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Rambling Anecdotes
- Thread starter 4V50 Gary
- Start date
GIs watching a displaced persons camp they liberated.
"On one of my day shifts, I saw a funny thing happen. There was a little stream running through a corner of the camp and the Russian woman would do their wash there. One day, a large woman was doing her wash, when a fist fight broke out between a couple of Russian guys. When she saw them, she walked over, grabbed each one by their shirt fronts and pulled them apart. Then what happened was like a scene from the patty cake routine Bob Hope and Bing Crosby did in the "Road" moves they made later. Both men looked at each other, nodded their heads and each swung a fist, one right-handed and one left-handed, hitting the woman right in the face. She went down like a sack of cement and the two guys went on fighting."
Stan Richardson's Growing Up in a Foxhole, page 120
https://youtu.be/T3aO7xRkkuw
"On one of my day shifts, I saw a funny thing happen. There was a little stream running through a corner of the camp and the Russian woman would do their wash there. One day, a large woman was doing her wash, when a fist fight broke out between a couple of Russian guys. When she saw them, she walked over, grabbed each one by their shirt fronts and pulled them apart. Then what happened was like a scene from the patty cake routine Bob Hope and Bing Crosby did in the "Road" moves they made later. Both men looked at each other, nodded their heads and each swung a fist, one right-handed and one left-handed, hitting the woman right in the face. She went down like a sack of cement and the two guys went on fighting."
Stan Richardson's Growing Up in a Foxhole, page 120
https://youtu.be/T3aO7xRkkuw
Yeah, but when she got up!!! There's be преисподняя to pay!!4V50 Gary:
Then what happened was like a scene from the patty cake routine Bob Hope and Bing Crosby did in the "Road" moves they made later. Both men looked at each other, nodded their heads and each swung a fist, one right-handed and one left-handed, hitting the woman right in the face. She went down like a sack of cement and the two guys went on fighting."
Old No7
Hey Chubby!
From p. 121 of John Davis' Up Close.
"As we staggered back through the woods, we spotted two guys in a jeep stuck on the dirt road. The driver was an itty bitty fellow in his late teens, while his passenger was older, heavyset and tough-looking. They were lodged in a deep rut, sunk up to their clavicles in mud.
"The driver's eyes lit up when he saw us. "Hey, can you guys give us a push?"
"We'd be glad to. In exchange, would you haul some of this stuff up to our pillbox?"
"Sure. Toss it on the ground and we'll load it up in a minute."
Archie and I got behind the jeep and started to push, but between the deep rut and the combined weight of the two men, we were not making much progress.
"Hey, Chubby," I called out to the passenger. "How 'bout getting out of the jeep?"
The driver leaped out and stood at attention. "This is Gen. Perrin," he said through gritted teeth.
Uh-oh. Only a centipede could have more feet in its mouth.
Gen. Perrin climbed out. At this point in the war, he had made commander of the entire 106th Division as well as other units in the area. He wore a regular field jacket, no insignia. Apparently, he was traveling incognito because he was so close to the front.
The driver shook his head in warning.
"Oh, there's lots more where that came from," I said, with a generous sweep of my arm. "It's there for the picking."
He turned to his driver. "We've got to get some of that stuff."
Dusk was falling rapidly and his words were punctuated by the sound of burp guns nearby. I didn't hear any more explosions, though, so the British demolition guys must have knocked off for the night. The driver looked like he was about to wet his pants. I took pity on him.
"I'm sorry, General. We can't let you go down there."
The General raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, you can't let me go down there?"
"We'd be negligent in our duty as soldiers if we let you go down there to get your butt shot up."
He looked so disappointed I amended myself. "Look, if you want Archie and me to go with you and cover you, we'll do that, but it's getting dark, there's some shooting going on, and I can't be sure we won't run into some booby traps." The risk was real but I played it up a bit. I didn't want anything to happen to Gen. Perrin on my watch.
The General cocked his head, considering. "Thanks boys, I guess I'll have to pass on that."
His poor little driver started breathing again.
We told Gen. Perrin that he was welcome to help himself to anything we had brought out, but he declined our offer. He did dump off the stuff at our pillbox, which we thought was just grand. He was a peach of a guy, a real frontline fighter."
