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Dung Beetles Sand Storms Accidents Inspections Poetry
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Dung Beetles Sand Storms Accidents Inspections Poetry
Submitted by: Larry L. Chaney
I remember clearly the dung beetles. You could be out in the middle of nowhere taking a dump, and then the tell-tale buzz-saw -like tempo of their beating wings heralded their arrival to take possession of your wonderful offering to the Iraqi Government! If you ever looked closely at the dung beetles, they had these tiny parasitic gnats that rode on their back and they were being referred to as "dismounts" by the soldiers.
I remember those big shiny green hairy flies that we referred to as "dog-shit" flies since those were the kind you'd see on dog shit back in the "world". I was bored one day and swatting these maggot spawn on top of the turret and their carcasses would tumble into Alan Brigg's driver's hatch on D-26. Brigg's (bless his heart) was doing all he could to keep the sand out of his beloved D-26, and politely asked me if I could kill dog-shit flies so that they wouldn't fall into his hatch!
Submitted by: David Nichter
The strongest memory I have of Dung Beetles is using the ET to hit them like baseballs. Dig a hole in the sand. Drop your drawers. Soon as you started to shit, "bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz", here comes the Dung Beetles. Then as they approach, with your BDU bottoms around your ankles swinging the ET around trying to squash the incoming beetles.
Submitted by: Larry L. Chaney
I remember one night when second platoon's GP medium blew over during a middle-of-the night Shamaal (spelling?) Everyone, including myself, had a serious "case of the ass"! Someone in the middle of trying to put the center poles up dropped the pole because there was this huge Camel spider!
Submitted by: David Nichter
I remember an awful sandstorm one night before the ground war. It must have been the same night. We got very little sleep between pulling a shift on perimeter watch and a long effort to get the 3rd plt GP Medium back up. I also lost my favorite angle-head flashlight that night. I had carried that "D cell" powered wonder for over a year, then it disappeared in the sand that night.
Submitted by: Larry L. Chaney
Who doesn't remember the night the smoke grenades were accidentally launched while Crumby was just "pressing buttons" in one of the platoons' Bradleys while he was on watch?
Submitted by: David Nichter
Do you remember the sudden call for a layout of all Claymore mines? The confusion and rumors over the cause for the inspection ended later that day when it was learned a Claymore had accidentally been crushed in a ramp.
Submitted by: Joe Weddington
I swore I was not going to write one of these but last night I watched a documentary on The Learning Channel entitled Friendly Fire and felt compelled to.
Captain Howard, formerly the Scout Platoon Leader was now the BN / BDE Liasion Officer in S-3, charged with carrying hard copies of orders and articles of intelligence deemed too sensitive for broadcast or fax between Thunder 6 and Stalwart 6. He was a hard charging type, worthy of the Hell on Wheels designation. When we went somewhere in the Hummer he wanted to go full throttle and not be pampered around every bump and pothole like the Major I was used to driving for.
I was the Liasion Security guy this night with an M16/203, PFC Andreas Jones was driving, Captain Howard up front doing the officer thing, appearing deep in thought, SGT Ryan Crisostomo in back with me playing Tetris on Gameboy. We had a SAW and two AT-4's on board. Jones and SGT Cris had M-16's and Captain Howard had an old Remington .45 that rattled so much in the holster, I would have been afraid to fire it.
We were coming back from Brigade late at night. We had earlier departed the scene of the blue on blue at the two-five gridline where the Apaches fired up the Scout Platoon Bradleys killing Pvt. Robert Talley and Corporal Jeffery Middleton. I was sort of stunned and lost in thought as I remembered seeing the wounded loaded up on CSM Toms' M-113. Choppers had came in from somewhere to claim the bodies of the dead.
I was standing up in the back of Hummer, looking all around through AN/PVS-5's. as we headed North to the 1/41 TOC. Nothing but level desert in front of us. The GPS had gone offline, so, Scout that he was, Captain Howard was navigating with compass and map. We were bouncing along about 40 mph or so when I saw a large black area in front of us. I kept staring at it and as we got closer, the night driving lights illuminated the area better for my fives and gave it some definition.
By the time I realized it was the tank ditch at the berm it was to late. I yelled for Jones to stop and dropped back down in my seat just as the Hummer plowed into the ditch.
I don't think it was by design, but that ditch was precisely one Hummer long x one Hummer deep. We weren't going anywhere. Luckily, noone was hurt. I crawled across the top of the vehicle and started probing for mines in the sand as I crawled up the berm. Captain Howard at first thought this was sort of stupid until he realized he was going to have to get out of the vehicle and walk, then I noticed him examining the ground before him.
"Shit!" Captain Howard exclaimed. I thought he had found a mine but noticed he was looking at his compass in relation to the map. "What's wrong, Sir?" and then it dawned on me too. The metal in the Hummer, the radios, whatever, had caused the compass to error about 11 degrees west. We spread a map out on the hood of the hummer and figured out where we were by correcting west 11 degrees from the point where the GPS had gone offline, which thankfully, Captain Howard had took the time to mark. Well at least we knew where we were now. We were about 12 kilometers west and 4 kilometers north (forward) of the TOC.
We tried calling the TOC, but for some reason, Stalwart Oscar was nowhere on the net. We tried to raise anybody, both in the red and in the green, but still got nothing.
