Thread: A Story For Veteran's Day

Anyone have a story to share from their military days, what we in the Navy called a "sea story"? Here's an entry to start. Feel free to post what you like.

Rota may very well be the jewel of the Spanish coast but when I was there, it was a ****hole and I'll tell you why. It was at the end of the Franco regime and the country was under marshal law. The LaGuardia Civil were very powerful (today they just patrol the highways giving out speeding tickets). The streets were under constant watch of pairs of these evil looking clowns in black uniforms and black three pointed hats with black capes that concealed a black 9mm submachine gun. If you walked down the street, they'd follow you around. Two guys from another American ship were gunned down by those creeps when they walked across a Spanish admiral's lawn. Those two kids (19 & 20) flew home with my crew on a C-130 transport plane, in stainless steel boxes. The locals spoke no English and most of us spoke no Spanish. Even if we spoke the same language, the locals only wanted our money. Prostitutes in all the bars constantly hustling. Don't get me wrong, I like a good whore the same as the next guy but I don't need them crawling on me, trying to pick my pockets and steal my money from off the bar.
We were only there for four days. We had brought the ship back after my first patrol to be re-fitted (overhauled) for the other crew to take her out (boomers have two crews called the "blue" crew and the "gold" crew. I was on the "blue" crew.) We had just spent 74 days underwater and we were in a mood to party. The problem was that when we were outside, those pricks with their machine guns were following us around (and we all knew about the two kids who got machine gunned) and when we were inside, the bar girls were constantly up your ass, like a fly in your face that just would not go away. I got tired of this real quick and talked my best buddy, a sonar tech named Chris, into heading out for something different.
We picked up a bottle of Ouzo from a store and managed to duck the LaGuardia Civil. We found a real pretty spot on the shore of the harbor, a little tiny beach with a great view. The history of the area is amazing. We were sitting on the sand across the harbor from where Columbus sailed over the horizon with the Nina, Pinta and the Santa Maria in 1492. We got thrown out of a bar that was around before Columbus was even born! No ****, this place was 900 years old! But the age of the place has nothing to do with why we were thrown out. It may very well have been me dancing on a table singing Psycho Killer by the Talking Heads as I played a chair as if it was a guitar. Unfortunately, I could not understand what the man was saying as he "urged" us toward the door so I guess I'll never know for sure. Anyway, Chris and I sat on the beach and drank that whole bottle of Ouzo. I guess it's a little stronger in Spain or maybe we were just tired but we awoke with the water lapping at our feet, well, actually more like we awoke when the rising tide reached our asses and the sun was shining in our eyes. We had no idea where we were or what time it was but we knew we were supposed to be back on the ship at 0700 and it was most likely way past that time.
We staggered onto the ship, still drunker than skunks and the topside watch was telling us "they" were looking for us. Great. I found my boss, the Leading Petty Officer (LPO) of the Missile Division and apologized. He was very cool and said it was no big deal, they just wanted to tell us we would be flying home at 0700 the next day. We'd be flying in a U.S. Military C-130 Hercules transport plane from Rota airport and landing at an airbase in New York State then bussed down to the New London Sub Base where our families would be waiting. Because of the early flight, we'd actually be leaving the ship at 0400 and transported by bus to the airport. That meant we still had time to get drunk...er...again....more. Chris and I returned to the ship at about 0330, grabbed our sea bags (which we were clever enough to pack up before we hit the beach) and got onboard one of the buses that was waiting on the pier.

