Your Funniest/ Favorite War Stories

[Franko]

Seeing how we have SO many guys and gals in uniform in this forum I thought what more fun than puttin‘ on your helmet and telling your funniest/ favorite war story.

Please don‘t name names UNLESS they are out of the CF...saves the moderator the trouble of putting out flame wars like last night

LET ‘ER RIP!

Regards

 

[Franko]

I‘ll get things started....

A while back whilst serving with A Sqn 8CH in Gagetown a prank was pulled. The young lad was told to go and sign for a "skyhook" for the cam net so we could put up the cam net where there were no trees. He dissapeared for a couple of days, no one knew where he was except the tp Mcpl(the youngin‘ called every day to tell him of his progress). After 3 days he finally came in with his car, and backed it into our bay. The Mcpl asked him how he made out. His response was opening the trunk and there was this orange hook with the marking of "skyhook" embossed into the metal. We were all stunned, especially the Mcpl. The lad then looked at the Mcpl and said "MWO Bloggins want you to call him ASAP at 403 Sqn. He wants to know the reason why he gave up a $5000 piece of equipment. Jaws hit the ground as did most of us rolling on the ground holding our sides. The youngin‘ was in!

Regards

 

[Lexi]

Well, the story that is passed along in my family isn‘t funny; but it‘s remarkable and it‘s the story that got me into the whole military zone. So, here it is:

My grandfather was a Ukrainian/German soldier, I‘m not sure of his rank, but he was in charge of a single platoon of soldiers. They were marching up a road headed to Sicily when a jeep carrying 2 G.I‘s came up and stopped. My grandfather could see in the distance several more jeeps, and knowing that he was out-manned and out-gunned, he surrendered to the two G.I‘s that had pulled up in the first jeep. (These two men were later credited with the largest capture of Ukrainian/German soldiers in WWII.)

My grandfather and his platoon were taken to a PoW camp just outside of Sicily. There he stayed for quite a while, until one day he recieved a letter from a "Father Hrynyk." He opened the letter and discovered that his brother was in Austria, faking to be a priest, as priests were able to get places with less difficulty and could send letters without having them looked over by censors. Anyway, as time passed my grandfather and my great uncle, (or Father Hrynyk,) sent letters back and forth. When my grandfather started to arrange plans to escape the camp he could no longer send plain letters, as they were read before mailed. So he devised a plan, and he took books and made fake slip covers, and in those covers he stashed letters and photos.

On new year‘s eve, while the Italians and other Allied forces guarding the camp were horribly drunk, my grandfather and another Sergeant snuck out of the camp and then trekked some way until they came to the Alps. They knew what they had to do: and they did it.

They slowly trekked up the Alps, and when they got to the top my grandfather heard the crack of a rifle going off. He turned around and saw his Sergeant lying down amidst red snow. Off in the distance he could see a figure holding a rifle. It was a border guard who had been watching the border between Italy and Austria. In much haste my grandfather nearly ran down the other side of the Alps, and when he got into Austria he met with my Great-Uncle Hrynyk. They remained in Austria until the end of the war, which is when they recieved a letter from relatives here in Hamilton telling them to come to Canada, which they did.

And that, my friends, is the Spiwak family story.

 

[Franko]

Interesting...Fortunatly for him(not so much for the Sgt)...we wouldn‘t be able to hear this tale.

Regards

 

[dbrock]

:soldier:

 

[nbk]

Here is an interesting story told to be by my grandfather who was a German WW2 vet.

My grandfather was in a Fallschirmjäger (paratrooper) unit in the army. He had been serving on the Russian front in Minsk, and after they captured that town he got transfered (lucky him) to Italy, where he was dropped into battle with the americans. I wish I could remember the name of the battle, but I don‘t. I think it was a smaller battle of a smaller town, not a large battle.

At any rate, the Germans were outnumbered and outgunned but they hung in, although they were eventually overrun. My grandfather was taken prisoner by the Americans and brought to a POW camp in the southwestern USA. I believe it was licated in either Arizona, New Mexico, Texas or Nevada.

He told me about how he and his friends there were treated by the americans, they were always shown respect, they were well fed, and only a few times were they questioned about anything. My Grandfather said everyone stuck to the "name, rank, serial number" and that was it. He said one night when they were working outside there was a bright light, which lit up the whole sky. He said it was like the sun coming up, in the middle of the night for only about 30 seconds followed by a "klein beben" as he put it, meaning a tremor or earthquake.

Much later in life he found out that they were doing atomic testing around that time, in a nearby area of the desert.

One night in late 1944 he and his friends hopped the fence at night, by having a bunch of people start fighting at the opposite end of the camp, creating a destraction. He said they ran all night through the desert, heading south. One of his friends that was at the camp was a veteran of the Spanish civil war of the 1930s, and spoke some Spanish. The group eventually made it to the freedom of Mexico where they all stayed, doing odd jobs for the next few months, and getting into all sorts of adventures until the war was over.

