I Work for the D-N-D, Oy! Oy! - Page 2 - Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community

xepherys · 03-10-2005, 06:01 PM

Crack Thump training sounds like it would be interesting... I've only come close twice:

1. During our demo ranges, we've occasionally been quizzed on what type/weight of explosive was used both by sound and by resulting crater with regard to the type of soil.

2. An errant blackhawk landing NEAR an unused helipad that resulted in cracks and thumps of stones and pebbles splattering against people (and the food on the grill).

BigBen · 03-11-2005, 07:57 AM

Winter Indoctrination in the CANADIAN ARMY:

Or: You think you are cold? Shut up. Never say that again.

As soon as weather permits, new soldiers are taken on Winter Indoctrination (Winter Indoc) training. They learn how not to die in extreme cold weather, and how to keep being a soldier when all you want to do is fall down and die.

January 1994: It was cold. I mean about -30c, and the wind chill was not great. We don’t usually talk about the wind chill, because first thing it is depressing, and you want to keep spirits high, and second, after a certain temperature, all you need to know is: Your Skin (exposed) Will Freeze In Less Than 1 Minute.

We packed our gear properly, obeying all of our orders. Looking around for 5 minutes for a clean pair of socks could cost you a toe, and therefore knowing where everything was at was important. There is a sense of urgency that happens at -40c, but I think that it is mainly to keep everyone active and moving (and thus warm).

The rules of wearing clothing is simple: COLD
Clean
Overlapping
Layered
Dry

This acronym is intended to make the simple minds remember that there was a reason for dressing the way we do (and the army has a love affair with acronyms. If you don’t have a 3 letter acronym to describe something, you should feel shame). And if you have seen the clothes in the Army Surplus stores, yes Canada has some serious cold weather gear. They tell us that all our stuff is rated to -60c, but at -45c you start to question: What is a soldier rated to?

We pack our stuff into toboggans, either 5 or 10 man versions. The tents are lined, and the “old guys” were fretting with one piece of string, then another, then taping these two things together, then inspecting every tooth on the zipper door. I had no idea what they were doing. It looked like a big pile of cloth and string, with metal spikes taped here and there. We spent HOURS on the Coleman lanterns and stoves, cleaning, taking them apart, putting them back together, cleaning them again. We did all of this stuff indoors on the parade square, and it looked like a green-and-white cloth bomb had went off. I was confused. Imagine what happened next when the Sergeant took us new guys off to the side and handed us a box of CONDOMS. “Here, you’ll need these.” I didn’t see any female soldiers around, and being the ‘new guy’ in my 5-man tent group brought a tear to my eye. Oh shit. I wonder if I can accidentally break my neck to get out of this?

Loaded on trucks and driven off to the wilderness, I was actually quite warm. I had about 6 layers of clothes on, and although it was -30, I was doing okay. Hey, I can handle this…

We got out into the middle of nowhere and put our snowshoes on. It takes a while to put them on and learn how to walk so you don’t trip and fall, but once you have that wide-stance hop step thing down, it is easy. We have to pull the toboggans ourselves, using harnesses appropriately called “Dog Harnesses” since we look like a dog-sled team. The jokes would go back and forth,
“Hey bitch, pull your weight..”
“Look at the cute puppy…” I was getting scared about those condoms again.
“Mush you ungrateful beasts…” and so on, until the atmosphere was pretty relaxed. We worked on a buddy system, and every time we stopped for a smoke break, we had to check our buddy for frost-bite and other weather related fatigue. We had to drink lots of water, even though we weren’t thirsty. Dehydration in winter conditions can be worse than the summer time (yeah, right…).

When we got to our spot (about 7 hours of walking, no real meal yet) everything started to come together. All of the old guys started doing their jobs without anyone saying anything, and it looked incredible. The tent was set up in about 5 minutes flat, and it looked like a palace. Once inside, I saw someone light the lantern and stove in 10 seconds, and put some ice on to make coffee. We were doing really well. I set my sleeping bag (two goose down bags, with a cotton liner) up and inflated my air mattress. Someone said that if the bag deflated in the night and I accidentally slept on the cold ground, I wouldn’t wake up. I would just drift peacefully into death. That scared me a little bit, but then the old guys laughed, so I did too.

The next couple of days we made improvised shelters, kind of like igloos (but not really) and we navigated in winter terrain, we pulled those damn sleds until we were tired, then we would do it some more. I realized that there was good reason that Canada was so big yet so peaceful: No military in the world, except maybe Greenland and the USSR could survive in crap like this. Who would want this tundra? Surveyors and prospectors just said to us, “Naw, that’s okay, you guys keep it.”

The weather turned ugly after a couple of days of sun and -25/-30 temps, and we wondered why the schedule was all fucked up. CBC was supposed to send a camera crew out and some photographers out to do one of those “Hey, you think you are cold? There are guys LIVING OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW” stories, to make the civilians feel better about the weather. We had all of this stuff put up and we had shelters dug, we had weapons in hand, but where was the news crew?

The Sergeant spoke up after listening to the radio. “They aren’t coming. The truck froze up overnight and the film in their cameras snapped in the cold. Sorry guys, none of you are ever getting famous.”
An old guy spoke up “Hold on, sergeant, how fucking cold is it out here?” We weren’t allowed to ask that question (bad for morale) and we were also not allowed to have a thermometer with our kit (bad for morale). I really hadn’t noticed it get that much colder, but that was also a sign of frostbite. My ears perked up.
The sergeant grumbled, “the thermometer is broke at Range Control. They don’t know how cold it is either.” Lie. You could tell.

The wind got worse and worse until we were in a classic Canadian blizzard. You couldn’t see the hand in front of your face, and we had to ‘tie in’ to each other, to keep from losing the group. We hunkered down in the tent, kept warm as best we could, and were ordered not to leave the tent for any reason.

The Arctic Turnip: A rare vegetable, eaten by Caribou? No dear reader; continue on.
When you are in your sleeping bag, in a tent in the middle of nowhere, in a blizzard and you have to piss: take a condom, put it on, piss in the condom, tie it off, and throw it out the door of the tent. When you wake up in the morning, there are a bunch of arctic turnips (frozen bags of piss) waiting for you to dispose of. Hey, it works. I was also relieved in the alternate use.

Being the new guy, I had to go outside and re-fuel the stove and lantern when they ran out. For safety reasons, fuel is not stored in the tent. I got dressed in my gear (about a 10 minute production: 1. put on a layer of clothing 2. shiver until you warm up 3. repeat step 1) and I tied off on the tent pole in the middle of the tent. I knew that the fuel pile was about 10m away on the left side of the door, but I had to search back and forth. I put the funnel in the stove fuel canister, took the Naptha (white gas / Coleman fuel) and tipped the fuel can to pour. Nothing happened. I shook the can, and it was heavy. I SQUEEZED the fuel container, and a glob of fuel landed in the funnel, like toothpaste. I freaked out. I didn’t know what to do. I ran back and got the Warrant from the other tent. “Warrant! The fuel is frozen!” I screamed over the wind.
“Fuck off kid. It’s too cold to play games. Get out there and do your job.”
“I AM SERIOUS. I CAN’T FILL THE FUEL TANKS.”
“If I go out there and you are lying to me, I swear to god you are fucking dead.” Although I had been threatened like that before in the army dozens of times, I knew that this was one of the rare occasions where he was serious.
It took him 10 minutes to get dressed, and during that time I lit a smoke and wondered what we were going to do. If you can light a smoke in a Canadian blizzard, you are CANADIAN. I walked him over to the fuel pile and demonstrated that the fuel had turned to toothpaste. He looked like I had punched him in the stomach. “Take the fuel back to your tent, but keep it as far as you can from the stove and lantern. If you run out of fuel before this stuff thaws, come to our tent.” And then he said to himself under his breath, “40 below my ass…”

I learned later that it was -64 that night, but Range Control kept telling us that everything was okay, no need to worry, it was only -40. I have never complained about the cold since. People tell me its chilly outside once in a while, and I just smile. I don’t even want to tell them what it feels like to be cold. They wouldn’t appreciate it.

Redlemon · 03-11-2005, 08:21 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by BigBen931

(and the army has a love affair with acronyms. If you don’t have a 3 letter acronym to describe something, you should feel shame)

I'm not military, but I always get a kick out of the TLA (three-letter acronym, which is redundant) and the FLA (four-letter acronym, which contradicts itself).

xepherys · 03-11-2005, 08:45 AM

Wow, yeah, when the fuel gets semi-solid, that's never a good thing. Very few US Army units do cold weather training. It's mostly those that are stationed with Mountain Divisions. The closest I've come is being at Camp Grayling, Michigan in the winter. It never gets quite that cold, obviously, but around -10F(-23C) is still a touch nasty.

Hot weather training is a bit more prevelant in the States. My poor wife was training in San Antonio, Texas during June/July where it regularly hit 105F(41C) and was humid as hell. The time I spent there visiting I constantly thought I was going to turn into mush. In that type of condition, you are only allowed to do work for roughly 15 minutes out of every hour, and you need to consume a ridiculou amount of water. Then you throw on your NBC gear (chem suit, mask and rubber gloves/boots) and the world becomes a blur.

BigBen · 03-11-2005, 02:13 PM

Hey, you big guys have it easy…

We were doing some pretty serious training back in the day. The weekly schedule for PT looked like this:

Monday / Wednesday / Friday: 15km (10 mile) run. PT gear (shorts/t-shirt)
Tuesday: 15 k Fighting Order March. Webbing, weapon, helmet, boots.
Thursday: 15k Rucksack March. Fighting order plus a 35kg (80lb) backpack with your kit.
Saturday: Sports. Floor Hockey usually, but soccer and softball when we wanted.
Sunday: Rest.

