobbitt (4 Feb 2004)

Franko: The year was 1994. Can‘t remember the course serial, but 9401 seems likely...

Spr.Earl: Your story reminded me of another. Just before grad parade I managed to sneak a freshly minted "Numpty" name tag onto the CF tunic of a course-mate. This guy was the butt of many jokes throughout the course, but not a bad guy. Somehow he didn‘t notice as he was putting his tunic on, which allowed me to tell him as we were marching onto the square. A quick glance down confirmed it, but at this late stage, there was nothing left to do but accept the hand that was dealt.

He was beside himself the entire parade, just waiting for the inspecting officer or course DS to pick up on it and chew him out. He managed to get through the ordeal without attracting the attention and ire of anyone, though we all had a good chuckle over it.

I still have the name tag, for those special occasions...


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## Franko (4 Feb 2004)

Geeesh Mike...I probably gave you a hot coffee.... or saw ya running behind my panzer   

Speaking of which...we had an idiot who thought he was Gen Patton attached to my troop for the puposes of intimite support during the final stages of a planned attack on the objective. He strutted around our troop of panzers in the hide saying things like "your slit trench isn‘t deep enough" and "what a horrible cam job"...etc. We tolerated him at best, the troop WO went over and threatened to beat him until "all the stupid was out". He left us alone.

We got up on the LOD for the final attack and started our manouver. We finally got up to the 200m mark when the call went out to swing fire and debus. I look behind our panzer and who do I see...that‘s right, Gen Patton. He grabs the tank phone and starts giving the driver a hard time immediatly(slow down or I‘ll charge you etc). The driver has had enough of this joker and runs over a tree, then gunns it. The officer runs trying to keep up. The tree cleared the hull and he gets nailed by it...sending him flying a good 20 ft, landing in a crumpled heap with his head spinning. His troops began to laugh so hard we had to stop the attack and do it again. He wasn‘t seen for the rest of the course.   

Come to find out later that he was a reservist who was trying to make an impression on the OC of his company so he‘d get a letter of recomendation for his entry into the Regs. His OC said he never laughed so hard before...and refused(from what I heard) to give him his letter.

Score one for common sense   

Regards


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## Mike Bobbitt (4 Feb 2004)

Small world! Those combat team attacks were one of the most impressive things I‘ve ever seen. Besides the raw power of so many vehicles, the inter-arms cooperation was amazing...


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## Franko (4 Feb 2004)

So true...but back to the funnies


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## Franko (5 Feb 2004)

Alright. Here‘s one for the pyromaniacs out there.

In the sweltering heat of the now infamous Gagetown training area there was a course run...Phase 4 Armour. This course teaches young officers how to lead a troop of panzers into battle and how to set up a defensive position.

Anyway..for this course you require an enemy force to show the students the error of their ways. In between attacking the students there is a bit of down time, about 1-3 hours.

During this down time we would brew up, make coffee, get the BBQ going, dig into the cooler for some refreshments, get some sun, listen to some tunes...maybe even get a fire going for those cool nights. Sounds like a blast right?     

Well, when you have a bit of time on your hands and LOTS of pyro...well you tend to play around.

So a friend of mine who we‘ll call "Doug" for the purposes of this story(just a name I pulled out of the air) got bored one day and decided to have some fun.

He decided to take 8 Arty-sims and tape them together, ensuring the pull cords were all facing up and securly fastened together as well.  

  :evil:   

For those of you that don‘t know what these puppies are for they are simulating incomming arty fire. They let out a loud whistle for a few seconds then explode(they contain a 1/4 charge of gunpowder, equivelent to TNT).

So "Doug" takes his latest creation and walks over to a parked carrier containing a sleeping buddy we‘ll call"Serge". He‘s from the 12 RBC and is one great guy. "Doug" calmly places his device underneath "Serge‘s" carrier and pull the cords, ALL AT ONCE!     

The whistles sound off at once and all you hear is "STOP TRYING TO BUG ME" followed by a humongous *BOOM!!*. The carrier lurched up a good foot from the concussion. "Serge" came out flying...his feet didn‘t touch the ground.....     

"Serge" didn‘t take ANY naps for the rest of the course...unless he parked about 1 km away from the rest of us.     

Regards


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## Righty (5 Feb 2004)

LOL Franko!!!


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## Franko (5 Feb 2004)

Well here‘s another........

Summer 98 in Gag town another(groan) Phase 4 Armour course.

I‘m Crew Comanding a Coyote for the enemy force, lieing in wait for the students to nail our coffins shut. The attack begins as planned.

I toss out some arty-sims and smoke grenades to sim hits and damage being done by the fire base. My driver has other ideas...

He leaps out of his hatch and runs 50m infront of my C/S, drops his drawers and, well you know....

The students panzers roll over the crest..... 100m from his white behind! He acts "startled/ surprised" by this.

The DS in the Panzers are laughing and rolling in the turrets....giving my driver the "thumbs up" as they roll though. 

Best driver I ever had.

Regards


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## Slim (5 Feb 2004)

> Originally posted by Mike Bobbitt:
> [qb] Here‘s another qiuck one... We were on a full blown combat team attack, complete with 80 or so vehicles from M113‘s to Leopards. Probably don‘t see too many of those these days... [/qb]


Just an aside Mike...I think I was there for that!

Slim


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## Franko (7 Feb 2004)

Slim...you were there. Getting a bit forgetful are we?

Too much kordite   

Regards


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## alexk (8 Feb 2004)

well its not realy a war story, but its pretty funny. this summer when i was doing my CLI Adventure course, we were on our patroling exercise. my platoon noticed another coy lines, it was kilo coy, they are a band coy doing their ftx. 

Well my sgts ended up stealing one of their lanters while it was still on( they put one of those triangulair bandages on it and turned it off.) so then they got a little more sneaky.

the sgts had the course senior watch the platoon while myself a course cadet and them proceded getting more lanterns. well we ended up getting all their lanterns. and we still had alot more time to kill so we stole all of their naftha. we put it about half a kilck down the road. after all that one our female sgt had to use the jon, so she went to their coy hq and asked to use their jon. it was hilarious because after all that she took the glow stick of the jimmy jonney.


My girlfreinds freind was in kilo and we were talking about camp and she was telling me about how somone stole all their coys naftha. i let her in that it was me and my sgts and boy was she pissed.

I know its a cadet story but i figured i would contribute to a great thread.

cheers


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## sgtdixon (8 Feb 2004)

Another Cadet Tale... SIC 2002 Cold Lake...
This one guy on my intake of SI who well call...awww heck his names Gardeezy aka Gardez (grandfather was an afghan warlord)... Anyways Were on day 2 of our Duo Phase of the evaluation for the course and gardeezy deicides that were on the Edge of Cold Lake and it aint all that far to timmy ho‘s so he strips down to boxers, a walking stick and his pointer vest and starts a walkin. Well at this point me and my duo partner figure, shaz son hes been gone for some while now (it was like 4 hrs) and so the Safety O comes by and asks where in he11s half acre is Gardeezy, and we point down the road...

Turns out he made it 6 kms before the caught up with him...sneaky turd..

Another memorable part of the Duo phase was my shelter, myself and my partner had found this nice rounded out spot under a tree and cast our shelter halves over it, and decided right on this‘ll do mighty fine, so we rack it for the first day, well we were woken by some moster sounding rustling..we sat tight as the pucker factor hit 10 in our minds but all was well by morning, anyways we had to help one guy in to the HQ cause he was hypothermic (in the dead heat of august) and on our way back this shape crosses the road, so we radio it in and one officer comes out (Lt. Veale you rock man) with the trust 870 locked and cocked and loaded for "bear" so anyways, he heads into the site, and the shape (Shape being a bear) takes off for high heaven into the woods...

Turns out that rounded spot in the meadow that made an awesome shelter was a bear bed...

Ive got more but they‘ll wait until my typing improoves, I recieved a bottle of 18 yr old Auchentoshan from the family in Scotland and i was a wee into the sampling toinght


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## Spr.Earl (8 Feb 2004)

Seeing as Kack has come up.

My father was in the Legion when he was 18 back in 1949 to 1952.

He did his Para and machine gunner‘s course‘s etc.

One of the story‘s was the pay was shite 10Fr. a month.

He was in a Fort in Algeria on a main road near Vinyard‘s,well the truck‘s loaded with grape‘s went passed the Fort so he and the lad‘s figured we‘ll get our selve‘s some grape‘s!

To make a long story short they got the grape‘s and the screeming meemies!!

The latrine was not with in the Fort but a trench out side.

It was a trench 6‘ long by 2‘ wide with a squat typical French,well old Dad fell in!!

They let him back in but not back into the Shack‘s all‘s he could do was let it all dry and beat the kack out of his uniform because of the water ration. LOL!

You would have to hear him tell the story!!
F‘n funny    

I wish he was alive to day to post here as he would have you all in stich‘s with some of his Legion and Brit Army stories.


God Bless you Dad


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## Slim (8 Feb 2004)

At the risk of dating myself I will tell a lynx story.

I was on my first ex after graduating from the school and assigned to the troop Wo‘s vehicle as the observer.

Now this occured in the time before the enviormental nazis held sway so this would not be possible under the "current regime!"

Our C/S arrived alone at the Battle River in Wainwright one spring afternoon. Rather than go down to the bridge or use...Purple Ford ( I think it was...) the Troop Wo decided to swim the vehicle, thereby cutting the time to our objective.

Troop WO to the driver: "Alf, are the drainplugs in?"
Driver responds: "Yes WO". 
Troop WO to the driver:" Are you sure"?
Driver responds:"Yes WO". 
Troop WO to the crew:" Well Gents, waddia say. Lets swim this f@#$%^g river".

Swim...We very nearly did.

About half way across the observer (me) looks down and discovers that the floor of the Lynx is under water.
Observer: "Warrant"!
WO: "Not now".
Observer: "Warrant"!!!
WO: "Not now"!
Observer: "Warrant we‘re sinking"!!!
WO:" Oh F#@k, Alf hurry up we‘re sinking!!"
Driver responds grabbing the tiller bars and locking them to the rear)" Stop? Sure why?"
WO grabbing the pick axe handle)" Alf get this F#@king thing to shore right now!!!"(begins to swing the pick axe handle at the driver, narrowly missing the observer who is now dancing around on the back deck and wondering if the vehicle will really sink and what to do if it does)!

It seems that the drainplugs were in and functioned as they were supposed to...Unfortunately the belly plate, however, was not...

The lynx had to be parked on a fourty-five degree slope for about a half an hour to drain it!

All true, I swear!

Slim.


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## Spr.Earl (8 Feb 2004)

> Originally posted by Slim:
> [qb] At the risk of dating myself I will tell a lynx story.
> 
> I was on my first ex after graduating from the school and assigned to the troop Wo‘s vehicle as the observer.
> ...


You have not dated your self!!   

The first time I ever fired a 50. was  from the Lynx.

As to your story,yous lot must have  crossed Battle River in between Battle Bridge and Purple Ford!


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## winchable (8 Feb 2004)

While I see we‘re also sharing stories of family members in the military, and since I lack anything too interesting of my own for the time begin, here goes:

Maybe someone out there will remember this incident and perhaps know my dad! It‘s a navy story, so I know this is going to be prone to critique.

A few years back, footage was released of delerious (seemingly drunk, although actualy crazy) sailors parading around in dresses on duty onboard ship (generally behaving badly), something along those lines anyway. It seems that some idiot Jr. engineering officer had cocked up the fresh water supply, so the ship had to go w/o for a few days (alot of days...actually). 

Of course, w/o fresh water and all of the amenities requiring said water, some of the sailors began to lose their nerve and minds, and the resulting video caused a moderate scandal (albeit brief, and more humorous then anything.)

The afformentioned idiot Jr. Officer was my dear old dad      who went on to become a marine mecahnical engineering instructor for the navy, the first ship-borne engineering officer on board the CPF Frigates, and eventually detatchment commander for the Halifax Class patrol frigates in Halifax.

Just goes to show you, everyone gets at least one cock-up!

Does anyone remember that at all? The video was pretty much in and out of the news I believe (I wasn‘t into watching or reading the news then so I could be wrong). I also could have some facts wrong, but for the most part this is how I understand it to have happened.


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## Franko (9 Feb 2004)

I remember that.....were‘nt they going across the equator or something?

Slim.......memoriesssss......   

Regards


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## Slim (9 Feb 2004)

Yet another oldie from Slim the...never mind.

I once had to take some of the young officers out to the foothills of Alberta to cut firewood for the officers mess fireplace in CFB Calgary ( Harvey Barracks).

A member of the old guard had given the regt. permission to go out to his land and cut down a bunch of trees for firewood.

So I go sign out an HLVW, a couple of chainsaws and some cargo straps for tying the wood down once cut.

I tested both chainsaws before loading them on the truck...but I did not fill them.

Then I go up to the officers mess to collect the subbies and we‘re off.

Now at the time the regt had a young officer who was not quite with it. In fact he was later fired (out of the service!) for being incompitent.

Well we get out to the land and begin to get ready to cut down some trees.

I filled one chainsaw, I didn‘t see who filled the other one...

The saw that I filled started just fine and we proceeded to start felling trees.

Presently I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning I saw one of the subbies who told me that the other saw didn‘t work.

Turning my saw over to the officer I was working with I went to the other saw and proceeded to try to start it.

I did everything I could think of. I fiddled with the choke, I pulled the cord till I was blue in the face...Nothing.

...And then it dawned on me to check what sort of fuel was in the saw‘s tank. Sure enough...Someone had filled it with diesel.

Politely I asked the group which of them had filled the tank.

Guess who answered.

I didn‘t say a word, just corrected the problem and carried on.

Slim


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## Franko (10 Feb 2004)

Seen that happen a few times...especialy with an Iltis. Officer thinks he‘s helping out. Next thing you know...white smoke out the back!   

Regards


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## Pte. Bloggins (12 Feb 2004)

*bump*

Come on people keep the stories coming! (I need entertainment)


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## Garry (13 Feb 2004)

Advancing North in the lawfield corridor we got harbour orders- in the middle of the day (!!??). Backing into the hide, I noticed "the" log- you know the one, just the right height, no bark, big enough to support, small enough for comfort, bushes on three sides, with a ray of sunlight beaming down through the treetops, like a gift from heaven.

My bowels constricted in anticipation.....

Have I mentioned how much I hate pooping in the woods? We never seemed to have any porta-potties, and at that time I had yet to perfect the milk crate toilet....and I lived in mortal fear of "starting something" as a crash harbour was announced...BUT here I was, at least 4 hours before we moved, daytime, warm, and the "perfect" log...

We cammed the tank and performed the rest of the harbour drills, and I grabbed my shovel, smokes, beer, book,and tp and headed off. I intended to complete this job to perfection, and was ready for several minutes alone..   My crew racked on the back deck.

I was well into my first smoke when I heard twigs snapping behind me. Sounded like a bear heading towards the tank. No big deal, I thought, the bear would have to have had a bad head cold to miss me. The sounds continued, and I figured this had to be the dumbest bear going.

Eventually, a soldier in NBC state 3 burst into the clearing behind my tank. Breathing heavily and looking around, he saw me and, levelling his weapon, ran over and took me prisoner. I was in no shape to resist. Besides, he took me prisoner in french. No fair.

I tried communicating, but his english was about as good as my french. I finally asked him to call his Seargent, which seemed like a good idea to both of us. Sgt arrived, and I explained to him that I was not "the enemy". (various units shared the Lawfield Corridor for training, and generally ignored each other)...nor was I inclined to meet with his Lt to explain myself. He listened, thought for awhile, then carefull explained to me that while he understood my arguments, I had 10 second to finish my paperwork or I‘d be leaving in the shape I was. (I hadn‘t moved)

Realising that compromise was doubtfull, violence seemed to be the only alternative. Making my decision, I hollered out to my Loader to "traverse left". While not impressed, it took only two or three more hollers, combined with threats of bodily harm, to convince my loader to follow my commands. The two infanteers, not seeing the tank due to the brush, were trying to understand what was going on. Prety easy for a tanker, I followed the loaders path: over the turret, master switch on, loaders hydraulics, gunners hydraulics, he was ready. 

"Traverse left" was followed by an immediate crashing and thrashing of trees as the cam came down, and 12 tons of turret exerted itself. As the muzzle of the main armament approached the infanteers amazed faces, I hollered "on", stopping the gun scant inches from their faces. Hollering "load Hesh" (combined with a fresh volley of oaths) produced the desired results: all concerned could hear the 110 pound breech block close over the round.

I then smiled sweetly at the two infanteers, and said either they left, or I was blowing all three of us to heck...would they care to meet God?

They didn‘t, and left. Traverse right, unload, clear guns was dutifully performed by my loader, and I contiued with what was still arguably the best rest stop of the entire summer, unimpeded by infanteers.

Cheers-Garry


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## gate_guard (13 Feb 2004)

go armour


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## Veteran`s son (13 Feb 2004)

These stories are hilarious!     
Does anyone have more funny stories to contribute to the thread?


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## sgtdixon (13 Feb 2004)

Wow, Now wouldnt that be a S****y to die Eh


nyuk nyuk nyuk


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## spacelord (13 Feb 2004)

For those of you who have been following this topic, I was on the same SQ course as Korus, the one where the warrant promised that it would be the course we would live to regret.  
We had just finished the FTX, and loaded all of our gear on the the trucks. we were all sitting around waiting leave. All the instructors were there, so was the enemy force and the people from standards.  the LT gets up and says "good job, blah blah blah, used skills you‘ve been taught etc". Then the warrant gets up and says basically the same thing,  makes a few jokes. eventually we got on the busses and went back to the shacks where we unloaded everything.  As soon as standards and the other instructors leave, the Warrant says "everybody form up in the foyer now"  we do it, of course. 
"Alright, Now I‘m going to tell you what I really thought of that exercise... ... (long pause that seems like forever)... you guys were ****ing amazing. I‘ve run reg force course where we did push people that hard and put them under that much stress. you all should be really proud"

I thought he would was going to start screaming and calling us scumbags and maggots.


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## Slim (14 Feb 2004)

> Originally posted by Garry:
> [qb] Advancing North in the lawfield corridor we got harbour orders- [/qb]


Go Armour indeed!

Good one Garry

Cheers Slim

   :tank:


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## Franko (14 Feb 2004)

Good one indeed Garry....

Reminds me of the time we were shot at by hunters in the Lawfield just south of WTP.

They thought we were an animal or something. We heard a crack and pu-ting off the tank. My CC traversed right and fired off a blank that I had loaded a few minutes before. Unfortunatly I had also put in 3 naptha soaked rolls of TP in there for some extra oomph.

Never saw people run so fast in my life...they‘re feet didn‘t even hit the ground   

Come to find out later they were poaching deer.

Regards


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## Garry (14 Feb 2004)

Bwhahahahahahahahahahahahaa!!!!

I HATE Poachers.


