“Hey private,” SGT Gindle beckoned.
“Yes, Sergeant!” yelled the motivated FNG.
“Grab me an exhaust sample from that there Stryker.”
“How do I do that, Sergeant?”
“You fucking kidding me, private?”
“No sergeant,” hanging his head.
“You START the
vehicle, then you GRAB a plastic
bag, head to the exhaust and then figure it the FUCK out. ROGER?!”
“Roger, Sergeant!” and off he went, all motivated to prove
himself.
“Fuck-fuck
games” hath returned. It was
performed masterfully. With a
straight face a sergeant asked a private to do something that is completely
pointless and makes the private look dumb, thus teaching that same private his
place on the totem pole. The
genius behind the action was acting like the private should have known all along
how to get an “exhaust sample.”
Had SGT Gindle hesitated or smiled, a better private would have picked
up on the fact that it was a joke and rendered the act not so funny for
onlookers.
“Look at that dummy over there, inhaling exhaust fumes and
shit,” Gindle gloated.
“He’s trying real hard, but lets get him started on another
project,” SSG Ham suggested.
“Come here, ding-a-ling!”
“Moving sergeant!”
“Well hold the bag tight now, damnit! You’re gonna to let
the exhaust sample out.”
“Where do I take the sample, sergeant?”
“Don’t you worry about that. Ya did good so I need ya to
make sure there’s no soft spots on the armor. Grab a hammer and tap all around
the entire Stryker.”
“How will I know if there’s a soft spot?”
“It’ll go squish! Now stop wastin’ daylight
you squirrely little fucker!”
“Yes sergeant!” off he went for round 2 as Gindle discarded
the exhaust sample.
Once
again, Gindle acted like the private should have known what a soft spot sounded
like. The funny thing is, armor
doesn’t have soft spots. The
integrity can be compromised by bullets, RPG’s, IED’s or rolling the vehicle
over, but nothing that goes “squish.”
Fuck-fuck
games were endless as an FNG.
Until you had the guts to call out a higher-ranking soldier, you were
fresh meat. Another example is making
a bad word sound like a legitimate nomenclature for equipment, combining it
with a particular higher rank and sending a private off to find it in the
direction of a person with that exact rank.
“Hey slap-nuts. Yeah, you,” SSG Fergie began.
“Moving sergeant!” Golden replied.
“Go over to sergeant Vines and tell ‘em I need a PRC E-6.”
“Huh?”
“HUH?! A PRC E-6! You don’t know what a ‘Prick E-6’ is? It’s an important part to our comms and as
a scout you better learn what the fuck it is! Hooooly shit, private!”
Good ole Golden hadn’t caught a
grasp of the rank system yet. He
was under the impression that a PRC E-6 was a piece of radio equipment. PRC was just a made up nomenclature
that was pronounced ‘Prick’ and E-6 was SSG Vines pay grade. Off Golden went towards the scariest
Staff Sergeant in the unit.
“Sergeant Vines?” Golden murmured.
“Wha?” Vines grunted as his Ragin’ Cajun self spit some dip
into a cup adding to his intimidation factor.
“I need to get a… Prick E-6?”
“Whad yew cawll me?”
“Nothing, I just need a Prick E-6,” still not getting it as
we all started to look in horror.
“Naw who sent yew?”
“Sergeant Fergie, sergeant.”
Vines looked towards Fergie and smiled, nodding his head as
if to say, “Well played, Fergie, well played indeed.”
“Well I guess you found one Golden. Sucks to be you. Just
start beatin’ your face.”
And the pushups commenced as Golden then realized he just
called a NCO a prick right to his face.
There ya go, just let it sink in.
He might not be smart but at least he’ll get strong along the way.
When you combine being naïve with a high motivation level,
you get all kinds of results. I
was caught up in one such event and it was a failure of epic proportions. My platoon was about to train in the
field for a few days as the sun was setting at Fort Lewis. Yes, I said the Sun, or B.O.B. (bright
orange ball) and it happened to be the first time I got to be in the gunner’s
hatch. I knew very little about
the .50 cal at the time and never even touched the thermal sights that had to
be installed on top of the weapon to accurately fire at night, which was upon
us very quickly. What’s even worse
is that I didn’t know how to mount the equipment that attached the thermal to
the weapon. Now why didn’t I know
how to efficiently operate this equipment? Aw yes, because my first-line supervisor was a turd that
never taught me anything.
“Eh Vancey-poo,” Shmiddie chirped.
“Sergeant?”
“Yeah go ahead and put the PAS-13 up.”
“I’ve never seen the mount for it before and don’t know how
it goes, sergeant.”
“Well it’s getting dark so just… figure it out ya food
stamp.”
I realize a monkey could probably
do this task, but if you’ve never seen the mount, it actually looks backwards
when properly attached to the .50 cal.
Fuck it. I’m a motivated
go-getter that gets shit done and if he’s not going to teach me, then I’m going
to tear this weapon to pieces in defiance… then play dumb. I took out my military issued Gerber
and went nuts. I got the mount on
in a way that looked normal. The
bad news is that it was at the expense of the rear metal sights which were
attached to a plate that was internally attached to a part of the weapon that
makes it go, ‘pew, pew, pew’ or more
accurately, ‘thun, thun, thun, thun,
thun.’
“Sergeant Shmiddie, we have a problem.”
“How’s that? You’re my Vancey-poo.”
Cheesy terms of endearment… not helping your case for worst leader ever, buddy.
“I had to unscrew the rear sight plate to make the mount
fit.”
“It aint called a rear sight plate.”
“Well then that thingy
right there.”
“You fuckin’ smart ass. You’re so cute when you’re pissed.”
I just stared with a face that can only be described as,
“When my patience runs out, your face is going to hurt.”
“Vance, these screws are supposed to be permanently stamped
in and a Gerber can’t get them out.”
“I’m telling ya that’s all I did.”
“Well I’m not that pissed even though you deadlined the
weapon, ‘cause I ain’t ever seen someone do this. I mean, never.”
Thanks for the poor English lesson.
“Soooo am I in trouble.”
“Nah I’ll make somethin’ up for Pons. Just put up the 240.
And shit man, next time just ask for help.”
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