After the war my grandfather returned to Germany where he found my suprised grandmother in the mostly destroyed city of Stuttgart. Some of my family was in Munich, which was heavily bombed, and in Dresden, which was now occupied by the Russians. Germany did not look like a great place to live since the south where he lived was occupied by the americans and the east was occupied by the Russians, so they decided to leave. They had my father, and then moved to Canada, because Mexico did not have the school system that they were after for my father, and my grandfather was afraid they would try to get him again if he entered the USA.


Overall I always liked this story...my grandfather told it and described all of the colourful charicters that he met in the POW camp, and he made it quite interesting. Old people have a way of telling stories that make them much more interesting then anyone else. He was a very smart old man, and taught me a lot about things, that I would not have learned about otherwise...

 

[karpovage]

That‘s a helluva story nbk. I‘ve read several books on the German perspective of the war against the Russians and U.S. in particular the final Battle of Berlin and Stalingrad and it is just so interesting to hear those very detailed battlefield stories in relation to the "big picture"

My tidbit - my Great Uncle Joe Goral was a member of the U.S. Army‘s Merrill‘s Marauders in the China-Burma Theatre fighting the Japanese in WWII. I think (don‘t hold me to it) there were a good 3,000 soldiers who went in and a few hundred who came out of the jungles after the campaign (mostly I believe to disease) but anyways his story was that after he and some other troops became separated after a battle he ended up in China (our ally at the time) and was made a captain in the Chinese Navy patrolling some river until rejoining his original unit. Unfortunately, and rightly so, he never really opened up much about the details - a bit of an interesting story anyways though.

 

[Lexi]

Originally posted by Franko:
[qb] Interesting...Fortunatly for him(not so much for the Sgt)...we wouldn‘t be able to hear this tale.

Regards [/qb]

Hey, if he didn‘t make it, I wouldn‘t be here...

How would you guys ever survive?!

 

[Franko]

And Lexi we wouldn‘t have your company either

As for how I would survive...no idea, have to play that one out for real...hope I‘m never in that situation.

Regards

 

[Garry]

We used to have 105 mm blanks (simulated a real round for war games)for the Tank main guns. These blanks stood about 18" tall. When they went off, they were hard to miss. Danger radius was 200 metres.

We also generated a little paper type garbage (mostly rations) that had to be got rid of. One time, someone stuffed the paper up the barrel ahead of the blank, and the paper just disappeared. One thing led to another, and after some experimentation, it was found that several rolls of naptha-soaked toilet paper, whatever paper garbage was around, and a 105mm blank made an absolutely magnificent fireball, and looked a heck of a lot like a real main round at night- even in the day!

On Exercise in Germany, someone issued us 104mm cans of beans. This was also the last year we used 105mm blanks, and we had a lot. From time to time, we fired a few off just to get rid of them.
The cans fired extremely well out the main gun, and when the mix of tp, garbage, and naptha was added to the mix, it was truly magnificent.

One crew had this potent (and dangerous, and highly illegal) "round" up the spout, intending to fire it into an empty field. They hadn‘t told the gunner, to surprise him. As they were about to fire, movement orders came. The gun was safed, and off they went.

Several hours later, that same tank was in a defensive position when an American M-113, troops sitting on the top, came out of a bushline to the left. Contact was called, and a battle range Hesh engagement was initiated. At the last second, the Crew Commander and the gunner remembered the "load", and near killed themselves getting to the CC overide and the gun safe switch to stop the engagement. The loader won, and the gun was safed. Both breathed a sigh of relief at the close call, until they heard the gunner call "misfire, emergency fire, firing NOW".

The sky was rent by a 200 metre square flash of fire and thunder. Out of the middle of this fireball emerged a 104mm can of German beans, tavelling at a high rate of knots. The gunner was on, as the beans exploded squarely in the centre of the APC, showering the troops with beans.

Needless to say,the troops were stunned. Not only were they startled by the truly magnificent fireball from the heretofore hidden MBT, but they‘d been hit!...and various sticky body parts were all over them.

It took a few seconds to realise that a) they were alive, b) just what had happened, C) no body parts, just beans, and d) that while they had an APC and the other guys a Tank, they were still a full section of pretty tough Infanteers, and they were up against four skinny panic stricken Canadians.

The Leopard made full use of it‘s speed that day.

Note: I hesitated to tell this story, don‘t need anyone getting ideas, nor thinking that all were this stupid. The guys involved were lucky: lucky they didn‘t kill anyone, and lucky the Infanteers didn‘t catch them!