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## Bruce Monkhouse (14 Feb 2004)

We had just finished TQ3 and went with "E" bty[para] to Shilo for an exercise. We were cleaning the guns when  our Mbdr. sent one of our group to get some "sargeant-major" soap.  We had never heard of this before and figured it was just another excuse to pull one of the new guy‘s legs. When he came back from stores he stated that he could‘nt get any "sargeant-major" soap but held up a plastic bottle and asked if "general" purpose would do.   CHEERS


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## patt (14 Feb 2004)

u armoured guys are cruel to each other lol


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## Franko (14 Feb 2004)

You don‘t know the half of it....

YOu NEED a sense of humour in the troops or you‘d loose your mind.

Once I was lucky enough to have a loader who just got off the boat from Germany in 93. He was amazing at making grub on board our Panzer. He‘d make up some french fries in the boiling vessel he‘d brought back with him (specially modified). We‘d be in a hide or leaguer with the grunts and he‘d make up a batch for all of us. When they were done he‘d hit the turret fire bottle alarm...which sounds like the alarm at McD‘s. Next thing you‘d hear is "fries up!" and them being passed to us from the pistol port.

Every jaw in the grunts organization who was in ear shot hit the ground   

Regards

BTW...he also made homemade doughnuts...don‘t ask me how!


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## Slim (14 Feb 2004)

> Originally posted by Franko:
> [qb] You don‘t know the half of it....
> 
> turret fire bottle alarm...which sounds like the alarm at McD‘s.  [/qb]


hey Franko
I‘ve used the "drivers microwave" to spoof the crunchies a few times myself.

Do you guys still keep a "beer fridge"( NBC filter system)stocked in the tanks?

Slim


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## Franko (14 Feb 2004)

Nope....Ya want to go to jail? We use it for porn now...   

Regards


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## Garry (14 Feb 2004)

I loved winter. The driver would lower the drain plug just behind his position, and reverse a few yards, piling the snow about a foot deep behind his seat- made a perfect spot to stuff a few green grenades for cooling.


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## patt (14 Feb 2004)

lol Franko when i said curel i didnt mean it in a bad way lol just the stuff that u guys do to each other just halirus


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## alan_li_13 (15 Feb 2004)

I got a pretty funny story
On my 5th day of CL in D-coy blackdown, we were formed up for breakfast. sgt comes out of the HQ saying: Hey Moran (a guy in my tent), your mother called, she says get up. Oh yeah, and happy birthday." 
Just to taunt him, we said "happy birthday, Moran!!!" to him every day for the rest of the summer, lol
Moran, if your out there somewhere, Happy Birthday


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## fleeingjam (19 Feb 2004)

The Brigade

Shrapnel is the item of the day as our plane trembles and rocks back and forth. Outside the door into the sky it seems like the fourth of July as the skies are lit by the 5th Panzer Division over Carentaen. My parachute strap presses into my chest blocking of blood circulation, the constant sounds of ringing of grenade pins feels likes the constant smashing of rocks against metal. Captain Winters signaled thirty seconds and so began the rustling and moving of people as they stood up and head toward the doors. The sweet sound of the clicking and churning of rifles and brownings roused me as I neared the doors. As time counted down the green light suddenly flickered and off was Pvt. Peon, this meant I was next. Back in basic training they told us airborne to jump outwards away from the planes, unfortunately I had no practice with this and only stepped out before having my entire body feel like there was nothing but my head. The darkness and mist distractufully relaxed me but in the corner of my mind I remember that I was too late already and needed to deploy my chute, the silhouette of the German flack cannon was easily seen as their firing patterns served it to us on a silver platter. As my chute deployed an array of light blinded me and lit my plane up as if it was for sale. Shortly after they began to fire, with such accuracy that the first shell made a hole in the cockpit. The hole was so big that there would be no ground hog that would say no to it. Sgt. Holt and first class pvt.Jason were to two lucky felons to leave last , slowly but surely our plane took to engine fires and like a meteor smacked into a barn in the town below. I snapped out of the gaze as my garrand gave me a fair tug signaling that I was descending fast, I have forgotten to flare. Nearly missing crashing into a oak tree I took a marvelous landing with all the pressure on my buttocks. The tone was quiet and peaceful but something stirred around. There was a crackling of twigs and mild breathing patterns behind me. I gripped my garrand so hard it reminded me of when I hugged my mother the day before launch. Suddenly the silence was broken â Å“thunderâ ?, are words that came from the unknown. Remembering protocol I replied flash and to my relief it was Cpt. Winters, he was a bit shaken himself. â Å“ Have you seen anyone from our stick yetâ ? Cpt. Winters asked. â Å“No sir, Sgt. Holt and Pvt.Jason were the last two I saw, the ought to be around hereâ ?...â ?Do you know where we are sir?â ? I asked rhetorically. â Å“Don't look like Berlin, I'll let you know when I find outâ ?. I laughed for the first time since I chuted, it was a pleasant feeling. The is more sound as I turned to see death. A German was crouching towards our position with a MP 40, ah the days of weapons intelligence class. I gave Cpt.Winters a tap and pointed to him. Cpt. Winters asked me for my knife and fled, I was confused yet hopeful he had a plan the German approached â Å“ello!â ? â Å“straskiestakie!!!!â ?. With his last grunt he stood less than two meters away from my position, I readied my rifle and took aim. Suddenly he made a awkward grunt and dropped smack on his face, behind him stood Cpt Winters knife in hand associated with a lopsided grin. 

Plz-Dont laugh im new


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## Franko (19 Feb 2004)

OK....personal stories please.

Regards


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## fleeingjam (19 Feb 2004)

whatever what u think n e ways mr specific


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## Sh0rtbUs (19 Feb 2004)

read all the posts on previous pages and you‘ll find a common trend..


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## winchable (19 Feb 2004)

This thread has been personal stories from the start, if you had bothered to read the first post you‘d realise that.


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## Franko (19 Feb 2004)

Swing and a miss!

Firing from the hip...plain and simple   

Regards


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## bossi (20 Feb 2004)

My uncle Eric is no longer with us, so I‘ll have to tell his story (one of only two he ever told me).

Enlisting on the day war was declared, Uncle Eric was trucked down to the grain storage silo‘s at the harbour in order to draw a uniform (stored there since the First Great Hate).  As fate would have it, he happened to get one that fit (sort of).

The fall day was crisp, and he had worn long underwear.  Rather than remove it, he had simply rolled up the legs until the long johns couldn‘t be seen below his kilt.  Uncle Eric‘s buddy, Geddes Raffin (later a police inspector), was already in the Pipes and Drums and had been "showing him the ropes".

Now, since this was quite early in the War, the troops were still living at home (the Horse Palace wasn‘t ready for them yet), and so at the end of the day they would catch the streetcar.  
Geddes jumped on first, and reached back to give Uncle Eric a hand up.

When they arrived at the foot of their street, Geddes said he‘d cut through the alley (he lived one street over) and he‘d meet Uncle Eric first thing the next morning - off he went.

And so, Uncle Eric began to stroll home.

Some street vendors had been selling "swagger sticks" in front of the Armoury, and Uncle Eric didn‘t realise they were only for officers.  So, as he swaggered up the street, the self-acclaimed "Saviour Of Highfield" touched his stick to his hat and said ‘hello‘ to one and all.

If there was no one on the front porch or at the window, he would pause and pretend to flick a piece of lint or dust off his uniform until he was satisfied that he‘d been seen.

Finally arriving on his front porch, he turned to survey the street (and give every one one last look at his finery).

From inside the house, Aunt Jessie screamed through the screen door ...

When Geddes had helped Uncle Eric up onto the streetcar, he had also tucked the bottom of Eric‘s kilt into the waist at the back - exposing his hind end (and long underwear) for all to see.

The next morning, Uncle Eric crept out before dawn ...

Dileas Gu Brath
(for Uncle Eric)


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## Cpl. Williamson (20 Feb 2004)

Heres one For you Engineer Types

My ql3 course was on the Cratering Range In gagetown and me being the keener i am Borrowed My friends gerber So as the Day Went on We Did Cutting Charged Shapped Firing Circuits On a Bailey Bridge And then The Finally

As We Poured The Last Jug of Trigran in (total of 6 in the Hole) And Headed For the Bunker

Just as The Iniater Pressed The Hallowed Button My Gerber was Not In Its Pouch And with a Tremendous Flash My gerber Went back from Where it came 

Its Current Location is Somewhere over Gagetown


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## Foxhound (21 Feb 2004)

This one'll take us back to Borden.  I forget which ex., they tend to all run together after a while.    

Anyhow, smack between two phases, we were put up in transient barracks near the Lancaster Club in Borden in order to clean up ourselves and our kit before heading to Meaford.  The mess we were to eat at was the CFSAOE mess where all the noobs were assigned.  After we had gotten all cleaned up and been made presentable again, some of us decided to introduce the RCR to all the â Å“aerospaceâ ? types over lunch.  Not the RCR with whom they were already familiar from their training at recruit school... you know, spit-and-polish, always proper, impeccable manners, etc.  Boring, right?    

It was decided through general consensus that we'd go all ranger on 'em and we would find our own food on our way to the mess thereby saving the CF the cost of feeding us.  Once a plan had been decided upon, we enthusiastically began our â Å“huntâ ? under the guise of policing the grass around the barracks.  Our catch wasn't all that impressive, so it was agreed that everyone would pool their er... resources, and three of our delinquents were selected to represent the pride of the Army.  Once inside the mess, we split up into three teams, each with one â Å“ambassadorâ ? and group of observers.

Team one's point man was JB, whom I believe was of Metis descent.  JB had the knack of being able to look extremely insane while calmly performing the most mundane task.  The thick glasses helped. He had decided on a sandwich approach and so loaded his tray with some buns, butter, mayo, other condiments, but no meat.  He approached a table half occupied with some students and asked if the seat he was indicating were taken.  With the rest of his team looking on from nearby tables, JB proceeded to meticulously slice open several buns, rejecting a couple of them with a violent oath once they had been cut open and he had looked inside.  Then, wrapping them up in napkins and putting them on a plate, he would march them over to the trash where he would, with proper drill pauses between movements, dump them, then stare hard at the trash container for a second or two.  There was intense interest from JB's tablemates as he finally accepted a newly sliced bun as â Å“the good bunâ ?.  He then proceeded to place the various condiments on the bun in very specific ways until he was satisfied with the results.

You can guess the next part.  After preparing the bun, JB then opens a pocket and starts removing earthworms and placing them with exacting care on the bun.  Here's where some of the students begin changing tables.  In fact, at this point JB is starting to freak some of US out.  He ends up alone at a table, eating his earthworm sandwich, empty tables surround him, and whenever any student happens to walk past, JB reaches out, grasps their arm, looks deep into their eyes and says:  â Å“It isn't you, either.â ?

Team two, not the winners in my opinon, went for volume over style and simply all sat together at the same table, but in a pretty crowded part of the mess.  They corralled all their um... rations in a glass of water and would just pass it around like they would a tray of pickles or something.

Team three went the â Å“we don't get this kind of chow at homeâ ? route.  These guys picked their dumbest looking member to take point.  That would have been RF.  The thing about RF was that if he wanted to be, he could be quite photogenic.  Tall, fit, blond, rugged, think of a rough edged Errol Flynn, basically.

But when he was doing his dumb face, he would acquire, well, kind of an â Å“auraâ ? about him as his features went just short of completely slack. His jaw dropped a bit, so when he spoke, he wouldn't complete his soft consonants and the missing teeth only added to the â Å“Gueth how bady tibes I got KO'd ath a bossa!â ? effect.

So he has the spaghetti.

Brings it back to a table way in the rear of the mess, whereupon he produces several members of the aforementioned species lumbricus terrestris (I looked it up      ) and mixes them in with the bounty generously provided by Her Majesty.  He sprinkles a little cheese on top.  He then picks up his plate and fork, walks back forward to the steam table, assumes his avatar and waits patiently to stand in front of one of the student cooks.  Having engaged the young lad's attention by standing stock still in front of him and holding out his plate at waist level, he then asks:

â Å“C'n I have sub bore beat doodles?

â Å“What?â ? asks private Noob.

â Å“Beat doodles!â ? replies RF.

â Å“Sorry?â ? queries young Noob.

With deliberate care, RF then sticks his fork into the mound on his plate. He twirls the fork a time or two and comes up with a combination of spaghetti and wildlife, holds it out in front of him and carefully pronounces:

â Å“MEAT NOODLES!â ?

... and puts the fork in his mouth.

By this time, Noob's stomach has caught up with what his eyes are looking at and just barely informs his brain in time to wrench his body around quickly enough to avoid losing HIS lunch all over the steam table and only sprayed his colleague standing beside him.

Beating a hasty er... tactical advance to the rear, RF leaves, dumps the contents of the plate, and meets us all exiting the mess, our mission complete.


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## Danjanou (16 Oct 2004)

For some reason I just ended up rereading this old thread, and spewing coffee all over my keyboard. It should not have been allowed to die out.


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## Slim (16 Oct 2004)

Danjanou said:
			
		

> For some reason I just ended up rereading this old thread, and spewing coffee all over my keyboard. It should not have been allowed to die out.



I call for the official re-enstatement of *Watchpig*...Hands down the funniest thing I have ever read!  

Slim


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## Alex252 (17 Oct 2004)

Not so funny but kind of interesting.... 
My grandfather had been with the militia before the star of WW2. When war was declared his unit became activated for full time service. He was sent to help with the AA batteries in England during the Battle of Britain. Well as soon as they were out of ammo the soldiers would just lie on their backs and fire off some rounds. Well for some reason one night my Grandfather was using a pistol, while a wave of bombers flew overhead. He actually maneged to bring one of them down with his pistol! Now it couldve been someones elses shot but for some reason he was creadited with it. His name was put in the newspaper for it, i have the article some where.....


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## BDTyre (17 Oct 2004)

My grandfather-in-law has an amusing yet cautionary tale of a young private who borrowed his Tommy gun and left the fox hole one night.  The private apparently assigned himself the duty of clearing a house just over the line of several casks of wine that had been found.  Needless to say, he managed to stumble up the berm and back down into the fox hole, lacking one Tommy gun.  His Sargeant (my grandfather-in-law) promptly made the less-then well private go back into the wine cellar of the house and search around the two feet of stagnant water to find the Tommy.


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## Franko (17 Oct 2004)

Danjanou said:
			
		

> For some reason I just ended up rereading this old thread, and spewing coffee all over my keyboard. It should not have been allowed to die out.



Agreed Danjanou.......I must have lapsed into a coma for a while....

Someone MUST  have a few yarns to tell out there.

Regards


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## Scott (17 Oct 2004)

I was course senior on the day that we did our final ruck march for QL3 in Aldershot. We were all in the mess tent shortly after the march and as I was grabbing some drinks to go with my breakfast I noticed a "troop" wearing his bush hat in the mess. I sort of casually called out to him and asked him to remove his cap, he didn't. So, I got a bit louder in my request, nothing. So, I walked up behind him, cuffed it off his head and uttered something to himabout wearing his hat in the mess that was not very polite. That's when the CSM of Inf Coy turned around to see who just tried to commit suicide. My tab at the smoker that night was double, his beers and mine.


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## Bruce Monkhouse (17 Oct 2004)

_up behind him, cuffed it off his head and uttered something to himabout wearing his hat in the mess that was not very polite. That's when the CSM of Inf Coy turned around to see who just tried to commit suicide_


Double Ouch!


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## Danjanou (17 Oct 2004)

Bruce, Scott and I did a little reminiscing via e-mail and figured out who the CSM was, he was from the RNFLDR. Said individual as I recall was well know for his temper as a Sgt. I hope he calmed down as he progressed in rank.


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## Scott (17 Oct 2004)

D: 

I am still here, he must have. As I said, I am sure that is him, I have one pic of him during our grad parade that I'll send to you just as soon as I can get it onto a disc.


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## Booya McNasty (18 Oct 2004)

HAHAHA

re: Yeoman's post on the 2nd page about the kid who falls asleep in cow crap.

I can vouch for that story.  I was an instructor on that course and the kid told it me first hand the next day.

That kid was hilarious.  After that I couldn't look at him without laughing.


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## Franko (9 Nov 2004)

scott1nsh said:
			
		

> I was course senior on the day that we did our final ruck march for QL3 in Aldershot. We were all in the mess tent shortly after the march and as I was grabbing some drinks to go with my breakfast I noticed a "troop" wearing his bush hat in the mess. I sort of casually called out to him and asked him to remove his cap, he didn't. So, I got a bit louder in my request, nothing. So, I walked up behind him, cuffed it off his head and uttered something to himabout wearing his hat in the mess that was not very polite. That's when the CSM of Inf Coy turned around to see who just tried to commit suicide. My tab at the smoker that night was double, his beers and mine.



ROTFLMAO  ;D  ;D  ;D

Seems nothing has changed over the years 'eh?

Regards


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## pbi (9 Nov 2004)

Good tales! Here's one I posted in The Mess:



> Everybody has heard of Col Pat Stogran, right? Well, this story involves Col Pat and I years ago in North Norway, back when 1 PPCLI was the AMF(L) Battalion (when we still had AMF(L)...). I was the Ops O and he was the OC of B Coy, and the story took place during a Battalion Patrol Exercise in the countryside several miles outside the Bardufoss Garrison.
> 
> The terrain there is typical sub-Arctic: muskeg, with lots of skinny little conifers and birches sticking out of the muck, and plenty of rocky outcroppings. Off the paved surface, "roads" are pretty treacherous. Get off the surface, and you're done....
> 
> ...


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## Fishbone Jones (10 Nov 2004)

OK, let me haul this one out.....Let's see almost 32 years ago to the day:

During Leliefontein celebrations in '72 with the RCD we aquired the Watch Pig. Small lead in though. Leliefontein lasted for about a week at that time, lot's of parties and sports along with the parades. Sports were always accompanied by copious amounts of drink. During the games the MO was always on duty. Two or three guys went to the hospital during the bicycle jousts and another six or seven with sprains and breaks during the Sqn vs Sqn murder ball game. For some reason though, when the greased pig competition started, the MO found it to inhumane and made us stop. So, now what to do with the little pink piglet?

It was decided the pig would be auctioned off at the smoker, figuring one of the guys living on a local farm would buy it for the landlord. Nope. The single guys pooled our money and won the pig. For the rest of the night he kept up with the boys drinking beer. A can would get tossed to him, he'd bite into it, and drink the beer that flowed out. Within a couple of days he was a raving alchoholic. He'd roam the hallway of T4 searching for his elixar. He'd get extremley agitated as he sobered up and attack you if you had no beer for him. Hence the Watch Pig moniker. You had to know how to disarm the guard. As we returned to the shack at night, you always had a can of beer. On entering the darkened shack, you'd listen for the clip clop of his cloven hooves and toss the beer to the other end. When he went for it, you went the other way to your room.

