— JAN GETTING
After a few rough years, my cousins and their son Jim decided it’d be best if he tried the rigid structure of the military. Since he’d never been one for following rules, we wondered how he’d adjust. It wasn’t long before we got our answer. Once he’d completed basic training, he took a two-day drive across the country to his new assignment. Mid-morning on the second day, my cousin was surprised to receive a call from his son, who was still at his hotel. “Why aren’t you on the road yet?” he asked. “Well, I’m all ready to go, Dad,” Jim replied,“but the sign on the door says, ‘Checkout at 11 A.M.’”
— KEN LYNCH
Our air national guard unit conducted weapons-qualifying at the firing range. We had been issued our last round of ammo and were firing at the silhouettes, when a gust of wind ripped the targets from their frames and they fluttered away. Firing stopped as we looked to the range officials. “Keep shooting, boys,” a voice yelled. “We’ve got ’em on the run now!”
— CHRIS B. WITTEK
While stationed at Fort Rucker, Ala., where helicopter pilots are trained, I learned to identify the different copters by their sound alone. Early one morning, I was awakened when one buzzed my barracks. I ran through the possibilities, but couldn’t identify it. Intrigued by what kind of helicopter it could be, I sprinted to the window just in time to see the single engine, twin-bladed main rotor lawn mower come into view.
— KAREN BOEHLER
We were using live ammunition during maneuvers in Germany when a phosphorus flare fell short, coming perilously close to me and some of my buddies. We did what most people do under such circumstances—we ran for our lives. “Get back to your weapons!” shouted the officer in charge. “Why are you men running?” As one private ran past him, he answered the officer, “Because we can’t fly, sir.”
— MYRON EPSTEIN
After completing medical officers basic training, I was assigned to a small Army post in a Boston suburb. I arrived after dark and was directed to my quarters. The next morning a noncommissioned officer escorted me to the commander’s office. As we exited the barracks, I looked toward Massachusetts Bay and noticed the back of a large curved device supported by a labyrinth of steel girders. Anxious to impress the NCO with my new knowledge of the Army’s air-defense system, I pointed to the structure and said, “So that’s our primary target acquisition radar?” “No, sir,” the sergeant replied. “That’s the back of the drive-in movie screen.”
— SOURCE UNKNOWN
A pair of night-vision goggles sets Uncle Sam back a pretty penny. So just before night maneuvers, as my son-in-law handed a pair to a young private with a reputation for losing things, he warned, “Hold on to these!” Afterward, my son-in-law ran into the private, who said, “I have good news and bad news.” “You lost those goggles?” “No, of course not.” “So what’s the bad news?” “I lost the Humvee.”
— CONNIE STACY
The Art of Communication
As a department head stationed on a Navy vessel, I was concerned about one of my senior enlisted men. He was a superb technician, but he had a problem taking orders. One day I took him aside and suggested he try something that had worked for me. “Whenever an officer gives you a directive that you think is stupid,” I told him, “just say, ‘Yes, sir.’ But in your mind, think, ‘You’re an idiot!’ Will this work for you?” He smiled at me and replied, “Yes, sir!”
— LEO KING
My thick Southern accent is often a source of miscommunication. One night while driving through base housing, I saw four skunks crossing the road. The next day I told my supervisor what I saw. “So did you get Tom Hanks’ autograph?” he asked. “Excuse me?” I said, puzzled. “Didn’t you say you saw Forrest Gump in base housing last night?”
— ERIC GRUBBS
The base’s public-address system is the simplest way to call the troops—just shout out the soldiers’ last names, tell them where they’re needed, and they’ll hustle right over. But there was some head-turning the day I summoned these two privates to assist the chaplain: “Pope, Paul, please report to the orderly room.“
— GREG KNOBLOCK
My wife, Dolores, never quite got the hang of the 24-hour military clock. One day she called the orderly room and asked to speak with me. The person who answered told her to call me at the extension in the band rehearsal hall. “He can be reached at 4700, ma’am,” the soldier advised. With a sigh of exasperation, my wife responded, “And just what time is that?”
