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Your Funniest/ Favorite War Stories

Yeah Korus, what was up with your course? I heard you guys got cocked because it was full of plugs (present company excluded of course). Your PL comd must have had something to prove ;-)... As for me, I had a delightful time in WATC this summer...


Originally posted by Korus:
[qb] Alrighty, I‘m one of the newish troopies too, so.. well.. yeah.

Anyways, SQ FTX this summer in WATC Wainwright. I was in the Pl that got cocked relentlessley. (For those who were in the other platoons, remember that weekend you guys got off? And *we* where sweeping the ******* roads around the shacks? yeah.. that Pl)

Anyways, we did out FTX beside another platoon, although not togethor. I don‘t even think they where attacked in thier defensive positions once.
[/qb]
 
First of all, i‘m no veteran, but this a story we can all laugh at.
Last winter i was on my winter sq course(reserves) and we were headed out to the bush for our winter indoc( i won‘t reveal where) Anyway, soon we were trudging down a trail, full marching order, wearing snowshoes, and pulling the ‘boggans, despite offers of help from the dozens of skidooers ripping past us. Anyway, the section with the Carl Gustav Gunner (a certain russian troop who will go unnamed for his sake, herein to referred to as ‘russian‘) was a few minutes ahead of our section. After about an hour of this, we looked up to see the section ahead of us come running down the trail past us. Yes, running, with all their kit on snowshoes. The corporal asked their sergeant just what was going on, and this sergeant, with an anger voice mixed with panic, replied "russian forgot the gustav" Oh my ******* god were the first words out of everyone‘s mouth. A couple hours later, Gustav slung with care around said russian‘s neck, one of the troopies told me what happened: they were going down the trail, when the sergeant noticed something just wasn‘t quite right. He stopped the section and stared at them for a few moments when a shocked look came over his face. He asked russian where the gustav was, and instead of telling him that he had left it at hq tent, he simply said ‘i don‘t know‘. The sergeant started screaming, and they ran for their lives, paranoid that perhaps a curious snowmobiler had picked himself up a souvenir from the side of the trail. Anyway, they found the gustav, the sergeant smoked half a pack to calm down, and everything seemed ok. They were punished by the sergeant waking them at 5am, and taking them for ‘a search for the gustav‘ on a hilltop a few km‘s away. However, this was not the end of russian‘s antics. when we were leaving, i happened to be course senior, so i was instructed to get everyone on the bus with weapons, and kit, and we would be on the way home. This would be quite, easy, and was, except for the russian. When everyone was on the bus, and i counted them, i was one short. i went back outside to see russian wandering around the parkinglot frantically scanning the snowbanks for something. Now, he was holding his gustav( he wouldn‘t put the thing down after the first incident) he had his rifle slung, and was wearing his webbing, helmet and kit. He mumbled something about looking for his rounds, but i didn‘t catch what he said. I reassured him his rounds were with the CG assistant on the bus, and to get the **** on before we got in trouble. Just then, this same sergeant wandered over and said ‘what‘s wrong?‘ russian responded " i can‘t find my rifle, sergeant" Both me and the sergeant screamed at him simultaneously "it‘s on your ****** back, you moron!!" everyone on the bus, who was watching this out the window, howls with hysterical laughter, and russian sullenly gets on the bus. The sergeant takes a couple deep breaths, and we sort of look at each other and shake our heads. As we get on the bus, he says to me,"if i was one step closer i would‘ve decked him"
Just one, of many, many hilarious/stupid things that guy did during that course
 
Seems like a common occurance with every course in that there is one ‘Wedge‘ in there somewhere.

MASTERBLASTER....We‘re waiting :D

Regards
 
Kosstro, please, please tell me this numpty was not a Foot Guard. We‘ll never hear the end of it from Michael Dorosh if he was and he sees this post.
 
I heard you guys got cocked because it was full of plugs
Yeah, there where a lot of "individuals" on my course. Most of them where fresh of their basic too so, naturally, they knew everything. I at least had a year with the unit between my BMQ and SQ.. (I didn‘t want to do a part time SQ)

Hey, Kosstro.. is that "russian" who I think it is? (BMQ) ;)
 
Lots of funny ones, here‘s one that‘s not funny, and is burned into my memory.......

