duane_wade
Member
Good to here that the move went well and the area is to your liking
Sent from my SM-G991U using Tapatalk
Sent from my SM-G991U using Tapatalk
Snubby in Vietnam
- Thread starter SF VET
- Start date
Glad to hear all is going well. Your experiences and pictures have been missed.
Thanks to you and all who served and are willing to share your experiences.
Old Tanker - your post was appreciated and was a bit hard to finish as the words were getting blurry for some reason.
Thanks to you and all who served and are willing to share your experiences.
Old Tanker - your post was appreciated and was a bit hard to finish as the words were getting blurry for some reason.
SFVet — good to hear from you.
Stories from Ft Benning, Airborne and Ranger schooo
Not yet able to set up my scanner, so thought we could share stories of our military years.
Graduated from Nebraska in May, 69, and as a Distinguished Military Graduate from ROTC, I was on active duty the very same day. Immediately after that ceremony, (first) wife and I left with our son for Benning's Infantry Officer Basic. I think it was something like two months. All of us rookie Lt's were programmed to then immediately begin the three week Airborne School. I was apprehensive because we were required to do seven pull ups, something I was never able to do. But the SGT told me "good enough", and I passed.
I was a bit scared of the huge rattlesnakes that were all around our Benning Infantry field exercises. Years later had a "bad experience" with a big timber rattler at Bragg.
We had to do a lot of pushups for every sort of minor infraction, causing lots of scratches on my brass buckle, causing even more pushups. With the runs and such, I was pretty exhausted by the end of the day, and didn't have the time nor energy to try to Brasso the scratches away. So went to the QM sales, and bought a bag of buckles, which I then boiled to remove the lacquer and then buffed them. The second week of Tower was really exhilarating, to drop from one off the three towers dating back to I think the New York World's fair.
Then lastly to the airstrip, where we boarded C119's, the Flying Boxcar of Korean and then RVN wars. A decade before, one of the following C119's had an engine failure, and had descended thru the troopers, killing quite a few. Our class also had newly enlisted troops, none of us wearing any rank. Many of them had never been on an airplane, and when they exited the door, many held their noses as when they had jumped into their swimming holes. I think five jumps, then we had our wings pinned on right there on the drop zone. One my first jump, I fell into the billowing 'chute of another jumper, and it folded up around me, but my own chute then fell off to the side, and yanked me free.
On the ground, there were jeep medic teams racing around to jumpers who looked like they had impacted poorly.
Oh, one of my early days there, I saw an grizzled SGT approaching me, so when he snapped a perfect drill SGT salute to me, I responded with my three finger boy scout salute.
One thing I was sorta glad of was, was back in ROTC, one of our TAC officers was the SAO for a recent NU graduate who had been killed in a mortar attack. The TAC officer said I was about his size, and the family sold me all of his nicely tailored and faded fatigues for I think ten bucks. So I at least didn't look like a newby LT. My wife cried when I snipped off the dead Lt's wings and tags and patches.
So much for that sympathy, as it turned out.....
Then to Ranger School, classs 5. SF VET
Not yet able to set up my scanner, so thought we could share stories of our military years.
Graduated from Nebraska in May, 69, and as a Distinguished Military Graduate from ROTC, I was on active duty the very same day. Immediately after that ceremony, (first) wife and I left with our son for Benning's Infantry Officer Basic. I think it was something like two months. All of us rookie Lt's were programmed to then immediately begin the three week Airborne School. I was apprehensive because we were required to do seven pull ups, something I was never able to do. But the SGT told me "good enough", and I passed.
I was a bit scared of the huge rattlesnakes that were all around our Benning Infantry field exercises. Years later had a "bad experience" with a big timber rattler at Bragg.
We had to do a lot of pushups for every sort of minor infraction, causing lots of scratches on my brass buckle, causing even more pushups. With the runs and such, I was pretty exhausted by the end of the day, and didn't have the time nor energy to try to Brasso the scratches away. So went to the QM sales, and bought a bag of buckles, which I then boiled to remove the lacquer and then buffed them. The second week of Tower was really exhilarating, to drop from one off the three towers dating back to I think the New York World's fair.
Then lastly to the airstrip, where we boarded C119's, the Flying Boxcar of Korean and then RVN wars. A decade before, one of the following C119's had an engine failure, and had descended thru the troopers, killing quite a few. Our class also had newly enlisted troops, none of us wearing any rank. Many of them had never been on an airplane, and when they exited the door, many held their noses as when they had jumped into their swimming holes. I think five jumps, then we had our wings pinned on right there on the drop zone. One my first jump, I fell into the billowing 'chute of another jumper, and it folded up around me, but my own chute then fell off to the side, and yanked me free.
On the ground, there were jeep medic teams racing around to jumpers who looked like they had impacted poorly.
Oh, one of my early days there, I saw an grizzled SGT approaching me, so when he snapped a perfect drill SGT salute to me, I responded with my three finger boy scout salute.
One thing I was sorta glad of was, was back in ROTC, one of our TAC officers was the SAO for a recent NU graduate who had been killed in a mortar attack. The TAC officer said I was about his size, and the family sold me all of his nicely tailored and faded fatigues for I think ten bucks. So I at least didn't look like a newby LT. My wife cried when I snipped off the dead Lt's wings and tags and patches.
So much for that sympathy, as it turned out.....
Then to Ranger School, classs 5. SF VET
Old Tanker's post #757 made me cry. So very sad.
I didn't make my R&R. However my wife came to Japan where I was in the Hospital.
I didn't make my R&R. However my wife came to Japan where I was in the Hospital.
Immediately after the three weeks of Airborne, I reported in to the Ranger class HQ. While I will post of of my adventures in that 8 week Course, what I subsequently realized was that the training back then, how to patrol and enter a Vietnamese village, that sort of thing, really wasn't what we were to learn in Ranger School.
The experience was for us to learn that every soldier, esp ourselves, has some limit to their ability to carry out a mission. It was designed into the program. For one, it was exhausting and so tiring to go so long with exertion and without brief rest and sleep. So the school set us up for frustration. We would pause in a patrol, all of us barely able to stay awake, and then set up our perimeter, and designate who was to be on guard, and who could close their eyes. Our patrol leader would tell us we where to remain in place for three hours, such a welcome thing to hear.
