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kilroy69

Passed on war stories

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Any of you have vets that talked? My old man opened up in the latter part of his life. Once I was 16 or so. He had PTSD. The bad kind. The rolling out of bed cause Charlie was over running him kind.

 

 

 

He volunteered at 19 for Vietnam. Big tall dude. Was 6 ft 3 and filled out. He was a squad leader and one day he sees this kid acting funny and walking slow to a group of Marines. He yells for the kid to stop multiple times. Kid keeps going. It's decision time. So he kills him. Shot him in the chest. As he spun everyone could see the bomb attached to his back. Got a purple heart with oak clusters, malaria and a life of struggling with his everyday life and what he did.

 

He died in 95 due to MS. They attribute the MS to the massive amount of agent Orange he was exposed to. He said there would be days he would be dripping in that as they just dropped it Willy nilly from planes. Got a payout from Dupont I believe but not worth it.

 

In the end. He kept going back to the kid. He was confined to a special bed called a Pegasus which kept him from getting bedsores and he swore he saw the kid outside the window. Or the kid was in the corner but when he looked he was gone. Great guy. Fantastic dude. One of the best men I ever knew. Carried that with him all his life in a compartment.

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My old man will only talk about life on the base. He was stationed in Denang and Cambodia 1967-1969. Never mentions anything about the missions he was on (he was a corpsman). He only mentions that he fought on Hill 881.

 

He suffers from Diabetes and had pancreatic cancer from Agent Orange.

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I have some but nothing as good as some of the guys I worked with or were friends with. My old PJ instructor was a pretty bad ass dude. In his 60s (I believe that's how old he was at the time but don't quote me on that) and could still out swim and out run any guy who was going through Indoc. His name was Thomas Newman but everyone called him Mr Newman. He served in Vietnam as a PJ and was awarded the Air Force cross. That sum b1tch was tough as nails but an extremely nice guy outside of training. I don't remember all his stories right off hand but he would occasionally tell us some while we were going through training

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My great-uncle was a pow in Africa during the war. Kept him in a bamboo cage for about three and a half years. Guy was always Hunchback after that. They couldn't sit but they also couldn't stand straight up either.

We didn't get a ton of stories from him but I know when they got freed they just took a bunch of stuff from their camp like they were souvenirs.

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My Grandfather served in WW II. He was in Italy and took some shrapnel to his leg, took out all the meat where your hamstring would be. He showed me his leg once when I was a kid, sorta freaked me out as I was little but that image is burned into my memory bank.

 

He passed of a heart attack in 1994. My dad has his flag and Purple Heart up at my parents house. Family treasure to me.

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My grandfather died at Aushwitz. Fell off the guard tower.

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Uncle Saul fought in the Pacific in WW2... Never talked about it though.

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I'm a gulf war vet and so whenever I get nostalgic, I go looking online for Gulf War stuff.

 

It kind of grinds me that most of the tank battle stuff online features 2nd Armored Cavalry and you have to go looking for Task Force Iron stuff to see what 2nd Armor (Forward) did (we were attached to First Infantry). But then, they were placed to the east of the VIII Corps invasion while we were to the west. So while we were the first unit into Iraq, and 2AD (FWD) was the first of the first as we were the spearhead of Task Force Iron, 2nd ACR had the shortest route to the strength of the Iraqis and so they took the lead on that, inflicted the most damage, and therefore got the best stories and got featured in all the documentaries.

 

Their talking points were "we were moving really slow, about as fast as somebody walking" whereas our story is totally different. We were moving as fast as possible, the refueling lines barely held, and it was constant go-go-go. 2nd ACR was going slow because they were waiting for us to catch up. (And we got lost too, but shhh, that's another story). So they got there first, they took the lead at 73 Easting and Norfolk and so then on TV as well.

 

Our main story that made the news documentaries was as victims of a friendly fire accident where a douchbag colonel from Big Red One came out and blew up our guys.

 

So anyway, I'm pretty much familiar with all the Gulf War stuff available online because over the years, the urge comes every so often and I go to look.

 

Earlier this year, when President Trump appointed H. R. McMasters as his national security adviser, I said "Say, that focker looks familiar! I bet that's him." And it was.

 

H.R. McMasters is the 2nd ACR guy that got featured in all the Gulf War documentaries I've been watching on youtube all this time, he was just a captain during the Gulf War, he led the main assault of 2nd ARC's charge into battle and so has has the best Gulf War stories and is good at telling them. Now he's a three-star general and national security adviser.