Note: Brigadier General Herbert T. Perrin was Assistant Division Commander and assumed temporary command of the 106th after its commander, Maj. Gen. Alan W. Jones suffered a heart attack during the Battle of the Bulge. He resumed his post when Maj. Gen. Donald Stroh was appointed to command.
From p. 121 of John Davis' Up Close.
"As we staggered back through the woods, we spotted two guys in a jeep stuck on the dirt road. The driver was an itty bitty fellow in his late teens, while his passenger was older, heavyset and tough-looking. They were lodged in a deep rut, sunk up to their clavicles in mud.
"The driver's eyes lit up when he saw us. "Hey, can you guys give us a push?"
"We'd be glad to. In exchange, would you haul some of this stuff up to our pillbox?"
"Sure. Toss it on the ground and we'll load it up in a minute."
Archie and I got behind the jeep and started to push, but between the deep rut and the combined weight of the two men, we were not making much progress.
"Hey, Chubby," I called out to the passenger. "How 'bout getting out of the jeep?"
The driver leaped out and stood at attention. "This is Gen. Perrin," he said through gritted teeth.
Uh-oh. Only a centipede could have more feet in its mouth.
Gen. Perrin climbed out. At this point in the war, he had made commander of the entire 106th Division as well as other units in the area. He wore a regular field jacket, no insignia. Apparently, he was traveling incognito because he was so close to the front.
The driver shook his head in warning.
"Oh, there's lots more where that came from," I said, with a generous sweep of my arm. "It's there for the picking."
He turned to his driver. "We've got to get some of that stuff."
Dusk was falling rapidly and his words were punctuated by the sound of burp guns nearby. I didn't hear any more explosions, though, so the British demolition guys must have knocked off for the night. The driver looked like he was about to wet his pants. I took pity on him.
"I'm sorry, General. We can't let you go down there."
The General raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, you can't let me go down there?"
"We'd be negligent in our duty as soldiers if we let you go down there to get your butt shot up."
He looked so disappointed I amended myself. "Look, if you want Archie and me to go with you and cover you, we'll do that, but it's getting dark, there's some shooting going on, and I can't be sure we won't run into some booby traps." The risk was real but I played it up a bit. I didn't want anything to happen to Gen. Perrin on my watch.
The General cocked his head, considering. "Thanks boys, I guess I'll have to pass on that."
His poor little driver started breathing again.
We told Gen. Perrin that he was welcome to help himself to anything we had brought out, but he declined our offer. He did dump off the stuff at our pillbox, which we thought was just grand. He was a peach of a guy, a real frontline fighter."
Note: Brigadier General Herbert T. Perrin was Assistant Division Commander and assumed temporary command of the 106th after its commander, Maj. Gen. Alan W. Jones suffered a heart attack during the Battle of the Bulge. He resumed his post when Maj. Gen. Donald Stroh was appointed to command.
Audie Murphy's To Hell and Back
Audie was shot in the hip and visits a wounded buddy.
When I regain the use of my leg, I catch a ride to another hospital twenty miles away. I have learned that Kerrigan is there.
His back is to me when I enter the ward. For a moment I watch as he awkwardly shuffle a deck of cards with his bandaged hand.
"Is this the venereal ward?"' I ask loudly.
"No sir," says a white-faced youngster with his arm missing. 'This is casualty. Convalescent.'
"Then what is that syphilitic sergeant doing here? Kerrigan, I mean."
The ward becomes as silent as an empty church. Kerrigan turns slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Why you mule-headed, rattle-brained, scrambled-eyed whore of a lieutenant!"
Mouths drop open.
"You crawling, creeping crap from Texas. You battle-happy sonofabitch!"
"He never did show the proper respect for officers," I explain to the other men.
"Respect!" he spits. "Why-why, you beagle-eared bastard, what are you doing in the rear area?"
"You'll be tickled to know that I got shot. Yeah. Lost a hunk of my hip."
"Oh, Lord, to think I missed that. Brother, am I glad to see you. You haven't changed a bit."
