Weekday warriors Part 3: Same Old Song & Dance

By Mike Brown

Join the Army. See the World. Drive a tank!
Pat O’Neil had been fascinated with tanks for as long as he could remember, so joining the Army when he graduated from high school in 1975 seemed pretty natural to him. Jake Leibermann “knew from nothing about tanks”, but he was fairly certain that Israel would need another tank crewman more than they’d need one more tailor. Andy Pritchardt was a sixth generation Army brat who had forgotten more about tanks than many career Army guys knew and... he could roll a joint one handed. Three totally different guys with almost nothing in common meet at the crossroads and when it’s all over, none of them will be the same.
It’s about life, it’s about making friends, falling in love... and it’s ALL about the tanks...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Brown
• Release date: Jan 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465930255

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Weekday Warriors

Part 3 – Same old song and dance

By

Mike Brown

Published by BigPencilGroup on Smashwords

Weekday Warriors Part 3– Same old song and dance, Copyright © 2011 by Mike Brown

If Grafenwohr is, as the Germans call it `the land beyond the moon', Wildflecken is one of the moons of Jupiter. At Graf, you sleep in barracks that were probably built for the German Army during WWII. The latrines are at the end of the row of barracks, but at least they’re heated, with showers. At `Wildchicken' you sleep in GP Medium tents. The latrines are outhouses and the shower point is several miles away by truck. The nearest PX or telephone might as well be on one of Jupiter’s moons. You're lucky if you see the PX once in two weeks.

Ever slept in a tent in February? In a place where the wind has teeth and claws, and wild boars the size of VW Bugs wander the countryside at will? Visit beautiful Wildflecken sometime.

We arrived early on Tuesday morning and got right down to the business at hand. Off-Cycle gunnery isn't as involved as On-Cycle gunnery, which includes the Tank Crew Qualification Course (TCQC). It's also a lot shorter firing-wise.

Gunnery is the only time that guys like Jake come into their own as part of the tank crew. During a tactical exercise like a REFORGER, the gunner generally functions as a relief driver, since no actual shooting is going on. The tank commanders can put the turret on TC Override and do what the Vietnam vets call `shoot from the hip'.

Jake really enjoyed gunnery, even in an armpit like Wildflecken. He cheered up pretty fast. We had given a mailing address to the girls and got a pretty regular flow of mail while we were away. Nice mail, too. Letters with lots of perfume on chick paper. One piece of mail in particular, however, made Jake a celebrity.

We had been there eight days. The crews of 12, 13 and 15 were sitting in the coffee tent near the base of the range control tower. We all had already finished shooting our last stationary day sets. Moving target and night fire were all that was left to shoot. There was no sense in sitting in a tank parked on the firing line or a holding area with the heater running when you could sit in a tent, smoke, have a cup of lousy coffee and get at least sort of comfortable. Not even if you had a brand new heater that put out enough hot air to defrost the whole of Central Europe. Moody, me, Ty and Cliff were ready to put Smokey's uncle in for sainthood. The entire time we'd been there the temperature hadn't come above freezing.

Jake was tied for first place and our platoon was third overall. There was a `Win, Place, Show' pool going for top three crews, with about $100 per crew invested, so we were looking at a tidy sum of cash for the winners and seven, five and three day passes for the top three platoons.

A figure bundled up in full winter field uniform including a parka with hood let a blast of freezing wind in as he entered the tent. An O.D. laundry bag dangled from one gloved hand.

Hey! Smokey looked up from a dog-eared car magazine. Shut the fuckin' door, man!

At least one member of 1st platoon doesn’t want their mail, I take it? The intruder, our company clerk Jerry Lee, flipped his hood back, set the bag down on a table and opened it flat, revealing bundled letters, magazines and one small package.

Well come on in and sit a spell, neighbor, old buddy, old pal, old chum, Smokey said. Have a seat by the fire. Help yourself to some coffee. Mail, you say?

No, I won't stay. I don't believe in slumming. But I'll leave you your mail and let you know that it's the last mail you'll get till you're back to the Hill.

He set out mail on the table in front of the Boss, slung the empty bag over one shoulder and strolled out, pulling his hood up and letting in a little more cold air as he left. The Boss started looking through the mail. We got up and clustered around.