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My Dad never ate rice. I mean, never tthe fock ever.

We'd go out for Chinese food - (big deal in suburban Colo 40 years ago) - still, no reice.

 

Finally, one day, with the familiarity that only a clue less kid can have, I was half laughing and said

something like "you just like the good stuff! you never eat ANY of the rice!

 

I guess he finally figured I was old enough, or maybe he was siick of the fact that his kunt wife (my mom)

kept ordering this shiit, or maybe he just needed to get it out.

 

Dad never talked about Korea. - Other than to say how mother the fock cold it was there.

And how the whiny 'Nam guys went out from the firebases for a day, then went back to

their ice cream, hookers and heroin. This was the only time he talked about The War.

His War.

 

Turns out, he was a sniper. Not like today with the 4 pound lighter than air, shoot around corners, laser scoped

superguns - No, I shot his - A focking monstrostiy of oak and iron. The focking thing sitself was a weapon.

Like everything else from Korea, a hand me down from the Glory War.

Probably weighed at least 30 Kilos. Single shot, bolt action. One round was longer than my palm.

Can't imagine humping that focker up and down the hills of Korea in the heat and cold. But, that was the gig.

Sniper paid a few bucks more. With those extra few bucks, he bought his parents/younger brothers their first TV.

 

You have to understand, their gigs weren't some 8 hour wander and fondle like 'Nam.

You were out there for days, weeks at a time - at a minimum. You could only carry so much,

you foraged as you went. Or did without.

It was cold as balls one day. Troops were frostbitten, starving, half-ammo'd, and exhausted.

They came across a village that had recently (very) been abandoned. So recently, that they left a huge

pot of rice cooking over the fire. Couldn't have come at a better time.

 

For Dad, SOP was to post up; Hang back and get high (not the good way). He was sure to come in short on the hot rice.

 

That's the gig.

 

This wasn't. 'Least it should haven't have been;

Frozen, alone, starving, he hung back and watched as buddy after buddy began retching.

Retching so much, so violently, that eventually, all that was left to retch was bright red, frothy blood -

and parts of flesh never meant to see the light of day.

 

Few lived that day.

 

I can only imagine my Dad and the hike back to somewhere - anywhere.

This was pre-Gulf war - when men weren't granted medals and commendations for simply making their bed like they are today.

He was merely reassigned.I guess there's nothing flashy in watching your mates bleed out and die 50 miles from base.

 

I suck at Birthdays, Anniversaries, Father's Days, Mother's Days, etc.

I just can't remember 'em. Not even with all the damn phone apps and calendars.

 

Never forgot to thank my Dad every year for his service and sacrifice.

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My Dad never ate rice. I mean, never tthe fock ever.

We'd go out for Chinese food - (big deal in suburban Colo 40 years ago) - still, no reice.

 

Finally, one day, with the familiarity that only a clue less kid can have, I was half laughing and said

something like "you just like the good stuff! you never eat ANY of the rice!

 

I guess he finally figured I was old enough, or maybe he was siick of the fact that his kunt wife (my mom)

kept ordering this shiit, or maybe he just needed to get it out.

 

Dad never talked about Korea. - Other than to say how mother the fock cold it was there.

And how the whiny 'Nam guys went out from the firebases for a day, then went back to

their ice cream, hookers and heroin. This was the only time he talked about The War.

His War.

 

Turns out, he was a sniper. Not like today with the 4 pound lighter than air, shoot around corners, laser scoped

superguns - No, I shot his - A focking monstrostiy of oak and iron. The focking thing sitself was a weapon.

Like everything else from Korea, a hand me down from the Glory War.

Probably weighed at least 30 Kilos. Single shot, bolt action. One round was longer than my palm.

Can't imagine humping that focker up and down the hills of Korea in the heat and cold. But, that was the gig.

Sniper paid a few bucks more. With those extra few bucks, he bought his parents/younger brothers their first TV.

 

You have to understand, their gigs weren't some 8 hour wander and fondle like 'Nam.

You were out there for days, weeks at a time - at a minimum. You could only carry so much,

you foraged as you went. Or did without.

It was cold as balls one day. Troops were frostbitten, starving, half-ammo'd, and exhausted.

They came across a village that had recently (very) been abandoned. So recently, that they left a huge

pot of rice cooking over the fire. Couldn't have come at a better time.

 

For Dad, SOP was to post up; Hang back and get high (not the good way). He was sure to come in short on the hot rice.

 

That's the gig.

