In 1985 our #4 slot pilot was Lt. Col. "Hoss" Jones (brother to LA Rams QB Bert Jones). Well ole Hoss was always kinda of full of himself. One day during training season he brought his jet back broke after the morning practice. We plugged the #7 spare jet in the line up for him to fly the afternoon practice in, but we didn't have time to change the number on the jet to a 4 before takeoff time.

Out comes "Hoss" for the afternoon sortie and he immediately starts bitch'in about not having a #4 painted on his jet. After the flight he gave our Line Chief, Msgt. George "Weezy" Hicks a first class butt chew'in about it.

That night George had the Paint Shop boy's paint a #4 on every single Thunderbird jet. Well, the next morning "Hoss" comes out to fly and he about craps his britches when he see's all 7 Thunderbird jets with a #4 on them. "Weezy" walks up to "Hoss" and greets him in customary Thunderbird fashion(crisp salute and handshake) then tells him "sir, you got your pick of jets today".

It was absolutely classic!

You sir, had one of the coolest jobs in the world! Thanks for your service!

Yes,that would have been a cool gig for sure.

The day I ordered the Security Police assigned to our hardened shelter to escort the pilot away from the aircraft (loaded with a nuclear weapon). The pilot was refusing to, until the SP chambered a round. Then the look on the pilot's face was priceless.

I had to think for a little but here is one that stands out in my memory. There was an A1C, Nate Chaimowicz I think was his name. He worked in the hydraulic shop. He was always trying to get away with having long hair. Used to wrap it up under his hat. The hydraulic shop chief was always getting onto him about his hair length, about how it and his moustache did not conform to AFM 35-10 which had a chart showing dotted lines at the limits of the hair and moustaches. This chart was in the entrance to the flight hangar. Nate finally had enough one day and cut his hair and moustache off completely. Then he got a black magic marker and made dotted lines on his face and head exactly like the dotted lines on the AFM 35-10 chart. I won't ever forget the look on some of the shop chiefs faces when he walked into work that morning. Of course they sent him back to the barracks to clean the marker off. He got busted about a month later for some pot and was booted out.

I played in the U.S. Army Field Band in Washington D.C. We toured the country in our own buses that were similar to Greyhound ones. However, the engines weren't up to snuff at times and would stall out at toll booths, etc. and not restart. Everyone in the bus (clad in dress blue uniforms) would immediately get out of their seats, take a position on the rear or side. and push the huge bus till the driver popped the clutch starting it again.

Another time one broke down in southern VA on the last day of a five-week tour when everyone was more than ready to get home. Everyone got off the bus to await a repair service to show up and fix it on site. We were all standing and sitting on the side of the highway when suddenly someone looked up to see a bunch of buzzards circling us. Didn't exactly make our day at the time.

I was a FTG in the Navy and in charge of shooting the 5'38's on board ship. We had new barrels installed on our fore and aft guns and because of this we had to go to Gitmo to re-qualify our efficiency. We were there for two weeks and my gun crews became very, very good. Fast forward two months and the Captain send our crews to the gun school in Norfolk Va. None of us were very happy about it but orders were orders. In charge of the base operation was a Chief Petty Officer who was nothing but a pain in the a$$. We were by far the best crew there and he could not stand it that we were that good. So on day three we were shooting at a drone on a rapid fire drill. It was taking all the other crews two and a half swings to get their rounds off with about 50% effect. We did the same drill in two swings with 90% effect. He said it was luck and made us get ready to repeat the drill. As a FT I could tell what the offset was so I passed the word to my pointer and setter and told them to shoot it down. On our fifth shot we blew it out of the sky and the Chief started giving us hell for being so lousy. We laughed and said to put another up and we could probably get it is less time if we really tried. School was finished for us after that.

Got called to the Captains cabin when I returned and he asked me if it was true that I/we had shot down a $10,000 drone on purpose. Told him the truth and about the CPO and got chewed on some. Also got a solid handshake and a well done.

Insert whatever branch

I recall one, but you'd have had to be there to really appreciate it. We were part of the Cambodian invasion in '70. We had just choppered in to an unused rice field and were setting up a new firebase; digging bunkers and filling sandbags. I had opened a conex box to grab some equipment, and a five gallon jerrycan full of liquid had landed on my foot. Broke my toe. The medics said there wasn't much they could do, so I was just hobbling around in the mud with one boot off, due to the swelling. I had contracted a bad case of the burning squirts (dysentery, for you uninitiated), and had to bolt for the bush again during the hustle and bustle. Now, toilet paper was worth its weight in gold back then, and each of us hoarded his meager supply carefully.