"And you're uglier than ever."
The ward relaxes.
P. 229-30.
Audie was shot in the hip and visits a wounded buddy.
When I regain the use of my leg, I catch a ride to another hospital twenty miles away. I have learned that Kerrigan is there.
His back is to me when I enter the ward. For a moment I watch as he awkwardly shuffle a deck of cards with his bandaged hand.
"Is this the venereal ward?"' I ask loudly.
"No sir," says a white-faced youngster with his arm missing. 'This is casualty. Convalescent.'
"Then what is that syphilitic sergeant doing here? Kerrigan, I mean."
The ward becomes as silent as an empty church. Kerrigan turns slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Why you mule-headed, rattle-brained, scrambled-eyed whore of a lieutenant!"
Mouths drop open.
"You crawling, creeping crap from Texas. You battle-happy sonofabitch!"
"He never did show the proper respect for officers," I explain to the other men.
"Respect!" he spits. "Why-why, you beagle-eared bastard, what are you doing in the rear area?"
"You'll be tickled to know that I got shot. Yeah. Lost a hunk of my hip."
"Oh, Lord, to think I missed that. Brother, am I glad to see you. You haven't changed a bit."
"And you're uglier than ever."
The ward relaxes.
P. 229-30.
P155-8.
I cannot post it here but if you get a chance, read Fred Salter's Recon Scout. It's an account of a cavalryman who is mechanized and fights in North Africa where his unit escorts Churchill and FDR. They participate in Husky (invasion of Sicily) and finally Italy itself. Salter specializes in night patrols which he does, by the most part, by himself.
Salter suffers from combat fatigue and almost guns down PoWs while serving as a camp guard stateside. The officers want him court martial and the colonel reads the file, sees that he is decorated and figures out with his combat fatigue he should never have been put in position to be a guard. He gets Salter discharged (honorably).
It's one of the best memoirs I've read in a long time.
I cannot post it here but if you get a chance, read Fred Salter's Recon Scout. It's an account of a cavalryman who is mechanized and fights in North Africa where his unit escorts Churchill and FDR. They participate in Husky (invasion of Sicily) and finally Italy itself. Salter specializes in night patrols which he does, by the most part, by himself.
Salter suffers from combat fatigue and almost guns down PoWs while serving as a camp guard stateside. The officers want him court martial and the colonel reads the file, sees that he is decorated and figures out with his combat fatigue he should never have been put in position to be a guard. He gets Salter discharged (honorably).
It's one of the best memoirs I've read in a long time.
9 mm v. 45
"The German soldier was shooting at me with a Luger pistol. I returned fire with my Colt 45 caliber revolver. My gun had more firepower than the German Luger and the echo was so loud in that alley that it sounded like a cannon. The German turned around and ran. I don't think I ever saw him again."
Thus resolves the debate. From page 102 of 9/4 Infantry Rifleman by Thomas W. Smith.
"The German soldier was shooting at me with a Luger pistol. I returned fire with my Colt 45 caliber revolver. My gun had more firepower than the German Luger and the echo was so loud in that alley that it sounded like a cannon. The German turned around and ran. I don't think I ever saw him again."
Thus resolves the debate. From page 102 of 9/4 Infantry Rifleman by Thomas W. Smith.
Breakfast!
When the light machine gun crew joined the platoon to set up the defensive position in the third captured pillbox, a phone line from that pillbox to the German positions was still alive. Germans on their end did not know the pillbox was occupied by the GI's. A call came from the German end of the line. Answering the call the machine gun crew chief found a surprised, English speaking German on the other phone. A conversation ensued.
The German: "So, why don't you come over to our headquarters?"
The GI: "No thanks. Why don't you come over to the pillbox. Join us for breakfast."
"Breakfast?" What are you having for breakfast?" The German was nibbling at the bait.
"Bacon and eggs." K-ration bacon and eggs, but only a small white lie, a wishful exaggeration by the GI.
"I'm coming over! Watch out for me!" The German found the way to the machine gun position and became a hungry prisoner of war.
Upon interrogation it was found the German was training for his officer's rating. One of his assignments as an English speakig German had been to slip into the American lines at night, tape the phone lines, and monitor phone traffic.