I am not the fastest guy in the world, and I prided myself on keeping in the middle of the pack. I was not trying to be a star, I was trying to survive and carry on with my job. I was in killer shape (pun not intended). One of the smaller guys was complaining, saying that the 35kg weight requirement was unfair. If BigBen is 240 pounds and Smith is 160 pounds, and they both need to carry 80 pounds, then isn’t Smith working 50% harder than BigBen? I didn’t see the logic, and thought that Smith was being a whiner. “Just shut-up and do your job.” Was my reply.

Well, Smith (not his real name) did not like the tone in my voice, and took offence. He then went to the Master Warrant officer (1 higher than a Warrant. YOU DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO THIS GUY. If you see him coming, run. Or start working REAL hard.) and relayed the same logic. The MWO was small in stature as well, and loved the idea.

He immediately proclaimed that the next Ruck march would be held to a new standard: Half of the soldier’s body weight. I was 110 kg, and therefore I needed to bump the weight in my ruck by 20 kg. I had every piece of kit I owned on my back and the Warrant had me step on the scale, and then he handed me my ruck.
“BigBen, are you trying to cheat me? Why in the fuck is your ruck not half your weight?” he screamed.
“No Warrant, I can’t make it any more full. That’s as heavy as I can pack it.” I was not kidding. I had packed it full.
He came back with 3 sandbags and a shovel. “Here, fill your ruck with this. I suggest wet sand. It’s heavier.” Aw, fuck.
While I ran to fill my ruck with sand, the Warrant continued to weigh soldiers, and then their rucks. I got 55 kg of sand on my back. It was not pleasant.

About half way through the march, my shin muscles started to burn. My body was in pain, but my shins were killing me. I started to drag my toes, and I stumbled and fell over. The weight of the ruck on my back landed on top of me. I heard a crack.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK…” I wasn’t crying, yet tears were coming out of my eyes. I was having problems getting to my feet. Someone came over, took my ruck off my back, and tried to get me to stand up. I got to my feet, but I couldn’t stay standing. I just kept falling over.
“Just leave me, man, I don’t want you to get into trouble…” I was halfway into the ditch, and I saw more and more people pass me. My buddy just told me, “fuck this man, I can’t carry that pack any further myself. I might as well stay here and help you.”

He flagged down the Warrant and then they both came back to where I was.
“You fucking quitting on me?” was the Warrants reply.
“I can’t stand up Warrant. I tried. My feet aren’t working properly.” I was broken. I knew it. There was no point in trying to play the tough guy role.
“I’ll get the medic.” He said, and got the radio.

Well, it seems the medics had a very busy day that day. It looked like a war-zone at the base hospital. They were concerned about the feeling in my feet, and sent me into the city to a real Emergency Room. Me and about 25 others.

One guy’s shoulder straps cut into his neck, and he was bleeding badly. Another guy couldn’t feel his arms. Lots of people rolled over on their ankles, some tore their ACL’s, one guy pinched a nerve in his back and lost control of his bowels. That shit smell was real pleasant to ride into town with. No one made fun of him though. We were in too much pain to make fun. This was real serious.

It ended up that my shin muscles had ruptured, and the swelling had pinched a nerve that controlled the feet. No permanent damage, but I needed surgery. Other guys didn’t do as well. A couple had to take a medical release, and the guy who couldn’t feel his arms ended up having severe nerve damage. Morale was very, very low.

The MWO who had the great idea? We never heard from him again. This is the only time that has ever happened, in all my years. You see, the Army loves to make its punishments very public to show everyone what will happen if you screw up. You are put on display, as an example. This guy? I asked someone, “What happened to MWO ___?”
The reply came as a whisper, “I don’t know man. We aren’t supposed to talk about it.” And that was it. No rumours. No grapevine. It was if he had never existed.

I don’t hold any grudges against the guy. He didn’t realize the consequences of his orders. I hope he got a pension or something, if they forced him to retire. It was a bad mistake, and I can only imagine the guilt he felt.

That which does not kill you, makes you stronger. (and will definitely leave a scar. But you get to tell a story about it.)

thalakos315 · 03-12-2005, 01:10 AM

reading these stories i keep expecting my grandfather to chime in "it builds character!"

my whole family (with the exception of my father thank god) all went through that old school military training, and therefor expect you to experience the joy by proxy
i learned real quick to shut up, do as i was told, and convince myself i was having fun

Redlemon · 03-12-2005, 12:26 PM

I don't know why, but the rucksack story was the most frightening of all so far. I'm seriously creeped out right now.

Manuel Hong · 03-12-2005, 02:28 PM

Wow. I'm speachless.

I'm so glad to be reading about it instead of being the one to recall those memories!

Rambo was a wussy-boy compared to you guys.

BigBen · 03-14-2005, 01:51 PM

Ammo: The cruellest bitch of all

I was tasked as an ammo driver for the artillery, and I really didn’t like it much. As an ammo driver, you are kind of like an outcast: No one wants you around, in case you blow up and take them with you. Everybody needs you around, so you can give them more ammo. This catch-22 is handled by everyone making sure they spend as little time as possible around you, and when they are there, they are working fast and it is all business. I am a people person, and all of my stories and jokes fell on deaf ears. Yeah, BigBen, you told me that one before… can you just shut the fuck up and give me my rounds?
I didn’t take it personally, until the lightning storm hit.
I had 10 tonnes of ammo on my truck, and was following everyone else out to the field for exercise. We set up and got into position when the word came down: BIG STORM COMING, GET BACK TO BASE. Everyone pulled out and high-tailed it back to the Base gate, where Range Control was waiting for us. Everyone was driving through when the NCO flagged me down.
“You can’t come on base, you have Ammo on your truck.”
“Well, no shit Sherlock. I’ll just go to the Ammo Compound and park the bitch there then.” I replied, faced with a master-of-the-obvious.
“Ammo Compound is closed. Lightning Storms are dangerous around ammo.”
“Okay, what should I do then?” I was getting more frustrated as the storm approached.
“You’ll have to park the truck in the Training Area. No Ammo allowed on Base.” This guy knew the rules, and was not about to be talked out of them.
“Okay, where about do you want this pig parked?” I did not see a parking lot or a sign that said AMMO PARKING HERE. The army is usually pretty blunt when a situation arises like this.
“At least 500 metres from any building or person.” Was he reading this straight out of a manual from somewhere? I read something like that before, but couldn’t remember.
“Can you give me a ride back to Base?” I was not enjoying the thought of walking 500 metres in the rain when this storm hit…
“NO. An ammo truck needs to be occupied when loaded unless it is in a secure compound.”
Ah, I remember that regulation. That’s so some nutjob doesn’t steal my ammo. All he would need then is a 105 howitzer and the knowledge on how to use the damn thing (no, it is not that easy, despite what you might have thought) and then he could shoot something.
“SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO, STAY IN THIS TRUCK IN A FUCKING LIGHTNING STORM?!?!” I had a few close calls before, and I knew that the odds of being hit by lightning were slim, but then why were the regulations set up like this? To protect people if something DID happen.
“Yep.” And with that, he turned and walked away. Yes, I stayed with that truck. Every time the lightning hit (often) I would flinch, and my asshole would pucker. By the end of the night, I was a ball of nerves, and I was ready to shit a diamond. Boy, am I glad I was chosen to be an ammo driver! Look at how I am serving my country! My parents would be soooo proud!

When the storm was over, it turned hot. Horrible weather. I can still remember it. Not one lick of wind, the sun baking everything. Even the Ammo. The order came down that the company had to find a location where the ammo truck was parked in the shade, because you-never-know. I sat in the cab of the truck, in the shade, while everyone else was being cooked like an egg. Hey, Look how I am serving my country! Fucking assholes running back to base and leaving me there to blow up. Served them right.

Part of Ammo is salvage. The boxes the tubes come in, the tubes that the rounds come in, the brass casings that hold the powder, basically everything that doesn’t fly through the air or make the bang sound has to be returned. I was doing a salvage run when the order came that the exercise was over.
When that happens, there is an old tradition that the first Gun detachment that is packed up and ready to go gets free beer bought by the Gun detachment that is ready to go last. Thus, to get free beer and to avoid buying for others, everything happens fucking fast. People start screaming, throwing things into their trucks, trucks start racing, just utter confusion if you did not know what was happening.
Part of being ready to go is returning all of your salvage to the salvage truck (me). I was at the middle of the Gun line (6 Guns in a Det) when people started running towards me with their arms full of salvage. Wooden crates, cardboard tubes, brass shells, all came at me at once. I was working as fast as I could (alone, those fucking pricks wouldn’t give me a helper. ‘It’s only Salvage’) when someone had the brilliant idea:

If handing Ben the salvage was fast, then wouldn’t throwing it at him be faster?

I didn’t see it coming, but a 5 pound brass shell casing came flying at my head. I was lying on the back deck of the truck, everything was spinning.
“Oh sure, kill the fucking ammo driver, that will speed things up.” I remember someone saying that, but couldn’t quite place the voice.
I had a serious concussion, but I shook it off and finished the job. I thought my jaw was broken, and I parked the truck at the salvage depot. I mumbled “I’m going to the Base Hospital, if someone needs to know…” and the salvage guy just said ‘okay’.

BigBen · 03-14-2005, 01:53 PM

The Long Walk:

The hospital was about 3 km from the salvage yard, and I was in no condition to drive. I was also fucked-up enough to not ask for a lift. I just started walking.
I walked past the Base Commander and the Base RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major), the two highest ranking people in a 300km radius. When I did not salute, the Base RSM stopped and followed me. He caught up to me in about 10 steps.
“What’s your name?” he asked calmly. You know things are not going well when people DON’T yell at you. I, however, could not see straight, and I did not know who I was talking to. I could have cared less. My jaw was busted, my eyes were watering, and I was about 2 blocks from the base hospital. “Aw, fuck off, will you pal? I’m in fucking pain here.” I thought it was a Master Corporal with nothing better to do than to jack me up. The RSM grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. He looked me in the eye, and then looked at my name tag. I must have given him quite a shock. I am sure it had been a couple of decades since someone had said that to him.
“What is your problem, son?” He was going to kill me, which was clear in his mind. He just needed more information to fill out the subsequent paperwork properly. An RSM would never leave gaps in the paperwork. When I started to stumble because he spun me around, he knew there was something wrong. “You going to the hospital?” his tone changed, and he looked like a concerned father.
“yeah…” I mumbled.
“Hey Dave, give me a hand with this man!” the RSM called to his colleague he was walking with, who happened to be the Base Commander. A full Colonel. I still thought that these guys were Master Corporals, and did not salute.