— ERIC D. ERICKSON
One night at McChord Air Force Base in Washington, I was dispatched to check out the security fence where an alarm had gone off. The fence was at the end of the base runway. When I got to the scene, I found that a raccoon was the culprit, so I ran around and flapped my arms to scare off the animal. Suddenly an air-traffic controller came over the public-address system and announced loudly, “Attention to the airman at the end of the runway. You are cleared for takeoff.”
— CHAD BLAKE
As his destroyer entered fabled Pearl Harbor, my friend stood alongside a cocky lieutenant and the Hawaiian harbor pilot. “So tell me,” said the lieutenant to the pilot, “is your state pronounced ‘Huh-WI-ee’ or ‘Huh-VI-ee’?” “We say ‘Huh-VI-ee,’ “ the pilot answered. “And that sign over there,” asked the lieutenant, pointing ashore, “is it pronounced ‘Pi-Pee-Lie-Nee’?” “You could say it that way,” said the pilot. “But we Huh-VI-ans usually just say ‘Pipeline.’”
— BRUCE CLARK
My helicopter aircrew was into its seventh hour of flying replenishment missions to Navy battle groups off the coast of Sicily when we approached a ship for landing, only to be told we had to circle overhead. Just as I was beginning to get nervous because we were running low on fuel, my crew chief asked me to fly down and hover alongside the ship’s bridge. I obliged and I could see the captain of the ship look at us, then frantically pick up the phone. Within seconds we were given clearance to land. “What did you do?” I asked the crew chief, amazed. “Not much,” he answered nonchalantly. “I just held their mailbag out the door.”
— KIM SHELDON
Rocks and Other Difficulties
My parents scoffed, but I knew my college degree in geology would come in handy one day. It was during basic training, at Sheppard Field, Texas, and I was pulling KP duty. When the sergeant asked me what I did in civilian life, I proudly announced that I was a geologist. “Good. I’m looking for someone with your background,” he said, while dropping a bulging sack onto the table. “You’ve got just the right qualifications to pick the rocks out of this hundred pounds of beans.”
— RALPH NICHOLS
* * *
While stationed with the Strategic Air Command, I found a memo typed on official letterhead. At the bottom of the letterhead was our motto:
“Peace is our profession.” Beneath that, someone had added: “Bombing is only a hobby.”
— DAVID FRENCH
* * *
While a friend and I were visiting at Annapolis, we noticed there were several students on their hands and knees assessing the courtyard with pencils and clipboards in hand. “What are they doing?” I asked our tour guide. “Each year,” he replied with a grin, “the upperclassmen ask the freshmen how many bricks it took to finish this courtyard.” “So what’s the answer?” my friend asked him when we were out of earshot of the freshmen. The guide replied simply, “One.”
— GREGORY BOKENKAMP
“Don’t worry, these sand storms never last more than an hour.”
Out of the navy and ready to buy my own home, I filled out the veterans loan forms and mailed them away. But what I didn’t realize was that I had placed the forms in the envelope containing a lock of hair from my two-year-old son’s first haircut. Two weeks later I received this note: “Enclosed is your loan certificate. Reg
ardless of what you were told, we really don’t need a sample of your DNA.”
— FRANCIS T. JIMMIS
The first thing I noticed when I picked up my clothes from the off-base laundry was that they reeked. So the next week, I sent my clothes over with a note complaining, “My laundry had a peculiar musty odor when I got it back.” When my clothes were returned, I found the following appended to my note: “How do you think it smelled when we got it?”
— ROBERT EDDY
When I was stationed in Würzburg, Germany, I ran several miles every day along the beautiful Main River. Once, several fellow lieutenants, all men, joined me. For the first half of the run I was able to keep up with them. However, on the return I started to fall behind. “How are you doing back there?” one of the guys called. “Fine,” I replied. I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t keep up with their fast pace, so looking past the river to the vineyard-covered hills, I said, “I’m just enjoying the view.” One lieutenant, running easily in his skimpy nylon shorts, hollered back, “Thanks!”