I spent a year in the PEIR before going regs. 1977 MILCON, somewhere in Nova Scotia. We were Jeep Recce, and had had a ball roaring around the back country roads. While I had no idea how the "Big Picture" was making out, I did know the smaller stuff. We had been chasing a Highland Regiment for quite sometime, and had finally cornered them in a small copse of trees surrounded by large open fields. There were several fence lines of barbed wire between us and them: getting past us was near impossible. We ground mounted the GPMG‘s in the treeline, and waited to see what would happen. Our "Artillery" started pounding them, and we knew that whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon.

Their mortars threw a smoke screen up halfway between us and them. The smoke soon developed into a lovely screen, blocking our view of the woods entirely.

Suddenly, I could hear the sounds of the pipes loading up, and through the smoke I could see a single piper advancing. Close behind him was the entire Company, advancing in line, bayonets fixed.

It took me several seconds to get my act together- the sound of the MG‘s going off on either side of me brought me back to reality, and we chewed them up.

I still get goose bumps each and every time I remember this.

You may not be able to choose when you‘re going to die, but you can sure as hail choose how.

Cheers-Garry
 
Garry,that derserve‘s a Army Bumper Sticker! :salute:
Never under estimate our Cross Dresser‘s! :D
(I‘m going to get stick for that one) :warstory:
 
This is a gooder!!!

Every one know‘s who Big Bird is?
(that Megafugly yellow thing)

Well back in 78/79 in 1 C.E.R. we‘s in the Field for the usuel 2 month annule Ex.
Well the Officer‘s mascot was Big Bird.


It whent A.W.O.L.!!

All Troop‘s and Sqn.‘s in Order‘s got the info of Big Bird is missing.

All us Sapper‘s are going who‘s got the B*&$h?
Non of us!!

Ransome note with Photo!!!

Big Bird with a 9 M.M. to the head!
x case‘s of beer or the Bird get‘s it!!


All **** let‘s lose!!!
Tent line‘s being searched etc.!!

All the J.R.‘s are being accused but non of us knew anything about it and are getting blamed.

Next Ransome Note with Photo!
Big Bird‘s arm sent and the ransome increased xx case‘s of beer!!


The Officer‘s are going spare!!! :crybaby:

Well to make a long story short.

The last ransome photo and note was Big Bird shot to **** on a range!! :D

What happened was the Reg. Small Arm‘s Shoot Team came in and took the F‘n thing and shot the life out of it !! :D :salute:

And one of the guy‘s who did it I work with him today and only learnt the truth a couple of month‘s ago. :D

Amongst us old Fart‘s from 1 C.E.R. will know about that one!!

Note:Not to be mistaken for our "Big Bird" yes we have a Big Bird in the Engineer‘s.
Good Man!!
 
Wont tell you the Ice ones about me.


OK, but on Ql3 on our 5 day field ex last day, and one night left, where in the defensive, So the other guy and me digging the trench for the HQ, so I dug in a area where one was just covered over, (GOOD THINKING) and it was some hot 35+ and I see a bunch of ppl dropping of somehting to the trenches, Oh good extra ammo, but when they came to us it was popisicles, OMG IAM IAM dreaming, SO I had to lick it, Still though I was Dreaming, So I ate it, then 10mins later another ones comes, HOLY CRAP, This is sweet.


3-4 hours later the Trench is all complete, YAH, not bad for one guy and a Etool :-) Wile the other was on the radio. Durring that night we got bumped, STAND TOO, So where were stilling in our trenches, All messed up from lack of sleeping, start hearing animals sounds, at first we thought we were dreaming. No where wern‘t, So I took the radio, CONTACT, WOOOOT, SO Where in Depth, No firing :-( No dirty Weapon :-)

Then Our OP gets on the radio, saying that there was movment on the road, and permission to engage. Of Course the officer diddn‘t want to give there position away, and told them to just watch. So the OP says they getting closer and against asks to engage, the officer asks how many, he says 8, HMMMM So The officer asks what are they, the OP Says PPL, No officer says What are they Civi or military ( BECUASE PPL SNEAK IN) OP Not sure, Then the officer Asks what they are wearing, OP army fatigues. (SO BINGO THEY OPFOR)

SO I dont know, OP must have been too loud, the enemy bumped them, And I though cops were on, becuase all I heard was repeat I need backup, Repeat I need backup. ( I dont remember but alot of Funny things Said ) Then the radio was Dead, OPPS OP Over run..