From p144 of Dale Lundhigh's Show Me The Hero.
When the light machine gun crew joined the platoon to set up the defensive position in the third captured pillbox, a phone line from that pillbox to the German positions was still alive. Germans on their end did not know the pillbox was occupied by the GI's. A call came from the German end of the line. Answering the call the machine gun crew chief found a surprised, English speaking German on the other phone. A conversation ensued.
The German: "So, why don't you come over to our headquarters?"
The GI: "No thanks. Why don't you come over to the pillbox. Join us for breakfast."
"Breakfast?" What are you having for breakfast?" The German was nibbling at the bait.
"Bacon and eggs." K-ration bacon and eggs, but only a small white lie, a wishful exaggeration by the GI.
"I'm coming over! Watch out for me!" The German found the way to the machine gun position and became a hungry prisoner of war.
Upon interrogation it was found the German was training for his officer's rating. One of his assignments as an English speakig German had been to slip into the American lines at night, tape the phone lines, and monitor phone traffic.
From p144 of Dale Lundhigh's Show Me The Hero.
Strike up the Band!
At Luzon, the Twenty-fifth Infantry Division band was entertaining the patients and staff of the Sixty-third Portable Surgical Hospital when the performance was interrupted by the staccatto of Japanese .25 caliber fire. The medical corpsman and the band rushed the patients to safety. Afterward the musicians picked up rifles, formed a skirmish line and under the direction of Warrant Officer and Band Director Raymond Rike (Dallas, Texas), hunted down the Japanese soldier who had rudely disrupted the performance. Victorious, the musicians returned the rifles and after picking up their instruments, finished the show.
From the High Point Enterprise (North Carolina), May 15, 1945, p. 3.
At Luzon, the Twenty-fifth Infantry Division band was entertaining the patients and staff of the Sixty-third Portable Surgical Hospital when the performance was interrupted by the staccatto of Japanese .25 caliber fire. The medical corpsman and the band rushed the patients to safety. Afterward the musicians picked up rifles, formed a skirmish line and under the direction of Warrant Officer and Band Director Raymond Rike (Dallas, Texas), hunted down the Japanese soldier who had rudely disrupted the performance. Victorious, the musicians returned the rifles and after picking up their instruments, finished the show.
From the High Point Enterprise (North Carolina), May 15, 1945, p. 3.
Dunno the truth of this
But I found this item from Walter Winchell column ((Texas) Brownsville Herald, Dec. 15, 1942) amusing:
Good Guy: A British general, inspecting a camp at night incognito, chatted with an Australian sentry and finally talked him out of his rifle - a cardinal sin. Clutching the rifle, he stepped back, revealed his identity and demanded: "What are you going to do now?" The Aussie swung a haymaker, floored the general, and retrieved his rifle. Next morning he was paraded before the general on two charges. On the first, being relieved of his rifle, he was reprimanded. On the second, striking a superior officer, the general complimented him on his swift and decisive action.
But I found this item from Walter Winchell column ((Texas) Brownsville Herald, Dec. 15, 1942) amusing:
Good Guy: A British general, inspecting a camp at night incognito, chatted with an Australian sentry and finally talked him out of his rifle - a cardinal sin. Clutching the rifle, he stepped back, revealed his identity and demanded: "What are you going to do now?" The Aussie swung a haymaker, floored the general, and retrieved his rifle. Next morning he was paraded before the general on two charges. On the first, being relieved of his rifle, he was reprimanded. On the second, striking a superior officer, the general complimented him on his swift and decisive action.
When company commander Obertleutnant Schmelter left because of an injury, he was replaced by Oberleutnant H. A very unpopular man he once told his men,
"If one of you is wounded, I don't want to hear any wailing or crying. Clench your teeth and show that you are are man!" We veterans thought: 'You arsehole! We'll see how you cry out when you get one.'
From Rehfeld's Mortar Gunner On the Eastern Front, Vol. II, pgs 143-4.
(Been doing research on WW II sniping)
"If one of you is wounded, I don't want to hear any wailing or crying. Clench your teeth and show that you are are man!" We veterans thought: 'You arsehole! We'll see how you cry out when you get one.'