— VIRGINIA B. TAYLOR
When my Navy Medical Reserve Unit was called up for Operation Desert Storm, I was awakened by a phone call at three o’clock on a Sunday morning with the order to report for duty in four hours for processing. After I hung up the phone, my husband groggily asked, “Who was that?” “Oh, honey,” I moaned, thinking of our 15-month-old child, “I have to go to war!” “Don’t worry,” he said as he rolled over, “It’s Sunday, and the traffic won’t be bad.”
— LINDA P. DEMARCHE
My former boyfriend, Duncan, was an officer in the Naval Reserve. One day while stopped at a red light, his car was rear-ended. As the other driver, a sailor, approached, his eyes widened when he saw the lieutenant’s uniform. “It gets even better,” Duncan said with a smirk. “I’m also a lawyer.”
— BATYAH CHLIEK
Friends of ours were driving along the road one day when they collided with a camouflaged Army truck. Everyone was okay, but when asked by the soldiers what had happened, our friends told them, “We just never saw you coming.”
— ANGIE MANSFIELD
Aboard the USS Tarawa for six months, my brother, Don, posted a picture of his beloved truck in his locker. Since his fellow Marines had pictures of their girlfriends up, they often ridiculed him for his object of adoration. “Laugh all you want,” Don told them. “At least my truck will still be there when I get home!”
— SHERRY TOMBOC
As I guided an elderly safety inspector on a trip around an oil rig out at sea, I invited him to take the helm. “Turn to port,” I said, adding, “that’s left to you. Now, turn starboard—that means right.” Having circled the rig, I joked, “Now, give the boat back to the driver.” As he did so, I asked him about his career. “Navy,” he said. “Twenty years. Submarines.” Then he leaned in. “I was the driver.”
— BRUCE MILLAR
Respectfully Submitted
I was sending out military recruitment pitches when I found one addressed to a guy named “Lord.” When I filled in the form letter, it read, thanks to some strange computer glitch, “Dear Lord, I need to speak to you as soon as possible regarding your service to your country.” I laughed and mailed it off. Weeks later, the letter was returned with a note: “The Lord doesn’t live here. If you find his address, let me know. I also need to speak with him.”
— MATTHEW WELDY
During basic training, our drill sergeant asked all Jewish personnel to make themselves known. Six of us tentatively raised our hands. Much to our relief, we were given the day off for Rosh Hashanah. A few days later, in anticipation of Yom Kippur, the sergeant again asked for all Jewish personnel to identify themselves. This time, every soldier raised his hand. “Only those who were Jewish last week can be Jewish this week,” declared the sergeant.
— ALLEN ISRAEL
I was on board the USS Kitty Hawk when we docked in the Sri Lankan capital, Colombo. One morning, as the local fishing fleet passed by on its way out to sea, a boat came too close to our ship. A Marine held up a sign warning the captain to stay away, and he complied. But the next day, the boat was back. This time, the fisherman held something. The nervous Marine pointed to his rifle. The fisherman lifted the object and unfurled it, revealing a sign of his own. In perfect English it read “Your Sign Is Upside Down.”
— KEVIN MELIA
The sweat dripping off my brow gave away my secret: I dreaded giving blood. “This’ll only take 15 minutes,” said the nurse on our base. Pointing to a judge advocate general also donating a pint, I said, “She’s been here longer than that.” Another donor interjected, “That’s because she’s used to taking blood, not giving it.”
— NATE SMITH
* * *
Our bomb squad commander at Fort Lewis, Washington, was testifying in court about a traffic accident. When the prosecutor began questioning her, the captain suddenly lost her voice. “I’m sorry,” she said to the judge. “I guess I’m nervous.” “You’re nervous?” laughed the judge. “And what exactly is it you do again?”