I woke up when one of my shipmates shook me and said we were at the airport. I just got up and staggered off the bus. Our sea bags were taken separately and would be put directly on the plane after passing through security. These guys were all lined up at some door at 0530 and they would not be boarding us for another 90 minutes. I didn't care to stand up for that long. I fell asleep in a chair. I figured someone would shake me when it was time to go. I figured I was dreaming when I felt a sharp pain in my right temple. I figured it was just the beginning of a hangover that was bound to last for days but the pain was very sharp and it happened again and again and it was accompanied by a lot of shouting and someone kicking my legs. I opened my eyes to find four LaGuardia Civil goons with their guns in my face. One of them kept hitting me in the head with the barrel. My Captain and the Chief of the Boat (COB) were standing behind the caped assholes. I stood up and they marched me past my whole crew across the terminal into an unmarked room. They threw me across the room and I tripped over my sea bag that was laying in the middle of the floor. As I stood up, the captain said, "The dogs barked at your sea bag Moroni".
"So what? Who cares what the dogs bark at?" And a machine gun butt driven into the middle of my back answered that question. The LaGuardia Civil cared what the dogs barked at.
"It looks like they found drugs in your bag. This isn't going to go well for you Moroni. I will not even lift a finger to help you. You are an embarrassment to the United States Navy and to my command". The captain said as they tore my clothes apart, one piece at a time. They turned every single thing in my bag inside out. They tore the pockets off of my pants. They took the linings out of my shoes. Then they turned to me.
I was very scared. In fact I was silently crying. But I wasn’t crying because I was frightened. I was brought to tears because my captain just kept saying how he never thought I would be the one to do something so stupid. After all, I had qualified in subs on one patrol when usually it takes two or three patrols. I received a commendation for it (I've still got it at home). I went from being a hero to being a ****head in a few barks of a ****ing dog. Every time I tried to speak in my own defense or ask a question one of those pricks would start hitting me with his fist, a club or a machine gun. I could only look down in shame and try not to sob like a little girl as they made me strip naked. Each piece of clothing was snatched away and torn apart or turned inside out as my tears dropped off my face onto the cold floor. Then, after all my clothes and stuff was all piled up in the middle of the floor a gun barrel in my ribs signaled it was time for me to bend over a table for the cavity search. My captain and the COB just stood there shaking their heads. When it was over, the four goons just walked out of the room. I pushed myself up off the table and grabbed my underwear. I was shaking and not sure what would happened next. I just stood there, looking at my captain and the COB who shrugged his shoulders as he asked, "So? What do we do now?"
"I'll find out" said the captain as he walked toward the door which opened as he approached it. A man in a suit came in and threw a sheet of paper on the table and walked back out. It had been copied over many times and the printing was way off center on the page but it was clear enough to read that it was a form letter apologizing for any "inconvenience" as the Spanish government is looking out for my best interests to keep my flight free of drugs and weapons. The captain and the COB looked at me now with great compassion in their eyes. The captain said, "I think you should get dressed Moroni" as he dropped down on his knees and started folding my clothes and helping me re-pack my sea bag. That is about the most profound apology I have ever received, from anyone.
That is why I say Rota is a ****hole.
I took about an hour to get my self together enough to leave the room. Every time I heard anything outside the door I wanted to dive through the wall. I just couldn't stop shaking. Maybe having been drunk for the last 96 hours had something to do with it but mostly it was from a fear of being put into a prison in a country where I did not even speak the language. You really realize how much you love your country when you face a very good possibility of never returning home. By the time I had recomposed and my sea bag was repacked, it was time to board the plane.