You can imagine the stories that circulated when a corporal is dragged into the Emergency Room, with an RSM under one arm and a Colonel under the other.

My jaw was not broken, and the concussion didn’t make me any dumber. The asshole that threw the shell at me came forward and bought me a 60-pounder of rye. We are really good friends, to this day. He’s still an asshole though.

BigBen · 03-14-2005, 02:00 PM

I just realized that lots of my stories involve injury and the Base Hospital.

Honest, that is the wrong impression. We are a safe bunch by rule. It's just not very interesting reading if I said "and then everything went according to plan, so we broke for the weekend early and drank beer."

Samalie · 03-17-2005, 08:41 AM

Still, they're great stories. Kepp it up

Sammy

MooseMan3000 · 03-17-2005, 04:45 PM

Quote:

BigBen931

We are really good friends, to this day. He’s still an asshole though.[/quote]

Classic.

Keep it up, these are really fun to read. You might not believe it, but you have a distinct writing style that just keeps us all coming back for more. I feel like I'm going to go into withdrawl now that I've finished all that's there.

Apokx · 03-17-2005, 11:12 PM

This thread is very entertaining.

Latch · 03-18-2005, 03:02 AM

I'm loving this. Thanks for the stories, BigBen

skier · 03-18-2005, 03:14 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by BigBen931

I just realized that lots of my stories involve injury and the Base Hospital.

Honest, that is the wrong impression. We are a safe bunch by rule. It's just not very interesting reading if I said "and then everything went according to plan, so we broke for the weekend early and drank beer."

Well, yeah. I have a great respect for my nation's military, but it's a lot of fun reading the stuff that "didn't go according to plan".

SaltPork · 03-18-2005, 02:09 PM

These are some awesome stories Ben! Keep em coming!

BigBen · 03-24-2005, 11:19 AM

Who is more important? The grunt that shoots the bullets or the PONTI (Person Of No Tactical Importance) that delivers the bullets to the front line?

One thing you have to get used to is the constant onslaught of insults and ridicule from your fellow soldiers. THE ONES ON THE SAME TEAM AS YOU. It is a simple case of human psychology, wherein the patient is whipped into a frenzy by being informed that they are the most important person in the group and without them the system would fail. The lower functioning soldiers really love this scenario, and grab on to this fallacy with both hands…

Infantry: We take and hold the ground. No one else can hurt us
Armoured: We run over the fuckers, shoot them, and are too fast to hit
Artillery: We don’t move fast, because we blow everything up before they even know it
Medics: We keep you dumb shits alive when something bad happens
Air Force: Yeah, we have it easy. Without us the bombs would be dropping on you right now
Navy: Can you swim? How about with all your gear on? Can you swim across the ocean with your gear on? No? Then you need us.
Communications: Can you hear me now? Good. If people don’t tell each other what they are doing, they soon kill each other by accident

Now everyone is told how important their role is, to help them with morale when the shit is not really warm and squishy. I have reverted to the thought of “I am doing an important job that is critical to the mission” once in a while, when the thoughts of WHAT AM I DOING HERE? Come in to hurt you.

Dear reader, please rest easy tonight knowing that everyone is important. The guy scrubbing the pots in the kitchen is ensuring that you have something to eat. The clerk who ‘rubber stamps the damn forms’ ensures that coordination occurs, and 50 people don’t try to get on a 5 passenger bus.

When we are by ourselves, with no civilians around to puff our chests out for, the contests quickly turn on each other. Infantry hates Armoured, because they get to drive wherever they go. Armoured hates Artillery because they are far from the front lines in relative safety. Everyone hates the Service Corps, because the work they do is never seen and always misunderstood. No one cares about the medics, because we all have first aid training. The fights can quickly turn violent.

“Armoured Rules!” comes a shout from the end of the barracks.
“Infantry!” and so on ad nauseum.

Worse, if there are different Units OF THE SAME BRANCH, you really have a mess on your hands. What do you fight about if there are 300 infantry guys standing around? The units come into play.
“1st Battalion is the BEST!” one infantry guy bellows, proud of his chain-of-command.
“2nd Battalion is Better!” comes the reply. Then the two must fight it out. Juvenile? Yes. Necessary? I say yes, considering the organizational culture.

Like a prison hierarchy, the strongest and best fighters quickly show their dominance. Isn’t that what we want from the Armed Forces? Dominance, aggression, and strong fighters?

What sucks is when someone calls you down and you are horribly outnumbered. You have to defend your honour, and that of your trade and unit. But what happens when there are 10 infantry guys, and you are the only artillery guy? You get your ass kicked, that’s what happens. Only once, and then you are part of the club (if you aren’t a total prick) until someone needs to establish dominance.

One task, I was quietly doing my job when I was informed by a group of young soldiers that I was “Useless”. They were trying to bait me into a fight, and I was in no mood to get jumped. I simply said “Yeah, maybe, but since I am driving out your meals to you, I suggest you take that comment back or the whole fucking lot of you will go hungry.” The young man committing the offence is quickly told to apologize. Worse still is if I cut off the coffee.

I was cornered like a rat in a cage one time, and about 5 guys decided to teach me a lesson in manners. I had to concede that they were better than I, or the beating would start.
“Oh, absolutely. You guys are hard core and I would never win a fight with any one of you. My unit sucks, my buddies suck, and as soon as I can I am going to my career manager and ask to transfer into your unit. Please oh please let me be one of the cool guys…” I wanted out of the situation, and was hoping the bait would work. It did.

Late that night, I was on fire watch (Overnight duty to ensure that no one catches on fire, don’t ask why) when I decided to wake up my new friends. With the heel of my boot to their nose. “Who’s unit is the best now, asshole?” I hissed, five times over.

The next morning, I got the beating of my life. My new friends did not appreciate the visit I had paid them, and gave it back to me in spades. I still have scars on my face, and every morning when I look in the mirror I think two things:
1. My unit is best.
2. Chicks dig scars.

Anyhoo, I took my lumps, because they were well deserved. The Sergeant knew what happened, and simply bellowed, “BEN! You are on night fire watch again.” And I smiled with swollen lips. I got to sleep during the day, but those assholes had to sleep with one eye open for the rest of the exercise.

muttonglutton · 03-24-2005, 11:37 AM

These stories are amazing. I used to entertain a notion of going into the Canadian army, but I don't think I can handle it. I'm what is reffered to as a chickenshit. :P

Keep these stories coming, I want to hear them all! They're so much more interesting than the err... stories my grandfather tells.

"So the commander said we didn't have enough energy for communications, I told him to do this, and it worked. He gave me a weird look. Then six years later, I cut down some trees, and he gave me the same look again. I saw it in his eyes. The he asked me if I was the radio guy. I said Yessir, and he gave me a cigarette. That was the best day of my life."

If he told stories like you, I would never leave his house! So good!

FngKestrel · 03-24-2005, 12:54 PM

Great stories. Keep 'em coming!

guthmund · 03-24-2005, 01:19 PM

I love this thread.

Keep 'em coming, Ben. I'm a sucker for a good story.

Manuel Hong · 03-24-2005, 02:02 PM

Ben, thanks for reliving your amazing adventures for us. I can't wait until the next installment.

thalakos315 · 03-24-2005, 05:09 PM

lol i love old military stories, keep em comin! :P

BigBen · 03-30-2005, 01:53 PM

Let’s see, where did I leave off?

How about a couple of recruiting stories?

If you don’t know already or have never seen one, I have to say that the Recruiting part of the Forces is probably the toughest. You have to put on a happy face and endure all sorts of shit from the public that noone would ever put up with in other situations. The word comes down “We are running out of guys. I guess that we need some more. Go get some.” And we are then tasked to make up a stupid display for the public.

The questions we are asked are bullshit.
“Is that your gun?” No, it is my RIFLE. See post above
“Have you ever killed anyone?” How the fuck am I supposed to answer that? What could you possibly want from asking that?
1. Yes, but they were very bad people and they were trying to hurt other people.
2. Yes, my Sergeant told me the guy was bad, and only later did I find out that it was a 14 year old kid.
3. Yes, I’ve killed hundreds. But they were far away and I was just pulling a cord on a 155 howitzer.
4. No. I dress up like this to impress girls. Go ask your mom if it is working.
5. No. Like other PONTI’s, I pretend that I am tough, but the only time I heard hostile fire I wet my pants and hid in a hole.
6. No, but the day ain’t over yet kid. (my favourite)

The other good one you get is from the people that USED to be in the forces, and want to tell you their stories. Fuck off, old man. If you were anywhere near as cool as you think, you would have travelled forward in time and you would be kicking your own ass right now.

The best recruiting story ever:
I was told by my command that there was a technical school that requested we give a recruiting speech to the class.

Technical school? Like qualified trades personnel? Cooks, plumbers, mechanics? SHIT YES, we need those people bad, and having them trained already was a bonus. All they had to do was Basic and an equivalency exam. They could be qualified in about ¼ of the time. I got the posters, the hand-outs, the ‘freebies’ and headed there with a buddy.

We were early, as always. We set up in the classroom and started to make bets:
“First one to sign a mechanic gets a case of beer.”
“First one to sign a hot female gets a case of beer.” (sorry for the sexism. I have since realized the error of my ways)

And then the class came in. These folks looked a little rough. I was expecting some fresh faces, instead I saw some neck tattoos and scars. What was this?