Now that day had come and I hear Gefreiter (pfc) Ludolf Vizelberg shout loudly, 'Ha, ha, Kameraden, hear how he squeals. He should clench his teeth.' The Oberleutnant had a fairly severe injury to the upper arm. A splinter had torn out a piece of muscle the size of a fist. Naturally that was very painful, as one can imagine, but he should not have talked big. Later the Company received post from him from a hospital at Konigstein/Taunus. He actually requested that our Speiss (command sergeant major) should send him cognac, cigars, and cigarettes from our canteen store. When the Speiss showed me the letter, I told him, "Let me handle it, Oskar, I'll pack it for him.' Then with delight I wrapped some Russian Machorka (nasty cheap Russian tobacco issued to the Russian soldiers) tobacco in a sweaty stock with a small bottle of vodka. 'With best wishes for your recovery but if possible not your return.' It does not sound very friendly, but he deserved nothing better. End!
From Rehfeld's Mortar Gunner On the Eastern Front, Vol. II, pgs 143-4.
(Been doing research on WW II sniping)
Fighting the Afrika Korps
A night patrol would almost always consist of one or two sections, either six or twelve men.
Very seldom was there any fighting during these nightly walks, they were undertaken in oder to keep tabs on the enemy positions. However, there were times when these patrols turned to our, and Jerry's advantage.
I first experienced this when Mr. Vernon, our platoon commander, detailed our section for patrol. Just before we set off, we were told that the lads who had done the previous night's walk were volunteering to do our shift. The teal they came up with was that they had made contact the night before, but that the corporal in charge had lost his wallet and knew exactly where he had dropped it.
Fair enough, no complaints, you lot go, we get a good night's kip. Our suspicions were aroused the next morning when two fo the lads who had been part of the patrol were sick as pigs. It was then discovered that they had a crate of Schnapps in their truck. To cut a long story short, they had met up with these Krauts and, instead of doing each other mortal damage, had struck a deal: Schnapps and black bread in exchange for tins of bully beef and some English cigarettes!
It doesn't take much imagination to work out how these encounters happened. The six-man patrol creeps forward towards the enemy position, probably only a lance jack in charge. They became aware of movement to their front almost at the same time as the enemy becomes aware of them. Men being what they are, nobody is too keep to start hostilities. Some bright spark calls out: "Oi, Fritz, you speakada English?"
"What you want, Tommy?"
"Got any Schnapps?" A longish pause,
"Ja, you have English cigarettes?"
And so an arrangement would be made for a rendezvous the following night, to the mutual benefit of all concerned. These exchanges went on for about three weeks before some officer lets the cat out of the bag.
From Rifleman by Gregg
A night patrol would almost always consist of one or two sections, either six or twelve men.
Very seldom was there any fighting during these nightly walks, they were undertaken in oder to keep tabs on the enemy positions. However, there were times when these patrols turned to our, and Jerry's advantage.
I first experienced this when Mr. Vernon, our platoon commander, detailed our section for patrol. Just before we set off, we were told that the lads who had done the previous night's walk were volunteering to do our shift. The teal they came up with was that they had made contact the night before, but that the corporal in charge had lost his wallet and knew exactly where he had dropped it.
Fair enough, no complaints, you lot go, we get a good night's kip. Our suspicions were aroused the next morning when two fo the lads who had been part of the patrol were sick as pigs. It was then discovered that they had a crate of Schnapps in their truck. To cut a long story short, they had met up with these Krauts and, instead of doing each other mortal damage, had struck a deal: Schnapps and black bread in exchange for tins of bully beef and some English cigarettes!
It doesn't take much imagination to work out how these encounters happened. The six-man patrol creeps forward towards the enemy position, probably only a lance jack in charge. They became aware of movement to their front almost at the same time as the enemy becomes aware of them. Men being what they are, nobody is too keep to start hostilities. Some bright spark calls out: "Oi, Fritz, you speakada English?"
"What you want, Tommy?"
"Got any Schnapps?" A longish pause,
"Ja, you have English cigarettes?"
