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I may be some Lowly Sapper. But that is Just plain Stupid.. Its How Disciplinary Measures Take Place and How people Lose Eyes..
Your Funniest/ Favorite War Stories
- Thread starter Franko
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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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Spr. WIlliamson said:
Franko said:
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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Alright ladies and gents, back to the stories... 
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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.
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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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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Good show, chaps. I find this one jolly good as well.... http://www.satirewire.com/news/feb02/warship.shtml
AL
AL
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**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's®. 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!
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's®. 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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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.
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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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.
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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Canadians?? Poland?? The Canadians never got to Berlin let alone Poland... ???
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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.condor888000 said:
GW
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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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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
GW
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OK
GW
IN SEARCH OF PEGASUS by Bernd Horn and Michel Wyczynski, p. 35
GW
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Thanks!
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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.
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.
- Reaction score
- 0
- Points
- 210
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.
"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.