"Flares to the front Sir!" Jones called out as two white flares arced upward from the Northwest, about two kilometers out. Captain Howard looked at me and said: "You're in charge, Weddington. Sgt. Cris and I are going back to look for a recovery vehicle, keep trying to raise someone on the radio." He shook my arm a little to make sure I was getting it straight, I nodded, "Wait thirty minutes and turn the IR light on the PVS 7's on facing south every five minutes or so and we will find our way back to you that way."
Oh boy, I'm in charge, my first command, a guy who is my equal and knows just as little as I do, and a broke dick hummer alone in the middle of the freakin' desert. I must have had a wierd look on my face because Jones said, "Hey Weddington..... Be all you can be." and laughed as he sat up the SAW facing North. We watched Captain Howard and Sgt Crisostomo double time it off to the Southeast towards D-17 Engineers' TOC, which we had figured was about 20K or so away.
Jones and I sat watching the North-Northwest one eyed as the flares continued to go up. Looking at the map, we noted that the area the flares seemed to come from was definately in Iraq and there appeared to be three buildings there. We could see some movement but could not tell what was going on at that distance. I just knew there would be a couple of squads of Iraqis coming after us anytime.
My mind drifted to my Uncle Herbert, an Infantryman of the Korean war telling how six of them in his squad had held off hundreds of Chinese with three machine guns until air suppot arrived. My Dad telling of getting shot up while storming the beaches of Guadalcanal in World War II with his brothers falling all around him. shot four times and about to bleed out, he didn't dare stop until he reached cover.
God I wanted a cigarette but didn't dare to fire one up. Then I remembered the radio. "Stalwart Oscar, Stalwart Oscar, this is Stalwart Three Hotel Golf, Over." I was shocked when a voice boomed back at me: "Stalwart Three Hotel Golf this is Stalwart Six Actual, Sitrep, over." Oh shit, I had gotten the old man himself! I informed Colonel Hillman of our situation and he ordered us to stay put until morning, reprimanding me in lieu of Captain Howard for not going out with another vehicle in support.
Soon Captain Howard and Sgt Crisostomo returned with a recovery vehicle. I told Captain Howard we were to stay put, but he said we were going back anyway. He took my gear and weapons and put me out in front of the Hummer, airborne shuffling for about eight miles through the sand in jump boots, with the compass held before me, holding a course of 107 degrees. To help me through the run I can remember cadences going through my mind: "......all the way to Ft. Benning I won't quit....I can run to Ken-tucky just like this, all the way to one oh one and I wont quit. Left, left, left, rightawleft.......Left, left, left rightawleft.... Got up this morning in the drizzle and rain........."
When the TOC was in sight, I collapsed in the back seat of the hummer, alternately drinking and showering from my canteen. We parked, and I eventually made my way to the GP Small tent that I called home. SFC Peters said I looked like I had lost ten pounds. I slept the best I had slept in years, and was awakened by mortar fire about four hours later.
We were on the move again the next morning, and came across a bunker complex. I went in with some Bravo Company guys to clear the bunkers. Captain Howard jumped my ass for doing so. I told him: "I didnt join the Infantry to make boring assed map overlays and cruise around the desert with your happy ass, sir." He replied: "You work for me Weddington, and I didn't join the Infantry to have to write Staci (My wife) a letter telling her you got killed because you were bored. I remember thinking "What the hell is his problem?"
Tonight in B Co.my friend Davila, one of the most talented Infantrymen I knew, would be killed. Also in Bravo, fellow Kentuckian Sergeant Phillips would lose the use of his legs. Word made it's way to us that Delta had lost Murray in another blue on blue. I had last talked to Murray the night before we left Garlstedt.
It became all too clear to me why Captain Howard had the ass with me over my being bored. He knew as I now knew that war wasn't some big noble and gallant adventure. He knew that war was an ugly, final, hellish place in which people were killed and maimed with impunity. Being bored, that was just fine. Those of us that survived became our brothers and those brothers we left behind became our saints.
Ten years later I have my problems and battles like anyone else. Something sets me apart from others though, and I cruise through civilian adversity like it's no big deal, because it really is not. I lost my parents after the war, I will close my father's business at the end of the year. I could dwell on all of the negative but I just can't help but to think how lucky I am to be among the living and have my wife, my sons, and my daughter to share my life with.
To our fallen brothers of 1/41 Infantry, I say Straight and Stalwart guys, to the rest of you, Carry on.
Joe Weddington
Submitted by: Richard Aydelotte
Priceless wages, endless amounts All of it flowing through my mind pirecing arrows through shining amor A dead man's song passes in the wind Blood caked eath and a scarred field charred battlefield, all the dead pouring their blood on the ground the gunner ends another then drops his brother Night, the sound of terror the attack fills the air makes it thick screams of suprise, end with a last breath Scanning squads of unseen gouls looking for anything go on spreading death
I wrote this when I was in high school, back in 1984. I saved it in a book that keep all my 1/41 pictures in.
SFC Aydelotte
"Maintaining the Pack"
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Memories and Stories |
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http://delta-1-41-inf.homepage.com/memories.html
Created by David J. Nichter.
© Copyright 2000 - David J. Nichter.
All anecdotes property of their submitter
Updated: 6 June 2002