And so an arrangement would be made for a rendezvous the following night, to the mutual benefit of all concerned. These exchanges went on for about three weeks before some officer lets the cat out of the bag.
From Rifleman by Gregg
Smokless powder being fired in a flintlock (circa 1944)
OK, this is during WW II. At 1:09 Lt. Tom Quigley talks about how First Sergeant Umberger shot a flintlock dueling pistol. He used the charges from 3 45 ACP cartridges, used toilet paper as wadding and wadded up a 45 bullet with toilet paper and fired it (and missed). The pistol survived the abuse too.
https://www.ww2online.org/view/tom-quigley#hill-192-sniping-bar
Dueling pistols never made it home. When Quigley was injured, he left it in the care of another officer and is probably still with that officer's family.
OK, this is during WW II. At 1:09 Lt. Tom Quigley talks about how First Sergeant Umberger shot a flintlock dueling pistol. He used the charges from 3 45 ACP cartridges, used toilet paper as wadding and wadded up a 45 bullet with toilet paper and fired it (and missed). The pistol survived the abuse too.
https://www.ww2online.org/view/tom-quigley#hill-192-sniping-bar
Dueling pistols never made it home. When Quigley was injured, he left it in the care of another officer and is probably still with that officer's family.
rodwhaincamo
New member
Thanks for posting that! Such a long, but very interesting video. I’m still working on it! Interesting, also, how he loaded that gun, and surprising it held with that load and heavy projectile. Maybe it wasn’t a tight enough fit to really build up pressures.
Flintlocks in WW II or don't mess with the Naga
I read about one GI's account where late in the war he heard a gunshot and couldn't recognize it (everyone's gun sound different which is why you don't use the enemy's gun). Turns out it was a old German who fired his flintlock at and missed the GI. The GI disarmed him and smashed the flintlock against a tree and told the old German to go home. It is recounted in another post above.
What may have been centuries old technology to the Germans was the most modern weapon the tribal Naga people of Burma (modernly Myanmar) had when they decided to fight back against the Japanese. Among their other weapons were spears, bows and crossbows. See Richard Dunlop's Behind Japanese Lines page 134. The Naga once spotted Japanese paratroopers drop into their hills and the Americans wanted the Naga to neutralize them. During one dinner, a proud Naga walked in with a basket and when he opened it, it was filled with the heads of the Japanese paratroopers. Some Americans vomited. Anyway, the Naga were given silver rupees for their work. See page 131.
I read about one GI's account where late in the war he heard a gunshot and couldn't recognize it (everyone's gun sound different which is why you don't use the enemy's gun). Turns out it was a old German who fired his flintlock at and missed the GI. The GI disarmed him and smashed the flintlock against a tree and told the old German to go home. It is recounted in another post above.
What may have been centuries old technology to the Germans was the most modern weapon the tribal Naga people of Burma (modernly Myanmar) had when they decided to fight back against the Japanese. Among their other weapons were spears, bows and crossbows. See Richard Dunlop's Behind Japanese Lines page 134. The Naga once spotted Japanese paratroopers drop into their hills and the Americans wanted the Naga to neutralize them. During one dinner, a proud Naga walked in with a basket and when he opened it, it was filled with the heads of the Japanese paratroopers. Some Americans vomited. Anyway, the Naga were given silver rupees for their work. See page 131.
A bit more modern but a good story...
I have personally been blessed beyond belief to have met and served with some of the most hard, tough, and courageous men to ever walk this earth. I understand many people may feel that way about their old unit, but I swear it’s different with me. Going through recruit training in the Marine Corps in the aftermath of 9/11, we were told tales and stories of Gunney “Manila” John Basilone decimating a battalion of Japanese infantry with one machine gun section, at times exposing himself to enemy fire to run from one gun to the next to salvage parts and keep as many crew served weapons running as possible. Or stories of General Chesty Puller, or of Carlos Hathcock. Fast forward to my unit, and it didn’t take long for me to realize I was literally living what will be the lore of the Marine Corps one day. I have met some men that would give Smedly Butler or John Basilone a run for their money in the courage and hard man department.