The Black Forest Officer's Mess had a large silver punch bowl. During the RCD Officer's Leliefontein soiree, it disappeared about the same time as the Stewards. The MP's show up at the shack to recover it and rousted us all out. Ignoring our drunken taunts, they ask for it back under threat of us all ending up in cells. They're told the "pig" in the end room has it. They knock at the door and listen. Snorting and snuffling is heard. Thinking the occupant passed out, they use their pass key. Upon rushing in, they slip on the pig shyte on the floor (cleaned up twice daily BTW) and are confronted face to face with a very drunken and ornary swine. His punch bowl, which had previously been full was now empty and he wanted it replenished. So that was strike one for the Watch Pig. Ordered out of the shacks by the SSM, he was given a spot between the wings, tied to the Snowball tower. The SSM stated he was our responsibility and we were on thin ice. It took Watch Pig about two hours to turn the lawn into a muddy, circular sty, about twenty feet in diameter. The length of his rope. German CE type complains, strike two.

Pete D is elected to ensure the Watch Pig behaves properly as the whole thing was his idea. Him being the drunkest when we bought it and not being able to remember, he seemed the best candidate.

The final straw came about a week later, on a Sunday morning. The day broke sunny and warm. Too nice to sleep in, even after a hard night in the CC Keller Bar. One of the fellas looked out and raised the alarm. Watch Pig was loose! Pete D was roused and told to go out and tie him up. Forgetting the beer bait, Pete goes out in nothing but his jockeys. Without incentive to listen (no beer) Watch Pig takes off down the road. Pete D is in hot pursuit as Watch Pig rounds the corner and heads up the main road behind the shacks. Watch Pig is clippity clopping along as fast as he can, straight down the middle of the road, considering the twenty or thiry pounds he has put on while on his three week beer diet and Pete's not doing much better. They are about twenty yards short of the Church, when the congregation, led by the Base Commander, his family and the Padre step out into the morning sun. Ringside to see Watch Pig being pusued by a drunken RCD wearing nothing but yellow jockey shorts and screaming profanity at the pig. We can only imagine the thoughts that were racing through the various minds. Needless to say, that was Strike Three for Watch Pig. He was given to a local farmer who could not believe his size for his age. Nor could he understand Watch Pig's horrible disposition...and Watch Pig being family, we didn't tell him. 


Have a good Leliefontein celebration Dragoons. I'll be tipping more than a few from here.


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## SHELLDRAKE!! (10 Nov 2004)

I know of a certain Artillery tech who believed the parachute from a 155 illum round could sustain his weight if he jumped off of a queen mary.Two sprained ankles later he conceeded an attatched pilot chute might have worked a bit better but we didnt let him.


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## Franko (10 Nov 2004)

Recceguy.......

Best story concerning Lellifontein I've heard so far  ;D  ;D  ;D

Regards


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## foerestedwarrior (10 Nov 2004)

So we were doing patrolling on my SQ FTX, and my det was the only one not to get spotted on the day time recce portion. So as our reward, our det commander got permission to blow off some extra pyro, and make it a nigh recce/kidnapping patrol. We did our recce of this small bridge over a creek, and our Pl Sgt was told to pick us up there, because we had about a 2 hour patrol out. Well when she got there, we weren't waiting for her, so she got out and looked around. 

I stood up in the long grass and took about a 50 rnd burst of C9 at the rear of the LS, she had her back to me, so she turned around and screamed a few profanities in surprise. On the opposite side of the road, which she now had her back to, two of our guys jumped out of the ditch and tackled her to the ground. We had gotten the zap-strap hand cuffs, so they tried to put those on her. She was resisting, so one of the guys kneeled on her head and told her to shut the F*** up... then they grabbed her and threw her in the back of the LS. I piled into the back with her(oh ya, she was blind folded) and the two snatch guys got in two, the demo team was in action next(we were also supposed to "blow" the bridge).

The demo consisted of four boxes of blanks, gun taped to an arti-sim, so they pulled it, and ran like hell. Man i could feel it like 200m away. So we all piled into the back of the LS, and our det commd. got in and drove off. then he started doing doughnuts in an intersection, then went back to the platoon defensive lines. When we got out she was mad at what happened at first, then she seen who it was, she said it was one of the coolest things she had ever done. Then we found out we had to cut off the hand cuffs because we couldn't get to the release, and she wasn't getting any blood to her hands....

Over all, best patrol iv been on.

On a patrol with the Royals last October, we had a random Royal walk up to us in a listening halt during the ex. I forget the challenge, but the response was supposed to be November November. We heard Noember Noember, we had him repeat it like 4 times, before we tackled him, and took him prisoner. lol, man was that funny... Then having to try and find a lost platoon of Royals, and volunteering to complete all three objectives, so we could almost make our timings.


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## bossi (10 Nov 2004)

foerestedwarrior said:
			
		

> So we were doing patrolling on my SQ FTX ... turned around and screamed a few profanities ... zap-strap hand cuffs ...... kneeled on her head ... shut the F*** up... ... blind folded ... four boxes of blanks, gun taped to an arti-sim ... could feel it like 200m away ... doing doughnuts in an intersection ... wasn't getting any blood to her hands ...



Looks like some remedial instruction on Geneva Conventions, ROEs, pyrotechnics and a couple of other subjects are in the offing ... and after that, I'm looking forward to chatting with some people who should have known better ... all in good time.


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## Spr.Earl (11 Nov 2004)

Hmmm?
Some one needs to be Disciplined and punted!!


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## paracowboy (11 Nov 2004)

some letters I wrote home:

Holidays in Kabul 
well, it's 0-dark-stupid. I'd just finished radio watch, was almost asleep, when some dumb*ss downtown set off a bomb or launched a rocket. Right. Wide awake again. 
hmmmm, sounds like fast air flying over the city. 
"Peace on Earth." Hopefully, someday.

I wish everyone a truly happy holiday season. Especially those boys and girls deployed out there on the sharp end. Be safe, be careful. Those of you at home, please enjoy the silly season to the fullest. It's the best 'thank you' we can receive. To know that you folks are safe and happy, and can enjoy this time of year with loved ones is what makes this job worthwhile.

Today, I spent 2 hours settling a property dispute (complete with death threats and armed intimidation). The stupid part is that both sides wanted the exact same thing. But neither side would listen to what the other was saying! No wonder these people have been at war for 30 years. They're annoying as hell! I've only been here 5 months, and I want to shoot some of them. Imagine living your whole life with irritating people all around you and constant access to automatic weaponry! Took me 10 minutes to get it sorted out, then they'd start arguing again. Even though they'd already agreed on the solution!
Dumb*sses.

All the best of the season to everyone out there, regardless of faith.

Joyeaux Noel 
Feliz Navidad 
Merry Christmas. 
-----------------------------------------------------------

letter to a young schoolgirl from me 
22 Oct 03

Hello Grace, 
Before I truly begin, I must apologize for typing this letter. It's kinda impersonal, I know. However, if you were to actually see my handwriting, you would understand, believe me. My wife is the only person I know who can actually decipher the hieroglyphics I call writing. (Chicken-scratches are a more accurate term.) 
I am a soldier in 6 Platoon, November Company, 3RCR. It's an infantry battalion. I'm currently posted to Camp Julien, Kabul, Afghanistan, in the ?heart of the mysterious Orient?. 
Although I come from a small immediate family, with just my little sister and I, I have many, many cousins, nieces, nephews, and about a bazillion dogs. We get together every chance we get and spend as much time together as we can, so I can relate to a chaotic family life. Besides, I've been in the army for somewhere around 8 or 9 years, and we excel at chaos. 
In your letter, you asked what it's like to be so far from home. Well, I spend most of my life away from home, but you never really get used to it. It doesn't much matter whether you're in south-West Asia or just in the woods around CFB Petawawa, you're still 'away', if you know what I mean. You're still out of contact with your loved ones and away from the creature comforts we all take for granted. (I tend to spend the first 2 days back just staring at the TV. Oohh, pretty colours, moving lights.) 
As for your questions about what it's like to be in a place where people don't want you, and to live under the threat of attack. Tough questions. Well, first, you called them â Å“dumb questionsâ Å“. There are no â Å“dumb questionsâ Å“. The only way we learn is by asking, right? I mean, if you don't know the answer, then the question isn't dumb, is it? (There are, however, dumb answers. I get a lot of them myself, and have even given a few.) 
Second, the vast majority of Afghani people do, in fact, want us here. I know this, because they tell us so at every available opportunity. It only stands to reason, really. These poor people have been at war for more years than you've been alive. 25 years, actually. Man, I was just a kid of eight, when the Soviets sponsored a coup in 1978, then invaded in 1979. There's been a constant state of warfare ever since. With all the horrors and terror that usually accompany Man's most tragic activity: War. On top of warfare (with the attendant rapine, pillage, disease, and poverty) the entire nation has been suffering from a six-year drought. Wouldn't anyone welcome someone who was willing to put a stop to the warlords and bandits marauding the countryside? Anyone who was bringing safety and security to the nation? I know I would. The Afghanis know that Canada is here to help and they are grateful. Heart-wrenchingly so. 
Third, hmmm?. living under constant threat of attack. That's a difficult question to answer, really. Well, you fall back on your training, your instincts, and that ridiculous belief we all have that â Å“it won't happen to meâ Å“. In all honesty, I can't say that I think about it much. A sense of fatalism helps, I suppose. If your number's up, then it's up. There's a cheesy Army saying I've always found amusing (in a dark sort of way). â Å“It's not the bullet with your name on it, it's the one marked 'to whom it may concern'.â ? I lost a very good friend and a role model a little while ago. But that's the risk we volunteer to take, I guess. I dunno. Someone has to do it, and if we don't, who will? I'd rather face the risks myself than have someone else do it. Besides, I'd much rather stop the fighting and terrorism over here, than have to face it in Canada. 
How do we deal with the loneliness and fear? Is that what you were getting at? We form bonds of friendship that are even closer than family ties. We in the Infantry, especially, use humour. (Mind you, it's a dark, cynical, sarcastic form of humour, for the most part.) I've found that laughter is usually your best defence against the darker emotions. There's always something funny in even the worst circumstances. And when you are surrounded by Man's inhumanity to Man, you either laugh at it, or spend your time crying. And that accomplishes nothing. 
What's it like in Afghanistan? Totally unique. In some ways, it's like living in an Indiana Jones movie. Like stepping back in time. You can touch a wall that's stood since the time of Alexander the Great. With a satellite dish on top of it. Bizarre. I love it here, personally. I'm glad to be on a real mission. I find the people here to be a reflection of their country. It's a nation of tall, bleak mountains. Imposing, aloof, appearing untouchable. But with beautiful valleys hidden away. Their homes are the same. Stone walls, barred doors, narrow firing-port windows. But the interior is a riot of colour. Tapestries, curtains, carpets, pillows, orchards, and gardens. The Afghan people are the same. Grim and serious at first glance, but underneath they are warm, humorous, and generous to a fault. 
What would I change the most? It's the children and the animals that tear at your heartstrings the most. They live a life that is horrifying by North American standards. But, they still laugh and play. What else can they do? And, with the help of the International Community, things will get better. Circumstances here improve every day. And Canadian soldiers are a big part of that. I?m proud of my boys. I'm proud to say, â Å“I'm a Canadian soldierâ Å“ again, and it feels good. We are a positive force here. We're doing a good thing. 
If your teacher (what was his name, Mr. G.?) would like, I can e-mail him some pics of the city, the countryside, the people, and the troops. 
So, to you, Grace M., I say â Å“Thank youâ Å“. Thank you for your letter. Thank you for taking the time to write to a stranger. Thank you for your good wishes. I hope you have a long life, full of laughter, love, and joy. Treasure your family (even when they're really annoying). Be happy


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## paracowboy (11 Nov 2004)

more letters:
---------------------

article by a young trooper of mine: good kid 
An orange glow lingered in the darkening sky above the hills on the western shore. A southwesterly rustled through the trees like an eerie song and was beginning to force white caps on the waves. The fog that spent the day on the horizon, was creeping its way into the bay, bringing with it a chill that cut through Shaun's olive drab jacket. He knew that if he didn't fire soon he would have a long empty handed trudge home to a supper his mother had left for him in the oven. From where he lay, he didn't have a clear shot. But there they were, not two gunshots away three black ducks cleaning themselves in a tidal pool at the base of the jagged cliff. He edged his way forward, cradling his twelve gauge in his arms like a baby. " Get up here " he whispered. Skipper stepped cautiously toward him and lay down. Brown bog stained the white patch on his chest like camouflage. Shaun looked back down over the crag and realized that he couldn't get any closer. He knew it was a long shot and it was now or never. He slowly raised the gun to his shoulder, taking a bead on the birds below. Skipper edged his way toward him in anticipation of what was coming next. He closed his left eye, took the safety off and slowly depressed the trigger.

"Hey Ryan," It was Cory, his fire team partner. "Get up man, we're on shift."

It took him a second to come too, as anyone that knew him could attest. Shaun was never the easiest creature to stir from slumber. He realized with disappointment that he'd never know if he walked home with those ducks. With that came the reality that he was nowhere near the waves that crashed the rocks on his island. He was trapped between barren mountains in landlocked Afghanistan. He crawled out of his warm sleeping bag and thought to himself,

"What in the name of God am I doing here?" 

Minutes later he was standing guard over hundreds of sleeping bodies from an ancient palace overlooking Camp Julien. He peered through thermal binoculars at a shepherd sleeping in a field surrounded by his flock. Then he scanned the city beyond the camp. For a city of almost three million, Kabul was ghostly quiet at night. The crisp breeze and silence reminded him of walking the roads of his tiny fishing community on an autumn night. 

"There are probably more soldiers patrolling the streets than there are locals walking around", he thought to himself as he spied two jeeps leave the front gate of the camp.

Hours later Shaun found himself in one of those jeeps. The sweltering heat of the Afghan day had long melted the cool desert night away. The locals outnumbered them now, thousands to eight, and swallowed them in a swarm of bicycles, cars, trucks, horses and donkeys. They may be outnumbered, but by people who are on their side. That didn't crack their solid alertness. They turned down a narrow dirt side street and left the busy market area. The jeeps stopped and Shaun stepped out, narrowly missing a pungent stream of human waste. Almost as soon as his feet hit the ground he was surrounded by tiny, dirty faced children, laughing and yelling the only english they knew, "how are you, how are you!" A little girl approached him, handed him her kite and in almost perfect english said,

"Thank you for coming to Afghanistan." It was probably her only toy. It dawned on him why he was there.

He was there for the people. The man that didn't have to fight for freedom anymore. The woman that could show her face from beneath a burqha if she so desired. He was there mostly for the children. The little boys that could play in the streets and not have to grow up to fight. The little girls that could go to school for the first time in years. He knew that in the big picture he was there to support the Afghan Interim Government. On a smaller scale, by him setting foot on that piece of ground, he would deter any militant from harming those men, women, and children around him. He surely knew that if Newfoundlanders were the ones fearing for their lives in a province of lawlessness, that they would want foreign soldiers to walk their roads and bash through their thick forests and deep bogs to find pockets of terrorists. 

As they approach the front gate of Camp Julien, Shaun lets his alertness down for a moment. He curses the fog skirting the mountains off in the distance.

"Oh yeah," he mutters to himself, "Sandstorm."

He is not in Newfoundland anymore though it will be a welcome relief when he can stand on her shore again and watch the fog envelope the hills across the bay. He is eager to traipse through those forested hills and feel the pristine salt air in his lungs. He can't wait to smell the smoke from the chimney roving home in the twilight, with three ducks on his back and Skipper at his feet. He'll never take his freedom for granted again, that's for sure.
-----------------------------

two nights ago was a very bad night. It began in farce and ended in tragedy.

The first people we met were a family clustered around a woman on the ground. We stopped to investigate. "She's ill", they said. "She's stoned" Chevy said. She had taken a handful of Valium. At least it looked like Valium to us. But the family wouldn't let us (kafirs) touch her. So we stopped a passing vehicle and got them to drive the family to the local hospital. Or what passes for a hospital here.

The rest of the night got sillier and sillier. So, we headed into my AO. It's the wild, wild, west. I got every kind of scumbag in Afghanistan preying on the people in my AO. They are mainly Hazara. They're the poorest, they're the least armed, they're the religious minority. Easy targets. I'm doing my best to change that, and the crime rate is dropping dramatically there, but... 

Then, we heard a woman scream. The kind of scream that chills you instantly. You can hear, you can FEEL the pain and terror in it. We began down the alley it seemed to come from, but the local police officer refused to go. So we radioed for permission to go on our own (which is against our mandate). We were refused. 

Soemthing terrible happened to someone in MY AO, on MY watch, while I was THERE, and I failed to prevent it. I don't know if the cop refused to go because of cowardice or complicity/corruption. Both are equally plausible explanations. What I do know, is that I failed the people who were counting on me to protect them. 
I failed. 
I will be hearing that scream for a long, long time.

So, how's your day going?
------------------------------------------------------


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## paracowboy (11 Nov 2004)

ok, damage control. I don't know what the papers are going to say, but everyone here is fine. 
There was a pre-emptive move by Pesident Karzai to dissuade some plotters of attempting a coup. He got wind of it early, and ISAF rolled. Well, most of ISAF rolled. Canada's forces in Kabul just sat here, because we have no vehicles. There was some mortar fire, but nowhere near us. So everyone can be cool.

So, anyway, there I was yesterday, in the back of the jeep, feet spaced wide apart to brace myself against the backs of the seats, acting as rear security. I got a C8 carbine, a 12 guage riot gun, and I'm feeling pretty darn cool about myself. "Yep, I am the sh*t, baby. Oh, yeah, Rambo, Audie Murphy, with a dash of Magnum P.I., that's me." 

Chevy: "Ready to roll?" 
Me: "I got two guns, 320 rounds of ammo, and a half a tin o' dip. Let's roll." 
Chevy: "Roger that."

That's when I notice the female driver for the CIMIC officer is behind us, and looking at me with a smile on her face. Why not? I am gorgeous, and looking oh-so hard, right? So, I turn on the "Hard-Guy" routine. Watching my arcs, weapon at the ready position, my very best Sgt Rock face. Oh, I am COOL! She follows us for a while, then peels off on her task, still with that smile. "Oh, yeah. I still got it. Chicks dig me. I can't help it." 

So, I finish the patrol, go out on two more, and a drop-off that evening. Then, when I'm taking my pants off, I realize the entire crotch is torn out, and little private what's-her-name was simply laughing at my not-so privates.

Oh, yeah. I'm cool.....

Bye, ya'll. Be good.
---------------------------------------------------

as I sit writing this, I m covered in human feces. Yes, human fecal matter. In other words: SH*T. 

Not only I, but my buddies Chevy, Leb, and D, are also coated in a fine layer of excrement. Why? Because we stepped into a sewer ditch. (They don't have sewers here). Why did we do that? Because it was the only way to get the jeep out. 

No, I was NOT lost. I knew where I was, I just wasn't where I wanted to be. And I didn't know how to get to where I wanted to be from where I was. It's totally different from being lost. 

The first time in the evening I stepped into a sh*t-ditch, was when Chevy and I, along with a half-dozen cops, came running out of the police station with guns in our hands and murder in our hearts. False alarm. 