About 10 minutes into the speech “We can provide a steady income and a rewarding career with a clear promotion ladder blahblahblah” I noticed that their eyes started to glaze over. There was someone to my right that was translating into sign language. No big deal, I just kept on going. These were TRAINED PEOPLE WITH A TRADE…

“Are there any questions so far?” I asked. You have to ensure you aren’t lying to them, and when the attention goes (you presenters know what I am talking about) you have to make things a little bit more participatory.

A hand flew up into the air. Young man, about 20ish “Do you guys accept people with epilepsy?”
I paused, having never been asked that question. I was caught off guard:
“Uh, no, I am sorry to say we don’t. There are basic medical qualifications that are needed, and I think that epilepsy is on the list of conditions that would make a candidate unsuccessful.”
“Oh…” was his reply, and his eyes sunk to his shoes. Obviously this guy had epilepsy, and was hoping to find a rewarding career with us.
Another hand flew up. “What about amputees?” Oh shit, I thought. What have I got myself into? “Um, no, part of the physical nature of the job requires that people have all of their body parts.” Another disappointed look on someone’s face.

Right about then I decided to go into the bare requirements of the application process, and people looked at me in puzzlement. The person standing with me interpreting sign language muttered, “I guess hearing impaired people are out too?” and as I nodded, I could hear a sigh from the back of the room and the interpreter made a rude gesture.

We were thanked politely for our time and sent on our way. I asked the commander later “What the fuck did you send us into? What just happened over there?”
“It was an adult basic education class for people who have special needs. They asked for us to come.” He saw no problem with the situation.
“You sent me into a fucking ambush! I thought we were recruiting Journeyman Trades, Asshole!”

It ended up that the only person that fit the basic medical and educational requirements (and I mean real basic) was under a court order to stay away from firearms for the next 3 years. He asked if I could make an exception. I said no.

It was the toughest crowd ever. Their teacher told them that if they apply themselves they could be anything they wanted to be in the whole world, and I suppose some of them thought that the army thing was a pretty good gig considering their alternatives. To go in there and kill their dreams was one of the hardest things I have done.

If you have a bad job to give someone, at least tell them what they are getting into, and why they are doing it in the first place. Please, as a personal favour to me.

liquidlight · 03-30-2005, 03:35 PM

"Nah, that's ok, you can keep it."

God I love it. . . I just spent 2 hours reading this and I'm still laughing, thank you!

Paq · 03-30-2005, 11:19 PM

aww, man, that story was sad...i could totally see myself gettnig bummed over that one..

thalakos315 · 03-31-2005, 02:31 AM

you'd think that the military would at least have the sense to ask, prior to send you guys there, if any of these possible applicants would be able to fit the minimum requirements..
i mean it is a program for adults with special needs.. i don't think i'd be able to do something like that hehe. i'd probally end up thinking up alternative suggestions for them to look into vs the military

Shwang · 03-31-2005, 10:41 PM

Wow, awesome stories.

Justy somethign to point out, I've noticed similarities in your style of writing that is similar to Simon Murray, this englishman wback in the sixties who joined the French Foreign Legion, incredible read, and it sounds like most armies are similar around the world.

I reccomend checking it out BigBen, and anyone else who is into military experiences.

BigBen · 04-11-2005, 01:33 PM

I-Told-You-So, Army Style:

I-Told-You-So never did anyone any good, and results in a beating more often than not. Like the civilian world, you are never allowed to say those words to someone of a higher rank than you. It is usually good practice to just shut up before you say anything that could be found out as a good idea after the fact…

Oh, you want to turn left up there, sergeant? Everyone knows that we should be going right, but if I said it, I could then say “I Told You So” when we turn around and walk back here eight hours from now. If I am doing the math properly, the Shit that you will make me do if I say something will account for about 10 hours of labour. Walking for four hours the wrong direction and then back still gives me 2 hours to spare. Carry-on.

Remember your career, ladies and gentleman, when you are computing the above equation.

I told a Warrant once, “I think you have the map upside-down Warrant” to which he said, “You know what? I think you are right. I also seem to have the LEAVE SCHEDULE UPSIDE DOWN TOO…” (I was the next on the list for leave. I was then put to the bottom of the pile).

An exception to this rule is safety: If there is a possibility that someone’s stupidity could get someone hurt, the lowest rank can say something without fear of retribution. I once heard “Maybe we should reconfigure the order of those actions, Sergeant.” A private said.
“And who put you in charge, shithead?” came the reply.
“I was just hoping that the fire could be extinguished BEFORE you made me carry the jerrycans of fuel across the line there…”
“Oh, yeah, sure, we COULD do it that way I guess…” the sergeant says quickly, and carries on.

This may sound silly, but I actually like it when shit gets dangerous, because people start to cooperate more, and everyone gets their two cents in. Almost democratic.

Speaking of “Map & Compass” training, I have a pet peeve to air out in the open here:

There are two words to the phrase “Map & Compass” training, and as a result the properly trained soldier will use both of those tools to accomplish an orienteering mission. Why is it then that people take a bearing and start to march towards the objective, oblivious to the terrain or the corresponding map?

I cannot tell you how many swamps/bushes/streams/festering holes I have walked through while seeing a dry path on the map. LOOK AT YOUR MAP. If there is an easier, faster, DRIER way to get there, how about we try that way instead of relying on your compass? Imagine a 3/4/5 triangle. Geometry says that you can get to point B by travelling in a straight line from A, which you will travel a distance of 5. You can alternatively go to point C on the way, avoiding the swamp, hills, cactus and poison ivy that lie on line segment AB and your route will only be a distance of 7. I don’t think that I have ever convinced one of my instructors or commanders the simple concept that you readers understand.

TM875 · 04-11-2005, 03:39 PM

I have to say, man, that I have such a huge amount of respect for you.

All throughout my life, I had always wanted to be in the US armed services. However, I knew I could never pass the physical tests (don't get me wrong, I'm no fatass - 5'8, 150lbs - but I can't run worth shit).

People like you - those that have sacrificed nearly everything to fight for their nation - are incredibly important to me. Best wishes, and thank you for what you've done for the world and the hell that you've gone through.

liquidlight · 05-12-2005, 10:06 AM

Time to bump the thread, and hopefully BigBen is in a good mood and will give us more!

Redlemon · 05-12-2005, 10:46 AM

Good thinking, liquidlight; however, considering that Ben is still alive, I can't imagine how many more of these stories he could possibly have...

Charlatan · 05-12-2005, 11:08 AM

Ben... when I was a kid I used to do Orienteering courses... I was never a fast runner or the strongest guy there... but I would often win simply because I would use the map...

I remember leaving one check point and after quickly getting my bearings and checking the map, I headed off the in my chosen direction. I remember hearing the derisive laughter of another competitor as he headed off on the straight line to the next checkpoint, "You're going the wrong way!!!"

At the end of the race, I not only won but was the only one in the group with dry feet...

BigBen · 05-12-2005, 11:10 AM

No, I am not running out of stories. On the contrary, I am getting more!

That is the reason I haven't posted here in a while. My mind has been on other things, and I am busy with about a hundred things in the present and about a thousand things coming at me in the future. Thus, the past sometimes takes a backseat.

I will stress again, thank you for enjoying these as much as I enjoyed writing them. I think that this is a feeling a really successful writer gets when they see themselves on the bestseller list!

I have to warn the members here on the TFP: I just recieved my orders for the summer, and they include 11 weeks of field training. This means that I will not be here very much (if at all) starting the end of the month.

Old soldiers don't die, they just fade away; or so the saying goes. I have to fade away from the TFP soon, but here I promise:

I will be back. And when I come back, get ready for some serious fucking war stories.

Don't cry; I don't leave until the 28th. I will try and give you guys at least one more tale before then to hold you over. It will have to be a good one. Let me think...

Janey · 05-12-2005, 12:01 PM

What exactly does field training involve? I am picturing columns of soldiers put up in drab green tents in the countryside, training with weapons, marching, orienteering etc. am I close?

BigBen · 05-12-2005, 12:10 PM

Very close. Read the stories above (all from the field, I think...) and take out all of the fun.

"Dig your bed, then sleep in it" refers to the trenches that we dig for defensive positions, and how we sometimes spend days in those holes, training in defensive manouvres.

It is hard work, when you don't get to see friends and family for so long. It puts a strain on things, and they usually deprive you of sleep to "simulate combat stress". Living in the field is an artform... it requires training, teamwork and a little bit of old fashioned GUTS.

Lots of weapons, marching, orienteering!

Elphaba · 05-12-2005, 12:12 PM

I was about to give this topic a polite, feminine yawn. I've been spellbound instead. Wonderfully done, Ben.

BigBen · 05-12-2005, 12:31 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elphaba

I was about to give this topic a polite, feminine yawn. I've been spellbound instead. Wonderfully done, Ben.

Thanks. I am building a bridge for the gender gap. I mean, who doesn't like to blow shit up?

I believe that people like to consider the group as a whole, instead of thinking about the individual soldier and their experiences. It is easier to make judgements about "The Army" or worse, "The Army Guy" and the personal experiences may not be shared.

Do you think that the next time you see a person in uniform you will ask about their personal experiences? You will probably put them on edge.

Irishsean · 05-12-2005, 12:54 PM

This is great! I'd seen this topic sitting here, but didn't ever take a look at it until today. I sat here and read the whole thing, hilarious!

Janey · 05-12-2005, 01:16 PM

I have found this thread to be very exciting to read. Not boring at All.Thanks Ben, I'll miss it.

I'm not sure if I would approach a guy on the street to quiz him. I do remember being mortified once in Kingston when I was waiting in an A&P checkout (th eexpress line) and a CFB Kingston soldier was at the cash. Another guy who clearly outranked him, just walked up and started to dress him down. Yelled at him for a good 5 mins in front of everybody because he did not have his beret with him. I felt so badly. Especially when some of the Queen's students in the lineup started to yell at the officer for 1) making a spectacle and 2) for delaying the express checkout because the officer just hunkered down like a bulldog and berated that poor beret-less soldier even more...