I was picked up by 2nd Bn, 8th Marines in September of 2003. I was immediately assigned to Golf company, where 1stSgt Hawkins frequently gave speeches about when it’s your time to die, it’s your time to die. Older, he could still destroy the entire company on a forced march. Everyone, that is, except then company Gunny (SgtMaj) William Sweeney, another man of legend. SgtMaj Sweeney was known to us by “taking a stroll” in Iraq during a firefight. Instead of seeking cover, he casually walked down the street firing grenades from a 203 at enemy positions. I’ve personally known other legends, including SgtMaj Timothy Haney. He won the silver star being wounded in the invasion of Iraq while exposing himself to gunfire to aid other Marines. He continued his aid even after he was wounded, and he left the division aid station a week later against medical advice and informed every Col and above he found that he was going back to his boys in 2/8 up North if he had to go UA and walk there.
Among one of the very best was not a Marine, but a Navy Corpsman. Dustin “Doc” Kirby was kind of goofy, fun loving, and well liked by everyone who met him. Smoking and joking with him, it was almost hard to take him seriously as he was so good natured and fun loving. Despite being the ultimate fun time friend, Doc Kirby took his responsibility to look after us very seriously. Almost every night he would go through his med bag and practice retrieving items blind. He taught our combat lifesaver courses. He would tell us to stop sniveling as he stitched, patched, and healed us up. He would also run in “boots and utes” with his med bag on his back, outrunning some of us jar heads.
In early December of 2006, Doc Kirby saved a Marines life who was shot in the head on my last deployment. A few weeks later, on Christmas Day, he himself was shot by a sniper in the head, the bullet nearly tore his entire jaw off. Instead of laying down and giving up, or freaking out, Doc Kirby refused to be carried to the medivac. Instead he demanded that he walk. While on the medivac flight, his esophagus collapsed and he had a difficult time breathing. Having a squeamish flight nurse, he gave himself a tracheotomy with a Ka-bar knife. 99,999 out of 100,000 men would have probably died from that, but Dustin Kirby willed himself to live through a probably dull ka-bar knife.
I have personally been blessed beyond belief to have met and served with some of the most hard, tough, and courageous men to ever walk this earth. I understand many people may feel that way about their old unit, but I swear it’s different with me. Going through recruit training in the Marine Corps in the aftermath of 9/11, we were told tales and stories of Gunney “Manila” John Basilone decimating a battalion of Japanese infantry with one machine gun section, at times exposing himself to enemy fire to run from one gun to the next to salvage parts and keep as many crew served weapons running as possible. Or stories of General Chesty Puller, or of Carlos Hathcock. Fast forward to my unit, and it didn’t take long for me to realize I was literally living what will be the lore of the Marine Corps one day. I have met some men that would give Smedly Butler or John Basilone a run for their money in the courage and hard man department.
I was picked up by 2nd Bn, 8th Marines in September of 2003. I was immediately assigned to Golf company, where 1stSgt Hawkins frequently gave speeches about when it’s your time to die, it’s your time to die. Older, he could still destroy the entire company on a forced march. Everyone, that is, except then company Gunny (SgtMaj) William Sweeney, another man of legend. SgtMaj Sweeney was known to us by “taking a stroll” in Iraq during a firefight. Instead of seeking cover, he casually walked down the street firing grenades from a 203 at enemy positions. I’ve personally known other legends, including SgtMaj Timothy Haney. He won the silver star being wounded in the invasion of Iraq while exposing himself to gunfire to aid other Marines. He continued his aid even after he was wounded, and he left the division aid station a week later against medical advice and informed every Col and above he found that he was going back to his boys in 2/8 up North if he had to go UA and walk there.
Among one of the very best was not a Marine, but a Navy Corpsman. Dustin “Doc” Kirby was kind of goofy, fun loving, and well liked by everyone who met him. Smoking and joking with him, it was almost hard to take him seriously as he was so good natured and fun loving. Despite being the ultimate fun time friend, Doc Kirby took his responsibility to look after us very seriously. Almost every night he would go through his med bag and practice retrieving items blind. He taught our combat lifesaver courses. He would tell us to stop sniveling as he stitched, patched, and healed us up. He would also run in “boots and utes” with his med bag on his back, outrunning some of us jar heads.