It went down-hill from there. 

Getting the jeep out of the shi*-ditch was the high point of the evening.
-------------------------------------------------------

'kay, first of all, I'm fine. Nobody got hurt. No matter what you may have heard or read, no Canadians were hurt in the so-called 'rocket attack'. They launched rockets at Camp Warehouse, Camp Julien, and Kabul International Airport (the unfortunately nick-named KIA). They hit with one rocket at Camp Warehouse, missed with the other, hit KIA, and missed us. They launched two at Warehouse. One hit a sea container, the other missed entirely. We put our fighting order on, and went back to sleep. They missed us by 5000 meters. Yes, I said 5 kilometres. Idiots. I think these morons were trained by Boris Badanoff and Natasha. Next thing you know, they'll be out looking for Moose and Squirrel. 
They tried to get us with a bomb last month. Blew themselves up. we know there were at least 2 involved, because we found three legs. heh, heh, heh. 
They tried a car bomb last month. Blew themselves up. 
They tried a rocket attack last month. 12 rockets misfired. Duds. The 13th, missed by a half a kilometre. Somebody got an ***-whuppin' for that one, I'm sure. 
Maybe they should just go buy a huge anvil, and try the ol' "drop it from the cliff" routine. They'd have better luck. 
I think we couldn't even go looking for these guys. If we kill them, they might find competent terrorists, and I'd lose sleep. 
I gotta tell ya, I am very proud of my boys. They behaved like true professional infantrymen. They woke up, moved to a safe location with their fightin' and dyin' equipment. Then went back to sleep. Out-"F"ing-standing. Not a man panicked. Not a man flinched. Good boys, every one. darn fine boys. 
The civvies in camp, however, were a mess. Panic. Terror. It was hilarious. I wanted to take a box of rations down to their part of camp, drop 'em off, and say "Ya got two hours to make it to the airport. We're buggin' out. This is all the food available. There's no transport. You're on your own. God's speed." But, I was too tired. One dumb chick grabs O.B. and says, I'm not used to this, what should we do?" He said, "I dunno, put your helmet on? See ya." She sat down and cried. I laughed my *** off. 
'I'm not used to this." Gee, that's odd, I get rocketed all the time back in Canada. Idjit.

I am firmly convinced that somewhere in my Section's AOR there is a secret bio-engineering lab. We have an animal in Camp that is not a cat, and not a dog. It's Catdog, and we think it's in league with Satan, but we can't prove it. And I have things in the alleys I patrol that are not monkeys and not cats. They're monkey cats. They rule the universe. Probably where Osama is hiding out. In the lab with Igor. 
Actually, he's in Camp. He signs into the mess hall every day. Dunno how he does it. Really p*sses the Kitchen Officer off, though.

gotta go. take care, everybody.
------------------------------------------------------------


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## paracowboy (11 Nov 2004)

I will not:

- Call the local police chief â Å“Cobra Commanderâ Å“ anymore. 

- Be found by the Regimental Sergeant-Major laying in the middle of my tent, surrounded by empty beer cans, wearing a burqha, and nothing else, for his inspections. 

- Attempt to herd goats into Camp, anymore. 

- Hand out pictures of my CO to the local Mujehedeen, and tell them he is an instrument of Satan, again. 

- Try to buy donkeys for patrols anymore. 

- Tell Afghani children that I shot Tupac anymore. 

- Scream â Å“MONKEY CATS RULE THE UNIVERSEâ Å“ in crowded market places anymore. 

- Try to saddle break a camel, again.

Geez, try and have a little fun around here.
-------------------------------------------------------------------

well, ya'll 
I gotta tell ya, I am some kinda sick and tired of fixing or repairing jeeps. The Iltis is junk. It seems to be the major part of most of my days. It' not that it's complicated, they're just jeeps after all. But it's never-ending. And monotonous. Every day something new goes wrong with one of our jeeps. And I can't just have it taken to the mechanics, because they're so back-logged I'd never get the damn thing back. Then my Platoon would be down a vehicle, and we only have 3. By rights, we're supposed to have 9. There are no parts in theatre, so everything is held together by gun tape and 550 cord. Good thing I'm hillbilly/white trash and am used to this sort of thing. 

I've been into town a few more times now, and have made arrangements with a buddy to go along on his patrols as well. My section commander isn't interested in stirring the pot or getting too much Int. He wants a nice quiet tour. Which I can't fault him for, it'll guarantee our boys getting home safer. But, I'm here for a purpose. I stir the pot because that's how you get results. I dig for Int because that's what patrolling is for. The CO needs Intelligence. So, as a Recce patrolman, I'm gonna get it for him. My buddy, Chevy, is also a paratrooper and a Recce Patrolman. We kinda have the same ideas, except I'm sneakier, and he's more aggessive. But, we get results, and we work well together. Good cop/bad cop sorta deal. He can be a scary little b*stard, make no mistake. I come across a friendly, lazy ol' hound. 'Til they p*ss me off. Then I bite their faces off, and it's actually more un-nerving for them. Especially since I'm twice the size of the average Afghani. Hell, in all my kit, I'm almost 300lbs, and I stand over 6'2" in my boots.

The storms here are awesome. Yesterday, I stood outside and watched a curtain of sand blow over the camp. It came over the wall like a wave, and you couldn't see 20 feet. The wind was blowing tents over, and the poor little locals and Nepalese workers couldn't stand upright. I couldn't stop grinning. Then the thunder rolled like the world's biggest kettle drum. It echoed off the mountains, and reverberated through your body. And then came the lightning. It seemed to flicker from cloud to cloud before striking earth, like a laser-light show at a rock concert. And then came a downpour that only lasted minutes, but drove into you with the force of hailstones. All at the same time. Dust storm, thunder, lightning, and rain. Visibility was nil, and I stood outside giggling and howling into the fury of nature, totally awestruck. 

Even the storms are cooler than in Canada. 

I love this place.
---------------------------------------------------

Man, I love night operations! Tonight was especially fun. Driving down the streets of Kabul, almost no illumination, in a two-jeep convoy, weapons bristling out of everywhere, with the cool night breeze blowing the sweat away from under your helmet. Damn, 
I love this shit!

Walking point down dark, deserted streets, with an M203 over/under combo, 300 rounds of 5.56 ammo, 6 High Explosive 40mm grenades, 10 inches of scalpel-sharp high carbon steel, total infra-red night vision superiority, and a bad attitude. (Hey, all I've ever asked out of life was an unfair advantage. Well, that and a hot blonde chick. Whattaya know! I got that too! Life is good.) It's especially good when you're the baddest dog on the block, with the biggest teeth. heh, heh, heh. "Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the Valley of Death, I shall fear no evil...for I am the meanest sumb*tch in the Valley. Thy automatic rifle and thy grenade launcher, they comfort me." 

I get a little weary of hearing people back home say that Canada has no business in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or anywhere else. I grow weary of hearing that soldiers are war-mongering baby-killers. (Yes, I've actually been called a baby-killer. Me. A baby-killer.) 

Soldiers hate war. Any soldier who has seen war or the effects of war, hates it. He hates what it does to a proud people. He hates what it does to the cities and fields. I have seen what war does. But, I serve my country's interests in foreign lands that those 
same effects never happen in my country. If we do not stop evil away from our borders, we will have to deal with it within our borders. And I do not want to see Canadian citizens living under these conditions. 

If you were living surrounded in poverty and squalor, at the non-existent mercy of selfish and greedy men, with no hope of succour, wouldn't you want someone, anyone, to come help you? 

These people need us. Ever since ISAF came to Afghanistan, crime has taken a dramatic drop in the streets of Kabul. 
Ever since the Americans freed the nation from the Taliban, the people have flourished. They smile now. They love Canadian soldiers especially, because we stop and talk with them. We listen to their problems. We try to find ways to help them and lighten their burden. Canadians are natural-born peace-keepers. It's in our breeding. We talk to people. We're curious about 
their customs, and respectful of their ways. And when shit turns bad, we kick ass like nobody's business. Canadians are fierce fighters. Always have been. It's what happens when you finally get a calm, tolerant person really pissed. 

I like these people. They are a reflection of their country. You look at the mountains and desert and think this is the most inhospitable, bleak place on earth. Then you find an oasis, and it's a paradise. The city is a maze of high walls, with narrow windows, and barred doors. Then when you enter the people's 
compounds you find exquisitely-tended gardens and orchards. When you enter their brown, mud-walled house you find an explosion of colour. Rugs, carpets, tapestries, cushions, and pillows. All hand-made, and a riot of colour and texture. 

The people are the same. They appear grim and unapproachable, but they will take you to their heart in an instant. Humour is in everything they do. (I suppose when your life is this desolate, 
you HAVE to laugh that much more.) They are poets by nature. Lovers of music and art. Friendly to anyone who shows them 
the same. 

Hospitality is one of their three pillars of social convention. (Along with Revenge and Sanctuary.) When a man who has no food offers you his last meal, how can you think he is anything but generous? 

They are warriors. Their strength in the face of deprivation shames me as a North American. I see what these people have, and more importantly, what they do NOT have and I feel embarrassed to be Canadian. Look at how we deal with strife. A snowstorm in Toronto and the Army is called out to shovel the sidewalks so that the beautiful people won't get their shoes damp. 

Take care everyone, 
May Allah smile upon you


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## paracowboy (11 Nov 2004)

IMAGES: 

a little boy asking "does your Rules Of Engagement allow you to use lethal force? That's good, 'cause the Taliban is comin'." Then running away. 

turning into an alley so tight I can touch both sides at once, and watching the rats scatter through my Night Vision Goggles. 

walking point on a night patrol and having my slack man sweep ahead of me with his rifle-mounted flashlight and being face-to-face with a pack of feral dogs. 

a horse, harnessed to a cart, so starved, it's labouring to breathe. 

a man beaming with pride at some silly little trick his child has accomplished, surrounded by mind-numbing poverty. 

a wall being constructed out of hand-picked rocks by a family, without tools, looking down the top, and seeing it as level as a pool table. all done by eye. 

a brand new mercedes sedan roaring past a cart being pulled by two ancient men, constructed of hand-hewn planks and car tires. 

the hatred in a man's eyes because your skin is too pale, your religion is not the same as his, and you're on HIS soil. 

the unconscious grace displayed by black-eyed, black-haired, black-veiled women as they go about their daily chores, balancing loads heavier than I am. 

a 14-ton armoured vehicle caught in a traffic jam. stopped by a herd of starving cattle. all being herded by a boy younger than most of my tattoos. 

the quiet dignity and mischievous humour in an old man's eyes as he welcomes you to his country and thanks you for caring enough to come. 

a wall that has stood since the time of Alexander the Great...with a satellite dish on top. 

sunrise over the mountains, with a dusty haze turning the normal oranges and yellows into a thousand different shades. 

the eerily beautiful flashes of light beyond the mountains from American bombs falling for hours on some poor bastard that really wishes he was somewhere else. 

a child. dirty, hungry, skinny, and smiling. 

the tear in a paratooper's eye as he looks upon these 
things. 


may Allah smile upon you all 
Khoda hafez
---------------------------------------------

Ran into some young fellas from the 501st while at the Kabul International Airport. We were waiting to board our flight to leave and come home, when we saw a bunch of yanks trooping through the airport. Mostly youngsters, with a few NCOs 'sheep dogging' them. One of my buddies asked who they were, 'cause he didn't recognize the shoulder patch. I explained what I knew of the history of the unit. Me and Gord then went after them, 'cause we needed to play with the M-14s some of them were carrying. (Yes, NEEDED.) 

So, we tagged along after the last trooper, and tucked ourselves out of the way while they dropped kit. We got a few curious looks, but typically, they were too polite to say â Å“Hey, assholes who the f--- are you, and waddaya want?â ? After they got themselves sorted out, (took about 30 seconds, very organized) we asked this Sergeant (I dunno exactly what rank, he had 3 up, and 1 down. I get confused with all the Sergeant's levels they have.) if we could play with his M-14. As we were 'oohing' and 'aahing' over it (we both love the M-14, and I'm developing a real liking for that ACOG sight), another senior NCO came in and told the troops to unload. There was the expected grumbles from soldiers in a war zone about unloading their weapons, and the NCO said it was the German's SOP, no loaded weapons in the Airport. So, being the smart-alec I can be at times (Yeah, I know, you're all shocked), I spoke up â Å“Yeah boys, the Germans get nervous when they see Americans with loaded weapons.â ? heh. Well, that got a couple of giggles.

Over-all, I gotta say those boys looked good. Seriously. Discipline was good, without being chickensh*t, morale was high, and they were very familiar with their weapons. It showed in every movement. Their kit was worn, but looked good. Everything right where it should be, with those small differences every experienced troop makes to his issued stuff. (Of course, their hair was WAAYY too short, but that's just me, heh.) They looked fit, with that lean, â Å“packed-too-tightâ Å“ look, troops get when they take their PT seriously. The troops were very polite, too. Much more so than most of mine were when I first started working with them. (A pet peeve of mine. I hate rudeness.) 

Just a li'l story I thought you might wanna hear. Yeah, I'm drinking. 
Again.... 
Hey, it's Leave.


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## GrimRX (12 Nov 2004)

Dixon said:
			
		

> Another Cadet Tale... SIC 2002 Cold Lake...
> This one guy on my intake of SI who well call...awww heck his names Gardeezy aka Gardez (grandfather was an afghan warlord).



Well damn, I had a guy named Gardeezy on my SQ last summer, also the son of some Afghan warlord, lol.  

(A shout out to my SQ mates: "2 F@!King BFA'S!  You're F@#ked!  NOOOBODY leeeaves the Barricks!")

Anyways, so, we finally finish our SQ last summer and we're about to go in for our grad parade out in WATC Wainwright.

This coursemate of mine, whom I shall name Pte Urges, starts to whine about about how he has to go take a piss right?

We tell him to quiet down and go after the parade.

Well, Pte Urges shuts up, and we all march in and the parade commences.

15 minutes into the parade, whilst the officer is talking to us, there's some shifting in the ranks, but the officer doesn't seem to notice.  After about 5 more minutes, the grad is finished and we march out of there, although some people in the middle row were taking oddly long steps as we wheeled around and marched.  ???

Turns out that Pte. Urges couldn't hold it for 20 fricken minutes.  He'd just started pissing whilst the officer was talking to us, and once he started, he figued "hey, why not finish?"  So he finished, and even shook himself out alittle.  

*shakes his head* funny thing is: the guy's girl friend was there... with her two parents.... both of whom had big ass camara's with them.  He t'was wearing OD's too, lol.


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## Infanteer (13 Nov 2004)

foerestedwarrior said:
			
		

> So we were doing patrolling on my SQ FTX....



Wow, you really are a stupid ass, you know that.  

And you wonder how things like Abu Ghraib get started.


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## Cpl. Williamson (13 Nov 2004)

> The demo consisted of four boxes of blanks, gun taped to an arti-sim, so they pulled it, and ran like heck. Man i could feel it like 200m away.




I may be some Lowly Sapper. But that is Just plain Stupid.. Its How Disciplinary Measures Take Place and How people Lose Eyes..


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## Franko (17 Nov 2004)

THANK YOU CAPTAIN OBVIOUS

.....oooops.....my bad

Spr. Williamson  

Can you feel the sarcasm?  ;D

Regards


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## bossi (17 Nov 2004)

Spr. WIlliamson said:
			
		

> > The demo consisted of four boxes of blanks, gun taped to an arti-sim, so they pulled it, and ran like heck. Man i could feel it like 200m away.
> 
> 
> 
> *I may be some Lowly Sapper. But that is Just plain Stupid.. Its How Disciplinary Measures Take Place and How people Lose Eyes..*





			
				Franko said:
			
		

> .....oooops.....my bad



IMHO, we have to be mindful that some visitors here are young, impressionable, and perhaps not too savvy when it comes to what's right and what's wrong (yet) - it would be unfortunate if any of them read the original 'war story' and thought to themselves that it was cool, or that they'd like to emulate it (or worse, go one better ... until somebody gets hurt, or worse ...)

Also, don't forget - we often say "common sense", but ... we also know it's not always so common ...


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## Pte. Bloggins (17 Nov 2004)

Alright ladies and gents, back to the stories...


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## Cliffy433 (17 Nov 2004)

Picture it, summer of '98 on one of the "Super Courses" we started near 150 and graduated 99 on a summer "Basic".   Living in Tent City, WATC Wainwright.  We had co-ed tents with a "drop curtain" for changing.  Our Sect Comd "ordered" us to use the drop curtain, but "suggested" that we would often not have the time to use it (show pde's, etc) and that as mature adults we should work out an amicable compromise.

That night, the Sect got together to chat.  One of the females in the Sect stated, (approx quote), "Alright guys, when we start having show parades and only 5 minutes to change after PT, if you have enough time to take a look, go nuts, I've got nothing to hide and no time to mess around with the curtain."  The other female agreed.  As a section, we agreed that we'd  be respectful and mature.

One night, I felt I was done studying, cleaning, etc.  I decided to change.  I had been lounging about in my PT strip and liked to sleep in my "passion killers" - no, not the combat glasses, the other ones - the old Queen's Green Boxer Shorts, complete with sewn-closed fly to prevent the "enemy" from spying my "weapon".

I info'd the females I was about to change, dropped trou, and was about to grab my Passion Killers when someone yelled, "ROOM!"  I barely had enough time to grab the drawers, let alone step into them, so I grabbed 'em, and stood to attention - elbows bent, holding the drawers in front of me.

The good MCpl who walked in was the Sect Comd of another Sect, but began speaking about something... blah, blah, blah...

Now, asr anyone who has ever been standing naked on a concrete slab in a mod tent will tell you, the top of the window behind me was in line with my lumbar spine, the bottom was below my ass.  The voices behind me reminded me of this and I realized I was mooning tent city through the window.

Whenever, the good MCpl looked away, I attempted to shuffle towards my bunk, trying to get in front of my combat coat before someone walking by the window "gave away my position".  Unfortunately, the young Arty across from me noticed my predicament and began to laugh.  

For anyone who has never been on crse with the military - never laugh during a MCpl's speech...

The good MCpl's "steely-eyed gaze" went first to the young Arty, then traced his line of sight to me...

"Holy f**k May, put your g*d d@mn gitch on!"

I bent down to step into my Passion Killers....

"FREEZE!"  I froze.

A$$ pressed firmly against the window of the mod tent, I froze.  The good MCpl then proceeded to lecture me on decency, morals, nudity, and females in the quarters.  It seemed to take hours.  In hindsight (pun fully intended) it was only a couple minutes.

That same MCpl, has since VOT'd, commissioned and is now a Pl Comd in the unit I serve.  Until now, I've been reticent to tell him the story.  I reminded him on Remembrance Day during our post-parade "social" activities.  He recalled the event.  Not the person.

Love the thread - let's keep it alive!!

And Sir, that IS a direct call out to you - I've heard some of your stories and most of them would blow this thread away!  (did i mention he's a mbr here as well?)

tlm.