Where pissing out selfs in the HQ Trench. Everything went smoothley. in the morning, The OP returns, looking like bags of crap. they were bound and gaged, sandbagged, weapon in pieces, and radio apart. We think someone fell a Sleep. man was it the best night of my life.

I think the pink bunny visited me 2 Durring the attack.

Man QL3 Stories.


Another, Seeing a Training Grenade Fall on the officer Groin From the rafters, And watching Him Try to point It away from the Goods. His face wasn‘t nice.
 
Here‘s another!!

"The Pink Gelly Bean"


Forget what year but I built the Shower‘s and all the plumbing in the Field,we had 15 Fd,5 Tribe RCA along with 6Fd and 44 Fd all in the same area.

The night of the BIG EX. I was stuck in the C.P.

Well I‘m shoonzzing away and letting the young Jimmy‘s monitor the net(about 03 dark)

It was a silent Net for the Ex.

When over the net come‘s!

"Who‘s got The Pink Gelly Bean?"

Well being a good Sapper I wake‘s UP!!
NET ALIVE!!!

First call sign come‘s on and say‘s
"Un called sign stay off net."
It was the Seaforth‘s!


The bugger had all the call sign‘s and answerd them back in a Scot‘s accent and said "Up Your Kilt!!

Next thing was the net whent nut‘s!!

Whoa!! The investigation of who broke radio silence and who was it was un real!

I got interviewed!!


Just bored Militia Plug I guess!!! LOL

It created quite stir that one did!!

Who‘s got the Pink Gelly Bean!! LOL
 
PAGEING MASTER BLASTER

We‘re waiting :D

Regards
 
Hey troops. Just joined the forum and thought that this would be the perfect thread for my first post.

It was one of those rare Northern Norwegian nights where the weather couldn't have been colder. We were 1 RCR and had just entered the tactical phase of a six-week NATO exercise. My section had a standing patrol out, and the rest of us back in the tent came to the conclusion that except for the patrol, there was no reason to venture out into the â “20 air. Well, there was ONE reason.

Try as he might, Cpl. Bloggins (no names, no pack drill) was not going to be able to avoid taking a stroll down the hill to the shi**er. Now the commode, as you have probably surmised, was lacking several features that in civilian life I have come to take for granted, most notably â “ a seat. As time went by, the visible discomfort on Cpl. Bloggins' face began to convey the amount of discomfort that was going on in Cpl. Bloggins' other bits. When the reason for Cpl. Bloggins' distress became known to the rest of the section, we naturally encouraged him (gently) to go on and take care of things. Much hilarity ensued.

Now Cpl. Bloggins was a nasally voiced Newf whose pitch and intonation was such that he could have us all in stitches within five sentences of one of his famous war stories. His main hobby, as far as we could tell, was to eat every unwanted ration in sight. He had augmented this hobby by buying a fair selection of Norwegian cheeses during the non-tactical phase of the ex. and bringing a lot of it with him in his ruck. As we sat around watching the sweat start to run down his ruddy face, we took turns offering helpful suggestions, most having to do with things like corks and 84 mm ordnance. Bloggins himself was most helpful by describing in vivid detail the interesting sensations he was experiencing, punctuated frequently by plaintive interjections like, â Å“Oh jeez!â ? and the odd prayer.

There naturally came a point where internal pressure overcame the desire for warmth and the company of sympathetic comrades. A sudden look of what can only be described as a realization of imminent disaster came over Bloggins' anguished features briefly before he hit the tent's zipper like a madman. Unable in his hurry to manipulate said zipper, he simply lifted the bottom of the tent and rolled out into the freezing night followed by our compassionate howls and barks of laughter. Then he was gone.