In early December of 2006, Doc Kirby saved a Marines life who was shot in the head on my last deployment. A few weeks later, on Christmas Day, he himself was shot by a sniper in the head, the bullet nearly tore his entire jaw off. Instead of laying down and giving up, or freaking out, Doc Kirby refused to be carried to the medivac. Instead he demanded that he walk. While on the medivac flight, his esophagus collapsed and he had a difficult time breathing. Having a squeamish flight nurse, he gave himself a tracheotomy with a Ka-bar knife. 99,999 out of 100,000 men would have probably died from that, but Dustin Kirby willed himself to live through a probably dull ka-bar knife.
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George S. Patton, gunsmith
Lt. George S. Patton disliked the heavy trigger pull on his 1911 pistol which he carried regularly. To remedy it, he disassembled it and filed at the sear to reduce the trigger pull. Satisfied, he reassembled it, tested it and found the hair trigger to his liking.
As a man of action, Patton was always armed and ready. Thus he always carried it cocked when he went to meet with some cattlebarons to share a drink. In the course of their discussion, Patton stamped his foot as if to emphasize a statement. His gun discharged with the bullet missing his foot by a few fractions of an inch. Following frontier etiquette, his host ignored the discharge and continued sipping on his drink and serving his guests.
Patton was angry at himself but did not show it. But he learned to keep an empty cartridge in the chamber to prevent future accidents with the 1911.
from Ladislas Farago's Patton: Ordeal and Triumph, p 118.
Lt. George S. Patton disliked the heavy trigger pull on his 1911 pistol which he carried regularly. To remedy it, he disassembled it and filed at the sear to reduce the trigger pull. Satisfied, he reassembled it, tested it and found the hair trigger to his liking.
As a man of action, Patton was always armed and ready. Thus he always carried it cocked when he went to meet with some cattlebarons to share a drink. In the course of their discussion, Patton stamped his foot as if to emphasize a statement. His gun discharged with the bullet missing his foot by a few fractions of an inch. Following frontier etiquette, his host ignored the discharge and continued sipping on his drink and serving his guests.
Patton was angry at himself but did not show it. But he learned to keep an empty cartridge in the chamber to prevent future accidents with the 1911.
from Ladislas Farago's Patton: Ordeal and Triumph, p 118.
Not all peasants embraced collectiviazation
A new political officer joined his infantry division and met with the division commander. The division commander tells him:
A new political officer joined his infantry division and met with the division commander. The division commander tells him:
"I love the Komsomol; I was a member myself. In 1929, as a young man, the Party mobilized me and sent me to a village to organize the collectivization work there. The very first day, after I finished my gallant speeches, the peasant men gave me such a thrashing that to this day, I'm a little deaf in my right ear."
My grand father fought the Japanese in the Chinese army (KMT, not chicom) during WWII. New recruit couldn't stop shaking, either because of the fear or the adrenaline rush, during the null of battle. The old sargent came along. He pulled the bullet off a rifle cartridge (79, or 8mm mauser) and made the shaking recruit swallow the gun powder washed down with water from the canteen. "You are a real sodier now son.". It worked. The recruit never shook again during battle. The recruit was my grand father. He lived to tell his grand son the story.
-TL
PS. I remembered asking my grand father this. How did you take #2 in the trench? Where you are. Dig a hole in the dirty and cover it up, if you have time.
PPS. When the enemy were charging at them, they drew bayonet and stick it in dirt within reach. Fixing bayonet made rifle shoot even lousier (their mausers were all worn). It took too long to draw bayonet from the scabbard when the enemy was getting that close.
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-TL
PS. I remembered asking my grand father this. How did you take #2 in the trench? Where you are. Dig a hole in the dirty and cover it up, if you have time.
PPS. When the enemy were charging at them, they drew bayonet and stick it in dirt within reach. Fixing bayonet made rifle shoot even lousier (their mausers were all worn). It took too long to draw bayonet from the scabbard when the enemy was getting that close.
Sent from my SM-N960U using Tapatalk