I got a letter from Monica, one from my folks and a new copy of Hot Rod magazine. Jake got a letter from his folks and a small package from Ilsa. It was a little bigger than two packs of cigarettes.

Gimmie your Buck knife, Pat, she's got this taped up solid. I passed over my knife and he sawed away at the tape for a minute till he hit cardboard. When he got it open he pulled out a small folded up piece of black satin cloth. A perfume began to fill the tent. Nice perfume. Strong perfume, strong enough to overpower the combined stink of diesel, burnt cordite, mildewed canvas, cigarettes and un-bathed tanker.

Jake looked at me and grasped one corner of the folded cloth with his right thumb and forefinger, holding his left hand to catch anything inside the cloth as it unfolded. Only a slip of paper floated out.

I choked on my swig of coffee. The satin cloth was a pair of black women’s bikini panties, black lace trimmed in red and a little red bow on the front of the waistband.

Jake gaped and started acting like a beached fish for a few seconds, then held them up with both hands. Smokey looked over from the next table and whistled.

Well I'll be dipped in shit! Look at that!

The Boss sniffed at the perfume in the air and turned in his chair, doing a double take when he saw what Jake was holding up in stunned disbelief.

Damn! I did two tours in Nam and mama never sent me anything like that, either tour. Course, He chuckled, if she did it now, she'd need a little bit bigger package than that. There's a little more of her to love these days.

I remember you in Nam, Ray. Griff laughed. There's more of you now, too.

Being at Wildflecken had given me a chance to think a little about Monica and me. The only real frame of reference I had was the great love of my life, Carol. Monica and I seemed to have a lot in common. We liked being around each other even out of bed. The sex was wonderful, of course, but I’d been telling the truth when I told Willi I’d have hung around with Monica anyway. We liked a lot of the same things. Neither of us was big party people. Looking back, about all Carol and I had in common was that we went to the same school. I don't think I ever saw her open a book unless it was for school. The more I thought about it, the more I had to agree with what Smokey had said when Carol Dear John-ed me during Basic. I could and had done better down the road.

Tuesday evening we convoyed in to the railhead at what passed for `main post' at Wildflecken. After we got the tracks loaded and tied down we got to use the showers and eat at the mess hall of the transportation outfit that ran the place. They had a small EM/NCO club where most of us wound up after dinner. Jake had spotted a pay phone on the way to the railhead and we detoured past there first. Several other guys, Sergeant Bennett and the C.O. included, had the same idea.

I think it is a measure of how much someone means to you if you will stand around in freezing weather waiting to use a pay phone to talk to them. We waited about three cigarettes. But when I finally got to talk to Monica, I forgot all about how cold it was.

Hi, doll, it's me.

Pat? How are you! Have you been getting my letters?

I miss you. The last mail we got came Saturday.

I miss you, too. When will you be back?

We'll be pulling in real early tomorrow morning. Boss says we'll be off by 4 PM. We'll meet you after work down the street like usual. Is that OK?

Wonderful! I… I think we should go to the Red Door for a while, until about 9 or so, and let Ilsa and Jake have a little privacy. I feel very bad about the other night, she giggled a bit, but it was just too funny! I have apologized to Ilsa for a week. Did Jake get a package yet?

Yeah, he got it. What about me? I pouted, You didn't send me anything like that. I'm jealous.

I did not think you needed any help with that. Sometimes I think that is all you think about.

Something about being around a certain foxy blonde named Monica does that to me. Besides, you don't seem to mind too much.

I never said it bothered me, I just said that it is all you think about. She paused. I could almost feel the blush through the phone. I feel the same way about you.

We're not going to stay at the Red Door too late, are we? I asked. Jake tapped me on the shoulder.

The guys behind us are getting grouchy, Pat. Let me talk to Ilsa for a minute and we'll get out of here.

I nodded. I gotta go, doll, this is an outside pay phone and there's a line. Put Ilsa on. See you tomorrow night. I handed Jake the phone.

A few minutes later we were sitting in the club, drinking the recommended local special, hot chocolate spiked with 180 proof Austrian rum. Two of these was plenty for me. Jake even nursed one. It definitely took the chill off the evening.