For twenty minutes he was gone. Upon his return, the look of pure relief he brought back with him had us busting out again. After the sincere congratulations for his endurance and bravery, Bloggins, with coffee in hand, was again in fine form to begin one of his often-heard tales. He resumed his place near the stove and began to hold forth. About ten minutes into his story, we began to detect a peculiar fragrance, which had not been present before Bloggins' hasty departure earlier. At first, we began accusing one another of excessive flatulence, but no one would admit to anything conclusive. A search for the source was initiated and after much tossing of air mattresses and sleeping bags, there was not one skunk or dead wildebeest to be found.

It was Bloggins who discovered the origin of the odor by turning around to get more coffee and showing us the (now melting) brown stain leaking out through the fabric in the back of his whites.

The following morning we all showed up for sick parade to have the M.O. stitch our asses back on after laughing them off the night before. Our section commander reserved for himself the right to be the one to tell the quartermaster why Bloggins needed new whites and wind pants.

Beaver!
 
And we have a winner. Foxhound, welcome aboard.
Well we‘ve gone from animals, to sex in the shacks, alcohol abuse, and now we‘ve reached it, toilet humour.

I don‘t know about the rest of you but I‘d rather be sitting around a table telling these to each other in person with an endless supply of cold ones. However this will make do untio then.

The domestic niner is giving me dirtyy looks. I‘m supposed to off running errands for an upcoming trip and I‘m sitting here peeing myself I‘m laughing so hard, and I just spewed my cuppa tea over the keyboard with the last one.

Keep it going Franko I think we all needed this. I‘ll try and post a couple more before I take off for a month. Everytime I read one it triggers another similar incident.
 
Ok, I've been reading and loving this thread, it's one of the best one's I've seen in a long time. Had some good laughs over the stories and I figured it was time to contribute...  There may be inaccuracies in this story, but it is told as I remember it.

The night before our Phase IV Infantry grad parade, we had a full blown Mess Dinner at the Officer's Mess in Gagetown. Our instructors made it plenty clear that proper conduct was expected, and while "Behaves at a Mess Dinner" was not a PO (contrary to popular belief) we could still be failed at this late stage. Blame it on being from a â Å“country Regiment,â ? but I probably had a skewed view of what was acceptable at (or after) a Mess Dinner.

We did the usual mingling beforehand and when the call came, we shuffled in and took our assigned seats. The place next to me was reserved for Col Ike Kennedy (of the Airborne) though he hadn't yet shown up. I decided that as his courses arrived, I'd make good with them. Especially the drinks. I sure hoped that he didn't show up at some point and see his half-eaten filet mignon and empty glass.

Well after 10 weeks of slogging away, a great meal and a double load of sherry, wine and port, I was not completely prepared for what came next.

We retired to the basement and sat around talking.

I quickly decided this wasn't how my night was going to end up, and tried to â Å“rally the troopsâ ? to something more interesting. There was mild interest, but cooler heads probably decided they could wait one more day to celebrate. However, my long time partner in crime (who I'll call Lt. â Å“Cohort,â ? though I suspect Doug knows who it is) was ready for action, as was the norm. From different Regiments, we'd been room-mates through all the Phases except this one, and had been the C6 team nearly every time we went to the field.

The next little while was spent coming up with a suitable plan. I don't remember whose idea it was, though I suspect it was the suggestion of an instigator that sealed our fate.

Since grad parade was tomorrow, we thought it would be eminently witty if, when the Leopards dropped their barrels in salute on the drive past, fresh fruit rolled out onto the parade ground. We armed ourselves with apples and oranges from the dinner and promptly left. We made a quick stop at the shacks to change out of our CF's, replacing them with combat pants, our course T-Shirt and generous amounts of cam. As I recall, there was a case of beer on the go as well, so we refuelled before heading out.