So, I hobbled (broken toe, remember?) verrrry quickly through the mud to the bush, one boot on and one boot off, clad in my steel pot, flack jacket, three bandoliers of magazines, M-16, and my precious cargo of a half roll of TP. Ahhh....... made it!

I was squatting there, burnin' and squirtin', when I heard a weird whine. Rockets. And not ours........ And wouldn't you know, they were on target. I jumped up and started for our bunker, full speed ahead. I was hop-hobbling as fast as I could, with my bare foot free and my pants dragging behind the ankle that wore the boot, both feet sinking ankle deep in the mud and slinging it everywhere. I made it to the bunker and dove over the blast wall, as everyone was laughing at me. I sat up and realized that I had been dragging my M-16 through the mud by the sling (we actually used boot laces for slings), but I had been holding my toilet paper up high and dry, and there wasn't a drop of mud on it. Took a loooooong time before they quit telling that story.

After a klaxon we had to top off the bombers using an over wing nozzle. Rules required an officer to work the nozzle. I told one officer to stand on the nozzle while I pressurized the hose. He stuck it in the tank and yelled at me to give it to him. Needless to say he got a jp4 shower. Me and the crew chief had a good laugh.

Join the Army .
Travel the world.
Meet interesting people.
And kill them.......

In 03 my AGE squadron deployed to Kuwait just prior to Iraqi Freedom. We packed up a hydraulic test stand among all the other equipment. This is basically an 8� x 8� box wagon filled with a bunch of high pressure pumps and hoses used to test and fill the hydraulic systems on jets. All the doors and hatches are secured and the unit is strapped down onto an air freight pallet. Well the pallet first got sent to Charleston where it sat for a week before being loaded onto a C5 to Kuwait. During that week, a nice fat West Virginia opossum decoded t crawl up and take residence in the test stand.

So two weeks and half the globe away from where we packed it up, my boss started opening the access panels on this unit to put it into service. He opens a door and there at eye level not a foot away from his face is this opossum, snarling and showing what seemed to be about 700 teeth. I�d never thought of my boss as a particularly athletic man, but he proved he could move pretty quick when properly motivated. Learned a few new curse words that day too, and that�s saying something for a military man.

My first duty station was Ft Sill. Another buddy (Spc Lewis) and me from AIT got stationed together and the jackwagon E-5 (Sgt Jensen) from our C&E shop made our life hell for no apparent reason other than to be a DB. Lewis and I were high speed soldiers which made our overweight sgt even more mad. He would make us pick up cigarette butts outside our shop even though Lewis and I didn�t smoke (sgt jensen was a smoker), the day before PT tests he would find reasons to make us push, and other stuff like that to try and make us break. Well one day we ended up getting a new platoon sgt and we were called to his office. Low and behold it was Drill Sgt Lewis from AIT who was a stickler for rules. Sgt Lewis knew us pretty well and held us in high regard. He wanted the 411 of the platoon which we gave and we told him about the jack wagon E-5. Well at our next formation when the rest of the platoon got to meet Sgt Lewis he calls up sgt Jensen and tells him to start pushing. Sgt Lewis then proceeds to tell the platoon his expectations, what we can expect from him, and we go around the formation introducing ourselves one by one. 20-30 mins go by and Sgt Lewis is finished talking to us and tells Sgt Jensen to recover. He tells him in front of the whole platoon that if he ever hears about him giving us chit he would end his career. Needles to say Spc Lewis and me never had to pick up cigarette butts again.