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## Kendrick (11 Dec 2004)

Well, maybe most of you people already saw this, but I find it very funny, have a look!

http://www.ipmscanada.com/fun-medals.html


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## vangemeren (11 Dec 2004)

I agree, it is funny. It's been here http://army.ca/cgi-bin/album.pl?photo=Humour/New_Service_Ribbons.gif for awhile.


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## Spazkatt (11 Dec 2004)

Good show, chaps. I find this one jolly good as well.... http://www.satirewire.com/news/feb02/warship.shtml

AL


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## Foxhound (18 Dec 2004)

**Bump**

Back to Norway again.

I was 2i/c of 32Alpha in a defensive position on the side of a mountain somewhere when the pl. WO comes by to let us know that the QM was back with the resupply.   Naturally as 2i/c I went down to carry loads back up to the tents.   Also naturally, since I was the skinniest man in NATO, I was given the crate of IMP's to hump back to the position.   I had no choice but to sling my FN and try to balance the crate on top of my helmet while making my way back up to the position.   As it was zero dark-thirty, (and did I mention it was Norway?), the footing on the way back was what can only be described as "interesting.â ? 

While working my way back to the pl., I hit a slippery bit and, overbalanced as I was with my 13 lb. rifle strapped to the back of my 140 lb. frame, I went straight down, as did the 30 lb. crate which was previously balanced on my noggin.   I had time to think "this is gonna...â ? when the crate, formerly in opposition to the force of gravity by virtue of my skill as a circus balancing act, suddenly realized what Newton was all about, and came to a rather sudden stop again on the afore-mentioned helmet.

No worries, I took a breather, hefted the crate, and was back on my way in a few seconds.   Got back to the pl., dropped off the crate with the other stores, and headed back to the tent.   All in a day's work.

So later, I begin to realize that my neck, a rambunctious body part by nature, is not moving in its usual happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care manner.   In fact, it's not moving much at all.   Left was not a direction, in which my neck could partake, neither was Right.   Down was a bad idea and Up was right out.   It's fair to say that if you were a woman standing in front of me, I would have had no choice but to stare continuously at your chestal area.

So I'm med-evac'ed out, in a 5/4 ton (bouncy-bouncy), back to a German field hospital, where I am told I am in for a series of MEDICALLY REQUIRED   ;D back rubs and neck massages.   From a guy named Horst. :crybaby:   Oh well, can't win 'em all.

Next day, as I'm lying on my back with a neck brace that Torquemada could have designed, there's a commotion.   Sounds of vehicles racing up and sliding to a stop, shouting, vehicle doors opening and slamming closed.   "Sounds like something's happened.â ? I thought.

Next thing you know, stretcher-bearers carrying five very toasted :blotto: soldiers, who were also toast, rush, into the hospital, through the ward and into the surgery.   The five on the stretchers were singing and laughing and carrying-on in a manner that would suggest that they weren't concerned in the least that they were burned over large portions of their faces and hands.

Seems that there was a unit of Italian Alpini troops attached to the Canadian contingent and they were just learning the benefits of using Canadian winter kit. 

A few days later I managed to piece together what had happened to them.   Y'know how naphtha is transported in those one gallon green containers and water is carried in those black five gallon gerry cans?   Well one efficiency expert among the Alpinis decided that it would be much less wasteful of energy if he dumped out the water from the black gerry can and filled it with naphtha instead.   That way he wouldn't have to make more trips than absolutely necessary for naphtha, and besides, there was plenty of snow around for water.   Brilliant, right?

Except that he neglected to inform his squad-mates of his ideas.   While Mr. Efficiency is away from the tent, along comes trooper # 2 who decides that it's time to refill the pot on the stove.

While it's on the stove.

With water from the black gerry can.

Did you know that the Alpinis get booze with their rations?   A lot of it, in fact.   In packages like the mustard you get from McDonald'sÃ‚®.   Some nasty stuff called Grappa, which goes really well with coffee and, apparently, naphtha explosions.

Which explains why they were toasted.

God bless our allies. 

Beaver!


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## heyjimmy (18 Dec 2004)

Here's two short WW2 stories both involving my Grandpa.   My Grandpa volunteered for the RCAF as an aircraft mechanic.   One day, he was carrying a large container of nitro going to load up a bomber.   He lost his balance while carrying it and was stumbling around, knowing if he dropped the nitro, he and everyone around was a goner.   With some fancy footwork, he regained his balance and carried on as a loud sigh of relief came from everyone on the airbase watching.

The second story is my favourite.   My Grandpa was relaxing one afternoon.   All the airplanes on the base had flown off to shoot down Germans.   With the airplanes gone, there were no weapons around.   The sound of airplane engines could be heard in the distance, which was strange because the airplanes were not scheduled to be back yet.   The plane was a German plane.   It flew right over the base with guns blazing.   No one was killed that day.  My Grandpa says he's never seen any of those guys move so fast as they did that day.


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## patrick666 (19 Dec 2004)

The author/teller of this story is beyond me but it has always remained one of my favourites to tell...

During the Polish liberation, a Canadian soldier found a young German private hiding in the closet during house clearing. The German was too afraid to venture outside because he believed, and justifiably so, that the Polish jews would lynch him on site. The Canadian, instead of taking him prisoner, dressed him in some old clothes around the house and hid the Wehrmarcht uniform. The boy left out the front door but stopped midway down the stairs and turned around, "Good bye, comrade." he said followed by a furtive salute. He disappeared down the road. 

There is always some good in whatever may happen.


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## condor888000 (19 Dec 2004)

Canadians?? Poland?? The Canadians never got to Berlin let alone Poland...  ???


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## George Wallace (19 Dec 2004)

condor888000 said:
			
		

> Canadians?? Poland?? The Canadians never got to Berlin let alone Poland... ???


Sorry, but Canadians did make it to Berlin.   MGen Churchill Mann was in charge of the Canadians who did make it there.   You may want to recheck your history books to see how far Canadians did make it in the second World War, starting with how far the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion advanced into Northern Germany.

GW


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## condor888000 (19 Dec 2004)

Lucily my history book is right behind me ;D. Any way, I was under the impression that Berlin was taken entirely by Soviet troops...whoops, bad assumption...unfortunatly it doesn't say anything about 1 CAN PARA and their campaign in Germany...any details that you can spare?


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## George Wallace (20 Dec 2004)

You are partially correct.  The Soviets took much of Berlin in the actual fighting, but Canada was one of the original 'Occupying Forces'.  We pulled out leaving the Soviets, Americans, French and English to divide up the city.  1 Can Para was well into Northern Germany into the area around Wismar north of Berlin at the end of the fighting.  I will update this when I get home and check my books for the exact areas. 

GW


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## Meridian (20 Dec 2004)

Oh good god. My coworkers have thought Im nuts all day as I've been reading snippets of this thread....

please.. more!


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## George Wallace (21 Dec 2004)

OK


> By 2 May 1945, 1 Cdn Para Bn had reached Wismar, its final destination.   The Battalion secured the town and by nightfall had made contact with the first Russian elements.   The Battalion's War Diary recorded the Russian officer's reaction.   "It was quite unofficial, since he had no idea we were in Wismar until he came to our barrier.   He had come far in advance of his own columns, and was quite put out to find us sitting on what was the Russians' ultimate objective."
> The war in Europe was over on 9 May.   During the following weeks the Battalion maintained a friendly but firm stance and enforced the Western Allies' policy of holding the Soviet advance at the "gates" of Wismar.   By the end of the month the Canadian paratroopers returned to Bulford, England, and impatiently settled into Carter Barracks to await their future."


IN SEARCH OF PEGASUS by Bernd Horn and Michel Wyczynski, p. 35

GW


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## condor888000 (21 Dec 2004)

Thanks!


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## Danjanou (3 Jan 2005)

Ok a little something from the past.

*ALDERSHOT FOLLIES*

The summer of 1987 and like all self respecting University types I was in need of some Class B employment. Unfortunately I was on the CO's excrement list after a couple of little incidents earlier that year. 

First was the little paper turf war that had me sending nasty memos to myself. Technically and in my defence I was just following orders by reprimanding myself as UGSO (Unit General Safety Officer) 1st Bn RNFLDR, Nfld Mil Dist, Atlantic Mil Area, FMC, in my other secondary duty as Bldg Fire Warden, Bldg 312, CFS St John's MARCOM for failing to follow through on some trivial matter. 

That and the rather ill advised decision on which room in BHQ would be designated the official solitary smoking room had rather put my career progression in need of a IA drill (â Å“career going well....career stops!â ?) on which I had yet to be trained on. Finally there was the little â Å“incidentâ ? while commanding an armed guard to retrieve a Carl G from central Nfld. Hey at least I hadn't left the darn thing on the side of the road.

As it turned out my employment options became rather limited and I was soon winging my way to the enema insertion point for NATO, MTC Aldershot. As it turned out this was not rock bottom as I was to find out. Less than two months later I was offered a chance to head up to Gagetown to â Å“take overâ ? as CSM of Demo Company. The bribe er excuse me inducement was temp acting boost to MWO as someone had found out I had actually stumbled through the MWO course and made it as far as the end of the Grad Parade.   

A little checking into why they were some eager to have a still rather junior WO elevated to such dizzying heights, and I discovered that the present OC of the Company was from my unit. In addition not one but two CSM's had already quit, deciding to spend the summer fishing and drawing UI rather than deal with him. Knowing the officer in question I didn't feel like being third time lucky. Besides I hate fishing.

Any ways back to the story at hand. As there was only one service flight a week out of Nfld, I had to travel commercial air. I guess the RSS chief clerk didn't like my little memo war either, or he was recovering from the RSS Trng O suggestion that the backlog of paperwork could be dealt with by firing several M-72s into the BOR. A check of my travel orders revealed that I was on the 6:00 am Sunday flight out of St. Johns to Halifax.

Now the 6:00 am flight is not a direct one. It hits every, and I mean every stinking airport and grass field in Nfld. It was a small turbo prop with a dozen or so passengers and one flight attendant and coffee cart. I was sitting in the back and she naturally started the in-flight coffee service at the front of the plane and every time we began to descend she stopped, before reaching me. 

Every time we landed we had to disembark. There wasn't time to get a coffee on these stops even if anything had been open. When we took off again instead of starting the service where she left off, she returned to the front of the plane and started there again. I never did get a cup of coffee until we reached Halifax.

When we reached Stephenville I was joined by another military type, the RSS WO from 2nd Bn. Now I was in a bad mood, even before caffeine withdrawal. My original hopes re class B had been to instruct on SYEP, which would have left me evenings and weekends with the better half. Second choice, teaching Infantry QL3 out in the boonies, which would have at least given me the occasional weekend at home. Aldershot while it did have its advantages did mean no wifey for 3-4 months (yes summer employment really was that long back then) as they'd stopped the regular Herc R&R flights to the â Å“Rockâ ? in 1985. Try explaining to someone you're involved with and who really doesn't like the military that you'll see her or her in 4 months is not the way to a healthy relationship. Besides I'd spent the summer before in Aldershot.

Now Ron the 2nd Bn WO, whose last name I won't mention, but whose nickname was â Å“poster boyâ ? because of an unfortunate career move years earlier that saw him starring in a new CF recruiting poster called â Å“We stand aloneâ ? (old timers who remember it may now giggle mercilessly because they'll know who I'm talking about), was in an even worse mood than moi.

It seems he'd been promised some leave before summer tasking, and naive fool that he was he believed them. The day before he'd been out in his favourite river casting for salmon or whatever. A couple of months later I told him about this great gig in Gagetown that included fishing benefits. He passed on it too, which shows he was no fool either.

Both of us were of course in civies choosing to disdain the regs that stated we were supposed to travel and report in to MTC in uniform. Ron was dressed like one would expect a Snr NCO to dress in mufti, navy blazer, dress pants and shirt and tie. I had chosen comfort over style and was wearing a polo shirt and jeans. My blazer was in a suit carrier along with my dress uniform, checked (hopefully) along with my duffel bag and rucksack.

We landed at Halifax and lugged all our kit over to the little booth that AMU ran there at the time. Sure enough there was ground transport laid on for both of us. The bad news was it wasn't due to depart until late that afternoon, as it had to wait for several more incoming passengers. As it was not quite 9:00 am this posed a problem, and one we'd work on right after we dealt with that lack of caffeine situation.

I didn't mind killing the day in the airport terminal, ok yeah I did, but what other options were open. To make matters worse there was no place to store our small mountain of kit (2x rucksacks with webbing attached, 2x duffel bags, 2x civie suit bags, 2x briefcases, 2x pace stick cases). Someone had recently removed the lockers from the terminal for security reasons. I guess there had been concerns about bombs from caffeine-deprived passengers deplaning from Eastern Provincial Airlines redeye flights.

Suggestions that we be allowed to leave it at the AMU counter were met with hostile responses and a muttered suggestion of something that was physically impossible for either of us to do and quite rude too, not to mention insubordinate as the weenie was only a Cpl. We ended up piling it in the centre of the departure lounge and taking turns guarding it. Ron pulled rank and wandered off first. After a couple of hours he came back having tired of the bar, restaurant, slot machines, and book store and it was my turn to go off and gape at the live lobsters for sale and the rent a car booths.

Later in the day several new bodies bolstered our ranks. They were members of my own unit, also bound for Aldershot who caught a late afternoon direct flight on a real jet with coffee and booze and everything. I spent the next little while plotting revenge on BOR clerks as a species and one in particular. Soon after our ride a beat up rifle green panel complete with bored career Cpl driver showed up.

We lugged our kit outside and loaded it up. Ron pulled rank or called shotgun and got the front seat. I didn't care I just wanted to leave, but the driver had other ideas. It seemed we were three warm bodies short so we had to wait.

A check with the ever-helpful AMU revealed that all three were Militia Sgts from Western Canada and their flight was a bit late. Eventually it showed and soon after they appeared in the terminal. Now coming from kit starved Nfld I was impressed. Each one of them seemed to have more assorted kit and luggage than Ron and I combined. We were heading to Aldershot for 3-4 months; they were down for a two-week course. Naturally all were in uniform, greens, in strict accordance with their joining instructions. Come to think of it so were the numpties from my unit, only Ron and I were in civies.

The trick was to get the kit in the truck and get out of there ASAP, preferably before happy hour ended in the Sgts Mess as far as I was concerned. I guess it was an SOP in the Army of the West brought in after I left that Sgts don't do manual labour, or maybe it was a unit thing, although they were all wearing different cap badges, but they just stood there and stared at their kit like they were expecting a troop of Sherpas to appear and load it.

Then they noticed the gaggle of Ptes and Cpls sitting in the van and started to make come hither motions. The boys tried to look inconspicuous, the driver gave them I just drive the vehicle look, and Ron, well Ron just sat in the front and glared.   Naturally that left me and I was sitting closest to the door. 

One of them gave me his best NCO look followed by a â Å“load this kit there ladâ ? issued fake Brit accent. A couple of my guys started to say something, probably about my rank, but I gave them a dirty look, and tugged my forelock ( pre MPB days) jumped out and tossed all the kit in the back.

I jumped back aboard and found myself wedged between the Sgts three. One of them gave me a cheery smile and patronising thanks for a job well done. He then asked if I was heading to Aldershot, ( Mensa member here) and what I was doing there. I replied truthfully I wasn't sure, as I'd just been posted there. Well it was the truth, Ron and I knew that we were with Leadership Company as DS but beyond that we weren't sure. 

The fatherly Sgt then pointed out that I should be in uniform, and by rights he should jack me up for it. I noticed Ron didn't get the same comment, like I said he was dressed like he was heading to the RSM's home for cocktails. Sgt friendly then said he and his mates would watch out for me because I seemed like a good lad. They he said were heading down for their Senior Leaders Course (QL6A then an all-arms perquisite for WO. I'd done mine in 1983 and came second.). By now the guys in the back were trying to hold back their giggles and earning them puzzled looks from the Sgts.

I should digress to point out one fact. At the time I was twenty-seven and had been a Warrant Officer for a little over two years. Despite this I looked a good ten years younger especially in casual civies. Two years earlier on a stopover on my way to RV85 I had been carded in the Sgts Mess at CFB Trenton.

We eventually made Aldershot and everyone cleared in at R&D. The Sgts were hustled off to their course quarters, the troops to wherever they ended up and eventually Ron and I found ourselves in Fawlty Towers where we were assigned rooms and told to report to OC Leadership Coy Monday Morning. I unpacked and strolled over to the Sgts Mess where the Sunday BBQ was winding down, I made my greetings to the camp RSM who I knew and the CSM Leadership Coy who i also knew from the summer before and politely asked if they knew what I was doing. 

As far as they knew it seems I would be instructing on the QL6B Inf WO course, but until it started up in a week I'd probably be an spare instructor on the Senior Leaders Course QL6A if they could use me. I smiled and noticing three new arrivals in the mess, sneaked out before I could be seen.

I then strolled over to Leadership Coy lines and found the poor junior Sgt stuck on duty to welcome students who's course was starting that week, tuck them in, an/or ensure that they didn't riot or desert or anything else that would result in bad PR for the Camp Commander.

I told him if he wanted some time off to go enjoy the last of the BBQ, I'd spell him and go tuck in the QL6A for the night. He was a little suspicious of my motives and said it would need the CSM's ok, so he called him. The CSM wanted to know why I was being so helpful, so I told him. I'd given him part of the story re the fun and games at the airport earlier back in the mess. He then said yeah sure, but only if he and the RSM could watch. I think they took up spots by the windows because my beers were on their tab for the rest of the night.

I went back to my room and changed into uniform, complete with pace stick, which magically upped my appearance to at least above legal voting age. Then I strolled over to the shacks that held the incoming QL6A.

Now I guess some of them had arrived earlier in the weekend, and knew that Aldershot Leadership Company basically had only two ranks, staff and students and the later popped to when the former entered a room, Sgts included. I strolled in and the normal introduction BS. At the far end of the room, three particular individuals who had just come back form their â Å“recceâ ? of the important parts of the camp like the bar and were now unpacking. They were at first surprised and then slowly as recognition dawned on them, horrified.

I then went into my, and incidentally the Company's theory on Leadership and what made a good NCO, concentrating on never ordering a soldier to do what you're not capable of, or willing to do yourself and some stuff about personal servants and rank has it's privileges (not) and other similar themed bovine excrement for a few minutes. 

By this time I'd reached the end of the barracks where my airport buddies were know standing heals still locked together. I smiled at them and in my best stage whisper told them that they really didn't have to worry about all that as the next words they'd be hearing were â Å“fasten seatbelts, no smoking please and prepare for take off.â ? 

I then bid them all good night and headed back to change for the BBQ.

I think they were surprised that they weren't RTU'd before breakfast the next day. I only spent a couple of days working on that course before I was pulled to help prep the Infantry QL6B, and probably taught a couple of lectures so I have no recollection of how they made out.