Knowing roughly where the vehicle compounds were in relation to our shacks, we plotted a straight line route, taking is directly through one of the only copses of woods in the entire base. (West of J7.) The forest was full of deadfall and stumps but as this is pretty much the norm for any wooded area in Gagetown we weren't slowed from our running pace.

We spent the next while running around the compounds near Range Control, trying in vain to find our tracked targets. It wasn't long before the fun started to wear off, and we decided to amend our plan. Fate had placed us near the Arty compound, where several ADATS were parked, waiting for our willing hands. Knowing full well that the Arty's guns are their colours, we had brief reservations, but after all, it was the Artillery, and bird gunners at that.

I scaled the fence and was approaching the ADATS when out of the blue a Military Police car came screaming up the road. Lt. â Å“Cohortâ ? dove in the ditch and I, lacking cover, simply lay still next to the track of the ADATS. It seemed impossible, but somehow, someone had detected our stealthy approach. To reinforce the fact that this was no co-incidence, the MP car stopped dead directly across from us. It couldn't have been any closer without driving into the ditch with Lt. â Å“Cohort.â ?

The God of Comfortable Vehicles smiled upon us that night though, and after a few tense minutes, the MPs drove away without ever getting out of their car.

We gave each other a smug look and with Lt. â Å“Cohortâ ? keeping watch, I went immediately back to work. It was clear what had to be done. All summer the trades had engaged in friendly rivalry. Simple vandalism was unacceptable, it would be vulgar and without class. We had to use our limited supplies of fresh fruit and cam sticks to send a message to the gunners about the superiority of our trade...

Our work done, we returned to the shacks, where the party was still going on. We joined in wholeheartedly, getting to bed sometime before dawn.

The next morning, my eyes cracked open and I dragged myself out of bed. Nursing a bit of a headache, I sauntered over to the window and threw back the drapes to let in the day. I couldn't believe my eyes, and literally leapt back from the window in surprise. There, parked directly outside my window, was *the* ADATS with â Å“INF #1â ? hastily scrawled on the side facing me. Clearly jig was up, and I was about to be marched out to clean the vehicle with a toothbrush before being failed off the course in disgrace.

But wait... The ADATS was flanked by other AFV's in a line extending down the street in both directions. It slowly dawned on me that the vehicles were simply lined up in preparation for grad parade, and it was blind coincidence that the â Å“markedâ ? vehicle ended up directly outside my window.

As the sun got hotter, I watched in relief as the mixture of cam stick and fruit bits seemed to dissolve. By the time the ADATS rolled past the brass on parade, it was all but invisible to the untrained eye. The rest of the day passed uneventfully.

No good story is complete without visual aids. Here are a couple pics I managed to track down of the actual parade and the vehicles involved...

 
Leopard_Royal_Salute.png

The Leopards we couldn't find, doing the fateful salute on parade. Oh how I wish I had been able to make this picture more memorable.  ;) 

 
adats_on_parade.png

The "marked" ADATS. The writing on the side is effectively invisible, which is just as well in retrospect.
 
I guess I should contribute.

While doing basic we had a SGT who liked to instill us with the proper amount of pride when we did just about everything. In formation at the postion of attention before the shacks awaiting the order to turn and begin marching we were suddenly ordered to at ease and then to stand easy. The SGT directed our attention to a local red-tailed hawk in the tree in fornt of us. We were advised to admire it‘s pride and bearing. after about a minute we were brought to attention and marched to the parade square for a lesson in drill. About 5 min into the drill lesson the Hawk flew over the shacks and was heading toward the parade square. We were extolled th evirtues of such a proud hunter and advised to be more liek it in all of our tasks. Mid sentence the same Hawk swooped low over us and.... shat on one of us privates. Without finishing his thoughts the SGT ordered the private to fallout and report to the shacks to change his shirt. Nothing more was said about pride or hawks for the day. However the training cadre did nickname the private ****hawk for the rest of the course.
 
A number of years ago at CAC, my cougar gunner (Recce Guy)sent the driver off for a metric adjustable. She spent a period of time asking the mechs for one. She finally returned with an adjustable stamped with the manufacturers name "Imperial" tool company. It was too good to be true.
 