But after a brief time to set up our security, and just after some of us would fall sound asleep, the word was passed ".... ruck up, we are moving out." Just to teach us how to deal with disappointment. It was all planned for just those experiences.
And we also learned how sleeplessness would inevitably cause us to have mental confusion. When it was our turn to be the pace man, keeping track of our distance traveled, with the trick of moving a pebble from one pocket to another, after learning our own pace-for-distance, we would be so mentally tired that we couldn't even count. The pace man would whisper "... what comes after six, I can't remember.". The reply might be "...I think seven, maybe eight, I can't remember myself...."
A leader has to know, to learn for himself, how he and others function with physical exhaustion and extreme fatigue. And that is what we were to learn in Ranger School.
Once, my patrol paused on a mountain trail, and I looked back at another student, who was carrying a stick instead of his M14. I asked '....where is your rifle?" He dumbly looked down at the stick he was carrying, and slowly replied, "...I think I left it back there."
Ranger school was and is no doubt a very demanding school.
I learned some useful things about myself and the men I might someday command in that School. More adventures later. The snakes, the lost radio, the hunger, the Fawn, the bear, the KIA Lt, and boots that were too tight. SF VET
The experience was for us to learn that every soldier, esp ourselves, has some limit to their ability to carry out a mission. It was designed into the program. For one, it was exhausting and so tiring to go so long with exertion and without brief rest and sleep. So the school set us up for frustration. We would pause in a patrol, all of us barely able to stay awake, and then set up our perimeter, and designate who was to be on guard, and who could close their eyes. Our patrol leader would tell us we where to remain in place for three hours, such a welcome thing to hear.
But after a brief time to set up our security, and just after some of us would fall sound asleep, the word was passed ".... ruck up, we are moving out." Just to teach us how to deal with disappointment. It was all planned for just those experiences.
And we also learned how sleeplessness would inevitably cause us to have mental confusion. When it was our turn to be the pace man, keeping track of our distance traveled, with the trick of moving a pebble from one pocket to another, after learning our own pace-for-distance, we would be so mentally tired that we couldn't even count. The pace man would whisper "... what comes after six, I can't remember.". The reply might be "...I think seven, maybe eight, I can't remember myself...."
A leader has to know, to learn for himself, how he and others function with physical exhaustion and extreme fatigue. And that is what we were to learn in Ranger School.
Once, my patrol paused on a mountain trail, and I looked back at another student, who was carrying a stick instead of his M14. I asked '....where is your rifle?" He dumbly looked down at the stick he was carrying, and slowly replied, "...I think I left it back there."
Ranger school was and is no doubt a very demanding school.
I learned some useful things about myself and the men I might someday command in that School. More adventures later. The snakes, the lost radio, the hunger, the Fawn, the bear, the KIA Lt, and boots that were too tight. SF VET
The KABAR and the fawn...
Just a short story. As in a prior post, before Ranger school I had gone into Fayetteville (AKA FayetteNam) to Ranger Joes, and bought a nice custom sheath for my Buck General sheath knife, the long bladed one. Same one I wore in my later RVN Advisory tour. Anyway, one cold day in Ranger School, somewhere up in the Georgia mountains, another student had to secure some sort of line to a tree for some task. Watched him stab his big KABAR into the tree, and then give his imbedded blade a little push, and his knife immediately snapped off at the hilt. So I decided while KABAR's were really historic and tactical looking, they really weren't suitable for some tasks. I would keep my Buck.
The Fawn. Before, when I had been in ROTC, we watched a lot of army training films. One of the staff NCO's was actually in one we saw, where prisoners escaped, and what survival tasks they employed. One was shaving a pine tree, to scrape off the thin underbarrk, and use that for "food." Yeah right....
The same NCO had been in Germany in the same platoon Elvis was in, at the same time. He said Elvis was a model solder, and when Elvis saw how the troops had to cut the grass with scissors, he bought the company a power mower.
So being very hungry in Ranger School, resting against a pine tree, and recalling that Army movie, I pulled out a blade, and shaved off a strip of under bark, and proceeded to chew on it. The Army was wrong. It was like sucking on a terpentine soaked rag. Awful, burning, searing... Mark that suggestion up to avoid at all costs.
In the same mountains, out on point with another student, we came upon a tiny fawn, hidden in the brush. He and I told each other we should kill it, and find a way to cook it for our patrol team. But neither of us was an experienced hunter, and as we stood over the tiny, helpless fawn, each telling the other to kill it, the fawn grew tired our discussion, leapt up and was gone in a flash.
Next, the Granny Knot.... SF VET
Just a short story. As in a prior post, before Ranger school I had gone into Fayetteville (AKA FayetteNam) to Ranger Joes, and bought a nice custom sheath for my Buck General sheath knife, the long bladed one. Same one I wore in my later RVN Advisory tour. Anyway, one cold day in Ranger School, somewhere up in the Georgia mountains, another student had to secure some sort of line to a tree for some task. Watched him stab his big KABAR into the tree, and then give his imbedded blade a little push, and his knife immediately snapped off at the hilt. So I decided while KABAR's were really historic and tactical looking, they really weren't suitable for some tasks. I would keep my Buck.
The Fawn. Before, when I had been in ROTC, we watched a lot of army training films. One of the staff NCO's was actually in one we saw, where prisoners escaped, and what survival tasks they employed. One was shaving a pine tree, to scrape off the thin underbarrk, and use that for "food." Yeah right....
The same NCO had been in Germany in the same platoon Elvis was in, at the same time. He said Elvis was a model solder, and when Elvis saw how the troops had to cut the grass with scissors, he bought the company a power mower.
So being very hungry in Ranger School, resting against a pine tree, and recalling that Army movie, I pulled out a blade, and shaved off a strip of under bark, and proceeded to chew on it. The Army was wrong. It was like sucking on a terpentine soaked rag. Awful, burning, searing... Mark that suggestion up to avoid at all costs.