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## redleafjumper (4 Jan 2005)

I was a reserve Lt training cadet staff in Vernon ('83 or so) and we had a number of RCR nco's as Directing Staff.  One of the best nco's had a brother who was a senior officer in the same regiment and for this and other reasons he sometimes had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about officers.  At the end of the training course he was just off the parade square with a group of other regular force directing staff MCpls and Sgts, and another subby and myself saw our opportunity to give him a hard time.  It went something like this:
"Compliments exchanged"
Me: "MCpl T****, I understand congratulations are in order."
Him: "Sir?"
Me: "I understand that your CFR application for CFOCS has been accepted and that you're heading there on the next intake, all the best to you! Have a great day!"  (Grab hand, shake vigorously, depart quickly!)
Him in distance:  "Me an officer!? No way guys it isn't true..."

He came looking for the two of us later, practically begging us to tell his buddies that he wasn't a traitor.  We all had a good laugh over it.


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## redleafjumper (4 Jan 2005)

This isn't a funny story, but it has its lessons.  In 1945, at the end of the war, my father-in-law, then a 13 year-old in the defunct Hitler Jugend, was ordered by the victors to assist, along with other HJ youngsters, in cleaning up any munitions and weapons that were left lying around the streets of their village in the former Sudetenland.  One of the lads found an unfired panzerfaust and a group of the boys gathered around it and proceeded to bash away at the weapon with rifle butts and rocks.  Well, the (insert appropriate expletive) thing went off and burned my future father-in-law's right leg down to the bone below the right knee with the back blast.
His older brother, in hiding as a former member of Liebstandarte A.H. - Fuhrers SS Bodyguard, carried him on his back for some 10 kms or so to a hospital.  The older brother was soon arrested and hung, but the kid made it ok with an amputation below the knee.  

It's an interesting war story from my wife's family...


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## Franko (10 Jan 2005)

Hitting an unfired Panzerfaust?  

Bet they never did that again!

Regards


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## redleafjumper (10 Jan 2005)

> Bet they never did that again!



No, I think not.  I asked him how he lost his leg as I knew it had happened in the war, and that's what I got.  From what he was saying, he hadn't even hit it, he was just standing behind the tube where the back blast came out.  He had no idea what the warhead did or where it went, but apparently it didn't hit anyone and he was the only casualty.  Pretty tough way to learn about ordnance, especially with what happened to his oldest brother out of it all.

Oh well. let's hear some funny stories again!  I didn't mean to shut this down with that one.


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## Fraser.g (17 Feb 2005)

A certain snr MCpl on this thread posted a story about a mooning incident from his mega bmq course in Wx. 
Yes I was the MCpl that he was referring to and have a few other stories from the same course. 
Keep in mind that mine was 12 sect and there were no 2ICs so all training was done by the Sect Cmd. 
Now on with the story:

The same young Pte in the story previous had a Section Commander from an armoured recce unit on the prairie. He had coke bottle glasses and a quite strong lisp when he talked.

During IST we were given a strong talk about singling out individuals on the course and to ensure that any corrective training was appropriate for the infraction. Push-ups were not in vogue for any and all punishments.

We proceded back to the tent lines where we carried on with the course prep. Making the candidates folders etc. I glanced over to see the MCpl securing some paracord to the airmatress plug from one of the old rubber ladies. I asked him what he was doing and with out blinking (you would notice) stated that he was making his section plug. He did not grasp that this would be singling out an individual but more of an approved training principal.

Fast forward to the first day of course:

All the candidates were in their tent lines and the staff was to go in and introduce themselves to their sections. I had finished my first rant and stomp and was making my way back to the instructor tent only to hear the MCpl mentioned above start into his. It went something like this. "Welcome to the world of MCPl A.........! It is a SH!$$y place to be...according to my ex-wife." and went down hill from there. I believe he went on about eating deodorant and other silly things but TLM can tell you more about this.

Later in the course the Camp CSM had to kick MCpl A out of the tent at night, he had set up a cot and decided that he would sleep down there to "be closer to his troops". The next morning I was Marching NCO and so had to take the parade for morning PT. I went into the staff tent only to find MCpl A still down there from the day before. He had not slept but was sitting at his desk with a burning arctic candle in front of him and a big tub of toy soldiers he had bought at the canex. Systematically he was biting the heads of the soldiers and with a needle and thread heated over the candle he was making a necklace of little solder heads for himself.

He was promoted to Sgt while on this course.

MCpl A was and still is in and is a great instructor. He was liked by his section but did make them shake their heads with his orders at times...all the time.

There are more of this persons anecdotes but they get a bit colorful.

Ask tlm about them some time over a beer.


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## X Royal (17 Feb 2005)

When on my TQ 3 Inf course in 1978 a fellow candidate got in sh*t over not having polish in the welts of his boots. When he inquired how to do this he was told to use a tooth brush. The nest morning on inspection it was noticed that his tooth brush was missing from his toiletry drawer. When questioned about this he answered "I used it for me boots" with a black toothed smile.

Pro Patria


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## patrick666 (18 Feb 2005)

I really had some good hardy laughs reading these posts. Thanks for sharing everyone!

This is our proud Canadian army at its finest... Can't wait to be a part of it! 

Cheers all,

Patrick


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## bluehaven (20 Feb 2005)

I was voluntold one year to be an Ambulance driver for 2 field as the new LS AMB<at the time> were in, but no one in 2 field was qualified to drive them... TCPs were set up by some reserve infantry units to not allow people to leave the training areaduring the Ex. Although Field Amb is allowed to leave we still needed the days password. 

I drove up to the TCP at about 1300hrs, and a young Pte stood there while his C-9 buddy covered. He challenged me. I quickly replied, that was yesterdays code. So he asked me what todays code was. I replied saying I couldn't tell him because that would be a security infraction, and that he would have to ask his Mcpl.

So he let me through with a wave. When I was beyond earshot the 2 Field Amb medic (that I was driving) asked me why I had told him the pass had changed. I said it was because it changes at 1200 hrs Zulu. She then informed me that 1200 hrs Zulu was in fact 1800hrs local.

Hmm... she was right. Even though we were allowed to pass, I was the idiot for not knowing when Zulu was. I can only imagine the young Pte going up to his Mcpl and asking for the new Code. Then being told that the code he was given was the good one. I would think we both learned a lesson that day.

Hey bud if you're out there and I got you in trouble, sorry 'bout that.


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## Franko (20 Feb 2005)

X Royal said:
			
		

> When on my TQ 3 Inf course in 1978 a fellow candidate got in sh*t over not having polish in the welts of his boots. When he inquired how to do this he was told to use a tooth brush. The nest morning on inspection it was noticed that his tooth brush was missing from his toiletry drawer. When questioned about this he answered "I used it for me boots" with a black toothed smile.
> 
> Pro Patria



Reminds me of a certain CSM who died his hair with the stuff.

Regards


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## Fraser.g (1 Mar 2005)

I had the opportunity to instruct BMQ at CFD Dundurn in the late 90s. We had one candidate that truly was lost. As a matter of fact he actually got lost between the 100 Meter point and the Buts on the conventional range.
I was the buts NCO for the day and had brought a work party down to set up the targets etc.
After we were done the above mentioned candidate came walking out from behind the buts while I was forming the remainder of the party up to march them back.
Assuming that he had to go and urinate I asked him if he had told anyone that he was going to take a leak? He responded that he was looking for the buts and had not gone to pee.

Shaking my head I asked him to place both hands out in front of him with his palms facing up, with a confused look he did what he was told.

I then asked him to place one hand on each side of his back below his belt line. With an even more bewildered look he complied.

When he had accomplished his task I informed him that he had passed the test. 

The test was to see if, infact he could find his own ass with both hands and minimal prompting.

For the rest if his limited career when ever he saw me he, on his own accord, would prove that he still could and had at least remembered that lesson.


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## Baloo (23 Mar 2005)

One of my own most embarrassing, potentially deadly moments.

Sometime this past summer (forget if it was SQ or BIQ...probably the latter, as I believe we were getting near the end), we were heading down to the mess hall from the shacks at Meaford, for breakfast. Finished our PT, and it was routine as usual. Probably, a little too routine.

You know, when you start counting timings / pace / pre-empting coming commands in your head? Well, unforunately for me, it didn't just stay "in my head". It was so routine, that it hurt. I seemed to know exactly where we would stop, and it had been a long week, for some reason. Maybe I'm just making excuses, who knows. Anyhow, the MCpl marching NCO calls out the platoon, and we ready for the halt right before the mess. One, one, two. 

HALT.

The platoon halts. But there is confusion. Mass confusion. It sounded NOTHING like the marching NCO. A couple heads turned, and looked around. The guy next to me laughed. Who had called the halt you ask? It was myself. HOLY F***, I thought. What have I done? I wasn't trying to be funny. I wasn't looking to be an "individual". It just happened. HOLY F***. I'm dead. 

"WHO THE F*** SAID THAT? WHO THE F***?" he yelled,

Silence.

Few more obscenities. 

"YOU!" he points to the guy laughing next to me. "PICKET TONIGHT!"

Well, he calms down, thinking the case is solved, and I assume he just wanted to eat, because we got marched in.

Well, after breakfast, I told him in front of the platoon that it was me who had called it out. I didn't want the whole group getting PT, work, whatever because of my retardation. I guess he forgot about it, because he had a puzzled look on his face. Then he rememebered, and I joined my buddy on picket. Hey, he laughed right?  

You can bet I my mind was racing whenever we marched after that. That stayed with me for awhile.


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## Morgs (25 Mar 2005)

I don't have any stories.... yet!
But it is good to see that people are still posting here because its a great thead!!!
Cheers,
Morgs


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## Slim (25 Mar 2005)

Go Watchpig!!!


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## tmapplepeel (26 Mar 2005)

Hey Patrick H. the story your talking about sounds exactly the same as the one in True Canadian War Stories. Its called Marked Men and its written by Will R. Bird. Just wondering because it sounds exactly the same except the person in Will R. Bird's story is near Mons in Belgium when they liberated it in WWI.


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## patrick666 (26 Mar 2005)

Oh, really? I recall reading that book a few years ago so maybe that is the story I was thinking of and just had time/place wrong completely. Sounds about right though now that I think about it!

Cheers


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## Big Foot (26 Mar 2005)

This past summer, my platoon was given a change parade after PT at the Mega. Now, usually it is the platoon that gets upset/angry/whatever else over said change parade. However, my platoon just quickly, but not quietly did what we were supposed to do. After the third change and shower, our MCpl poked his head into the changing room and yelled "Shut up! This is not a f*cking party!" We all had to try to keep from laughing. Evidently it was the MCpl that got annoyed during the change parade, not the platoon. Good times.


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## redleafjumper (27 Mar 2005)

I recall on a course I was on in Petawawa, we were four to a room.  The standard drill for the morning inspection was that the D/S would come in and flip the beds over and generally tell us what an effing pig-sty we lived in.  It was so over-done that we decided to have a little fun.  We wired and pinned one mattress sheets and blankets to the bed frame and then purposely left one of the hospital corners just slightly untucked.  We also put several little notes all around the room inscribed with the message "Good morning MCPL!"  Well, It was hilarious when the MCpl came in to do the inspection, he did his usual whirlwind with the white glove, and there were little notes swirling around in the air behind him - he didn't notice any until the oneunder the bag in the garbage can, and then he saw the untucked hospital corner.  You could see the "Ah Ha!" look in his eyes as he grabbed that mattress to turn the bed.  Well of course the whole bed went with the pull, and he couldn't believe it.  He pushed and pulled and finally flipped the whole bed over and jumped on it - it took everything in us to keep from roaring with laughter.  At the end of the show even he was laughing (a little).  It was the last room inspection we ever had.


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## alan_li_13 (30 Mar 2005)

Yesterday morning, the Canadian Ambassador to the Neatherlands and a veteran of the Liberation during WW2 came to our school as part of the Memorial Project. After the presentation, i chatted with the veteran, who turned out to have served with the Artillery as a Sgt. Here's a funny one he told me. 

One time, the battery was conducting harrassing fire, when suddenly, about 200 m foward of the gun lines, two soldiers that was obviously wasted on wine stumbled over. Unbeknowns to them, the Arty guys had dug a slit trench, which had filled up with freezing water as it was winter, near that spot. 
So one guy, stumbles in, falls, and as the Sgt watches, climbs back out, feels the top of his head, and reaches in to retrieve his hat. He then turns around with his back facing the guns, yank down his pants, and squats down to take a crap.

The Sgt watches and thinks: "The NERVE of this SOB...I gotta do something"
So the Sgt says: "Load"
Troopie: "But Sarge, its not our tur---"
Sgt: "I DON'T GIVE A DAMN, I SAID LOAD!"
so load...fires...BOOM
drunk guy falls over backwards into his newly fecaled trench. HAHAHA 

Up comes the radio: "Gun on right of the line that just fired out of turn, REPORT TO HQ"
Of course, nobody does anything.
again: "Gun on right of the line that just fired out of turn, REPORT TO HQ"
Troopie to Sgt: "Uh oh, we're in deep shit now, Sgt"
Suddenly: Number One gun right of the line, traverse 500 m and fire for effect!" (or something along that lines)

During all this commotion on the radio, the drunk man has recovered from his fall and was trying to continue conducting his business. 
So the Sgt makes the correct adjustments, loads, and just as the drunk squats down...
BOOM!!!
Rolls back, SPLASH, and down into the trench the drunk goes again. ;D

Pretty Funny story, Theres another funny one he told me concerning his age when he joined.
I love my Veterans


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## Jonny Boy (30 Mar 2005)

my dad knew this man that was in the German artillery during the 2nd world war. he told my dad a funny story that happend to him and his friend.

the man was an observer with the German artillery on the Russian front. on day he was giving cordinance for a bombardment on a Russian out post he accidentally gave the wrong ones. he didn't realize until the cannons had started firing.

it turned out that the cordinance were wrong but the artillery strike ended up falling right on a Russian tank division. so all and all it worked out and he was saved from getting in trouble.

the funny part is because of what he and his friend did they were awarded the iron cross.

unfortunately for him he was later taken prisoner by the Russians.


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## Baloo (30 Mar 2005)

The following is a tale from the summer, once again, from BIQ in Meaford. 

To anyone who reads this and was present: I'm sorry, but this story simply cannot be avoided any longer.  ;D

It was lights out in the shacks. The next day, we were going out on the lake for some assault boat training, and it was promising to be a good go. Now, a couple (3...maybe 4, I forget) of the guys decided to screw around, head into Owen Sound or somewhere and have a couple brews, sneak back into the shacks, and simply sleep it off. Well, what actually ended up happening was a little different. They go one of the "scenic" strip joints in the area (in civvies, mind you) and start drinking. And keep drinking. Must have been a good time for them, because they didn't get back oh, until say, 0200, and wasted. But, it doesn't end there.

They get into the room, and the rest of the section is fast asleep. There is this  one guy, who is the main topic of the situation, who decides that where better to take a leak, then on the floor. Right there. In the middle of the room. So he decides to do it. And this isn't a little tinkle, we're talking about here: he's letting out all those beers. It's making a lot of noise apparently, so some of the other guys in the section wake up. To quote some, who saw the event:

"HOLY F***!"

"S***. WHAT THE F*** ARE YOU DOING?"

And, from the obligatory Russian soldier:

"Eet eez like a reever conjonction!" (say it in a Russian accent, to help), surveying the damage.
"To h*** with the lake, we can do the assault boats here!" he adds.

By now, the puddle is growing into a lake, as he describes. It seeps under the door, into the hallway, which is bad enough, then starts into the OTHER PLATOONS ROOM, ACROSS THE HALL. That is how much he was letting loose. And still not done. 

While some at this point are still asleep, one guy has the worst go of it. He gets up, not noticing a thing, swings his legs off the bunk, and barefoot, into the p***. The funniest part is, that he did not even notice. He claims at the time, he thought it was water. He goes, still barefoot, to the bathroom, comes back, and goes back to sleep, through all of it. Never even noticed until someone told him.

Meanwhile, the troops are struggling to maintain the swirling rapids. They are out in the hallways, creeping into the other platoon's room to survey, and clean up. All the while, the culprit, is making his way back to bed, to pass out. Did I mention by this point he was naked? If not, he had stripped bare arsed, and was passed out in thirty seconds. The rest of the section cleanred up wonderfully.

The next day, was horrible for those fellows. The lake, the weather, all combined to see them effectively have a horrible, hungover time. 


To the one guy who lurks that I know was there: Hey, you knew it was coming!  ;D


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## Fishbone Jones (31 Mar 2005)

Marine Math

The Korean War, in which the Marine Corps fought and won some of its most brutal battles, was not without its gallows humor.  During one such battle a ROK (Republic of Korea) commander, whose unit was fighting along with the Marines, called legendary Marine Chesty Puller to report a major Chinese attack in his sector.

"How many Chinese are attacking you?" asked Puller.

"Many, many Chinese!" replied the excited Korean officer.

Puller asked  for another count and got the same answer: "Many, many Chinese!"

"!*#dammit!" swore Puller.  "Put my Marine liaison officer on the radio."
In a minute, an American voice came over the air: "Yes, sir?"

"Lieutenant," growled Chesty, "exactly how many Chinese you got up there?"

"Colonel, we got a whole shitload of Chinese up here!"

"Thank, God!" exclaimed Puller.  "At least there's someone up there who knows
how to count!"


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## HollywoodHitman (31 Mar 2005)

Thats awesome.  :dontpanic:


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## Jonny Boy (31 Mar 2005)

this is a story of my great grandfather Pvt chapman in the first world war.

in 1917 pvt chapman was on the front line with his regiment, the kings own Scottish borderer's. on the 17 of November the germans made a large offenceve on pvt chapmans position.when all the action started pvt chapmans officer ( not sure what rank) started to panic. he was going around telling everyone to run for there lives surrender retreat. 

when pvt chapman heard this he went to the officer to remind him of the strategical importance of their postion. the officer did not listen he just kept panicing. so with quick thinking pvt chapman punched the officer and knocked him out.

than pvt Chapman took control of everyone and stopped the panic that the officer had placed in everyone. because of what he did the British were able to repel the German assult and hold there position until reinforcements came to help them.

after the battle pvt chapman was mentioned in dispatch papers. i have the dispatch papers in the original frame at home on the wall. it is dated November 17 1917 and it is signed by sir winston churchhill.

the officer that he knocked out later brought him up on charges of striking a Superior officer (and everyone knows that the penalty for that was death). but because of all the witnesses that saw what happend the case was thrown out the window and all charges were dropped.

after the war my great grandpa never went to sign his dispatch papares. he just wanted to go home to Scotland and be with his family. he was told that he was recommended for the Victoria cross and if he had of signed his dispatch papers than he would of been awarded it.

i don't think he minded . he was alive at home and with his family.


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## Gouki (31 Mar 2005)

While these stories are funny - and I mean funny (that Russian guy pissing on the floor .... oh man I cracked up) this story was one of my favourites.. Not just beacuse of the KO punch, but because of the dispatch/Victoria Cross thing.

To have such a thing, and signed by Winston Churchill, hanging on your wall. Wow, now that's a true treasure.