[SIZE=3]This C-130 is a huge friggin’ thing!
We walked into the plane through that big door you see in the pictures of tanks being dragged out the rear by parachute. It felt more like going into a building than it did a plane. We walked up to the forward section of this cavernous steel compartment. There were rollers in the deck for moving cargo around so you had to watch were you stepped or you'd end up on your ass. There were rows of seats made of metal pipes with canvas slings stretched across them. It was close quarters, seat to seat eight across with a wide aisle down the center and another eight across. You knew right away there wasn't going to a movie or any beverage service. There were flight attendants though. They were U.S. Air Force personnel, in uniform. They had us all sitting before the ground crew hung a cargo net behind the last row of seats and started loading the cargo. I should say the inanimate cargo because we were certainly treated no better than the freight. They actually drove a truck into the thing and pulled off those two steel caskets. Then they brought in our sea bags and crates and another truck which stayed onboard. They secured everything with nets and straps before they shut that big ramp/door. When they started those big turbo prop engines, it was so loud it was funny. I started laughing hysterically. I figured we better get used to it because we were in for 8 hours of that ridiculous droning sound. The plane had no creature comforts at all. It got so cold you could see your breath before some sort of heat came out of vents in the overhead. The noise was like torture. You couldn't talk without shouting so everyone was shouting. There was no room to turn around or stretch out so you had to just stare forward. The flight crew did feed us but I don't remember how that worked. I found myself just laughing a lot. Probably because I was so relieved I was going home. I really didn't mind the stupid accommodations. It beat the snot out of a dark prison cell. But that ****ing noise was very strange.
As I said, you couldn't really turn around and if you tried to stand up, one of the flight crew would rush over and start yelling at you. They may have been trying to be nice or helpful but because of the engines whining and the submarine crew all shouting, all you heard was, "FROMM DU GLABB GLABB! BUN DINNIG BLAT FLOOM! PLEASE KRINF THINTER POOM! As one person was trying to be heard by yelling louder, another person would have to shout over that. It became a strange surreal scene of about a hundred and thirty men shouting gibberish inside a huge, vibrating steel tube. Frequently, out of this insane cacophony of totally random noises came something that sounded familiar. I kept thinking someone was calling my name and I'd try to turn around. The guy next to me kept doing the same thing and as was the guy on the other side of him and, if you watched carefully, it became apparent that everyone on the plane was doing the same thing. You'd hear someone call your name and try to turn around. Because it was so tight, you had to shove the guy next to you who'd yell, "What the **** are you doing?!" So you'd just face forward again until he heard his name called and you'd return the kindness. Eight hours of that. Except for some of the guys in the last row. They were hearing something else. When we were on the bus headed toward the sub base, one guy was telling us he kept hearing the guys in the coffins yelling for help and banging on the boxes. When he said that, a few of the others said they heard that too. It's funny how your mind can F with you.
We got to the base and the bus pulled up in front of the sub group headquarters. There were lots of wives and kids there. One guy brought his kids some souvenir swords (Spain is famous for swords). I thought it may not have been a very smart gift for two young boys (they looked like they were around 7 and 9 years old). But those kids loved the shiny steel blades. As Mom and Dad were embraced in a long kiss and hug thing, those boys started right out with a very energetic sword fight. It was going to be a real swashbuckling welcome home at that house. Probably end up with a trip to the emergency room.
No one was there to meet me. I just walked up to the barracks and went to sleep.