Cheers-Garry

 

[Danjanou]

Garry I think I know that tank crew. They‘re probably the ones who almost ran over me one night while I was squatting with my pants around my ankles and leaning against a shovel for balance.

Ok it's been almost twenty years so I figure it's safe to tell this story, even if one of the persons involved did make General, and it obviously wasn‘t me.

I was instructing on a QL4 Basic Recce Patrolman's Course being run by the 1RNFLDR. We'd reached field portion and I was preparing to take out my section on all night recce patrol that would take us to some abandoned chicken barn at a T junction several klicks which was our objective, when the course commander gave me the good news.

Lucky me I was going to have company that night. In addition to the section of armed juvenile delinquents I‘d been training, and training with, our new Colonel would be tagging along, just to observe.

Great just what I needed. Normally I got along well with the CO. In fact he was responsible for my last promotion when he was my OC. The M/Cpl chevrons on my sleeve were a result of his recommendation. That and the fact that I‘d aced all the necessary courses.

However once again I‘d entered the promotion zone. I was due for a promotion to Sergeant. I‘d passed all the courses, even refusing to be RTU‘d from one due to injuries. This man however had the final say, and I‘d already run afoul of him that week.

Earlier during one of our infrequent down times, he‘d been strolling amongst the boys and chatting. Something good commanders do. He‘d seen me hunched over and absorbed in a book and yelled out

"What are you reading M/Cpl?â ?

"The Complete Works of William Shakespeare." I yelled back.

"No really, what‘s the book?" He replied still jokingly.

"The Complete Works of William Shakespeare." I yelled back again, showing him the cover. I was working on my degree at the time and had an English Lit. Final coming up when we got back from the field.

You could here the pin drop as he beat a hasty retreat with his bonhomie and dignity mauled.

Now he was coming along to observe, and I‘m sure that it was as much a coincidence as the fact that my promotion recommendation paperwork was in his in box awaiting action.

He sat quietly as I went through the lengthy O Grp and other BP with the boys. Telling me to ignore his presence, or treat him like one of the boys he slid into the line of march as we slinked out into the darkness.

I‘d worked out in detail our route there and back before going naturally. Within the first half hour though it became obvious that a detour was in order as the (insert profanity of your choice) map was wrong. Sometime since they‘d been printed a small enclave of summer cabins had been established directly on our route.

I wasn‘t really looking to intrude or trespass through a bunch of probably drunken (it was a Saturday night) Newfoundlander‘s summer homes complete with dogs, barbed wire, derelict cars and shot guns. I called a quick halt put everyone in all round defence and with my filtered mag light between my teeth, pulled out my map and compass began to plot an alternate route around this new obstacle. Satisfied, I gave the order and we began to move out again, carefully giving the "trailer park" a wide berth. I told the guys what was happening but someone at the end of the line with his own map did‘t get the word

My new route took us into a shallow valley. Not that it really mattered, as most of the route there and back would be in "low ground." Now before I go on, a brief description about Newfoundland geography and geology might be in order for those who‘ve neve rhad the pleasure.

Newfoundland‘s nickname is "the rock", although why is beyond me. Trust me anywhere on the island the minute you step off of the Trans Canada Highway you‘re hip or waist deep in stinking bog and swamp. That is unless it‘s during the ten months of the year the place is covered in snow and ice. Then you‘re chest deep in snow, and hip deep in bog. Of course the minute you drag out a shovel and try and dig, the same ground mysteriously reverts to the consistency of solid reinforced concrete.

Oh one more relevant detail before we go on. It was raining that night. Not that it really mattered as it had been raining all week, continually.

Within another half an hour or so we were all soaked to the skin and then some and struggling through a particular wicked poplar swamp. Every now and then we‘d cross another little stream and after a while I began to look forward to this. Running cold water in my boots was actually preferable to stagnant cold water.

We were still surprisingly actually moving the way we were supposed to, that is silently and tactically. There were the occasional grumbles and muttered curses coming from behind me, but a hiss to "shut the (again insert favoured profanity here) up" had the desired effect. Mind at the time I had no idea who was doing most of the cursing.

I‘d stopped for a brief nav halt. As there were no landmarks at this point, I was literally shooting a bearing off of one of my own men who was scouting a few yards ahead of me. Every now and then we‘d skirt a clearing and I could check this by using some of the surrounding hill and other landmarks, you all know the drill. I was still confident of where we were and that we were on course and on time. I really didn‘t expect what happened next.

Just as I was about to give the order to move on again, the Colonel crawled up beside me. He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"M/Cpl, do you know where we are?"

"Yes sir." I replied.

After a few seconds pause, he gave me a come on gesture and asked. "Where?"

I was really trying to concentrate on the one square millimetre of my body that was still for some strange reason dry so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"The woods."

He didn‘t say a thing, just shook his head and crawled back to his spot.