03-11-2005, 07:57 AM	#42 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	Winter Indoctrination in the CANADIAN ARMY: Or: You think you are cold? Shut up. Never say that again. As soon as weather permits, new soldiers are taken on Winter Indoctrination (Winter Indoc) training. They learn how not to die in extreme cold weather, and how to keep being a soldier when all you want to do is fall down and die. January 1994: It was cold. I mean about -30c, and the wind chill was not great. We don’t usually talk about the wind chill, because first thing it is depressing, and you want to keep spirits high, and second, after a certain temperature, all you need to know is: Your Skin (exposed) Will Freeze In Less Than 1 Minute. We packed our gear properly, obeying all of our orders. Looking around for 5 minutes for a clean pair of socks could cost you a toe, and therefore knowing where everything was at was important. There is a sense of urgency that happens at -40c, but I think that it is mainly to keep everyone active and moving (and thus warm). The rules of wearing clothing is simple: COLD Clean Overlapping Layered Dry This acronym is intended to make the simple minds remember that there was a reason for dressing the way we do (and the army has a love affair with acronyms. If you don’t have a 3 letter acronym to describe something, you should feel shame). And if you have seen the clothes in the Army Surplus stores, yes Canada has some serious cold weather gear. They tell us that all our stuff is rated to -60c, but at -45c you start to question: What is a soldier rated to? We pack our stuff into toboggans, either 5 or 10 man versions. The tents are lined, and the “old guys” were fretting with one piece of string, then another, then taping these two things together, then inspecting every tooth on the zipper door. I had no idea what they were doing. It looked like a big pile of cloth and string, with metal spikes taped here and there. We spent HOURS on the Coleman lanterns and stoves, cleaning, taking them apart, putting them back together, cleaning them again. We did all of this stuff indoors on the parade square, and it looked like a green-and-white cloth bomb had went off. I was confused. Imagine what happened next when the Sergeant took us new guys off to the side and handed us a box of CONDOMS. “Here, you’ll need these.” I didn’t see any female soldiers around, and being the ‘new guy’ in my 5-man tent group brought a tear to my eye. Oh shit. I wonder if I can accidentally break my neck to get out of this? Loaded on trucks and driven off to the wilderness, I was actually quite warm. I had about 6 layers of clothes on, and although it was -30, I was doing okay. Hey, I can handle this… We got out into the middle of nowhere and put our snowshoes on. It takes a while to put them on and learn how to walk so you don’t trip and fall, but once you have that wide-stance hop step thing down, it is easy. We have to pull the toboggans ourselves, using harnesses appropriately called “Dog Harnesses” since we look like a dog-sled team. The jokes would go back and forth, “Hey bitch, pull your weight..” “Look at the cute puppy…” I was getting scared about those condoms again. “Mush you ungrateful beasts…” and so on, until the atmosphere was pretty relaxed. We worked on a buddy system, and every time we stopped for a smoke break, we had to check our buddy for frost-bite and other weather related fatigue. We had to drink lots of water, even though we weren’t thirsty. Dehydration in winter conditions can be worse than the summer time (yeah, right…). When we got to our spot (about 7 hours of walking, no real meal yet) everything started to come together. All of the old guys started doing their jobs without anyone saying anything, and it looked incredible. The tent was set up in about 5 minutes flat, and it looked like a palace. Once inside, I saw someone light the lantern and stove in 10 seconds, and put some ice on to make coffee. We were doing really well. I set my sleeping bag (two goose down bags, with a cotton liner) up and inflated my air mattress. Someone said that if the bag deflated in the night and I accidentally slept on the cold ground, I wouldn’t wake up. I would just drift peacefully into death. That scared me a little bit, but then the old guys laughed, so I did too. The next couple of days we made improvised shelters, kind of like igloos (but not really) and we navigated in winter terrain, we pulled those damn sleds until we were tired, then we would do it some more. I realized that there was good reason that Canada was so big yet so peaceful: No military in the world, except maybe Greenland and the USSR could survive in crap like this. Who would want this tundra? Surveyors and prospectors just said to us, “Naw, that’s okay, you guys keep it.” The weather turned ugly after a couple of days of sun and -25/-30 temps, and we wondered why the schedule was all fucked up. CBC was supposed to send a camera crew out and some photographers out to do one of those “Hey, you think you are cold? There are guys LIVING OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW” stories, to make the civilians feel better about the weather. We had all of this stuff put up and we had shelters dug, we had weapons in hand, but where was the news crew? The Sergeant spoke up after listening to the radio. “They aren’t coming. The truck froze up overnight and the film in their cameras snapped in the cold. Sorry guys, none of you are ever getting famous.” An old guy spoke up “Hold on, sergeant, how fucking cold is it out here?” We weren’t allowed to ask that question (bad for morale) and we were also not allowed to have a thermometer with our kit (bad for morale). I really hadn’t noticed it get that much colder, but that was also a sign of frostbite. My ears perked up. The sergeant grumbled, “the thermometer is broke at Range Control. They don’t know how cold it is either.” Lie. You could tell. The wind got worse and worse until we were in a classic Canadian blizzard. You couldn’t see the hand in front of your face, and we had to ‘tie in’ to each other, to keep from losing the group. We hunkered down in the tent, kept warm as best we could, and were ordered not to leave the tent for any reason. The Arctic Turnip: A rare vegetable, eaten by Caribou? No dear reader; continue on. When you are in your sleeping bag, in a tent in the middle of nowhere, in a blizzard and you have to piss: take a condom, put it on, piss in the condom, tie it off, and throw it out the door of the tent. When you wake up in the morning, there are a bunch of arctic turnips (frozen bags of piss) waiting for you to dispose of. Hey, it works. I was also relieved in the alternate use. Being the new guy, I had to go outside and re-fuel the stove and lantern when they ran out. For safety reasons, fuel is not stored in the tent. I got dressed in my gear (about a 10 minute production: 1. put on a layer of clothing 2. shiver until you warm up 3. repeat step 1) and I tied off on the tent pole in the middle of the tent. I knew that the fuel pile was about 10m away on the left side of the door, but I had to search back and forth. I put the funnel in the stove fuel canister, took the Naptha (white gas / Coleman fuel) and tipped the fuel can to pour. Nothing happened. I shook the can, and it was heavy. I SQUEEZED the fuel container, and a glob of fuel landed in the funnel, like toothpaste. I freaked out. I didn’t know what to do. I ran back and got the Warrant from the other tent. “Warrant! The fuel is frozen!” I screamed over the wind. “Fuck off kid. It’s too cold to play games. Get out there and do your job.” “I AM SERIOUS. I CAN’T FILL THE FUEL TANKS.” “If I go out there and you are lying to me, I swear to god you are fucking dead.” Although I had been threatened like that before in the army dozens of times, I knew that this was one of the rare occasions where he was serious. It took him 10 minutes to get dressed, and during that time I lit a smoke and wondered what we were going to do. If you can light a smoke in a Canadian blizzard, you are CANADIAN. I walked him over to the fuel pile and demonstrated that the fuel had turned to toothpaste. He looked like I had punched him in the stomach. “Take the fuel back to your tent, but keep it as far as you can from the stove and lantern. If you run out of fuel before this stuff thaws, come to our tent.” And then he said to himself under his breath, “40 below my ass…” I learned later that it was -64 that night, but Range Control kept telling us that everything was okay, no need to worry, it was only -40. I have never complained about the cold since. People tell me its chilly outside once in a while, and I just smile. I don’t even want to tell them what it feels like to be cold. They wouldn’t appreciate it. __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