Alright Here‘s another.
On Ex in Shilo attatched to the RCR playing enemy force for the CAR. It‘s mid February and on the move mostly piloted around in hueys by 427 sqdn. Which was great. We, the section, are lounging during down time in our bell tent. One guy Ramsbottom, loved to do the cooking. This is back when rations came in a can. Canned ham and eggs, Canned bacon, Canned chicken stew, Canned cake, etc... And they were heated up in a pressure cooker on the coleman stove. We all handed Ramsbottom our cans of stew and some how we / he got distracted and lost track of time. Well there was a loud explosion as the lid blew off the pressure cooker, and stew was sprayed all over us and the inside of the tent and our sleeping bags. We all dove for cover behind our air mattress sofas at the sound of the blast but there was one guy from the GGFG with nerves of steel. He didn‘t even flinch I guess. He just sat there and calmly wiped his face. But picture this if you will. Gravy, veggies, mechanically deboned chicken and beef all over everything and everyone, and the steam. Me, I scrambled out of the tent via under the wall. We all did. Days later we‘d start laughing so hard whenever we looked at each other because of the image of that GGFG Cpl calmly blinking with stew bits all over his face. Fortunately no one got hurt, and we found the pressure cooker lid 10 meters away.

At the end of the excersize we were assembled in one of the bldg‘s on base and were tasked to cleaning our gear before retiring to the barracks. I was on of the first ones finished so I walked over to our assigned barracks. Nobody else was around so I got to hit the facilities first. In the washroom was the biggest and deepest tub I had ever seen. I had myself a nice long hot bath. Lounging in the tub reading a book the only thing missing was scented candles. HA! ( that was a joke by the way ) Pretty soon someone was pounding on the door to hurry me up. Okay I got out finished my business. How was I to know I used up our entire allotment of hot water. My Name was MUD for a month till that flack blew over. I really felt bad cause we had been out in the bush in Manitoba for 10 days in the middle of February, and I knew every one was looking forward to a hot shower.
 
Mike...I used to drive that dumb___ parade every summer for the grads and the fresh fruit thing in the barrels we let go for the practice...the parade we clear guns and check the barrel so nice try. ;)

We even put up banners on the sides of our Leo‘s with such slogans as "Eyes Front Monkeys!" and " It‘s almost over Crunchies!" :D

As for pulling a prank on the RESO students it‘s a known fact that Phase and Reso Armour students drop their pants during the roll past...an honoured tradition? I don‘t think so but it‘s funny none the less. So back to the RESO students, I warned one chap that if he did that in my Cougar he‘ll get one big surprise. The entire troop of Reg force guys threatened the same for all of the student CCs for parade. They thought we were kidding...until roll past time. So we roll out and swing&dip the guns, students saluting. I look over and all I see is crumpled trousers on the seat. Out comes the tube of bearing grease and it is deposited...er...well you know where. :eek:

After the rollpast was completed the students made a mad dash to the shacks, all to our and the DS‘s laughter :D

Regards

BTW...Keep ‘em comin‘ !
 
Aw, thanks Danjanou. I'm with you 100% on the cold beers 'n bullshort session. All this helmet-wearing puts me right back in that tent with Cpl. Bloggins swapping a few lies before we rack out. These are all great stories, so this thread could go on a while.

wildfong, I was on that ex. We had four Googy-Foogies attached in to our pl. That Airborne drop was billed as the largest Canadian drop since Korea. After getting into defensive positions, that night even though it was frighteningly cold, we all stayed outside to watch the drop. Afterwards we went to ground with OP's out at the crew-served â Å“trenchesâ ?. Naturally we RCR's made the reserves stand the first watch. Our pl., our very section was on the FEBA. In fact, we were the â Å“contactâ ? in â Å“Advance to contact.â ? as far as the Airborne was concerned. The two young lads we had out at the MG trench apparently preferred another role for themselves and buggered off at the high port as soon as they heard the boots on the ground headed in their particular direction. The Airborne Regiment introduced themselves by tossing a lit thunderflash through our stove hole.