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## Jonny Boy (1 Apr 2005)

Steve said:
			
		

> While these stories are funny - and I mean funny (that Russian guy pissing on the floor .... oh man I cracked up) this story was one of my favourites.. Not just beacuse of the KO punch, but because of the dispatch/Victoria Cross thing.
> 
> To have such a thing, and signed by Winston Churchill, hanging on your wall. Wow, now that's a true treasure.


now i just found out that he did this during the battle of the somme. it was near the end of the battle when the germans were trying to push the british back to the beggining.

now that i am at home here is exactly what is on the paper 

the war of 1914- 1918​kingsown scottish borderers​No. 20415 Pte.B. Chapman, 7th Bn..​was mentioned in a dispach from​General Sir Douglas Haig. G.C.B, K.C.I.E, K.C.V.O, A.D.C.​dated 13th, November 1916.​for gallant and distinguished services in the Feild.​I have it in command from the King to record His Majesty's​high appreciation of the services renderd.​Winston Churchhill (signature)​Secretary of State for War​War Office
Whitehall.S.W.
1st March 1919


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## LordVagabond (1 Apr 2005)

I used to be in air cadets, 781 Calgary, and am applying to the Canadian Forces in summer 2006 after I graduate  

Anyways, when I was at CFB Penhold, we were all in gender-specific barracks. I was in Iroquois flight, 2nd floor, fire watch on the night in question. It was about 4 weeks into the 6 week musicians course. Now... a 14 year old kid with a huge maglight, full parade dress (the Base CO liked everyone on fire watch to look spiffy, for some reason), and tired as all hell. Out of nowhere, and I mean I never saw it coming, a cadet ran from one end of the barracks to the other stark naked. No screaming, no waving of arms, just a streak up and down the barracks hallway, right by me.

Now, I had to make sure everyone was in their rooms so I ran off after him, got back to his room just in time to see him leap bodily out an open window, at which point I gave a roar of alarm that somewhat rhymed with "FLOOR EMERGENCY!" (the call to get EVERYONE outta their bunks and into the hallway snap-quick). I seriously thought that kid had just committed suicide. He did a headfirst dive out of the window, a good 25 feet above ground (the barracks are raised due to the surplus stores being under our barracks). I ran down the stairs with the Squad WO hot on my heels in his undies, and we both barrel outside and...

The kid is nowhere to be found. We look around, until we realize that the tree that's a good 20 feet away from the windows is swaying weirdly... we look up and there's the kid, SLEEPING, in the top branches, stark naked.

Weird things happen at cadet camp 


Another story from the same summer at Penhold. We were all learning the basics of being a drum major, with all the proper twirls and throws, and someone started a speed twirling competition, so one of the drum majors gets his practice mace (a broomstick with a drilled out softball duct taped to the end) twirling so fast it's a blur, and then we hear a "shwoompf" and he stops twirling, looking at the end of his broomstick and the now missing duct tape and softball. Right then, and I mean perfectly timed, the Base CO walks around the corner to see how we're doing. By now it's been about 12 seconds since the softball disappeared. Out of the sky, suddenly, a softball streaming duct tape behind it lands SQUARELY between the CO's feet and implants itself into the grass. Needless to say it scared the CO, and had us all laughing because we didn't know where the softball had gone. Apparently the drum major had launched it well over 250 feet into the air, from reports and eyewitness accounts. To this day, I think that's the highest any maceball has ever been


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## Foxhound (2 Apr 2005)

Cornwallis, 1978, recruit platoon 7836.  We were an experiment as far as the forces were concerned.  Apparently, ours was the first recruit platoon since Korea that was going to be staying together through basic and TQ3.  Well, half of the platoon was anyhow, one and two sections would be moving on together to London and Infantry TQ3, three and four were heading off to places like Borden for trades training.  Still, the Army was keeping their eyes on us and that became most evident during our tenth week drill test.

I mentioned in previous posts that I was an airforce brat.  I spent my teenage years in Borden and went from there to Cornwallis.  I knew a lot of officers (my buddies' fathers) as a kid.  I just didn't think of them as officers, to me they were just Mike's dad, or Billy's dad.

So it turns out that the (roughly sixty) CWO's of the recruiting centers that had sent us to Cornwallis were going to be present to observe us for our last two weeks, and we found out about it just before marching into the drill hall for the tenth week drill test.   No pressure, we were told, just do it like in rehearsal.

The officer that had been assigned to shepherd these sixty CWO's was my best friend's father, Maj. er..., Bloggins who was also the commandant of CFSIS in Borden.  The thing was, I didn't know he was there - I was concentrating on my dressing and movements.  I was acutely aware of all of the senior NCO's, and I remember a measurable feeling of relief when the pl. cmdr. called the final halt, had us face front, order arms and stand easy.  I guess we hadn't made too many glaring mistakes, because at that point the "audience" rose to their feet and began to applaud.  The next thing you know, as we're thinking we're going to be marched out and back to barracks, the major, who I still didn't recognize, starts walking towards the platoon.  Towards the leftmost squad.  The left flank.  Where I  was.

The pl. cmdr. immediately called the pl. up to the chow.  All eyes are now on the major.  I recognized him!  "Oh shoot! ;Dâ ?, I thought.

My next thought was kinda weird.  I thought, "How the hell did he recognize ME?â ?  The last time I had seen Mike's dad, I had hair down to the middle of my back, wearing skin tight bell-bottom jeans and a corduroy Levi'sÃ‚® jacket with the sleeves rolled up.  (Hey, I was a teenager living in Borden.  Had to rebel somehow while at the Anderson Park golf clubhouse waiting for my teetime! 8))

The major barely acknowledges the pl. cmdr.'s salute as he strolls past.  Gives a good high five back to my sect. cmdr. when he salutes, and stops right in front of me.  I immediately shoulder arms and salute.

Now here I am.  I am the center of attention of 60 (count 'em) SIXTY Chief Warrant Officers, both my Platoon Commmander *AND* (God help me!) my section commander - even though both have their backs to me,  my 30 squad-mates, the rest of the platoon, and an *MP* *Major*, who says, after returning my salute, "Relax Marc, it's just me, Dave.â ?

RELAX!  Oh yeah, relax.

"Hi Dave.â ? I offered.

"How're you doing?â ? he asks.  "They treating you right?

"I love this (bad word), Dave.  Doing well.  What's Mike up to?â ?

**More inane chatter, inquiring after families, etc.**

"Well,â ? says Dave, "gotta go.  I have to bring the group over to a meeting with the commandant.â ?

"'Kay, see ya.â ? (or words to that effect), shoulder arms, salute, he salutes, turns, yadda-yadda, off he goes.

As soon as major Dave is out of earshot, my red-eared section commander about-turns, marches up to me and asks, in his thick down-home accent, "Who the (bad f-word) was dat, lad?â ?

"Friend of the family, Corporal!â ?, I reply.

"Well I'm not (bad f-ing word) impressed, laddie!  I'm not (bad f-ing word) impressed at *ALL*!!â ?

He wasn't, either. :crybaby:


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## Jonny Boy (5 Apr 2005)

i have one more.

my papa was in the RN during the 2nd world war. one day when he was out i the middle of the Indian ocean he spotted a plane. he noticed that something wasn't right about the markings on it so he opened fire on it( he was an AA gunner on merchant ships and corvettes). all of the sudden his Sgt (or equivalent in the  navy) came running out and started to yell at him to stop. when my papa stopped firing he told the Sgt that it was a enemy spy plane. the Sgt did not believe him and said not it was one of ours. the next day there ship was torpedoed by the Japanese and sunk. it turned out that the plane my papa was shooting at was a spy plane. it had told the sub where the ship was.

while the ship was sinking he managed to get in a life boat.  for the next 2 weeks he was MIA because he was lost at sea. stranded in a life boat. that is not even the worst part. the worst part is that he was the only surviver left from the life boat. the rest had all died of dehydration. some of them drank the sea water. his friends were among the ones in the life boat. that ones one of the 2 different ships he was on that were sunk. 1 in the Indian ocean and one in the Atlantic ocean.

my papa saw the world he had the Africa star the Italy star the Atlantic star the 1939-45 star and he spent time in Burma as well because i think that is where they discovered his raft (not sure why he did not receive the Burma star though). 

even though my papa volunteered got rejected than volunteered again when he was 18, he said it was the worst 5 years of his life.


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## Towards_the_gap (10 Apr 2005)

Now then lads, pull up a sandbag, pin your ears back, and tune in to a tale of Her Majesties Royal Engineers. 

Young Spr TTGap was on Exercise Pond Jump West at Wainwright. We were ostensibly there in support of a light inf battlegroup, but in reality the majority of work we did was in support of the exercise itself, ie batsims, field forts, river xings and acting as engineers for phases of the ex. 

One fine evening, myself and a few others were tasked to go out with our troopy (Tp Comd) to help run a section attack range. The main reason us sappers came along was to prep the charges for the batsims (battle simulations, for those that don't know, charges of PE4 making a loud bang simulating arty fire), while troopy ran about with the safety staff and set the charges off with a shrike. Anywhoo, the range runs fine, each section had 3 charges go off when they went down range, and as 2 pl's worth of blokes went through, we used a tidy amount of PE4 that evening. 

After the final section goes through the range (the time by now being about 3am), we do a sweep of the range to find any blinds we had, and we had a few, for whatever reason. The blinds all get put into one hole in the ground, on top of a sandbag, by troopy, who then sets up a simple initiation set to blow the whole lot to kingdom come. Now, bear in mind it's 3am, we've been working solid since about 6am the previous morning, and were just itching to get back to the harbour area and get into our fartsacks. The 4 tonner is pulled up beside us, engine running, and all we're waiting for is troopy to finish fart-assing about and blow the rest of the dems. 

Another point to note: the normal safety distance for PE4, is about 700m's, (1000m on steel targets), with helmets and body armour (as the inf were wearing for the ranges) this can be reduced to 20ms, we were about 15m's away, no helmets, no CBA, tired as f*ck, and waiting for troopy to hurry up with the blind kit and blow the sh*t so we can get to bed. 

Picture it: pitch black, middle of wainwright training area, british army bedford 4tonner running, and a group of squaddies standing around grumbling. 

A small flash of light from the match fuzee lighting the safety fuze, with troopy yelling 'FIRING NOW' and running past us. A few of us watch him run past, thinking 'where's he going?' then look back to watch the bang. All engineers like watching banging ;D. A few seconds pass...........KER-THUMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Spr TTG's junlge hat is nearly blown off his head, as the gi-normous explosion scatters earth and prairie grass in all directions, temporarily blinding and deafening young TTG, and the others. After the smoke clears, look around for troopy, see him about 10m's away lying on the deck with his fingers in his ears. Turns out the amount of blinds we had to blow was slightly bigger than we though, in the order of about 10 carts of PE4. If you don't know what PE4 is let me put it this way, 1/3 of a cart can shatter an engine block.

After brushing the dirt off myself, thank troopy for the warning, and head back to harbour area. 

P.S. All young and impressionable types out there (cadets I'm looking at you) don't think this is normal behaviour. It was simply lax drills after about 4 weeks straight of handling explosives and a 20-odd hour workday. We're normally quite safe.


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## Glorified Ape (10 Apr 2005)

While this doesn't compare to most of the stuff in here, I thought it was kind of funny. 

One of our course staff on IAP was a super-hardcore Master Seaman. He was spectacularly capable of scaring the crap out of us (but had a great sense of humour on those rare occasions that he let us see it) and had this great Franco accent that didn't sound like ANY franco accent I'd ever heard. It was getting towards the end of the course so inspections were only 2 or 3 times a week. The MS comes into our pod and the CPC for the day calls us to attention, MS puts all but #1 at ease, and starts the inspection as per the usual. The inspection's starting at the other end of the pod so I can hear the entire dialogue between the MS and my podmates as he makes his way towards my room. At another infantry ocdt's room (Ocdt. X) I hear him say "What the hell is on the bottom of your boots? What is that, lipstick?" "No, Master Seaman" "I think that's lipstick" "No, Master Seaman" "Have you been wearing lipstick, X?" "Only on the weekends, Master Seaman" "Mmhmm, I knew it. Freak" 

For the next couple of rooms he asks each of the guys "Have you been wearing lipstick too?" (to which there were a couple smart ass replies), all the while since he finished at Ocdt. X's room I've been stealthily rifling through the pictures in my frame to find the one of me wearing lipstick (taken a year or so before the course back in Toronto). I find it, stick it in the frame, go back to position and stand at ease. About 5 seconds later the MS appears in the doorway so I come to attention, do the whole "Ocdt. Bloggins, 123, etc  etc etc" while he starts eyeing my room. He stops, visibly, and looks at the picture in the frame... by this point I've got a gigantic grin on my face that I can't hide if you paid me. "Is that a picture of you wearing lipstick, Bloggins"? "Yes, Master Seaman"... He turns and starts walking out of my room and on the way out he says "You're a freak. I'm in a platoon of freaks. I want to go home" Hearing him, the hardcore Master Seaman of our nightmares, say this was too much. We all burst out laughing. 

The next inspection (I think) he finds some wierd stain on the back of my long PT gear. He's got his head in my closet when I hear "Oh god. What the hell is this?" He pulls out my long PT hangar between thumb and forefinger and asks me "What the hell is on your long PT?" "I don't know Master Seaman" "Is that jerk-off?" "NO MASTER SEAMAN!!" "Have you been jerking off on your long PT?" "No Master Seaman, I think it's laundry detergent" "Bullshit, that's jerk-off!! Stop jerking off on your long PT!" "Yes, Master Seaman". This time the guys couldn't even wait for him to exit the pod - they started guffawing almost immediately. To this day, the Jerk-off-on-the-long-PT inspection is platoon legend - I even had guys from our sister platoon hassling me over my long PT 

One of the funnier couple of inspections and they provided good material for our course party when myself and another ocdt performed a mock-inspection by the Master Seaman. I'd mastered his voice but I was kind of worried he'd get pissed. Turns out he was laughing as much as the rest of us. I'd kill to have him on my platoon staff again.


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## Danjanou (13 Apr 2005)

I was teaching CLC in Aldershot in 1986, Muskrat will remember it was his course. 

It was the last night of the final FTX and about 2-3 in the morning the Course Comd decided to be nice to the little buggers and have us take them back to the shacks so they may actually have a couple of hours to get cleaned up for the grad parade the next day.

So Sgt â Å“Gargoyleâ ? (remember him Muskrat?) and myself are marching the platoon down the main road that traverses MTC training area and we're almost at Range Control when we see this solitary figure walking down the road towards us and away from Range Control shack and the camp.

At first I figure he must be DS or Range Control staff. Then we notice he's carrying a rifle and has a radio on his back. As he gets closer we recognize him at the same time he recognizes us. Both Sgt ------ and I had been instructing on the MITCIP Block 4 before CLC and this is one of the candidates who had stayed for Block 5. I'll decline to mention name or unit for reasons that will soon become obvious.

He comes running up to us crying with relief â Å“WO ----- , Sgt ------ I'm so glad to see you. I've been lost all night, but I'm finding my way home.â ? This is from a guy who's less than 500 metres from the range control shack which is lit up like a Christmas tree and walking away from it back into the training area.

So we calm him down and get the story out of him. He was part of a platoon sized fighting patrol that night and accidentally got separated. Hey it was a dark night and I could see it happening to the guy on the flank, the rear etc, but he was the patrol rad op and in the centre of the platoon. 

How he managed to get separated from them is beyond me. To make matters worse he was the rad op, and you guessed it carrying the only radio. They couldn't even call in the no duff to Range Control when he went missing. Why he didn't think of doing it himself instead of blundering around for a couple of hours is something I'll never understand either.

So we drop him off at the Range Control shack where I'm sure they gave him hot coco and tucked him in until his WO came to fetch him and carried on.

The next day the OC and CSM of Leadership Company calls me in to hear about the lost 2/Lt. They want to know if it should go on his course report and I guess he was on his last legs and this would be enough to send him home. Nice guy that I am I figure he's from some oh so social Upper Canadian Regiment where he's probably the PMC or IC snuff box so no harm done.  I mean there's no way the'll ever be in charge of troops right. I tell them as far as I'm concerned I don't care, keep him or toss him. Turns out I found out later this was his third and last kick at the can and if he'd been RTU's he was gone.

Fast-forward about 5 years. I've moved to Toronto and joined/transferred to the Tor Scots where Ive been CSM of our one Rifle Coy for a couple of years now. The OC who was on his way out for bigger and better things comes in one Tues night and says he's managed to coax a Captain from another unit to transfer over and take over as Coy 2ic and eventually replace him as OC. Lucky me I've been defacto acting unpaid 2ic for months and stuck with all that paper work too.

So guess who strolls through the door the next parade night, still happy to see me after all those years. I swear I had to brief all of Coy HQ at CAC in Pet that summer to keep an eye on the 2ic in case he wandered off again.


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## Foxhound (1 May 2005)

1 RCR, Charles Coy, I think it was spring of '82.  We had an unusual tasking that spring.  We were sent on a "show the flagâ ? type of exercise to Hall Beach, NWT (now Nunavut.) http://www.hallbeach.com/

My platoon, 8 pl. the Corps of Drums, were told that we would be bringing our instruments and performing for the residents.  Well, no problem.  We generally did on most ex.'s anyway.  Just not usually on arctic ex.'s, but why not?  I guess it was a PR thing.

There's also a DEW point there and we were to liaise with them and learn the layout and sensitive areas and receive lectures on acclimatizing to high arctic conditions.  There were no spare quarters, so it was ten-man tents and IMP's for the three-week duration.  The instruments and weapons had their own tents with a stove and stovewatch for the instruments and security picket who doubled as polar bear watch.  His C1 was loaded with 20 rds. of WinchesterÃ‚® Silvertips

We quickly learned several things:

No dark.  Bright, bright cloudless sunny 24-hour days.  Drum skins break at minus 20 degrees.  Horn valves freeze solid too.  There aren't very many instruments you can play while you're wearing arctic mitts.  Polar bears are curious.  Inuit people are VERY friendly and think almost everything we do (especially performing drill in arctic gear) is hilarious.  Arctic Char fried in butter in a battered aluminum frying pan over a ColemanÃ‚® stove is the best fish ever.  DEW line personnel spend time in the mess and can drink more and faster than I can.  And hold it better.  The (bull) walrus has a bone it his penis called an oosik.  DEW line personnel buy the oosik from the Inuit.  No, they won't give you theirs.  Seagulls don't survive flying in front of the microwave transmitter while it's operating.  An arctic compass is a b*tch to use.  You have to know how to use an arctic compass.  The Inuit have over 50 different words for snow because there are over 50 different types of snow, that's why.  The Hudson's Bay Co.Ã‚® guys (from Toronto) get paid a lot of money and spend a fair amount of it on expensive booze.  :blotto:

So, the Drums are going to put on an event for the townsfolk.  An outdoor parade is out of the question, so there's going to be a concert in the community center, roughly four times the size of my apartment living room.  They would heat the community center to just above freezing when it was going to be used.  There's this little raised platform at one end of the hall, where we formed up in a shoulder-to-shoulder concert formation.