 

This wasn't. 'Least it should haven't have been;

Frozen, alone, starving, he hung back and watched as buddy after buddy began retching.

Retching so much, so violently, that eventually, all that was left to retch was bright red, frothy blood -

and parts of flesh never meant to see the light of day.

 

Few lived that day.

 

I can only imagine my Dad and the hike back to somewhere - anywhere.

This was pre-Gulf war - when men weren't granted medals and commendations for simply making their bed like they are today.

He was merely reassigned.I guess there's nothing flashy in watching your mates bleed out and die 50 miles from base.

 

I suck at Birthdays, Anniversaries, Father's Days, Mother's Days, etc.

I just can't remember 'em. Not even with all the damn phone apps and calendars.

 

Never forgot to thank my Dad every year for his service and sacrifice.

Great story.

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Great story.

Like wiff said, a lot of medals nowadays are just given to people. However, now some bases are starting to do away with allowing you to wear them or your combat patches on your uniform because "the soldiers coming felt belittled and it wasn't fair that the seasoned soldiers had more medals and cool combat patches and they didn't". So they complained to their command until finally their command gave in.

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During the Gulf War, 2nd Armor (FWD) was among the last if we weren't the last unit to deploy to Saudi. Lighter units can be deployed faster, tanks units are slower to move.

 

We'd put our equipment on a ship in early December and were still in Germany for Christmas 1990. We wound up deploying from January 5th until May 10th, 1991. When the air war started January 17th or so, we were still in port in Saudi waiting for our ships to come in. Dozens of Massive, massive warehouses along the docks, that's where we stayed.

 

A couple of stories from the docks.

 

First I wanted to take a shower. There was a makeshift PX with hardly anything in it. Most bins were empty. I was lucky there was only like 3-4 small bottles of shampoo left, so I grabbed one. So I go to the shower stall area, you get the shower bag with the shower head nozzle on there. Put hot water in the bag, then add cold, stick your hand in there to get it the temperature you want. Ideally the bag is 2/3 to 3/4 full. Go in the shower hang your bag on the hook, go about your in business. Not too hot, not too cold just right. Actually kind of nice.

 

So I'm in there showering and I put the shampoo on and it's just not lathering very well. WTF? So I look. There had only been the four bottles in the whole place that looked like shampoo but they weren't shampoo, if I'd bothered to look, I'd see this was tanning lotion. The PX had been out of shampoo, toilet paper, toothpaste, anything useful. Fock this is going well already. So I rinse the sh*t out of my hair as best I can and make due with the soap.

 

So then the other story form the port... we were there a couple of weeks waiting for the ships to arrive, not much to do boring as hell. Al Gore hadn't invented the internet yet and even if he did, we didn't have any computers. I had lots of books though, I went through so many books. Every few days you'd come across a week old newspaper or something. Just me and my TA50 (army issued equipment) and a little cot in a warehouse full of people. I had some more personal affects coming, a little, like pron mags, a boombox/radio and my cassette tapes, a rubick's cube and stuff that I'd stuffed in the back of the truck and would come with the ship. So focking boring. And of course the officers couldn't leave you alone, oh no. there was always artificially created busy work bullsh*t to do whose only intention was to p*ss you off.

 

So anyways, the air war starts on January 17th and this is where 2 AD (Forward) is. No tanks. Dockside in a warehouse. "Gas! Gas! Gas!" So it's gas alert time. Horrifying. Everyone around me is scrambling. We have to carry that gas mask everywhere we go, but the chem-suit is always with the TA50 under the warehouse cot, last thing in, first thing out. Pull out the bag, I slap my mask on as fast as I can, we'd drilled this numerous time, this time it's real. Fortunately, I'm at my cot so the chem suit is right there, dig that out, it comes with shirt, pants, gloves, and boots. Put that on too. So we're all horrified and scared. looking around at each other and wearing these chem suits, uncomfortable and hot as fock inside them even though it's January, our TA50 bags all out in the aisles. Nobody knows what the hell is going on. So a half hour later "False Alarm" and we take off the chemical equipment.

 

So the first couple of times we have these alerts, we're all terrified and moving as fast as possible to put the stuff on. But we were getting hit with a constant barrage of false alarms, and it's so uncomfortable, that as the days passed and the week went on, and constant tick of false alarms never abated, we started to get careless.