In the same mountains, out on point with another student, we came upon a tiny fawn, hidden in the brush. He and I told each other we should kill it, and find a way to cook it for our patrol team. But neither of us was an experienced hunter, and as we stood over the tiny, helpless fawn, each telling the other to kill it, the fawn grew tired our discussion, leapt up and was gone in a flash.
Next, the Granny Knot.... SF VET
LoboGunLeather
US Veteran
SFVet was a young officer commissioned upon completion of ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps) during his college education, as compared to the traditional career officers coming out of the US Military Academy at West Point. Reserve officers far outnumbered West Point graduates.
Following my first tour in Vietnam I was sent back to Fort Benning, Georgia and assigned to the Infantry School as a junior instructor. My specialties were map reading and land navigation using the magnetic/lensatic compass. Keeping track of distances by counting strides, while focusing on terrain features and visible landmarks was a basic skill to be learned, along with use of topographic maps with varying scales and contour lines to identify terrain and orient oneself to the ground and plan routes.
I was a tall, slender, handsome young (about 20 years old) sergeant with a combat unit patch on my right shoulder, Combat Infantryman Badge, Parachutist Badge, and Pathfinder Badge on my left breast. Standing tall, looking good, perhaps even mildly intimidating to some of the new lieutenants.
The majority of our students were Infantry Officer Basic Course, brand new second lieutenants with reserve commissions upon college graduation from college. Most were 21, 22, or 23 years old and seriously trying to find a way to complete their military service obligations with minimum disruption of their life plans and dreams. In short, very few problems for me to deal with. I regularly reported to the class leaders, referred to everyone as "gentlemen" or "sir", explained the basic requirements to be met, and offered encouragement and suggestions rather than demands. A delicate balance in the military world, which has helped me adapt to other challenges over the years.
Culmination of my couple of weeks with each group was an overnight land navigation problem. Teams of two students with a compass, a map, and a series of checkpoints requiring several miles of hiking through the hills, forests, and swamps to reach a final objective. SFVet has mentioned the little problems with wildlife, such as rattlesnakes (eastern diamondbacks and timber rattlers); perhaps he will also remember the "wait a minute vines" that seemed to wrap themselves around a man with hundreds of thorns piercing the flesh to encourage you to "wait a minute". Mud, bugs, and creep-crawlies of several types added to the experience of an overnight in the Georgia swamp lands.
At dawn the instructors and cadre usually spent several hours searching and trying to account for all the new young lieutenants. We did not want to lose any, if possible, because the US Army had urgent needs for new replacements for Vietnam.
I called them my secret weapons; a second lieutenant with a compass and a map. There was never any way to tell where they might strike.
Some classes consisted of Infantry OCS (Officer Candidate School). Many of the candidates had a few years of enlisted service, frequently sergeants or staff sergeants selected for advancement, and some were combat veterans with more experience than their young instructor.
One class included West Point cadets in their final year. Almost without exception these were arrogant, rude, and annoying to deal with. A group of 5 decided that it was demeaning to their exalted status to be herded around by an enlisted man (me) and presented their complaint to my commander, a major with 20 years or more of service including 10 or more as enlisted prior to his commission, also one of the original Special Forces troops (not to mention combat service in Korea and Vietnam, and a ribbon rack capped off with the Silver Star). The Major listened patiently, allowing the young cadets to state their case, then calmly explained that the Army had assigned them to complete this class, that the Sergeant was instructing the class, and they would complete the class to the Sergeant's satisfaction or report back to West Point to explain why they had failed to complete their assignment. There were no further questions or complaints, 100% participation was the new order of business.
About that time I was reassigned for Warrant Officer Flight School. The Army tried unsuccessfully to teach me to fly a helicopter and become a junior warrant officer, requiring my extension of active duty for several years. Next stop was Vietnam, again.
Following my first tour in Vietnam I was sent back to Fort Benning, Georgia and assigned to the Infantry School as a junior instructor. My specialties were map reading and land navigation using the magnetic/lensatic compass. Keeping track of distances by counting strides, while focusing on terrain features and visible landmarks was a basic skill to be learned, along with use of topographic maps with varying scales and contour lines to identify terrain and orient oneself to the ground and plan routes.
I was a tall, slender, handsome young (about 20 years old) sergeant with a combat unit patch on my right shoulder, Combat Infantryman Badge, Parachutist Badge, and Pathfinder Badge on my left breast. Standing tall, looking good, perhaps even mildly intimidating to some of the new lieutenants.
The majority of our students were Infantry Officer Basic Course, brand new second lieutenants with reserve commissions upon college graduation from college. Most were 21, 22, or 23 years old and seriously trying to find a way to complete their military service obligations with minimum disruption of their life plans and dreams. In short, very few problems for me to deal with. I regularly reported to the class leaders, referred to everyone as "gentlemen" or "sir", explained the basic requirements to be met, and offered encouragement and suggestions rather than demands. A delicate balance in the military world, which has helped me adapt to other challenges over the years.
Culmination of my couple of weeks with each group was an overnight land navigation problem. Teams of two students with a compass, a map, and a series of checkpoints requiring several miles of hiking through the hills, forests, and swamps to reach a final objective. SFVet has mentioned the little problems with wildlife, such as rattlesnakes (eastern diamondbacks and timber rattlers); perhaps he will also remember the "wait a minute vines" that seemed to wrap themselves around a man with hundreds of thorns piercing the flesh to encourage you to "wait a minute". Mud, bugs, and creep-crawlies of several types added to the experience of an overnight in the Georgia swamp lands.
At dawn the instructors and cadre usually spent several hours searching and trying to account for all the new young lieutenants. We did not want to lose any, if possible, because the US Army had urgent needs for new replacements for Vietnam.
I called them my secret weapons; a second lieutenant with a compass and a map. There was never any way to tell where they might strike.
Some classes consisted of Infantry OCS (Officer Candidate School). Many of the candidates had a few years of enlisted service, frequently sergeants or staff sergeants selected for advancement, and some were combat veterans with more experience than their young instructor.