I was a UH-1 Huey crew chief in the Army. During Desert Shield there were 10 of us farmed out to different combat units to help support them. One day we were flying a ash and trash mission to a remote unit. The unit was on one side of a huge sand dune and we come in on the backside so we wouldn't sand blast everyone. The only thing on that side of the dune was a lonely 3 hole chithouse. As we came in we missed it a good ways and I saw a black man utilizing it. We shut down and our passenger went to his meeting or whatever and we were getting low on fuel. We thought we had seen a fuel truck on the other side of the dune so my Ranger door gunner (who spoke in the thickest Georgia country drawl) said he would go get it. We sat for a long time and the pilot got impatient. He said let's just crank up and go over there. So we crank up, pull to a hover and the pilot just jerks it to the left without clearing for a turn. I got to stomping the floor trying to hit the mike switch to tell him pull up. I got on it just in time to say chitter! I was looking that mess SGT.in the eyes (his were as big as pie plates) and shrugging my shoulders at him as the skids miss it maybe 3 feet. Him and that latrine go rolling out across the desert. Toilet paper is shooting through the rotor blades and unrolling like streamers, all of this just as my door gunner comes over the dune in the fuel truck. We land and get our fuel. The pilot starts laughing about blowing over the latrine. I told him there was a guy in there. He told me to go check on him, I told him FU, you didn't clear and if he's alive he will be pissed you go check on him. He did. Me and the other pilot I thought was going die laughing because our door gunner in an almost Gomer Pile voice was giving us a play by play of what he saw coming over the dune. I still laugh til I cry everytime I think about it.

My father was in the Blue angels and has some hilarious stories from the 70s, seems like all they did was party hard and practice/fly airshows. Sure it was one heck of a time, here is a quick bio if anyones interested
https://www.intruderassociation.org/images/blue_angels/miller_bio.jpg

Edit: through these stories i also learned i will never be as cool as him haha

Was on Okinawa when the Marines were having opening ceremonies for the new club house at Orwan Beach. It was build by the Seabees. Was the Navy invited (nope), only us lowly Corpsman attached to our units (and they made us stand at the very back). Anyway all the big brass (Generals etc..) were there including the Marine Corps Band. The Marines love to snap to attention when the Marine Corps Hymn is played (won't do it with Anchors Away). We bribed the band leader (ex Navy by the way). The result was this: as the General was about to cut the ribbon the band leader raised his baton, all those Marines (about 500) snapped to attention the band broke out with Anchors Away. We were at the back jumping up and down cackling and hootin. It was so hilarious to see the look on that Generals face and to see all of those Marines standing at attention. I think the band leader was last seen running from the location.

That is awesome....

Back in 77 at Luke AFB, AZ. a Sergeant name Shoemaker was assigned a brand new Airman Basic for training named Kress. Kress was so new he had not yet received his flight line security badge, but as long as he remained near Shoemaker(who had a line badge)he was authorized to be out on the flight line with Shoemaker.

One afternoon we're all sitting inside the line shack waiting for our jets to land. Somebody looks out the window and yells to our boss Msgt. Sheppardson (Shep) that the Security Police (SP'S)have Shoemaker and Kress face down on the flight line with M-16s pointed at them. Next thing we know, both Shoemaker and Kress are hauled off to jail.

What happened is that Shoemaker had sent Kress down the flight line about 100 yards to get a maintenance stand. The SP's see Kress with no line badge and no escort official in sight. They question Kress and he explains that Shoemaker is his escort and he's just 3 jets up the row. SP's go up to question Shoemaker and guess what...
"no line badge". He'd left it clipped to his fatigue jacket in the line shack. During this ordeal the SP's search Kress and Shoemaker. They find a bag of weed inside Shoemakers FOD bag. (a FOD bag is a small pouch worn on the belt by flight line personnel. Used to put stuff like screws, rocks, safety wire found on the flight line in).

About three weeks later we're all sitting around the line shack again BS'in waiting for the jets to return. Msgt. Shep hollers over to Shoemaker, "Hey Show, I was over at the Credit Union this morning and saw a guy wearing 2 FOD bags on his belt. Damn, you think he had a pound in there."

I had my tech school at Sheppard AFB in Wichita Falls. I was mopping floors for weekend duty one Saturday morning when I briefly met a Navy man who also had his tech school there (you are correct, we had to teach the Navy everything about flying).

Anyway, for the jelly-headed civilians here... each service has a moniker that all members are known by. Everyone in the Air Force is known as an Airman, and therefore you would address them as "Airman [last name]". Likewise, every Navy person is also known as Seaman.

Well I spent that fine Saturday morning mopping floors along side Patrick Shooter, one of the new Navy recruits. Seaman Shooter did better swabbing the deck than you would have guessed.

Classic! All these stories are so great. Brings a big smile to this old Chiefs ugly mug.

Speaking of old Chiefs:

1st year at 1st duty Station, my roommate opened our Weapons shop door with great fanfare, bowing and waving a Chief into the office. At the same time, asking the Chief if he was our new Weapons Chief. It was the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force.

man
thats strong

Normally a submarine blows sewage overboard with compressed air when underway and submerged. When we were going to the Med, they modified the hull so a fitting could be place forward of the sail and a firehose attached to blow the sewage overboard to a barge.