The word about the panties had spread through the company and then the battalion faster than a cold in a kindergarten class. At about 9 PM almost a dozen guys, led by Smokey and Horse, surrounded Jake where he was perched on a barstool. They got down on their knees, raised their hands over their heads and began bowing and chanting like natives sacrificing to a volcano in some cheap adventure movie.

Oh, Great Studley, God of Love! Tell us the Secret! Show us How! Oh, Great Studley...

Chapter Forty

We got to Boot Hill about 0630 the next morning. The cooks had breakfast ready to go when we started coming off the train.

After any gunnery type field problem is a three-day period known as Recovery. You clean everything you got dirty and fix everything you broke. You clean all the weapons once a day for three days. This may not sound like much, but cleaning the main gun on an M-60 series tank is a three or four man job.

We spent the morning in the motor pool, punching out the gun tubes, making lists of broken or missing equipment and cleaning. A five-man detail cleaned all the machine guns at one time up in the day room. After lunch, we did the same thing for a couple of hours, then the Boss took us up to the barracks at about 1400.

We will spend the next two hours on maintenance of personal equipment. Married personnel living off post are released at this time. As for you guys who live in the billets, you can go to the PX, the snack bar, go get a haircut, do your laundry, do anything on post. No one, The Boss looked right at Jake, then at me, I repeat, NO ONE, is to leave this post until 1600. At 1601, you may go out the gate like a big assed bird, but not before. Is that quite clear?

There was a ragged murmured chorus of Uh-huh, Yo, Boss and Roger That.

Further, we will all be back here to put in another days work at 0730 tomorrow morning, regardless of how tired we are. he looked at Jake again. Is that quite clear?

Another chorus.

Studley?

Yes, Boss. Jake sighed, 0730, ready to go to work.

Excellent. As of 1600 hours, you are all dismissed. Now beat it.

By 1530, Jake was showered, shaved and in civilian clothes, alternating between pacing and sitting on the end of his bunk smoking. We had actually gotten most of our initial cleaning done. I was deliberately taking my time, partly to irritate Jake.

Will you pick it up, Pat? It's almost 1600!

It's barely 1530, and I need to stop at the PX for smokes, anyway. Besides, it'd be just like the Boss to sit over next to the gate at the NCO club and make note of anybody who books up before 1600. Roger that?

Jake nodded.

On top of which, if we leave here on the mark at 1600, we're at the banhof by about 1615.

Uh huh. So?

Next train to Gremersheim after that leaves Bad Kirtdorf at 1635, gets us to Gremersheim no later than 1700. Kamerads train isn't late. With me so far?

Yeah, yeah. Make your point.

We find ourselves in Gremersheim at 5:00 PM real time, and our girlfriends don't get off work until 5:30. They are about a ten minute walk from the Banhof. I looked at my watch. If we left right now, we could probably make the train at 1600, we'd be in Gremersheim by about 1630, with an hour to kill.

Ok, Jake sighed, so I'm a little bit keyed up.

A little? You remind me of our Labrador retriever Tina during bird season. She goes nuts anytime someone opens the closet we keep the guns in.

Ok, a lot keyed up. Do you blame me?

Only because you're acting like you were going to the dentist instead of to spend the night with your girlfriend for the first time.

That bad, huh?

Pretty bad.

The door opened and Smokey came in. He spied Jake and did a low bow.

O great Studley! An offering from you faithful flock!

He tossed Jake a box of rubbers.

The box bounced off Jake’s chest as he jumped up and cocked a fist. Asshole!

Smokey jumped back. Hey, mellow out, man! We didn't mean anything bad. We just don't want you to be a daddy till you're ready, you know? Ilsa's a nice chick, man, especially for a little shrimp like you to have picked up on. She's nuts about you, and I have no doubt you are going where no man has gone before. You two belong together. He pointed to the rubbers. But till you're dead solid, 100% sure, don't take chances. Not if she's not taking the pills, man.

Sorry, Smokey. Jake relaxed like a balloon deflating. You're right. I have to think about shit like that. He bent down and picked up the box, stowing it in a jacket pocket. Thanks, man.

Hey, no sweat, I understand. Smokey turned and headed back out the door. Have a good time, huh?

A few