One class included West Point cadets in their final year. Almost without exception these were arrogant, rude, and annoying to deal with. A group of 5 decided that it was demeaning to their exalted status to be herded around by an enlisted man (me) and presented their complaint to my commander, a major with 20 years or more of service including 10 or more as enlisted prior to his commission, also one of the original Special Forces troops (not to mention combat service in Korea and Vietnam, and a ribbon rack capped off with the Silver Star). The Major listened patiently, allowing the young cadets to state their case, then calmly explained that the Army had assigned them to complete this class, that the Sergeant was instructing the class, and they would complete the class to the Sergeant's satisfaction or report back to West Point to explain why they had failed to complete their assignment. There were no further questions or complaints, 100% participation was the new order of business.
About that time I was reassigned for Warrant Officer Flight School. The Army tried unsuccessfully to teach me to fly a helicopter and become a junior warrant officer, requiring my extension of active duty for several years. Next stop was Vietnam, again.
Another dead LT, the chow line, and copperheads
I think we were at the ranger base at Benning for maybe a week or so. We "ran" thru the chow line, gobbling up our food so by the time we got to the end trash barrels, we dumped what was left and ran to the next formation. But that evening, our TAC officers, Lt's Burton and Burnie, informed us that we were wasting the fine cuisine prepared for us, and hence forth, the biggest student was placed at the trash can, and was to himself eat what was tossed. So, we gulped our whole tray down, so we didn't have to face the wrath of a huge student.
We had pugil stick fights in the pits, using padded clubs to batter one another; surely I got more than I gave. And in the pits, instruction in hand-to-hand fighting, how to flip an enemy, and then we had to kick the downed fighter in the small of his back. In my later MD years, I sometimes wondered how many students peed blood after those pugilistic sessions.
I was never an athlete, but somewhere developed a relentless drive and focus and absolute commitment to accomplish what I was tasked to do. On one run, back from a field exercise, about 30 or 40 in my platoon were run back to the barracks. As one by one, students fell out, the NCO mocked us by telling us in a prior class a Lt had died on the same run. I thought why mock the dead Lt, if it actually happened, since he gave his life trying to complete the run. I kept running, because I wanted the NCO to be in trouble when I too died, but I wasn't going to fall out, no matter what. It was my motivating factor to never stop.
I am color blind, as are 8% of males (never females), so while I see vivid reds and greens, if not so, they just look dark to me. I found this out in HS, which is why I went army ROTC and into the Navy program. There is a myth, that color blind men can perceive camouflage from real nature better than others. But for some reason, I could visualize the brown contour lines on our maps perfectly. I could see the ridge lines, the ravines, the saddlebacks, the elevations and depressions as if they were in full relief in front of me. Maps were three dimensional to me.
On patrols, on point, I could run and see the trip wires for flares as if the wires were florescent. Maybe something to the color blind thing. Later it was difficult for me to make out the red dropzone panels in SF Jump Master School. I had to look for patterns. So who knows.
The Benning woods were just crawling with snakes, the copperheads were everywhere on our solo map courses. Never step over a log. I don't recall if any students were struck.
Our move into our new home is going well, always more to do, mostly pictures and mirrors and such now. I am restoring a nice surplus rolling tool chest out at the hanger where I have my Army truck, along with the Bofer's restoration crew, and the Half Track, and so much more.
Next, Mariah, and the Bear... SF VET
I think we were at the ranger base at Benning for maybe a week or so. We "ran" thru the chow line, gobbling up our food so by the time we got to the end trash barrels, we dumped what was left and ran to the next formation. But that evening, our TAC officers, Lt's Burton and Burnie, informed us that we were wasting the fine cuisine prepared for us, and hence forth, the biggest student was placed at the trash can, and was to himself eat what was tossed. So, we gulped our whole tray down, so we didn't have to face the wrath of a huge student.
We had pugil stick fights in the pits, using padded clubs to batter one another; surely I got more than I gave. And in the pits, instruction in hand-to-hand fighting, how to flip an enemy, and then we had to kick the downed fighter in the small of his back. In my later MD years, I sometimes wondered how many students peed blood after those pugilistic sessions.
I was never an athlete, but somewhere developed a relentless drive and focus and absolute commitment to accomplish what I was tasked to do. On one run, back from a field exercise, about 30 or 40 in my platoon were run back to the barracks. As one by one, students fell out, the NCO mocked us by telling us in a prior class a Lt had died on the same run. I thought why mock the dead Lt, if it actually happened, since he gave his life trying to complete the run. I kept running, because I wanted the NCO to be in trouble when I too died, but I wasn't going to fall out, no matter what. It was my motivating factor to never stop.
I am color blind, as are 8% of males (never females), so while I see vivid reds and greens, if not so, they just look dark to me. I found this out in HS, which is why I went army ROTC and into the Navy program. There is a myth, that color blind men can perceive camouflage from real nature better than others. But for some reason, I could visualize the brown contour lines on our maps perfectly. I could see the ridge lines, the ravines, the saddlebacks, the elevations and depressions as if they were in full relief in front of me. Maps were three dimensional to me.
On patrols, on point, I could run and see the trip wires for flares as if the wires were florescent. Maybe something to the color blind thing. Later it was difficult for me to make out the red dropzone panels in SF Jump Master School. I had to look for patterns. So who knows.
The Benning woods were just crawling with snakes, the copperheads were everywhere on our solo map courses. Never step over a log. I don't recall if any students were struck.
Our move into our new home is going well, always more to do, mostly pictures and mirrors and such now. I am restoring a nice surplus rolling tool chest out at the hanger where I have my Army truck, along with the Bofer's restoration crew, and the Half Track, and so much more.
Next, Mariah, and the Bear... SF VET
Tess, Joe, and Maria
I am not an artist of any sort, and much of that talent is simply lost to me. But there are some songs that can bring back memories of long ago. In the '51 play, Paint Your Wagon, later a movie, an almost haunting song is "They called the wind Maria". I can identify with some of the words in my own life.
In the song, rain is Tess, fire Joe, and the wind, Maria. In the army we added another name, Bear for the cold, and Hawk for the wind. Statements like "...the Bear is out tonight, and if the Hawk comes too, we are in for a rough night.'