So this one year, at band camp ..........

Well, R.V. '81 actually. Gagetown. Summer. It was hot in exactly the same way that the planet Pluto isn't. Thank (insert name(s) of deity(ies) here) I got out of it!

1 RCR Corps of Drums was tasked to spend the first half of the ex. in the field, then was yanked out to rehearse for the Nova Scotia Tattoo at the Metro Center in Halifax. Now, we were a band, sure. But we were going to be sharing a stage with REAL musicians like the RCR band, and the USMC band from Quantico. Our job was to go â Å“Oom-pahâ ? and keep some sort of a beat. (Big shout out to Bobby Scott, voted â Å“The Ugliest Man in NATO, 1978", and Nelson â Å“Boom-boomâ ? Bishop) We had to PRACTICE! When I come to think of it, while the guys on the ex. were probably able to find some shade somewhere, even if it was at the bottom of a trench, we were bivouacked in a steel shed off the side of a highway and had to practice our drill for hour after hour in its gravel parking lot. Maybe I didn't get out of anything.

In fact, if you were in Halifax at the time, you will probably remember seeing advertising posters all over town with the drummer in scarlets. That was Rick Fortune, one of our buglers who was picked to be the poster child (his nickname for a while) because he was this big, photogenic lad, former Golden Gloves boxer who, when he smiled, showed just how many teeth he'd lost in the ring. He's holding the drumsticks wrong in the poster.

Eventually the platoon is flown to Halifax to start dress rehearsals and naturally, our pl. cmdr. was with us. Now, Lt. er..., Condiment was one of the very best infantry officers ever. A real gentleman we would have followed anywhere he led. Lt. Condiment had little to do with our musical side beyond supervising our booking schedule, but he was our cheering section everywhere we went.

There were six days of rehearsals and dress rehearsals before the opening show. Lt. Condiment tried to stay interested and occupied during rehearsals, but eventually must have gotten bored and started bringing stuff to read. Then he would disappear, we assumed to find some purveyor of liquid refreshment, and sometimes re-appear slightly squiffed.

One of the units performing at the tattoo that absolutely fascinated us grunts was the USMC Silent Drill Team. If you ever get a chance to see these guys, go see them. For those of you who haven't had the chance, a brief description is in order. The Silent Drill Team is exactly that. I believe there is a single word of command given at the start of their routine, then not a sound save the slap of palms against the wood and chromed steel of M-1's with bayonets fixed. Their drill routine is such that they seem to defy death as they march between rapidly spinning blades without blinking an eyelash. During rehearsals, everybody in the Metro Center stopped what he or she was doing when the Drill Team was on the floor. The units that were on after the Drill Team watched from the â Å“wingsâ ?, the performers' entrance on the floor, while the units that had already performed watching from the seats. They always got standing ovations from the other units present.

So, opening night. There were a few dignitaries in attendance, I forget exactly who, but I believe â Å“Lt. Governorâ ? or â Å“Governor-Generalâ ? was mentioned. We were on after the Marine Band and the Drill Team. Lt. Condiment had nipped out that afternoon for supper at the above alluded-to establishment, intending to return for the RCR bit. In fact he returned just as the Drill Team was taking the floor. The entire audience at the Metro Center was held spellbound for the entire routine. Occasional oohs and aahs would be heard from the audience as the Drill Team performed some dangerous-looking or impossible manouvre.

There is a point in the routine where all the rifle-spinning ends and the team is in one rank in front of the dignitaries' section. There is a pause, which is the time where the audience is supposed to realize that the routine is over and it is now time for much-deserved applause. This pause is exactly long enough for somebody watching from the wings, with a voice exactly like Lt. Condiment's to speak out loud enough for at least eight sections to hear in the afore-mentioned silence: â Å“YAAH, BUT CAN YA FIRE THE FORKIN' THINGS!â ? before the applause actually occurs. Thankfully, the applause covered our laughter.

D.D.C.O.S.U. & F.
 
BWWHAHAHAHAAaaaaaa :D

Keep ‘em comin‘

Regards
 
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