I was with the 1st Infantry division and we were on a REFORGER mission in Germany and we were set up in a defensive position along the small river that bordered the outskirts of town. Across this small river was a bridge, a bridge that I had the honor(?) of gaurding all night long in an autumn rain. When dawn started breaking I was eager with anticipation with the thought of being relieved by the next gaurd and was hoping the time would hurry the hell up. As dawn finished breaking and the world was beginning to fill with light the rain began to slack into a drizzle.

From down the road I could make out the form of a civilian making his way to work clutching his umbrella with one hand and his bag with the other. Being on sentry while the games were going on I paid special attention to this character believing it could be some sort of ploy, but mostly out of absolute boredom. The middle aged gentleman kept making his way towards my position and I was sure to keep a wary eye on him as I continued to scan my horizon for signs of the opposing team and more importantly, my replacement.

The gentleman finally made it so far down the road he was at my position and once there he sat the bag down and beckoned to me. I tried to wave him off, I did not want to be caught in some kind of trick, nor did I want anyone seeing me chit-chat w ith a civilian no matter how innocent it might be. The gentleman beckoned again with more enthusiasm and this time I told myself it was my duty to check this out. As I approached the man he handed me his umbrella , shifting the position of my M16 to keep it at the ready I accepted the umbrella from the gentlemans hand and he smiled. Then bending down he opened the leather case he had been carrying and produced a thermos, again reaching into the bag he pulled out a cup of fine porcelainhaving a very beautiful blue floral pattern with a matching saucer. After pouring tea into the cup and adding a lump of sugar to it he pulled out a flask of something(cognac?) and poured a little into the cup of tea. After his little ceremony he extended the cup with the saucer towards me and took the umbrella with his other hand and motioned for me to drink, I did. I savored the tea with the sweet cognac while standing beneath his umbrella as he held it over me and I shivered not realizing how cold I had been.

I had almost forgotten this act of kindness after many years until Francisco P. , said something in another thread that reminded me of this. Thank you Francisco for bringing this memory back to life! Wether the man did this out of sheer kindness to a wet and half frozen pup, or if it was a small payback for the Marshall Plan or what I dont know, this I do know, it was very appreciated. Wherever he is if he is still around may God bless him.

You can find some of my story and pictures here. Start in the archives from the earliest date.

ora et labora

Here is an article written about my company from a journalist who was embedded with us on two different tours.


http://www.jonathanforeman.com/pdfs/...anity_fair.pdf

Wow, what a poor response. Well, no matter. I'm sure ink pen threads are much more intriguing.

Not a lot of us have stories like that to tell, Doc. I know I don't.

Thanks for sharing yours, though. All of you.

When I was stationed in West Germany the first time, in 83-85, I was in a tactical intelligence unit supporting the 8th Infantry Division, along the East German border. I was liaison with the local West German Army (Bundeswehr) unit. They asked us to help them provide training for their soldiers for identifying SMLM vehicles and taking the proper actions once identified. (SMLM-Soviet Military Liaison Mission). As Germany was still "officially" divied into the post-WWII occupation zones, the Soviets could cruise around, looking at military sites. We did the same thing in East Germany.

So, the German unit created fake SMLM plate and put them on a non-descript German car, and then three of us (myself and two Germans) were in the car in civilian clothes. We parked along a road on the German post and got out, pretending to take pictures, the German troops marched by, and their NCO tested them on the proper response (notify the local military police and military command with the plate number and description...pretty simple).

Evrything was fine until GI Joe decided to take a shortcut to work, trespassing on the German military base. He saw us and freaked out. The next thing we know, there is a platoon of MPs in front of us along with a Jeep-mounted machine gun. We are standing there with our hands in the air. I am telling the lt. that I am a US soldier, giving him my name, unti, etc. He didn't believe me (too many James Bond folms...the GRU or KGB would not waste an asset who spoke American English with no accent on a SMLM mission), even after looking at my ID card. So I handed him my Amex card. ONLY THEN he puts a call in to my CO...asking if she has a Starr in her unit...her response didn't help: "Depends....what has he done?"
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Another situation involved me actually doing training in the uniform of a Soviet Airborne officer, to give US troops a taste of a day in the life of a Soviet soldier (food, training, marching, political training...in English, but with a very thinck accent...I would speak with my "handler" and "translator" in Russian). Everyone except the Brigade Commander, his Intelligence officer, and my co-workers believed I was a Soviet defector (bogus papers, investigation docs, clearance docs, etc....all created by our team and sent to the "security" staff at the Brigade. The officer in charge of the secure area was very proud at how in depth his investigation was...all documents provided by me...about me.) So, I am walking around this post in a Soviet uniform, boots, medals, blue beret - the works. No one stops me. The only person who checks my ID is the clerk at the PX when I go to cash a check!!!!

Stars and Stripes later publish an article about the training...and who I really was. I asked the Intel officer how things were going...she said it would be wise not to return to that post for awhile.....

In the end, the training was valuable for the troops, letting them know how the other side lived (for a day at least) and for the staff, showing them that they should follow procedures, not do things on their own.