The Drum Major, a chain-smoking ectomorph of indeterminate age, but who could pass for sixty-five, was a somewhat nervous individual when it came to speaking in public, odd when you think about how often he had to do it.   He introduces us and then outlines for the audience, the program for the evening.  We would play six tunes, Johnny B. would play a few songs on his guitar,  (X-Royal will remember this guy,) then we would play six more tunes (which pretty much exhausted our repertoire.)  

The Drum Major, suddenly realizing that probably less than half of the audience understood a word he had said, about-turned and started us off. He started to relax once we got going and we made our way through the first six tunes without incident. Unbeknownst to the Drum Major, immediately behind him in the front row, a healthy young (eighteen-ish) lady is removing her parka and preparing to feed her baby.  The old-fashioned way.  Both barrels.  ;D  End of first set.

What happened next was, the Drum Major about-turned, opened his mouth, caught an eyeful and froze solid for about six seconds.   Closed his mouth, about-turned, raised his baton and said, "One, two and-aâ ?, ... and we were caught flat-footed.  ???  The audience, catching on immediately, breaks out into a roar of laughter.  We warbled our way into what was supposed to be the next piece.  The horn players learned that it's really difficult to play "Paardeburgâ ? and laugh at the same time.  The crimson-faced Drum Major at this point is staring at the floor and waving his arms above him, looking for all the world like Michael JacksonÃ‚® in the ThrillerÃ‚® video.  About halfway through the next Sousa march, the D. Maj. collects himself, then raises his head and tries to conduct what's left of the concert with the biggest ****-eating grin we'd ever seen.   :dontpanic: Which begins another wave of laughter amongst the band.  End of concert.

I remember, at the end of it all during a rather prolonged exodus, seeing the D. Maj. in the clutches of a large person who we found out was the father of the young bride in the audience.  Dad is laughing and hugging and flinging-about the poor Drum Major, who now resembles a bewildered, drum major-shaped cat-toy fulfilling its purpose.  With his daughter translating, we found out that dad was telling the Drum Major that he was the funniest white man he'd ever seen and wanted to invite him home and be funny there.  The Drum Major eventually manages to decline explaining that we needed to get up early to set up the range for the firepower demonstration the following "dayâ ?.

Chapter Two: The Firepower Demonstration.

We were told that we were to put on a firepower demo for the residents to: Impress Upon Them The Sheer Might That The Current Government In Parliament Could Bring To Bear, If They Were Ever Threatened By The Ravening Stalinist Hordes, That The Soviet Union Would Unleash Upon Them, In The Event Of A Nuclear War. :threat:  Or something like that, but it was a Really Good Reason.

We set up a twenty position (C1's and C2's) firing point with sandbags filled with one of the many types of snow that were available to us.  On the right flank we set up the GPMG on the toboggan mount.  At 100 yds. we set up forty fig. 11 targets.  About 750 to 1000 yds. downrange was Foxe Channel so we set range safety pickets out beyond the left and right arcs on the shoreline.  The only way we knew it was shoreline and not ice over the ocean was because the Inuit guides told us it was.  The Drum Major acquired a following of about twenty children who dogged his every step, so the OC appointed him baby-sitter to keep the kids off the firing line.  We conducted the range the way you normally would: the company was tasked, by platoon, to be either range safety on the firing line, ammo party or rear party, the latter of which had the task of giving a short course in the operations of C1's and C2's to the attending villagers.  All of them who turned out, which was all of them in the village, really.  That went well.  :

You see, after the first platoon had demonstrated firing a mag and the GPMG had gone through about half a belt, it was to be the villager's turns, in groups of twenty, with some of the village leaders invited to try firing the GPMG.  And Boy! did they have enthusiasm!  Not much target discipline mind you but enthusiasm by the bucket-load!  The way it would go was: buddy with a C1 would fire a few rounds at the targets in front of him, then he would take a few shots at the targets of several of his friends.  Then he would try to make his C1 shoot really, really fast like the C2's by yanking the trigger just as fast as he can.   :akimbo: The ones with C2's, realizing that they had control of automatic weapons just like in the Hollywood Movies, would attempt to hit ALL of the targets in one long burst from left to right  :mgor right to left as inspiration took them.)  The elders on the GPMG would attempt to do the whole belt in one burst, laughing and shouting to those friends of theirs close by anxiously awaiting their turn.  We got most of the adults through the range before we "ran outâ ? of ammo. :fifty:

So, we dismantle the range and a young fellow from the village is asked to go out on his snowmobile and pick up the safety pickets, one of whom, the left-of-arc, was Johnny B., the guitar player who was denied his debut the night before.  Upon his return, Johnny remarks that the guides must have been wrong and mistakenly placed him off the shoreline because when he was at his post, he could hear the ice cracking beneath him and wierd sounds all around him.  The next day, we are invited by some of the men of the village to go ice fishing and about ten guys take them up on it, one of them being Johnny.  On their way out, Johnny noticed they were near his post of the day before, but they went past it about 100 yds. to some spot out on the ice that looked exactly like every other spot, where the Inuit told them there was good fishing.  Sure enough, when they dug down through the alternating layers of ice crust and snow, they reached a pre-cut hole in the ice.  A few chops with a hatchet and the skin of ice covering the hole was cleared away.  Johnny, being bored, walks a ways back along the snowmobile track so he can get a long-distance photograph of the ice fishing scene.  As he's walking back, he's looking down and he spots something sitting on the surface of the snow crust and heads over to investigate.  It's a bullet.  He sees several other bullets scattered around a large area, some of which have frozen to the ice.

He pockets a few examples and heads back to the group where he shows everybody what he's found.  The guys head back with him to the site of his discovery where it slowly dawns on them what must have happened.  The sounds that Johnny had heard beneath his feet the day before wasn't ice cracking.  As improbable as it sounds, what he had heard was the sound of rounds ricocheting along through the alternating layers of soft snow and ice crust.  Needless to say, the Inuit found this to be hilarious.  Johnny had to sit down.  :-X Johnny, you see, had already managed to shoot himself once a few years earlier while on his machine gunner's turret-conversion course by clearing the .50 and having the unspent round cook off in the brass catcher.  The primer exited the bag at a high rate of speed and entered Johnny, barely missing his "mustn't-touch-itâ ?.  

When he recovered sufficiently from the shock of his most recent brush with death, he went to find the Hudson's BayÃ‚® guys to recover some more.  :blotto:

Pro Patria!


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## X Royal (1 May 2005)

Oh yeah I remember Johnny B. quite well. Any idea what became of the crazy bugger?


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## Foxhound (1 May 2005)

Not really.   He took his release about a year before I did after he tried to hitchhike to England from Norway.   It could be said of Johnny that he lived in his own unique universe.   

[Edit] - but that's another story...


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## FreeFloat (6 May 2005)

Time to resurrect this thread.

Evil IMPs.

Never again will I eat a 'Shepherd's Pie' dinner.

It goes like this.

On a winter INDOC a few years ago at Dundurn, I was in the Admin section of an artillery regiment.   It was going to be a bunch of patrolling/navigating exercises in the rather substantial amounts of snow we had that year.   But naturally, once we got to the biv area and kitted out in winter gear, it was then I discovered that I had been issued with 2 left mukluks.   Hm.   (you may notice that the "right" and "left" mukluks are difficult to distinguish at the best of times)   No worry, I can stay with the CP and help out with "in-camp" GDs instead.   (me being a young private, I didn't mind one bit the change of plan to something requiring seemingly less work)

Things were fine for the first night and I stood radio watch and mostly just hung out.   Over the net we heard about a few of the other sections having problems with 'mac and cheese' breakfast IMPs exploding in the pressure cookers.

We needed to go on a POL run into town that afternoon.   I was tasked to assist on that.   Then we had this brilliant idea that while we were in town we'd pick up some hotdogs and have ourselves a weiner roast for dinner.   We got a round of agreement and headed into town.

We got back and decided, since we weren't needing our evening IMPs due to the planned weiner roast, we might as well open 'em up and have a midafternoon snack.   I recall mine was Shepherd's Pie.   Memories after that point get a bit hazy.   I do recall feeling unreasonably "full" well before I saw the bottom of that meal packet.   There was an MLVW outside that needed unloading - either ours from the POL run or a different one (I'm not sure) and I was tasked to go help on that - before many minutes had passed I was really not feeling well at all and I guess I looked rather pale as they suggested that I go away from the running vehicles - I guess they were thinking of the exhaust - and go lie down in my tent for a bit.   I staggered over to the tent, found my cot, and tried to nap.   I just couldn't get comfortable.   Very shortly it became evident to me that nature was not only calling, but was SHOUTING at me in a way that was not to be ignored. 

In a remarkable hurry I shot out of the tent and made a beeline for the woods (this was in the days of cat sanitation).   I hadn't gone too far, I suspect, before all hell broke loose.   Shepherd's Pie wanted out, and *NOW*, and was prepared to find any way possible to accomplish its mission.   Suffice it to say that for a few miserable minutes I was probably the unhappiest soldier on the planet.   To put it delicately, there was no such thing as "safe arc" around me, except perhaps off to my sides. 

Finally, after the ravages of dinner had finished their conquest of my entire GI tract, humbled and shaking, I shuffled, several layers of clothing around my boots, back toward the CP.   Despite being shaky, I felt much better now that the food had rid itself of my system, but I was certainly going to require a change of clothing.   I got to the CP, and trying to stand off to the side, hammered on the back door and cried, "Medic!!"   A second thumping on the door and someone opened it, and a medic promptly emerged and with the aid of a garbage bag and other stuff, took care of me and my situation.

Turns out, of course, the IMPs from that batch were of dubious quality, due to an issue with the warehouse where they were stored, several pallets having been damaged.   We found this out _after_ the Indoc was only a memory (for most people). I suppose hearing of three of the mac n cheese breakfasts blowing up should have been a warning.

Mind you apparently the Indoc was an 'interesting' time for the others lucky enough to get into the field as well, from what I'm told........ apparently the "attacking" and "defending" groups in one particular scenario never got to engage each other due to some navigational errors......... and a patrol had a guy who broke a foot or leg and Range Patrol was dispatched to rescue him, but suffered a snowmobile breakdown enroute and the Range Patrol guy ended up getting to the patient on foot..... (I'm presuming a second RP snowmobile was then dispatched)

Later on, I ended up transfering to the unit where that hapless medic belonged....... and she remembered me! *hides in embarrassment*


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## TOW II (6 Jul 2005)

It was 1986 in Cyprus with the 3rd Battalion the Royal Canadian Regiment

Pte Evans (I'm certain) and I were on foot Patrol. There was one route that took us out by the Prison where you could see the shards of colored glass imbedded in the concrete at the top of the exterior wall.

Anyway, we could hear this noise behind us like an animal was injured and in severe pain.

For all we knew it was a rabid dog coming down fast on our 6, so we decided to prepare (fixed bayonets) and investigate. 

As we doubled back, we came to a point in the trail were the noise appeared to be coming from so we stopped. 

Off the trail in behind some bushes I saw a Greek soldier coming off of and away from what looked like a German Shepherd wiping his Dick with paper towel. 

To this day, anytime I hear a reference to someone being a Dog (Phucker) I remember Cyprus.


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## redleafjumper (6 Jul 2005)

The Shepherd Pie reminded me of another ration story.  I was sitting with a few other buddies doing the usual trading that happens at meal time and one fellow was eagerly anticipating his favourite chicken breast.  All was well until he swallowed a forkfull and looked at the date on the box.  "Do you realize" he said,"that this chicken has been dead for four years!?"   
He seemed to be terribly disgusted that he was eating the corpse of a long dead chicken and it generated quite an (un) appetizing discussion.  To my knowledge he still won't touch the chicken ration anymore!  ;D


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## Foxhound (21 Jan 2006)

Been way too long between war stories.

1984, 6A course in Petawawa.  The leadership school was running two serials at the time; both were housed in barracks near the CANEX.  Old barracks.  My course was housed on the second floor while the other course was above us on the third.

One morning, after PT and breakfast, (yeah, right, breakfast) we had just finished preparing for inspection and were standing by in our rooms waiting for the instructors to finish their conference in the hallway, before they came through to impress upon us the fact that we were miserable, innadequate examples of humanity.  The course above us was two weeks behind and they were heading out to the training area that morning.  While it was quiet on our floor, we could hear them upstairs getting ready.

All of a sudden from upstairs we hear, "ATTENTION!" then BANG! (30 - odd guys coming up to the chow,) then CRASH!  The crash was about 40 pounds of plaster leaving its previous position on the ceiling, and striking the floor of our hallway near where the instructors were standing, just outside my room.  Cpl. Bloggins, one of my roomates risked sticking his face out of the doorway to see what had happened, and as he does so, the course WO standing nearby, spots him.  Without thinking (obviously), the WO whips his pacestick across Bloggins' chest with an audible WHACK!, and says, "Back in your room, you!"  I don't know how he managed to not break any ribs, he hit him that hard, but it left a nasty 14-inch bruise.  Bloggins steps back into the room, resumes his position by his rack and we all wait, more or less silently, for the instructors to come through.

When they do come through our room, the WO is observing, standing a couple of paces away from Bloggins while the Sect. Comdr. is concentrating his efforts on one of the other candidates.  Without warning, Bloggins takes one pace forward to the position of attention in front of the WO, pokes him once in the chest and says in a calm, steady voice,* "That was your freebie, c*ckjaws.", * takes a pace back and resumes the chow beside his bed.

There was no further (official) mention of the incident.


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## gnplummer421 (24 Jan 2006)

Since I've been posting on this site, I find myself thinking back on some of the fun we used to have on exercises. (do they still calll it that?) I remember the time the SSM told me to park my Wpns carrier in behind a Gasthaus, and it looked cozy. It didn't take too long to net up the Carrier, and once we had the dutylist sorted out, we took turns for a Rieghler special ex in a huge mug, some Schnitzel and Spatzle. MMm good! My 30 drop Comm cord reached right though the window of the Gasthaus...barely. For the 8 hours we were in that town, we enjoyed the company of the regulars in town, and our Scotsman (no names no packdrill) pulled out his pipes and entertained the locals before we rumbled out of town, the big Leo Arv drawing lots of ooh's and ah's, as the young Corporal put the hammer down, needless to say, it's a big reason why I loved the Military. 

When I see the army today, I see professional looking guys, who can get the job done when called upon. For all you young posters reading this; The army is awesome, you will get your adventure, but be sure you absolutely understand that you could be asked to put your life on the line for your Country, more so now then my old NATO days. 

How about some of you lifers..any good stories? 
Cheers :cheers:
Gnplummer


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## The Anti-Royal (25 Jan 2006)

I recall tooling around in my carrier, soon after my arrival in Germany, and discovering (much to my troops' amusement) that "Ausfahrt" and "Umleitung" were not towns.


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## Rhibwolf (17 Mar 2006)

Fall-Ex 90 found me in a particularly foul mood.   Having spent all of my time in Germany on the guns or in the OP, I had finally been sent to the CP.  Excited about my new job, I was looking forward to a job in the box.  Unfortunately, I was to share my job with Murphy, yes, the same Murphy of Murphy’s Law.   It seems as if ol’ Murph had more pull than I did, and I was sent to Battery HQ to take the place of the regular QM truck driver.  As most pointy-enders know, being a REMF is a shitty job, especially the QM.  Yes, even the A and B Echelons are considered bad from the perspective of F echelon guys. Fortunately Murphy struck out for bigger and better things, and something happened that I would never forget!
We were deployed in a German village and it looked as if we were going to stay for some time.  I cannot remember why, but the guns had been pulled out of action and deployed forward of us.  Being the kind and considerate souls they were, they left us their M548s to guard.  That night, I was woken up by the sentry and told that I was up next.  I shook the cobwebs clear, lit a smoke, and asked where the sentry post was.  He directed me down the road, said something like, “watch out for the guy humping the sheep” and left without another word.  
Perhaps I had not quite cleared my head, but as I headed up the road I saw a woodpile with a blue tarp over it that bore a slight resemblance to a hunched over man.  I giggled a bit, finally understanding what he had meant.  I certainly had no problems finding the sentry post: as I approached I noticed, or rather heard, a half-dozen Gunners/Bombardiers milling about.  One of them promptly asked me if I had seen the man humping the sheep.  I replied, “if you mean the pile of wood, yeah, I saw it.”  He promptly took me by the arm and brought me to the “pile of wood.”  
I’d seen a lot of things in the military, but nothing, AND I MEAN NOTHING, could have prepared me for what I saw on the side of the road!  There he was, as big as life, and smelling like a still….. a blond-haired man dressed in jeans, lying on top of what appeared to be four legs sticking straight up!  NO SHIT!!!!  I went over to take a closer look. Yep, that’s what it was, a man humping a sheep, or at least he might have been, had he not been passed out.   Satisfied, we wandered back to the sentry post.  I asked the others if they had notified the CP; to a man they said no.  Slinging my weapon, I wandered back down the road, past the man and his furry companion, and entered the penthouse (tent) of the CP.  My buddy Lorne was on radio watch and I told him to tell the CPO that there was a man humping a sheep on the position.  After getting his assurances that he would, I left to resume my watch.  Lorne, being human, did what any other sane man would have done in his position: NOTHING (can you blame him?)
After a while I figured that the CPO would not be coming, so I headed back down to the CP, again I passed by the man and his “friend,” and again I told Lorne to tell the CPO.  He wouldn’t, so I woke him up and told him my self: he told me to get the fuck out of his CP.  What to do, eh?  I left! 
 When I came back, I noticed that the man was gone, but his pet was still there.  On closer inspection I saw that was a goat, a Billy goat at that!!!!  Its tongue was sticking out of its mouth and its neck was clearly broken.  I went back to the CP, woke the CPO up again, and told him that he had better get on the horn to Zero or Watch Dog (Regimental CP/the MPs), because he now had a dead goat on the position.  This time he came to look and when he was satisfied, he did his duty.  Me? I went to bed.
The next morning, sometime between Zero-dark-thirty and Oh-bright-and-painful, I was rudely awoken by MP Sgt Skip Griffin and two of his MP wanna-be’s. They wanted to hear all about my night out, so I told them.  Then I asked my RP buddy what the news was.  I guess this clown got pissed up in a Gasthaus and decided that he would raise a little Cain for us Scheiß Kanadiers and decided to tie up a local goat to one of our vehicles, and make us look like thieves.  He didn’t count on our sentries surprising him, and he panicked.  While hiding in the road-side bushes, he tried to stifle his goat’s cries and inadvertently broke its neck.  After the sentry had passed, he made his way across the road and passed out.  As he fell, he landed square on top of ol’ Billy, and the rest is history.  It didn’t take long before word got out to the rest of the brigade, and we became known as Beeeeeeeeee Baaaaaattryyyyyyyy.


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## redleafjumper (17 Mar 2006)

Now that's a story.  Yikes.


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