03-11-2005, 02:13 PM	#45 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	Hey, you big guys have it easy… We were doing some pretty serious training back in the day. The weekly schedule for PT looked like this: Monday / Wednesday / Friday: 15km (10 mile) run. PT gear (shorts/t-shirt) Tuesday: 15 k Fighting Order March. Webbing, weapon, helmet, boots. Thursday: 15k Rucksack March. Fighting order plus a 35kg (80lb) backpack with your kit. Saturday: Sports. Floor Hockey usually, but soccer and softball when we wanted. Sunday: Rest. I am not the fastest guy in the world, and I prided myself on keeping in the middle of the pack. I was not trying to be a star, I was trying to survive and carry on with my job. I was in killer shape (pun not intended). One of the smaller guys was complaining, saying that the 35kg weight requirement was unfair. If BigBen is 240 pounds and Smith is 160 pounds, and they both need to carry 80 pounds, then isn’t Smith working 50% harder than BigBen? I didn’t see the logic, and thought that Smith was being a whiner. “Just shut-up and do your job.” Was my reply. Well, Smith (not his real name) did not like the tone in my voice, and took offence. He then went to the Master Warrant officer (1 higher than a Warrant. YOU DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO THIS GUY. If you see him coming, run. Or start working REAL hard.) and relayed the same logic. The MWO was small in stature as well, and loved the idea. He immediately proclaimed that the next Ruck march would be held to a new standard: Half of the soldier’s body weight. I was 110 kg, and therefore I needed to bump the weight in my ruck by 20 kg. I had every piece of kit I owned on my back and the Warrant had me step on the scale, and then he handed me my ruck. “BigBen, are you trying to cheat me? Why in the fuck is your ruck not half your weight?” he screamed. “No Warrant, I can’t make it any more full. That’s as heavy as I can pack it.” I was not kidding. I had packed it full. He came back with 3 sandbags and a shovel. “Here, fill your ruck with this. I suggest wet sand. It’s heavier.” Aw, fuck. While I ran to fill my ruck with sand, the Warrant continued to weigh soldiers, and then their rucks. I got 55 kg of sand on my back. It was not pleasant. About half way through the march, my shin muscles started to burn. My body was in pain, but my shins were killing me. I started to drag my toes, and I stumbled and fell over. The weight of the ruck on my back landed on top of me. I heard a crack. “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK…” I wasn’t crying, yet tears were coming out of my eyes. I was having problems getting to my feet. Someone came over, took my ruck off my back, and tried to get me to stand up. I got to my feet, but I couldn’t stay standing. I just kept falling over. “Just leave me, man, I don’t want you to get into trouble…” I was halfway into the ditch, and I saw more and more people pass me. My buddy just told me, “fuck this man, I can’t carry that pack any further myself. I might as well stay here and help you.” He flagged down the Warrant and then they both came back to where I was. “You fucking quitting on me?” was the Warrants reply. “I can’t stand up Warrant. I tried. My feet aren’t working properly.” I was broken. I knew it. There was no point in trying to play the tough guy role. “I’ll get the medic.” He said, and got the radio. Well, it seems the medics had a very busy day that day. It looked like a war-zone at the base hospital. They were concerned about the feeling in my feet, and sent me into the city to a real Emergency Room. Me and about 25 others. One guy’s shoulder straps cut into his neck, and he was bleeding badly. Another guy couldn’t feel his arms. Lots of people rolled over on their ankles, some tore their ACL’s, one guy pinched a nerve in his back and lost control of his bowels. That shit smell was real pleasant to ride into town with. No one made fun of him though. We were in too much pain to make fun. This was real serious. It ended up that my shin muscles had ruptured, and the swelling had pinched a nerve that controlled the feet. No permanent damage, but I needed surgery. Other guys didn’t do as well. A couple had to take a medical release, and the guy who couldn’t feel his arms ended up having severe nerve damage. Morale was very, very low. The MWO who had the great idea? We never heard from him again. This is the only time that has ever happened, in all my years. You see, the Army loves to make its punishments very public to show everyone what will happen if you screw up. You are put on display, as an example. This guy? I asked someone, “What happened to MWO ___?” The reply came as a whisper, “I don’t know man. We aren’t supposed to talk about it.” And that was it. No rumours. No grapevine. It was if he had never existed. I don’t hold any grudges against the guy. He didn’t realize the consequences of his orders. I hope he got a pension or something, if they forced him to retire. It was a bad mistake, and I can only imagine the guilt he felt. That which does not kill you, makes you stronger. (and will definitely leave a scar. But you get to tell a story about it.) __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

03-12-2005, 12:26 PM	#47 (permalink)
Redlemon Devoted Donor Location: New England	I don't know why, but the rucksack story was the most frightening of all so far. I'm seriously creeped out right now. __________________ I can't read your signature. Sorry.

03-12-2005, 02:28 PM	#48 (permalink)
Manuel Hong Addict Location: Land of the puny, wimpy states	Wow. I'm speachless. I'm so glad to be reading about it instead of being the one to recall those memories! Rambo was a wussy-boy compared to you guys. __________________ Believe nothing, even if I tell it to you, unless it meets with your own good common sense and experience. - Siddhartha Gautama (The Buddha)

03-14-2005, 01:51 PM	#49 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	Ammo: The cruellest bitch of all I was tasked as an ammo driver for the artillery, and I really didn’t like it much. As an ammo driver, you are kind of like an outcast: No one wants you around, in case you blow up and take them with you. Everybody needs you around, so you can give them more ammo. This catch-22 is handled by everyone making sure they spend as little time as possible around you, and when they are there, they are working fast and it is all business. I am a people person, and all of my stories and jokes fell on deaf ears. Yeah, BigBen, you told me that one before… can you just shut the fuck up and give me my rounds? I didn’t take it personally, until the lightning storm hit. I had 10 tonnes of ammo on my truck, and was following everyone else out to the field for exercise. We set up and got into position when the word came down: BIG STORM COMING, GET BACK TO BASE. Everyone pulled out and high-tailed it back to the Base gate, where Range Control was waiting for us. Everyone was driving through when the NCO flagged me down. “You can’t come on base, you have Ammo on your truck.” “Well, no shit Sherlock. I’ll just go to the Ammo Compound and park the bitch there then.” I replied, faced with a master-of-the-obvious. “Ammo Compound is closed. Lightning Storms are dangerous around ammo.” “Okay, what should I do then?” I was getting more frustrated as the storm approached. “You’ll have to park the truck in the Training Area. No Ammo allowed on Base.” This guy knew the rules, and was not about to be talked out of them. “Okay, where about do you want this pig parked?” I did not see a parking lot or a sign that said AMMO PARKING HERE. The army is usually pretty blunt when a situation arises like this. “At least 500 metres from any building or person.” Was he reading this straight out of a manual from somewhere? I read something like that before, but couldn’t remember. “Can you give me a ride back to Base?” I was not enjoying the thought of walking 500 metres in the rain when this storm hit… “NO. An ammo truck needs to be occupied when loaded unless it is in a secure compound.” Ah, I remember that regulation. That’s so some nutjob doesn’t steal my ammo. All he would need then is a 105 howitzer and the knowledge on how to use the damn thing (no, it is not that easy, despite what you might have thought) and then he could shoot something. “SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO, STAY IN THIS TRUCK IN A FUCKING LIGHTNING STORM?!?!” I had a few close calls before, and I knew that the odds of being hit by lightning were slim, but then why were the regulations set up like this? To protect people if something DID happen. “Yep.” And with that, he turned and walked away. Yes, I stayed with that truck. Every time the lightning hit (often) I would flinch, and my asshole would pucker. By the end of the night, I was a ball of nerves, and I was ready to shit a diamond. Boy, am I glad I was chosen to be an ammo driver! Look at how I am serving my country! My parents would be soooo proud! When the storm was over, it turned hot. Horrible weather. I can still remember it. Not one lick of wind, the sun baking everything. Even the Ammo. The order came down that the company had to find a location where the ammo truck was parked in the shade, because you-never-know. I sat in the cab of the truck, in the shade, while everyone else was being cooked like an egg. Hey, Look how I am serving my country! Fucking assholes running back to base and leaving me there to blow up. Served them right. Part of Ammo is salvage. The boxes the tubes come in, the tubes that the rounds come in, the brass casings that hold the powder, basically everything that doesn’t fly through the air or make the bang sound has to be returned. I was doing a salvage run when the order came that the exercise was over. When that happens, there is an old tradition that the first Gun detachment that is packed up and ready to go gets free beer bought by the Gun detachment that is ready to go last. Thus, to get free beer and to avoid buying for others, everything happens fucking fast. People start screaming, throwing things into their trucks, trucks start racing, just utter confusion if you did not know what was happening. Part of being ready to go is returning all of your salvage to the salvage truck (me). I was at the middle of the Gun line (6 Guns in a Det) when people started running towards me with their arms full of salvage. Wooden crates, cardboard tubes, brass shells, all came at me at once. I was working as fast as I could (alone, those fucking pricks wouldn’t give me a helper. ‘It’s only Salvage’) when someone had the brilliant idea: If handing Ben the salvage was fast, then wouldn’t throwing it at him be faster? I didn’t see it coming, but a 5 pound brass shell casing came flying at my head. I was lying on the back deck of the truck, everything was spinning. “Oh sure, kill the fucking ammo driver, that will speed things up.” I remember someone saying that, but couldn’t quite place the voice. I had a serious concussion, but I shook it off and finished the job. I thought my jaw was broken, and I parked the truck at the salvage depot. I mumbled “I’m going to the Base Hospital, if someone needs to know…” and the salvage guy just said ‘okay’. __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

03-10-2005, 06:01 PM	#41 (permalink)
xepherys <3 TFP Location: 17TLH2445607250	Crack Thump training sounds like it would be interesting... I've only come close twice: 1. During our demo ranges, we've occasionally been quizzed on what type/weight of explosive was used both by sound and by resulting crater with regard to the type of soil. 2. An errant blackhawk landing NEAR an unused helipad that resulted in cracks and thumps of stones and pebbles splattering against people (and the food on the grill).

03-11-2005, 08:45 AM	#44 (permalink)
xepherys <3 TFP Location: 17TLH2445607250	Wow, yeah, when the fuel gets semi-solid, that's never a good thing. Very few US Army units do cold weather training. It's mostly those that are stationed with Mountain Divisions. The closest I've come is being at Camp Grayling, Michigan in the winter. It never gets quite that cold, obviously, but around -10F(-23C) is still a touch nasty. Hot weather training is a bit more prevelant in the States. My poor wife was training in San Antonio, Texas during June/July where it regularly hit 105F(41C) and was humid as hell. The time I spent there visiting I constantly thought I was going to turn into mush. In that type of condition, you are only allowed to do work for roughly 15 minutes out of every hour, and you need to consume a ridiculou amount of water. Then you throw on your NBC gear (chem suit, mask and rubber gloves/boots) and the world becomes a blur.