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When traveling to Berlin through East Germany, you had to stop at the Soviet checkpoints and have them stamp your orders. This should have taken no more than 5 minutes, but bureaucrats are the same everywhere, so you could be kept waiting for 20-30 minutes. Once, while handing the guard my papers in a light drizzle and noting that this kid (19 at the most) was shivering, I said to him in Russian "Guard duty sucks, no matter what Army you are in." He looked around real quick for a supervisor, nodded and smiled.

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On another visit to Berlin, I was driving a female member of my unit - and her cat. We went inside after showing the guard our papers. While they were "reviewing" them, I looked out the window to watch them inspect the exterior of the car: there stood a Soviet soldier, AK-47 on his shoulder, leaning towards the rear window, scratching at it with his finger, going "goochy-goochy" to the cat that was resting in the back.

Originally Posted by Ditch Doc

Here is an article written about my company from a journalist who was embedded with us on two different tours.


http://www.jonathanforeman.com/pdfs/...anity_fair.pdf

This is an excellent read! But no fair getting someone else to write your stories.

Originally Posted by WireBeard

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When traveling to Berlin through East Germany, you had to stop at the Soviet checkpoints and have them stamp your orders. This should have taken no more than 5 minutes, but bureaucrats are the same everywhere, so you could be kept waiting for 20-30 minutes. Once, while handing the guard my papers in a light drizzle and noting that this kid (19 at the most) was shivering, I said to him in Russian "Guard duty sucks, no matter what Army you are in." He looked around real quick for a supervisor, nodded and smiled.

Truer words have never been spoken. Standing topside watch from midnight until 0400 on the cold steel deck of a submarine tied to a pier at the sub base in Groton, Connecticut in February is one memory I would like to have removed. Practically every sailor relieving the topside watch, day or night, every day of the year would stop first in the mess deck to choke down some food and grab a cup of coffee then climb up the ladder and out into the weather, cup in hand and accept the watch. Those cups never made it back down to the mess deck. Once emptied, the cup was always "float tested" and they always failed (in case you don't get it, the cups get thrown over the side). One day it became an issue that our submarines were going through entirely too many cups. (the china pattern on all US Navy ships is the same, white with a blue stripe. Before 1970 or so the cups had a stripe and an anchor)So the Commander of Submarine Group Two (COMSUB 2) ordered divers to go down at every pier on the base to retrieve cups. Well retrieve cups they did, thousands of them! There were cups down there as far back as WWII. It began with a single diver with a mesh bag who came up laughing saying the river bed there looked as though it was made of white china. They got a small barge with a little crane and lowered a basket down for a team of divers to fill with cups. It looked like a dredging operation. They found so many cups it seemed impossible. They also found two .45's and an M-14.

Originally Posted by icedog

Truer words have never been spoken. Standing topside watch from midnight until 0400 on the cold steel deck of a submarine tied to a pier at the sub base in Groton, Connecticut in February is one memory I would like to have removed. Practically every sailor relieving the topside watch, day or night, every day of the year would stop first in the mess deck to choke down some food and grab a cup of coffee then climb up the ladder and out into the weather, cup in hand and accept the watch. Those cups never made it back down to the mess deck. Once emptied, the cup was always "float tested" and they always failed (in case you don't get it, the cups get thrown over the side). One day it became an issue that our submarines were going through entirely too many cups. (the china pattern on all US Navy ships is the same, white with a blue stripe. Before 1970 or so the cups had a stripe and an anchor)So the Commander of Submarine Group Two (COMSUB 2) ordered divers to go down at every pier on the base to retrieve cups. Well retrieve cups they did, thousands of them! There were cups down there as far back as WWII. It began with a single diver with a mesh bag who came up laughing saying the river bed there looked as though it was made of white china. They got a small barge with a little crane and lowered a basket down for a team of divers to fill with cups. It looked like a dredging operation. They found so many cups it seemed impossible. They also found two .45's and an M-14.

Very interesting story!

Thanks to all of you guys for your service, and for taking the time to share some interesting stories!