After a week or so at Benning's base, we were loaded onto deuce and a half trucks for the trip to the second phase, at Dahlonega, GA. We rolled out our sleeping bags and slept soundly until we were kicked out and formed up. Mountain base was about 20 or so small cabins, alongside a dirt street, with bunks for us. First, we were instructed on repelling, using our short ropes around our waist and crotch, with an issue D ring. Primitive by what mountaineers use today. Had to be sure to tie with a square knot, because if the instructors fond a Granny Knot, we had to knock out pushups.
Being winter rangers, we were issued two C Ration boxes for each day of our usually 5 day mountain patrols. Always moving, cold, wet, exhausted, always trying to keep up on our maps where we were, for when we were appointed patrol leaders. The C rats had little packets of coffee and creamer, and I kept mine for some days, and would dump them into my canteen cup, pour a little water in, and drink the nasty, foul concoction for the caffeine. On one patrol, for some reason, I developed an acute case of diarrhea, adding to my misery.
One cold and dark night on a wooded mountain side , we paused and feeling the urgent need to relieve myself, I dropped my ruck, and moved out a few yards, accomplished that task, and was back at my ruck, when the word was quietly passed, "..push out the perimeter." It took a moment for me to realize this, and in those seconds the adjacent ranger low crawled out a few yards, and before I could caution, he swore "...Bear XXXX, I've crawled into Bear XXX!" I decided to say nothing, and keep my mouth shut. What good would it be to tell him it was no Bear it was me.
We had some days left on that patrol. I kept my secret.
If we had come across any real bears, I am sure they hear us and moved off.
I am sure that ranger student has his own memory of that patrol.
Not sure what phrases troopers use now for the cold and the wind, probably something for the sand, I suppose. But I think all of us were near hypothermia from the GA mountain Bear and Hawk.
Next, the night my fatigues caught fire! SF VET
I am not an artist of any sort, and much of that talent is simply lost to me. But there are some songs that can bring back memories of long ago. In the '51 play, Paint Your Wagon, later a movie, an almost haunting song is "They called the wind Maria". I can identify with some of the words in my own life.
In the song, rain is Tess, fire Joe, and the wind, Maria. In the army we added another name, Bear for the cold, and Hawk for the wind. Statements like "...the Bear is out tonight, and if the Hawk comes too, we are in for a rough night.'
After a week or so at Benning's base, we were loaded onto deuce and a half trucks for the trip to the second phase, at Dahlonega, GA. We rolled out our sleeping bags and slept soundly until we were kicked out and formed up. Mountain base was about 20 or so small cabins, alongside a dirt street, with bunks for us. First, we were instructed on repelling, using our short ropes around our waist and crotch, with an issue D ring. Primitive by what mountaineers use today. Had to be sure to tie with a square knot, because if the instructors fond a Granny Knot, we had to knock out pushups.
Being winter rangers, we were issued two C Ration boxes for each day of our usually 5 day mountain patrols. Always moving, cold, wet, exhausted, always trying to keep up on our maps where we were, for when we were appointed patrol leaders. The C rats had little packets of coffee and creamer, and I kept mine for some days, and would dump them into my canteen cup, pour a little water in, and drink the nasty, foul concoction for the caffeine. On one patrol, for some reason, I developed an acute case of diarrhea, adding to my misery.
One cold and dark night on a wooded mountain side , we paused and feeling the urgent need to relieve myself, I dropped my ruck, and moved out a few yards, accomplished that task, and was back at my ruck, when the word was quietly passed, "..push out the perimeter." It took a moment for me to realize this, and in those seconds the adjacent ranger low crawled out a few yards, and before I could caution, he swore "...Bear XXXX, I've crawled into Bear XXX!" I decided to say nothing, and keep my mouth shut. What good would it be to tell him it was no Bear it was me.
We had some days left on that patrol. I kept my secret.
If we had come across any real bears, I am sure they hear us and moved off.
I am sure that ranger student has his own memory of that patrol.
Not sure what phrases troopers use now for the cold and the wind, probably something for the sand, I suppose. But I think all of us were near hypothermia from the GA mountain Bear and Hawk.
Next, the night my fatigues caught fire! SF VET
SF Vet, a lot depends on the tree you eat. In western MT we have some ponderosa pines that the natives used to eat the inner bark of. When you smell them up close they smell like butterscotch or vanilla. They are much better than chewing spruce needles or bark.
Bone Marrow cold, and catching fire
When we step out for a few minutes in cold weather, we are quite comfortable in light clothing. Our body heat has plenty of reserve, but cold temps can over come our metabolism's ability to keep us warm and comfortable. Fall into icy water, and it is a brief time, as when the Titanic swimmers jumped into 28 degree water. In those conditions, their hearts fibrillated in about 15 or minutes, with an unconscious drowning.
But just being cold, esp if damp, if unremitting, can also induce numbing cold, or even dangerous hypothermia. In the mountains of Georgia, I became sweat soaked, and when our patrol stopped for awhile, and I began to shake uncontrollably, I was fortunate that an Australian ranger student had an actual wool blanket in his ruck and I was rolled into it until my shivering stopped. I don't know if would have been able to just move out without that restoration.
Cold body temps make our thoughts sluggish and our activity likewise slow. In the wet, near freezing temps of the Georgia mountains, and later in the Eglin Florida swamps, I became, like the other students, unable to find warmth. The cold had seeped into my very bone marrow.
One night, at a pause, I covered myself with my poncho, and lit a candle, and in that tiny air pocket felt the warmth begin to put me to sleep, such that I let my self down over the flame, and awoke with my whole crotch jungle fatigues on fire! I leapt up and batted out the flames, glad that I was wearing issue boxer shorts, because the fire charred out my fatigue pants, such that only the upper part of my buttoned fly held them up, and my upper legs and privates were totally undressed. I continued for several more days like that, with half of my trousers gone.
It could have been much, much worse.
It was another test of my willpower and perseverance SF VET
When we step out for a few minutes in cold weather, we are quite comfortable in light clothing. Our body heat has plenty of reserve, but cold temps can over come our metabolism's ability to keep us warm and comfortable. Fall into icy water, and it is a brief time, as when the Titanic swimmers jumped into 28 degree water. In those conditions, their hearts fibrillated in about 15 or minutes, with an unconscious drowning.