— LT. DIANA MANCIA
* * *
Although I knew our commanding officer hated doling out weekend passes, I thought I had a good reason. “My wife is pregnant and I want to be with her,” I told the CO. Much to my surprise, he said, albeit curtly, “Permission granted.” Inspired by my success, a fellow soldier also requested a weekend pass. His wife wasn’t pregnant. So when the CO asked why he should grant him permission, my friend responded, “My wife is getting pregnant this weekend and I want to be with her.”
— DOUG LADLE
My father, a retired Air Force pilot, often sprinkles his conversation with aviation jargon. I didn’t realize what flying had meant to him, however, until the day he showed me the folder with his last will and testament. It was labeled “Cleared for departure.”
— CHERYL E. DRAKE
As the commander made his way up front to speak, tension was high. Plans to move the Camp Lejeune Marines north for cold-weather exercises could all be for naught. “General,” an officer spoke up, “there’s no snow in the forecast.” The general called out to a member of his battle staff. “Chaplain, I believe that’s your department.” “With all due respect, sir,” said the chaplain, “I’m in sales, not production.”
— BO RUSSELL
Getting Real
Some people are extremely impressed when you tell them you’re a Navy SEAL. Case in point: my grandson’s pre-kindergarten class. It was career day, and I was regaling them with stories of my exploits in the military. After I finished, hands shot up in the air. The kids were fascinated and eager to ask questions. “So,” asked one little girl, “can you balance a ball on your nose?”
— G.A. DAVIS
I was working at the base exchange one busy day when the line grew quite long. There was much grumbling among those waiting, but one man made light of the situation. He approached a woman who was obviously very pregnant and tapped her on the shoulder. “Would you mind my asking a personal question?” he said. “Were you pregnant when you got in this line?”
— JAN BOILEAU
My father, an Air Force Academy graduate, still retains a strict military code of ethics as well as a quick wit. One day I mentioned that I was thinking about getting my bellybutton pierced. “No way!” my father fired back. “This is an Air Force family—no navel destroyers are allowed!”
— SARAH BLOMQUIST
* * *
On the wall of the mess hall of one Marine Corps base:
“This food must be good. Ten thousand flies can’t be wrong!”
— JOE TURMAN
* * *
I was golfing with a soldier who had just returned from Afghanistan. His plans included becoming a greens keeper once he was discharged in a few months. He applied to a local college for its
golf course superintendent program, but the department chair worried that he might not be up for the job. “It’s stressful,” he said. “You have to fight the weather, insects and demanding club members.” “Will anyone be shooting at me while I mow the grass?” asked the soldier. “Of course not.” “I’ll take the job.”
— BILL BAILEY
Upon retiring from the service, my husband, Don, needed a new ID card showing he had gone from active duty to retirement status. But the photo taken of him was not particularly good. And he wasn’t at all quiet about it. “If I have to carry that ID around with me for the rest of my life,” he complained to the photographer, “I want a better picture!” “Want a better picture?” asked the photographer defiantly. “Then bring a better face.”
— NANCY WALLIS
Flying into a Middle East Airport, my copilot and I reviewed our flight plan for the trip back to the USS Enterprise. We were to pick up a Navy captain, and experience had taught me that even seasoned vets turn white-knuckled during carrier landings. Once the captain was strapped in, I turned around to welcome him on board. “Sir,” I asked, “will this be your first carrier landing?” Looking at me with disdain, he opened his inflatable vest to display gold wings above five rows of ribbons. “Son,” he said, “I have over 500 carrier landings in jet fighters.” “That’s good to hear,” my copilot said, winking at me, “because this will be our first.”
— KENNETH J. TONELLI
I recently returned to work after a year abroad with the Army Reserve. On my first day back, a visitor from headquarters took me aside. “How are you?” he asked, looking concerned. “Do you feel all right?” “I’m fine,” I replied, nonplussed. “Great!” he said. “I heard that you were away from work for a year because you were in a wreck.” It took a minute before it dawned on me what he meant. “Iraq,” I said finally. “I’ve just come back from I-raq.”
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