So, we are alongside the tender in Sardenia, it's Sunday morning, our underway time was relatively early, I think 0800. I'm up on the sail as the phonetalker and lookout, along with the OD and anothe lookout. I can look down and see the line handlers for the bow line and #2 line. They all have their harnesses on and the line to the track follower. Besides a life jacket this equipment is mandated so no one can fall overboard from the round deck topside.

We can't get under way because even though we are ready, the tug is ready, the sewage line is still connected just to starboard of the #2 line crew. This thing is a 3" fire hose that is absolutely rigid and rises probably 5 to 6 feet above the fitting and the deck. This puppy has got some serious pressure on it. You could have hit it with a fire ax and the ax would have bounced off.

The Captain is PO'd because he's gonna miss his underway time if that fitting and hose aren't cleared. Finally a couple of real young dudes, probably Seaman Apprentices come off the tender and make it across the brow and head for the fitting. Both of them are either hung over or just go woke up, probably both and start working on the fitting and hose.

I'm 20 feet up watching this cluster. These two a busy little beavers, one is working on the hose fitting with a spanner and the other one is working on the deck fitting.

The dude on the hose fitting got down to about 2, maybe 3 threads left when the pressure on the hose ripped it off the fitting and it started spewing baby chit yellow liquefied fecal matter in the air from a dancing hose. The dude on the deck fitting got a face full of this goop and started puking on the deck, the hose guy was drenched from head to toe. The hose blew liquid chit about 15 feet up the sail and the poor bastages on #2 line couldn't get away because of the track follower. They all got splattered. The Chief went ape. I will probably never hear an outstanding string of expletives like that in my lifetime. I mean he was stringing 4 syllable profanities together like a maestro.

The two fecal matter covered dudes finally got the deck fitting off and the hose spewed it's contents into the water instead of the barge and the Navy probably got fined by the local authorities. We got underway.

Had a drill instructor that stuttered worse than anyone I've ever heard, but when he was singing cadence he never missed a beat. Reminded me of Pat Tillis. We were marching early morning and it was my day to stop traffic when we were crossing streets. I almost stepped in front of a bus and immediately knew I was about to catch hail. He stuck the bill of his hat on my nose and said " Bbbbb boy, you want me to sssssssslap the ddddddog chit out of you?" I knew there was no good answer to this question and fully expected him to follow through. Luckily, the rest of the guys could not maintain and busted out laughing, diverting his attention from me. I think we double timed it, everywhere, for 3 straight days.

August 1988 Fort Leonard Wood Mo. I got up at 4 am to haul my butt over to the motor pool and sign out a pick up truck for the grenade range that day. I figured since the ammo dump was on the way back to our barracks I would just pull in, load up some grenades for the company and head back to the unit and eat breakfast.....(save a trip).

Got to the depot acted like I knew what was up, talked the GS 8 in charge, let him know what I was there for and backed the truck up to the loading dock and took care of business. Fully loaded with 600 M67 hand grenades I headed to the unit. As I pulled up in front of Bravo Company I was met by my very angry Drill Instructor, Drill Sergeant Sakaria who rode me up and down for taking soo long getting back from the motor pool, after about the 21st or 22nd push up he asked me what specific reason did I have for running so late? As it was very important I got back to the unit to pick him up so we could go together to the ammo depot to pick up the grenades then eat breakfast.

I explained I saved him the time and did it myself. He told me to recover, turned a few shades paler then his normal Samoan glow and asked me to clarify what I just said, I explained I went to the ammo depot, got the grenades and they are in the back of the truck?

He pulled back the tarp curtain saw that they were there and almost fell out. I explained I just figured that since the depot was on the way I would just get em, he cut me off and explained the process and the security involved. Meaning the Army was not designed for a private to go pick up a truck load of grenades at his leisure and bring back to the unit. It required an armed NCO .45 cal on , and a driver (me).

He quickly gave me his .45 had me guard the truck for a minute after a quick inspection of the crates and seals, he then went inside and called the MP's and senior unit leadership to update them on what just took place.

Long story short, a drunk and hung over GS 8 lost his job at the depot that day, a Battalion Commander from Ohio State became the best friend of a Private from Lake Carmel NY, and I never had to road march to a range the rest of my stay there.

God those were the best of times....,