But just being cold, esp if damp, if unremitting, can also induce numbing cold, or even dangerous hypothermia. In the mountains of Georgia, I became sweat soaked, and when our patrol stopped for awhile, and I began to shake uncontrollably, I was fortunate that an Australian ranger student had an actual wool blanket in his ruck and I was rolled into it until my shivering stopped. I don't know if would have been able to just move out without that restoration.
Cold body temps make our thoughts sluggish and our activity likewise slow. In the wet, near freezing temps of the Georgia mountains, and later in the Eglin Florida swamps, I became, like the other students, unable to find warmth. The cold had seeped into my very bone marrow.
One night, at a pause, I covered myself with my poncho, and lit a candle, and in that tiny air pocket felt the warmth begin to put me to sleep, such that I let my self down over the flame, and awoke with my whole crotch jungle fatigues on fire! I leapt up and batted out the flames, glad that I was wearing issue boxer shorts, because the fire charred out my fatigue pants, such that only the upper part of my buttoned fly held them up, and my upper legs and privates were totally undressed. I continued for several more days like that, with half of my trousers gone.
It could have been much, much worse.
It was another test of my willpower and perseverance SF VET
Tight Boots & the KIA LT.
When I was finishing ROTC at Nebraska, found a slightly used pair of "jump boots" down in the underground range at the ROTC building, just happened to be my size. The staff range NCO told me to go ahead and take them.
I later decided in the Florida Eglin AFB phase to wear them, for some reason I can't now recall. They seemed snug, and pretty tight. Soon, in the cold and wet temps of Eglin, my feet began to swell up, something called trench foot, where one's feet don't freeze, but are constantly wet and cold. The boots got tighter and tighter, and as the days passed, my feet became numb, where I couldn't even feel them when walking. I knew if I took those boots off, I would never get them back on. So for days, I just propped my feet up on logs and tree trunks at every possible pause. When I finally unlaced them, after days and days, my feet were waxy, swollen and totally insensitive to pressure or even pain.
After Ranger School had a brief leave before my wife and I shipped out to Germany, so went to a navy clinic near my parents' home, and the MD there had never seen anything like it, and wrote in my medical records. "...peripheral neuropathy second (med-speak for caused by) to edema....
I had no experience that would have cautioned me that prolonged "hiking" can cause such swelling of one's feet, esp if the boots are too tight to begin with.
That nerve injury has bothered me ever since. I still can't sleep with any weight, even bed sheets on my feet. My feet are hypersensitive to any pressure, so I am very judicious when I buy any shoes or boots.
In Ranger school my platoon had a very short Japanese Lt, perhaps five feet tall. Maybe less. When on patrols and we had to climb over obstacles like downed tree trunks, he just couldn't get over them, slowing our progress. So another Lt and I took to putting his ruck sack on top of ours, the other carrying his rifle so he could better keep up. I don't recall anything more about the small Lt. He was doing the best he could;, it wasn't his fault.
Not long after I was in Germany, at Schweinfurt, 3d ID, and was out at Graf, or Hoenfels, or perhaps Wildflecken on maneuvers, and several of us were reading the Army Times, and looking over the casualty lists, and I saw the name of the other Lt, the one who alternated with me in carrying the rifle and ruck of the Japanese LT. I never knew more about the LT's death, but given his relentless support he gave to a fellow student, I am sure he was heroic in his last minutes.
Any trooper who has ever been at the three major German training areas knows that no matter the season, it is always cold and wet and miserable there.
I will be away while we set up our about-to-be finished climate controlled attic space, where I will set up my slides and scanner soon. In an hour or so, taking my new Henry Lever rifle with some of my own 357 158gr cartridges out to see how it shoots with a new peep and taller front sight. Be back here pretty soon.
Be careful, and all the best... SF VET
When I was finishing ROTC at Nebraska, found a slightly used pair of "jump boots" down in the underground range at the ROTC building, just happened to be my size. The staff range NCO told me to go ahead and take them.
I later decided in the Florida Eglin AFB phase to wear them, for some reason I can't now recall. They seemed snug, and pretty tight. Soon, in the cold and wet temps of Eglin, my feet began to swell up, something called trench foot, where one's feet don't freeze, but are constantly wet and cold. The boots got tighter and tighter, and as the days passed, my feet became numb, where I couldn't even feel them when walking. I knew if I took those boots off, I would never get them back on. So for days, I just propped my feet up on logs and tree trunks at every possible pause. When I finally unlaced them, after days and days, my feet were waxy, swollen and totally insensitive to pressure or even pain.
After Ranger School had a brief leave before my wife and I shipped out to Germany, so went to a navy clinic near my parents' home, and the MD there had never seen anything like it, and wrote in my medical records. "...peripheral neuropathy second (med-speak for caused by) to edema....
I had no experience that would have cautioned me that prolonged "hiking" can cause such swelling of one's feet, esp if the boots are too tight to begin with.
That nerve injury has bothered me ever since. I still can't sleep with any weight, even bed sheets on my feet. My feet are hypersensitive to any pressure, so I am very judicious when I buy any shoes or boots.
In Ranger school my platoon had a very short Japanese Lt, perhaps five feet tall. Maybe less. When on patrols and we had to climb over obstacles like downed tree trunks, he just couldn't get over them, slowing our progress. So another Lt and I took to putting his ruck sack on top of ours, the other carrying his rifle so he could better keep up. I don't recall anything more about the small Lt. He was doing the best he could;, it wasn't his fault.
Not long after I was in Germany, at Schweinfurt, 3d ID, and was out at Graf, or Hoenfels, or perhaps Wildflecken on maneuvers, and several of us were reading the Army Times, and looking over the casualty lists, and I saw the name of the other Lt, the one who alternated with me in carrying the rifle and ruck of the Japanese LT. I never knew more about the LT's death, but given his relentless support he gave to a fellow student, I am sure he was heroic in his last minutes.