 

One time, what was I on brigade guard duty, over with the commader's warehouse, not ours and this company over here was given a "Gas!" warning, but this one over here had not. So these guys in this company over here on the right didn't have their chem mask and suits on and these over here on the right did. I had mine on. These aren't my people, I don't know any of the fockers. I don't rightly recall who was who. Must have been different companies of 1-41 Infantry but that's a guess. may as easily have been 3-66 Armor or 4-3 Artillery for all I know. So here I am at the command center on guard duty with my chem sh*t on envying the guys on theright that that don't have theirs on.

 

So anyways, somebody in full chem suit comes out of the command center, I don't know who, some officer probably, his face is covered in his mask as he walks quickly, past my guard post. He was moving with a purpose, I could tell he was p*ssed. He goes over to the guys without their masks on, takes his off, it's Colonel Hillman, and he lights into them. "When a gas alert is called, it's for everyone!" He goes off for a good while. Thankfully I'd had the sense to put my sh*t on to avoid the wrath. but I feel bad for the guys getting chewed out and their officers and NCOs because by that point it could just as easily have been me. If A 498th had their stuff on and B wasn't given the order, and nobody else around me had the stuff on, I'd have not put it on either.

 

I've got more stories.. if I have time, I'll tell them. Not great ones like wiffleball's dad's story. It was a short war, the ground campaign was only like four days, and none of my friends died after all. 2 AD (Fwd) was all the way up front and we were the first brigade in the entire Coalition Army to cross into Iraq but as 2AD's support battalion, we were either the last or second to last battalion of the brigade to cross, depending on if we or the field artillery guys got over the berm first. Dunno.

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One grandpa was in WWII. Europe. Died when my mom was three, so other than a few things he brought back, I know nothing. Never met him obviously.

 

My other grandfather was in Korea. Never really talked about it much. Supposedly saw some action at hamburger hill, but I heard that through family rumor, never from him.

 

He died of pancreatic cancer too. Wonder if he got agent orange over in Korea.

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Like wiff said, a lot of medals nowadays are just given to people. However, now some bases are starting to do away with allowing you to wear them or your combat patches on your uniform because "the soldiers coming felt belittled and it wasn't fair that the seasoned soldiers had more medals and cool combat patches and they didn't". So they complained to their command until finally their command gave in.

When I was in the Army, almost nobody had a combat patch. Our first sergent had one but he was old as dirt and had been around since Vietnam. I don't rightly recall if I saw another one or not. Very rarely if at all. All through the 80s and most of the 70s there had been no wars.

 

Then we went to Iraq and when we got back, everybody on the base had one.

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One grandpa was in WWII. Europe. Died when my mom was three, so other than a few things he brought back, I know nothing. Never met him obviously.

 

My other grandfather was in Korea. Never really talked about it much. Supposedly saw some action at hamburger hill, but I heard that through family rumor, never from him.

 

He died of pancreatic cancer too. Wonder if he got agent orange over in Korea.

I didn't know that we'd used agent orange in Korea. I'd always associated that with Vietnam, but it makes sense that if would have been used in Korea too.

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I didn't know that we'd used agent orange in Korea. I'd always associated that with Vietnam, but it makes sense that if would have been used in Korea too.

I don't know if we did or not honestly.

 

Well, according to Wikipedia, we didn't use it in the Korean War, but a lot of it was stored there during the 60's and 70's, much of it dumped in the DMZ.

 

Apparently a lot of guys serving there during that era got sick. Interesting.

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Our grandmother used to tell this story and I take it with a grain of salt but I'm going to tell it anyway.

 

Apparently our grandfather was a cook in the army and was either a stationed at the area or was one of the cook's where Patton always was.

So The Story Goes that Patton apparently wanted some extra food but my grandfather had only made enough for all the men to have a certain amount of servings and refused to give him more. So Patton apparently ordered every utensil, pot and pan thrown out into the yard that he then had to clean.

That level of stubbornness wouldn't surprise me. Whether it was actually Patton that was involved I don't know. But completely sounds like something he would have done.

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My dad also ate sooooo slooowww. I mean it. He was always the last person at the table. Always. He savored every bite. I asked him one time why he was so slow. He said that at one point he was wolfing down a mre with bullets flying over his head and he swore. If he ever got out of this situation he would never eat fast again. I know it sounds nuts.

 

He also had a lifelong affinity for sardines in mustard sauce because one of the guys he killed in a firefight had sardines on him at the time and he found them, some military documents which he turned over and a pic of a "very beautiful Vietnamese​ girl" they were in the jungle,he was hungry. So he ate them.

 

 

I miss the old man. Really. I was born on his bday so it's especially painful when my birthday comes around. Bitter sweet because it was such a cool thing for all my life.

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