03-12-2005, 01:10 AM	#46 (permalink)
thalakos315 Tilted	reading these stories i keep expecting my grandfather to chime in "it builds character!" my whole family (with the exception of my father thank god) all went through that old school military training, and therefor expect you to experience the joy by proxy i learned real quick to shut up, do as i was told, and convince myself i was having fun

03-14-2005, 01:53 PM	#50 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	The Long Walk: The hospital was about 3 km from the salvage yard, and I was in no condition to drive. I was also fucked-up enough to not ask for a lift. I just started walking. I walked past the Base Commander and the Base RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major), the two highest ranking people in a 300km radius. When I did not salute, the Base RSM stopped and followed me. He caught up to me in about 10 steps. “What’s your name?” he asked calmly. You know things are not going well when people DON’T yell at you. I, however, could not see straight, and I did not know who I was talking to. I could have cared less. My jaw was busted, my eyes were watering, and I was about 2 blocks from the base hospital. “Aw, fuck off, will you pal? I’m in fucking pain here.” I thought it was a Master Corporal with nothing better to do than to jack me up. The RSM grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. He looked me in the eye, and then looked at my name tag. I must have given him quite a shock. I am sure it had been a couple of decades since someone had said that to him. “What is your problem, son?” He was going to kill me, which was clear in his mind. He just needed more information to fill out the subsequent paperwork properly. An RSM would never leave gaps in the paperwork. When I started to stumble because he spun me around, he knew there was something wrong. “You going to the hospital?” his tone changed, and he looked like a concerned father. “yeah…” I mumbled. “Hey Dave, give me a hand with this man!” the RSM called to his colleague he was walking with, who happened to be the Base Commander. A full Colonel. I still thought that these guys were Master Corporals, and did not salute. You can imagine the stories that circulated when a corporal is dragged into the Emergency Room, with an RSM under one arm and a Colonel under the other. My jaw was not broken, and the concussion didn’t make me any dumber. The asshole that threw the shell at me came forward and bought me a 60-pounder of rye. We are really good friends, to this day. He’s still an asshole though. __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

03-14-2005, 02:00 PM	#51 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	I just realized that lots of my stories involve injury and the Base Hospital. Honest, that is the wrong impression. We are a safe bunch by rule. It's just not very interesting reading if I said "and then everything went according to plan, so we broke for the weekend early and drank beer." __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

03-17-2005, 08:41 AM	#52 (permalink)
Samalie Tilted Location: Edmonton, Canada	Still, they're great stories. Kepp it up Sammy

03-17-2005, 11:12 PM	#54 (permalink)
Apokx Yo dawg, I herd u like... Location: memes.	This thread is very entertaining.

03-18-2005, 03:02 AM	#55 (permalink)
Latch In Your Dreams Location: City of Lights	I'm loving this. Thanks for the stories, BigBen

03-18-2005, 02:09 PM	#57 (permalink)
SaltPork Everything's better with bacon Location: In your local grocer's freezer.	These are some awesome stories Ben! Keep em coming! __________________ It was like that when I got here....I swear.

03-24-2005, 11:19 AM	#58 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	Who is more important? The grunt that shoots the bullets or the PONTI (Person Of No Tactical Importance) that delivers the bullets to the front line? One thing you have to get used to is the constant onslaught of insults and ridicule from your fellow soldiers. THE ONES ON THE SAME TEAM AS YOU. It is a simple case of human psychology, wherein the patient is whipped into a frenzy by being informed that they are the most important person in the group and without them the system would fail. The lower functioning soldiers really love this scenario, and grab on to this fallacy with both hands… Infantry: We take and hold the ground. No one else can hurt us Armoured: We run over the fuckers, shoot them, and are too fast to hit Artillery: We don’t move fast, because we blow everything up before they even know it Medics: We keep you dumb shits alive when something bad happens Air Force: Yeah, we have it easy. Without us the bombs would be dropping on you right now Navy: Can you swim? How about with all your gear on? Can you swim across the ocean with your gear on? No? Then you need us. Communications: Can you hear me now? Good. If people don’t tell each other what they are doing, they soon kill each other by accident Now everyone is told how important their role is, to help them with morale when the shit is not really warm and squishy. I have reverted to the thought of “I am doing an important job that is critical to the mission” once in a while, when the thoughts of WHAT AM I DOING HERE? Come in to hurt you. Dear reader, please rest easy tonight knowing that everyone is important. The guy scrubbing the pots in the kitchen is ensuring that you have something to eat. The clerk who ‘rubber stamps the damn forms’ ensures that coordination occurs, and 50 people don’t try to get on a 5 passenger bus. When we are by ourselves, with no civilians around to puff our chests out for, the contests quickly turn on each other. Infantry hates Armoured, because they get to drive wherever they go. Armoured hates Artillery because they are far from the front lines in relative safety. Everyone hates the Service Corps, because the work they do is never seen and always misunderstood. No one cares about the medics, because we all have first aid training. The fights can quickly turn violent. “Armoured Rules!” comes a shout from the end of the barracks. “Infantry!” and so on ad nauseum. Worse, if there are different Units OF THE SAME BRANCH, you really have a mess on your hands. What do you fight about if there are 300 infantry guys standing around? The units come into play. “1st Battalion is the BEST!” one infantry guy bellows, proud of his chain-of-command. “2nd Battalion is Better!” comes the reply. Then the two must fight it out. Juvenile? Yes. Necessary? I say yes, considering the organizational culture. Like a prison hierarchy, the strongest and best fighters quickly show their dominance. Isn’t that what we want from the Armed Forces? Dominance, aggression, and strong fighters? What sucks is when someone calls you down and you are horribly outnumbered. You have to defend your honour, and that of your trade and unit. But what happens when there are 10 infantry guys, and you are the only artillery guy? You get your ass kicked, that’s what happens. Only once, and then you are part of the club (if you aren’t a total prick) until someone needs to establish dominance. One task, I was quietly doing my job when I was informed by a group of young soldiers that I was “Useless”. They were trying to bait me into a fight, and I was in no mood to get jumped. I simply said “Yeah, maybe, but since I am driving out your meals to you, I suggest you take that comment back or the whole fucking lot of you will go hungry.” The young man committing the offence is quickly told to apologize. Worse still is if I cut off the coffee. I was cornered like a rat in a cage one time, and about 5 guys decided to teach me a lesson in manners. I had to concede that they were better than I, or the beating would start. “Oh, absolutely. You guys are hard core and I would never win a fight with any one of you. My unit sucks, my buddies suck, and as soon as I can I am going to my career manager and ask to transfer into your unit. Please oh please let me be one of the cool guys…” I wanted out of the situation, and was hoping the bait would work. It did. Late that night, I was on fire watch (Overnight duty to ensure that no one catches on fire, don’t ask why) when I decided to wake up my new friends. With the heel of my boot to their nose. “Who’s unit is the best now, asshole?” I hissed, five times over. The next morning, I got the beating of my life. My new friends did not appreciate the visit I had paid them, and gave it back to me in spades. I still have scars on my face, and every morning when I look in the mirror I think two things: 1. My unit is best. 2. Chicks dig scars. Anyhoo, I took my lumps, because they were well deserved. The Sergeant knew what happened, and simply bellowed, “BEN! You are on night fire watch again.” And I smiled with swollen lips. I got to sleep during the day, but those assholes had to sleep with one eye open for the rest of the exercise. __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

03-24-2005, 11:37 AM	#59 (permalink)
muttonglutton Crazy Location: K-W. Err... -dot.	These stories are amazing. I used to entertain a notion of going into the Canadian army, but I don't think I can handle it. I'm what is reffered to as a chickenshit. :P Keep these stories coming, I want to hear them all! They're so much more interesting than the err... stories my grandfather tells. "So the commander said we didn't have enough energy for communications, I told him to do this, and it worked. He gave me a weird look. Then six years later, I cut down some trees, and he gave me the same look again. I saw it in his eyes. The he asked me if I was the radio guy. I said Yessir, and he gave me a cigarette. That was the best day of my life." If he told stories like you, I would never leave his house! So good! __________________ Cellar Door.

03-24-2005, 12:54 PM	#60 (permalink)
FngKestrel Junkie	Great stories. Keep 'em coming!

03-24-2005, 01:19 PM	#61 (permalink)
guthmund big damn hero	I love this thread. Keep 'em coming, Ben. I'm a sucker for a good story. __________________ No signature. None. Seriously.

03-24-2005, 02:02 PM	#62 (permalink)
Manuel Hong Addict Location: Land of the puny, wimpy states	Ben, thanks for reliving your amazing adventures for us. I can't wait until the next installment. __________________ Believe nothing, even if I tell it to you, unless it meets with your own good common sense and experience. - Siddhartha Gautama (The Buddha)

03-24-2005, 05:09 PM	#63 (permalink)
thalakos315 Tilted	lol i love old military stories, keep em comin! :P

03-30-2005, 01:53 PM	#64 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	Let’s see, where did I leave off? How about a couple of recruiting stories? If you don’t know already or have never seen one, I have to say that the Recruiting part of the Forces is probably the toughest. You have to put on a happy face and endure all sorts of shit from the public that noone would ever put up with in other situations. The word comes down “We are running out of guys. I guess that we need some more. Go get some.” And we are then tasked to make up a stupid display for the public. The questions we are asked are bullshit. “Is that your gun?” No, it is my RIFLE. See post above “Have you ever killed anyone?” How the fuck am I supposed to answer that? What could you possibly want from asking that? 1. Yes, but they were very bad people and they were trying to hurt other people. 2. Yes, my Sergeant told me the guy was bad, and only later did I find out that it was a 14 year old kid. 3. Yes, I’ve killed hundreds. But they were far away and I was just pulling a cord on a 155 howitzer. 4. No. I dress up like this to impress girls. Go ask your mom if it is working. 5. No. Like other PONTI’s, I pretend that I am tough, but the only time I heard hostile fire I wet my pants and hid in a hole. 6. No, but the day ain’t over yet kid. (my favourite) The other good one you get is from the people that USED to be in the forces, and want to tell you their stories. Fuck off, old man. If you were anywhere near as cool as you think, you would have travelled forward in time and you would be kicking your own ass right now. The best recruiting story ever: I was told by my command that there was a technical school that requested we give a recruiting speech to the class. Technical school? Like qualified trades personnel? Cooks, plumbers, mechanics? SHIT YES, we need those people bad, and having them trained already was a bonus. All they had to do was Basic and an equivalency exam. They could be qualified in about ¼ of the time. I got the posters, the hand-outs, the ‘freebies’ and headed there with a buddy. We were early, as always. We set up in the classroom and started to make bets: “First one to sign a mechanic gets a case of beer.” “First one to sign a hot female gets a case of beer.” (sorry for the sexism. I have since realized the error of my ways) And then the class came in. These folks looked a little rough. I was expecting some fresh faces, instead I saw some neck tattoos and scars. What was this? About 10 minutes into the speech “We can provide a steady income and a rewarding career with a clear promotion ladder blahblahblah” I noticed that their eyes started to glaze over. There was someone to my right that was translating into sign language. No big deal, I just kept on going. These were TRAINED PEOPLE WITH A TRADE… “Are there any questions so far?” I asked. You have to ensure you aren’t lying to them, and when the attention goes (you presenters know what I am talking about) you have to make things a little bit more participatory. A hand flew up into the air. Young man, about 20ish “Do you guys accept people with epilepsy?” I paused, having never been asked that question. I was caught off guard: “Uh, no, I am sorry to say we don’t. There are basic medical qualifications that are needed, and I think that epilepsy is on the list of conditions that would make a candidate unsuccessful.” “Oh…” was his reply, and his eyes sunk to his shoes. Obviously this guy had epilepsy, and was hoping to find a rewarding career with us. Another hand flew up. “What about amputees?” Oh shit, I thought. What have I got myself into? “Um, no, part of the physical nature of the job requires that people have all of their body parts.” Another disappointed look on someone’s face. Right about then I decided to go into the bare requirements of the application process, and people looked at me in puzzlement. The person standing with me interpreting sign language muttered, “I guess hearing impaired people are out too?” and as I nodded, I could hear a sigh from the back of the room and the interpreter made a rude gesture. We were thanked politely for our time and sent on our way. I asked the commander later “What the fuck did you send us into? What just happened over there?” “It was an adult basic education class for people who have special needs. They asked for us to come.” He saw no problem with the situation. “You sent me into a fucking ambush! I thought we were recruiting Journeyman Trades, Asshole!” It ended up that the only person that fit the basic medical and educational requirements (and I mean real basic) was under a court order to stay away from firearms for the next 3 years. He asked if I could make an exception. I said no. It was the toughest crowd ever. Their teacher told them that if they apply themselves they could be anything they wanted to be in the whole world, and I suppose some of them thought that the army thing was a pretty good gig considering their alternatives. To go in there and kill their dreams was one of the hardest things I have done. If you have a bad job to give someone, at least tell them what they are getting into, and why they are doing it in the first place. Please, as a personal favour to me. __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