Any trooper who has ever been at the three major German training areas knows that no matter the season, it is always cold and wet and miserable there.
I will be away while we set up our about-to-be finished climate controlled attic space, where I will set up my slides and scanner soon. In an hour or so, taking my new Henry Lever rifle with some of my own 357 158gr cartridges out to see how it shoots with a new peep and taller front sight. Be back here pretty soon.
Be careful, and all the best... SF VET
Tanners Owner
US Veteran
I can attest to that- each time I was on an all expense paid trip to those 3 training areas, it was cool, wet. Always thought being miserable was one of the training objectives
Back.....
about ten months ago we moved to near Columbia, SC, to be closer to our son and his wife and their 5 and 8 year old sons. It has been a great decision, and every day is filled with joy and excitement. And far more "work" to make our new home what we want, since it will likely be our last home. I have set up my projector and scanner and decided to sort thru thousands of pics so our kids don't have to do it. Plus, scan a few for this thread.
So..... I spent the first 6 months in Kien Phong Province, pretty much in the middle of the Mekong Delta, bordering Cambodia, and much of my Province was in the vast Plane of Reeds. We had some roads, but it was a pretty quiet sector, and much of the "traffic" was on the canals and waterways. I was a MAT leader, typically would be dropped off with one SGT at some outlying post to try, usually in vain, to teach completely uninterested Vietnamese local troops, sort of a militia. As far as I could tell, it was just a way to provide some employment and pay for young men, who were not otherwise suitable or interested in actual warfighting.
I traveled to and from places, if not via "Slick" then by jeep or a Boston Whaler. My province was quiet, and was mostly used by Chuck to travel on their own way hither and yon.
When I would run up to Camau, to our Province MACV HQ, where the US there lived the Life of Riley, it was fastest to go by a Whaler. But had to be very cautious to avoid swamping local sampans filled to the gunnels with women and children on their own shopping trips. The men and boys grew up in the water, and could swim well, but it was unthinkable for growing girls to learn to swim. If one of these filled sampans swamped, invariably the women and female children would thrash about and sink and drown.
So you can see how careful we had to be to avoid a tragedy. This is on Ectachrome, and is just a bit color changed.
More later. SF VET
about ten months ago we moved to near Columbia, SC, to be closer to our son and his wife and their 5 and 8 year old sons. It has been a great decision, and every day is filled with joy and excitement. And far more "work" to make our new home what we want, since it will likely be our last home. I have set up my projector and scanner and decided to sort thru thousands of pics so our kids don't have to do it. Plus, scan a few for this thread.
So..... I spent the first 6 months in Kien Phong Province, pretty much in the middle of the Mekong Delta, bordering Cambodia, and much of my Province was in the vast Plane of Reeds. We had some roads, but it was a pretty quiet sector, and much of the "traffic" was on the canals and waterways. I was a MAT leader, typically would be dropped off with one SGT at some outlying post to try, usually in vain, to teach completely uninterested Vietnamese local troops, sort of a militia. As far as I could tell, it was just a way to provide some employment and pay for young men, who were not otherwise suitable or interested in actual warfighting.
I traveled to and from places, if not via "Slick" then by jeep or a Boston Whaler. My province was quiet, and was mostly used by Chuck to travel on their own way hither and yon.
When I would run up to Camau, to our Province MACV HQ, where the US there lived the Life of Riley, it was fastest to go by a Whaler. But had to be very cautious to avoid swamping local sampans filled to the gunnels with women and children on their own shopping trips. The men and boys grew up in the water, and could swim well, but it was unthinkable for growing girls to learn to swim. If one of these filled sampans swamped, invariably the women and female children would thrash about and sink and drown.
So you can see how careful we had to be to avoid a tragedy. This is on Ectachrome, and is just a bit color changed.
More later. SF VET
duane_wade
Member
Good to see you back
Sent from my SM-G991U using Tapatalk
Sent from my SM-G991U using Tapatalk
What duane_wade said ^^^. Great to see this thread renewed and as always, look fwd to hearing more of you stories SF VET.
The difference between my first six months, in Kien Phong Province, mid Delta, just south of Din Toung Province, which was hotly contested, and my second six months in An Xuyen Province, way south, along the edge of the U Minh Forest, was night and day.
In Kien Phong, it was quiet, and the local troops, for want of abetter term were completely unmotivated to do anything. At their little 20 man outposts, supposedly guarding the small road bridges and such, they just lazed around. Never patrolled, or were out and about, but just sleeping and cooking and sunning themselves, drinking Basiday rice booze. Their defensive positions were untended, their wire broken, their Claymores lying in the mud, their weapons stacked and rusting away.
Sometimes I would accompany a local leader on an inspection tour of these forlorn, neglected useless outposts, and he would roust the sleeping troopers out, and they would stagger out and try to form up for his pep talk. Like this little group of worthless soldiers.
I tried to remind myself that these ragged, shabby troops had never known a time of peace, since before they were born, their country had been involved in conflict, first with the Japanese, then the French, and now the US propping up an unpopular government. Perhaps of necessity, they had woven war into their personal lives. They had been born into war, lived their lives with it, and it would likely go on in endless fashion.
So they drew their pay, gave most of it to their local corrupt leaders, and just existed the best they could. The monotony of it must have been mind numbing.
I was however aware that from time to time, Chuck would set up some roadside ambush, and kill American Advisors driving past. I had to accept that I was just as vulnerable in my jeep, so we drove as fast as we could, dodging traffic and the pot holes and ruts in the failing asphalt roads.
Now, for some gun related content; since our move, I have added a really fun Henry Lever rifle in 357, which I reload, and just got a SIG 229 with an Optic, my first such pistol, and will shoot it tomorrow in an IDPA. Lots of dry fire trying to learn the very different way an optic pistol works for me. Palmetto State Armory is about 15 minutes from me, so will drop by later today to pick up several more magazines for it.
Later today, will slip into our new pool with a beer, and soak up some sun. Did I say I just love living here?
