User:Cyberherbalist/Sandbox

This is my sandbox.

I Help Train Some Infantrymen

This was back in 1977 or so when I was an E-3 in our company's weapons platoon at Ft. Lewis, WA, 9th Infantry Division. It was during the summer, and our infantry company was holding a night training exercise out in the bushes of Ft. Lewis. This only involved the line platoons, and the weapons platoon was not involved, but for some reason the First Sergeant tapped my platoon sergeant to help keep him from getting lonely at the company Tactical Operations Center (TOC). And because I was the platoon leader's driver, my platoon sergeant tapped me to drive him out there. Great. Just what I wanted to do. And just to keep it real, he made me sign out my weapon with blank-firing attachment (BFA) and a magazine of blanks. So I would have to clean the darned thing when I got back, apparently. I wasn't supposed to be involved in the exercise, and I have no idea why he couldn't have driven the jeep himself.

There was a radio to monitor the platoons, but the Old Man's radio-telephone operator (RTO) manned that, so once the TOC tent was set up, my job was to sit there and be bored. We had gotten there towards evening while it was still light, with the night attacks to kick off around 2 am or so. The three line platoons were set up in a triangle, about 1 km from each other. 1st platoon was to attack 2nd platoon, 2nd platoon was to attack 3rd platoon, and 3rd platoon was to attack 1st platoon. Two squads from each platoon would attack and one squad of each was to defend. The point of the exercise was to practice night attack techniques. It was overcast, so no moonlight. Pitch dark. And this was in a deeply forested part of Fort Lewis.

So the First Sergeant and my platoon sergeant just sat there in the light of the Coleman lamp and shot the breeze. For hours. I was rather ticked off about the injustice of it all, but then it occurred to me that I could have a little fun. After announcing my intention to get some sleep, as 2 am approached, I headed off towards where I knew one of the platoons were sitting. As I approached a particular road junction a couple hundred meters from the TOC, I saw (or rather heard) that they were actually using the road as an assembly area. So I went down the road a little bit towards them, and still only hearing them, I let off a burst of blanks at full auto. Immediately I ran back towards the junction, which had a raised triangular patch of grass and brush about fifteen feet in diameter, and a couple of feet higher than the road, around which the road ran, and plonked myself in the middle of it.

Pandemonium ensued, and they apparently thought their attacking platoon had jumped the gun and attacked them early. And they scattered! It wasn't long before they sent a few guys down the road to see who had fired at them, but I just laid there and kept my peace. Eventually I fell asleep, awaking a couple of hours later (it was still dark). I walked back to the company TOC and got into my sleeping bag for real.

In the morning everyone went back to the cantonment area, the exercise having concluded. Later, I found out that I had totally blown that platoon's attempt to carry out their attack. Some of their guys had ran off into the bush (trying a counterattack?) and had gotten lost (noise and light discipline, you know), and they spent a couple of hours reassembling for their attack. I don't know if it ever came off. Nobody got hurt in this event, though some were embarrassed. I was rather pleased with myself.

Did they ever find out who was responsible for this mess? Nope. Nobody even so much as questioned me about it. I guess the platoon sergeant never thought I could have been involved, since I told him I was going to get some shuteye just as I wandered off. And I did get some shuteye. After a quick bit of messing around.

Guarding the Artillery Ammunition

Some time after I had been transferred to the 9th Infantry Division Artillery (Divarty), I was commanding a guard post over a field ammo depository out in the middle of Nowheresville, Fort Lewis. This was back around 1979. I had about ten guys in my detachment.

It was sometime in late morning. We had been out there all day and all night, and were supposed to have been relieved six hours before, but the relieving unit had completely lost the plot. Our field phone was nonfunctional, and I'd sent out a runner to try to get ahold of somebody, when suddenly the full-bird colonel division artillery commander shows up in his jeep to check us out. Oh, yes, we were all alert, as it was daytime, but I had relaxed discipline and allowed anyone not actually standing sentry to just chill. We looked like a ragbag after the all-nighter. I saluted the bird in what was at the time rather informal attire -- yes, I had relaxed, too -- and he swings out and has a skeptical look at us, while the Divarty command sergeant major addresses me:

"Sgt Clark, what the hell is going on here?"

"Well, Sergeant Major, we're six hours past our relief and they seem to have forgotten we're out here!"

Anyway, the ball had been dropped by more than just the relieving battery. The folks at the other end of the field phone should have checked out why they hadn't heard a communication check from us for several hours, and my battery headquarters should have been wondering where we were, but apparently they were too busy studying field manuals. I understand that after Divarty got word back to the battalion headquarters, A Battery cobbled together a relief detachment as quickly as they could. By the time we were relieved and had gotten back, my battery commander was partly amused, partly dismayed. He greeted me thusly:

"Sgt Clark! Why do I feel my career passing before my eyes?"

I couldn't figure out why he was worried. The only ball I had dropped was to look a little sloppy in front of the big bird. The ammo was safe, after all, and it was some other idiot who was actually in trouble. Battery A's First commander or First Sergeant, probably, as they were the ones who were supposed to have relieved us. Later it occurred to me that my own battery headquarters had gotten in trouble, too, since they had apparently forgotten that we were still out there.