03-30-2005, 03:35 PM	#65 (permalink)
liquidlight AHH! Custom Title!! Location: The twisted warpings of my brain.	"Nah, that's ok, you can keep it." God I love it. . . I just spent 2 hours reading this and I'm still laughing, thank you! __________________ Halfway to hell and picking up speed.

03-30-2005, 11:19 PM	#66 (permalink)
Paq Junkie Location: South Carolina	aww, man, that story was sad...i could totally see myself gettnig bummed over that one.. __________________ Live. Chris

03-31-2005, 02:31 AM	#67 (permalink)
thalakos315 Tilted	you'd think that the military would at least have the sense to ask, prior to send you guys there, if any of these possible applicants would be able to fit the minimum requirements.. i mean it is a program for adults with special needs.. i don't think i'd be able to do something like that hehe. i'd probally end up thinking up alternative suggestions for them to look into vs the military

03-31-2005, 10:41 PM	#68 (permalink)
Shwang Upright	Wow, awesome stories. Justy somethign to point out, I've noticed similarities in your style of writing that is similar to Simon Murray, this englishman wback in the sixties who joined the French Foreign Legion, incredible read, and it sounds like most armies are similar around the world. I reccomend checking it out BigBen, and anyone else who is into military experiences.

04-11-2005, 01:33 PM	#69 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	I-Told-You-So, Army Style: I-Told-You-So never did anyone any good, and results in a beating more often than not. Like the civilian world, you are never allowed to say those words to someone of a higher rank than you. It is usually good practice to just shut up before you say anything that could be found out as a good idea after the fact… Oh, you want to turn left up there, sergeant? Everyone knows that we should be going right, but if I said it, I could then say “I Told You So” when we turn around and walk back here eight hours from now. If I am doing the math properly, the Shit that you will make me do if I say something will account for about 10 hours of labour. Walking for four hours the wrong direction and then back still gives me 2 hours to spare. Carry-on. Remember your career, ladies and gentleman, when you are computing the above equation. I told a Warrant once, “I think you have the map upside-down Warrant” to which he said, “You know what? I think you are right. I also seem to have the LEAVE SCHEDULE UPSIDE DOWN TOO…” (I was the next on the list for leave. I was then put to the bottom of the pile). An exception to this rule is safety: If there is a possibility that someone’s stupidity could get someone hurt, the lowest rank can say something without fear of retribution. I once heard “Maybe we should reconfigure the order of those actions, Sergeant.” A private said. “And who put you in charge, shithead?” came the reply. “I was just hoping that the fire could be extinguished BEFORE you made me carry the jerrycans of fuel across the line there…” “Oh, yeah, sure, we COULD do it that way I guess…” the sergeant says quickly, and carries on. This may sound silly, but I actually like it when shit gets dangerous, because people start to cooperate more, and everyone gets their two cents in. Almost democratic. Speaking of “Map & Compass” training, I have a pet peeve to air out in the open here: There are two words to the phrase “Map & Compass” training, and as a result the properly trained soldier will use both of those tools to accomplish an orienteering mission. Why is it then that people take a bearing and start to march towards the objective, oblivious to the terrain or the corresponding map? I cannot tell you how many swamps/bushes/streams/festering holes I have walked through while seeing a dry path on the map. LOOK AT YOUR MAP. If there is an easier, faster, DRIER way to get there, how about we try that way instead of relying on your compass? Imagine a 3/4/5 triangle. Geometry says that you can get to point B by travelling in a straight line from A, which you will travel a distance of 5. You can alternatively go to point C on the way, avoiding the swamp, hills, cactus and poison ivy that lie on line segment AB and your route will only be a distance of 7. I don’t think that I have ever convinced one of my instructors or commanders the simple concept that you readers understand. __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

04-11-2005, 03:39 PM	#70 (permalink)
TM875 Addict Location: Amish-land, PA	I have to say, man, that I have such a huge amount of respect for you. All throughout my life, I had always wanted to be in the US armed services. However, I knew I could never pass the physical tests (don't get me wrong, I'm no fatass - 5'8, 150lbs - but I can't run worth shit). People like you - those that have sacrificed nearly everything to fight for their nation - are incredibly important to me. Best wishes, and thank you for what you've done for the world and the hell that you've gone through. __________________ "I've made only one mistake in my life. But I made it over and over and over. That was saying 'yes' when I meant 'no'. Forgive me."

05-12-2005, 10:06 AM	#71 (permalink)
liquidlight AHH! Custom Title!! Location: The twisted warpings of my brain.	Time to bump the thread, and hopefully BigBen is in a good mood and will give us more! __________________ Halfway to hell and picking up speed.

05-12-2005, 10:46 AM	#72 (permalink)
Redlemon Devoted Donor Location: New England	Good thinking, liquidlight; however, considering that Ben is still alive, I can't imagine how many more of these stories he could possibly have... __________________ I can't read your signature. Sorry.

05-12-2005, 11:08 AM	#73 (permalink)
Charlatan Getting it. Super Moderator Location: Lion City	Ben... when I was a kid I used to do Orienteering courses... I was never a fast runner or the strongest guy there... but I would often win simply because I would use the map... I remember leaving one check point and after quickly getting my bearings and checking the map, I headed off the in my chosen direction. I remember hearing the derisive laughter of another competitor as he headed off on the straight line to the next checkpoint, "You're going the wrong way!!!" At the end of the race, I not only won but was the only one in the group with dry feet... __________________ "My hands are on fire. Hands are on fire. Ain't got no more time for all you charlatans and liars." - Old Man Luedecke

05-12-2005, 11:10 AM	#74 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	No, I am not running out of stories. On the contrary, I am getting more! That is the reason I haven't posted here in a while. My mind has been on other things, and I am busy with about a hundred things in the present and about a thousand things coming at me in the future. Thus, the past sometimes takes a backseat. I will stress again, thank you for enjoying these as much as I enjoyed writing them. I think that this is a feeling a really successful writer gets when they see themselves on the bestseller list! I have to warn the members here on the TFP: I just recieved my orders for the summer, and they include 11 weeks of field training. This means that I will not be here very much (if at all) starting the end of the month. Old soldiers don't die, they just fade away; or so the saying goes. I have to fade away from the TFP soon, but here I promise: I will be back. And when I come back, get ready for some serious fucking war stories. Don't cry; I don't leave until the 28th. I will try and give you guys at least one more tale before then to hold you over. It will have to be a good one. Let me think... __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

05-12-2005, 12:01 PM	#75 (permalink)
Janey Junkie Location: Toronto	What exactly does field training involve? I am picturing columns of soldiers put up in drab green tents in the countryside, training with weapons, marching, orienteering etc. am I close?

05-12-2005, 12:10 PM	#76 (permalink)
BigBen Comedian Location: Use the search button	Very close. Read the stories above (all from the field, I think...) and take out all of the fun. "Dig your bed, then sleep in it" refers to the trenches that we dig for defensive positions, and how we sometimes spend days in those holes, training in defensive manouvres. It is hard work, when you don't get to see friends and family for so long. It puts a strain on things, and they usually deprive you of sleep to "simulate combat stress". Living in the field is an artform... it requires training, teamwork and a little bit of old fashioned GUTS. Lots of weapons, marching, orienteering! __________________ 3.141592654 Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.

05-12-2005, 12:12 PM	#77 (permalink)
Elphaba Deja Moo Location: Olympic Peninsula, WA	I was about to give this topic a polite, feminine yawn. I've been spellbound instead. Wonderfully done, Ben.

05-12-2005, 12:54 PM	#79 (permalink)
Irishsean edited for content Location: Austin, TX	This is great! I'd seen this topic sitting here, but didn't ever take a look at it until today. I sat here and read the whole thing, hilarious! __________________ There are no absolute rules of conduct, either in peace or war. Everything depends on circumstances. Leon Trotsky