All the best.... SF VET
In Kien Phong, it was quiet, and the local troops, for want of abetter term were completely unmotivated to do anything. At their little 20 man outposts, supposedly guarding the small road bridges and such, they just lazed around. Never patrolled, or were out and about, but just sleeping and cooking and sunning themselves, drinking Basiday rice booze. Their defensive positions were untended, their wire broken, their Claymores lying in the mud, their weapons stacked and rusting away.
Sometimes I would accompany a local leader on an inspection tour of these forlorn, neglected useless outposts, and he would roust the sleeping troopers out, and they would stagger out and try to form up for his pep talk. Like this little group of worthless soldiers.
I tried to remind myself that these ragged, shabby troops had never known a time of peace, since before they were born, their country had been involved in conflict, first with the Japanese, then the French, and now the US propping up an unpopular government. Perhaps of necessity, they had woven war into their personal lives. They had been born into war, lived their lives with it, and it would likely go on in endless fashion.
So they drew their pay, gave most of it to their local corrupt leaders, and just existed the best they could. The monotony of it must have been mind numbing.
I was however aware that from time to time, Chuck would set up some roadside ambush, and kill American Advisors driving past. I had to accept that I was just as vulnerable in my jeep, so we drove as fast as we could, dodging traffic and the pot holes and ruts in the failing asphalt roads.
Now, for some gun related content; since our move, I have added a really fun Henry Lever rifle in 357, which I reload, and just got a SIG 229 with an Optic, my first such pistol, and will shoot it tomorrow in an IDPA. Lots of dry fire trying to learn the very different way an optic pistol works for me. Palmetto State Armory is about 15 minutes from me, so will drop by later today to pick up several more magazines for it.
Later today, will slip into our new pool with a beer, and soak up some sun. Did I say I just love living here?
All the best.... SF VET
LoboGunLeather
US Veteran
The difference between my first six months, in Kien Phong Province, mid Delta, just south of Din Toung Province, which was hotly contested, and my second six months in An Xuyen Province, way south, along the edge of the U Minh Forest, was night and day.
In Kien Phong, it was quiet, and the local troops, for want of abetter term were completely unmotivated to do anything. At their little 20 man outposts, supposedly guarding the small road bridges and such, they just lazed around. Never patrolled, or were out and about, but just sleeping and cooking and sunning themselves, drinking Basiday rice booze. Their defensive positions were untended, their wire broken, their Claymores lying in the mud, their weapons stacked and rusting away.
Sometimes I would accompany a local leader on an inspection tour of these forlorn, neglected useless outposts, and he would roust the sleeping troopers out, and they would stagger out and try to form up for his pep talk. Like this little group of worthless soldiers.
I tried to remind myself that these ragged, shabby troops had never known a time of peace, since before they were born, their country had been involved in conflict, first with the Japanese, then the French, and now the US propping up an unpopular government. Perhaps of necessity, they had woven war into their personal lives. They had been born into war, lived their lives with it, and it would likely go on in endless fashion.
So they drew their pay, gave most of it to their local corrupt leaders, and just existed the best they could. The monotony of it must have been mind numbing.
I was however aware that from time to time, Chuck would set up some roadside ambush, and kill American Advisors driving past. I had to accept that I was just as vulnerable in my jeep, so we drove as fast as we could, dodging traffic and the pot holes and ruts in the failing asphalt roads.
Now, for some gun related content; since our move, I have added a really fun Henry Lever rifle in 357, which I reload, and just got a SIG 229 with an Optic, my first such pistol, and will shoot it tomorrow in an IDPA. Lots of dry fire trying to learn the very different way an optic pistol works for me. Palmetto State Armory is about 15 minutes from me, so will drop by later today to pick up several more magazines for it.
Later today, will slip into our new pool with a beer, and soak up some sun. Did I say I just love living here?
All the best.... SF VET
A straight forward and accurate description of many of the local Vietnamese units we dealt with regularly.
The armed forces of the Republic of Vietnam consisted of ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam, a primary standing force), RF (Regional Forces, comparable to National Guard units), PF (Popular Forces, loosely comparable to local militia units). As SFVet commented, the Vietnamese people had no real history that did not include conflict and warfare. French colonial period, World War 2 (Japanese occupation, essentially slave labor conditions), Post-WW2 return of French colonial forces (concurrent with separation between North and South Vietnam delineating spheres of influence for the communist revolutionaries and a heavy-handed southern regime known for corruption and abuse). Putting it very simply, the Vietnamese people were largely resigned to simple survival mode, doing whatever was necessary to facilitate life on a daily basis.
Although I was a junior sergeant, my position and training was in operations and intelligence so I was routinely exposed to the realities of planning and conducting operations. We had very little doubt that many of the Vietnamese forces in our area, particularly the RF and PF contingents, were essentially interchangeable with the Viet Cong insurgents and North Vietnamese Army. Civilian populations included large populations relocated from contested areas and resettled with little attention to histories, tribal, or ethnic affiliations, much less any official vetting.
We considered everything to be classified and need-to-know. We utilized Vietnamese personnel as interpreters and scouts, but there was never any doubt that whatever those personnel were allowed to see or hear would be passed on to the bad guys as fast as possible.
Several programs were operational simultaneously. The Chiu Hoi program actively encouraged hostile forces to surrender and come over to the ARVN side. Some of those (Hoi Chans) became scouts (Kit Carson scout program), some were employed as local assets essentially functioning as liaison with local populations, some were used as propaganda tools. None were ever trusted to any degree. Disappearances happened with great frequency; never any way to tell if someone was taken and killed or simply returned to their true units and reported what they had learned.
Naturally, US and ARVN intelligence units recruited informers and a very active marketplace was created for information in exchange for cash. All the intel summaries I saw resulting from these efforts was little more than weeks-old BS, but the money kept flowing anyway. Probably more than a few careers were enhanced by facilitating the flow.
We frequently shared supplies with Vietnamese units, including weapons and ammunition. There was little doubt that much of it went directly into the hands of hostile forces. Efforts to encourage locals to turn in ordnance (in exchange for cash, of course) sometimes resulted in buying back the same stuff we had supplied to RF and PF forces recently.
A half-century later I have no animosities for the Vietnamese people. They were dealing with the realities of life in the best ways they could after several generations of suffering.