About five minutes passed. I had halted again to carefully check out a small clearing before moving around it. I was just about to start moving again when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the Colonel again.

"Do you think you could be a little more specific?" He asked. Referring to my last answer.

Right about now all I wanted was to get this job and miserable night over with and get back to my semi warm, semi dry sleeping bag. I threw caution to the wind and blurted out the first thing I could think of.

"Yes." I replied.

Again he gave me the little come on gesture asking me to elaborate for his benefit.

"Newfoundland." I muttered.

He looked at me, grinned, shook his head slowly and returned to his spot. He didn‘t speak to me or bother me for the rest of the night.

Naturally it goes without saying that we reached the objective, the spot I had chosen on the map, without any problems. I actually came out of the swamp within fifteen to twenty feet of where I wanted to, not too bad considering the ground we were travelling over and the other conditions.

About two weeks later, that self same Colonel handed me my Sergeant‘s chevrons with all the aplomb and ceremony, and later beer, that usually entails. When he did he shook his head slowly and grinned that same little grin.

One of the best officers I ever had the pleasure of working with.

 

[Benoit]

On new year‘s eve, while the Italians and other Allied forces guarding the camp were horribly drunk, my grandfather and another Sergeant snuck out of the camp and then trekked some way until they came to the Alps. They knew what they had to do: and they did it.

In response to lexi.....sorry dude but the italians were not aprat of the allies.

 

[Danjanou]

Actually they were. After the Allies invaded Italy, and Mussolini was first removed from power. Italy first surrendered and then later came into the war on the Allied side.

Mussolini after his rescue by German commandos set up a "new" Facist Italian state in the north of the country which was still occupied.

 

[holywars33]

I would very much like to commend Danjanou, Garry, lexi, and nbk for the stories. I know it must take a while to type something so long and I appreciate the effort. Danjanou, very well written. Gives interesting insight to an outsider in how things work (comically sometimes). Garry I'm still laughing.......

 

[Yeoman]

Perhaps this was just a "you had to be there scenario" but I‘ll post it anyways
Last year at stawlard guardian the section was getting a breifing for the fibua assualt that was going to happen in a couple of hours.
Earlier in the night it poured down when we were all turning in weapons to get those simmunation pieces put on the rifles. The company was caught in the rain with no chance to grab their rain gear.
Eventually we got a chance to change and throw the rain gear on incase is started up again.
My 2IC for the section had just changed her shirt She was telling everyone to feel how damp it was, and me being the company morale at the the time, I had to say something. At the exact same time the rest of the section shuts up and I go "can I sniff it?"
needless to say no one kept quiet for the breifing for the fibua assualt.

Another good story I like to share is again from my basic para course.
My section commander was the one that told us that the sheerwood was pretty much the only place to drink in Trenton whatsoever. Every morning after training he‘d come into the students lounge and ask "who go a stinky finger at the sheerwood last night?"
The one night the only two attractive adult dancers offered a t-shirt to the highest bidder and my buddy offered up $25 for the t-shirt and got it. He got up on stage, and the two of them proceeded to spank him with his own belt. Eventually he got off stage with the shirt, and the dancers came down with him (as we were on perverts row at the time). We found a permenant marker and got a couple of the dancers and waitresses to sign the shirt, one of them even wrote "AIRBORNE" in big black letters on the top of the back of the shirt.
The next morning for PT we had the same Sgt that asks that question about the sheerwood every morning; when my buddy walked up to him to proudly show off his t-shirt, his eye shon up like two big black pearls. The look on his face was priceless.
Needless to say we were hasseled to show the rest of the course staff.
Last time I heard, that t-shirt is now framed at my friends place.
Greg

 

[Pikache]

OMG. Sherwood. I was specifically warned off from going there. Instead got drunk at Matt and Joe‘s every thursday night.

Anyways, I feel that no collection of army story is complete without a raccoon story.

Meaford is well known for its ‘coon population. Over the years, these critters became more evolved so that if you leave a hint that you have food in your tent, they will scatter around looking for food. Gets annoying when you‘re trying to get rack time and ‘coons wake you up. If you have food in your ruck and it‘s not sealed up tight and the ‘coons smell it, guess what. The ‘coons will get to it. They can open zippers, the little knot on pouches on the ruck.
One sergeant swore to me that he saw raccoons doing section attack. I don‘t know how sleep deprived he was at te time.

Anyways, there is this kid in our section that no one liked, a complete bag. So one day, we left a trail of food crumbs leading up to this guy‘s cot. 4 raccoons jumped him and he was screaming and hollering. Teach him for being a moron.
I was too tired to even care about the screams though.

Another ‘coon story is this girl in my tent had her pills with her. Birth control, IIRC. One night, she left them on the floor beside her ruck. Guess who came in that night to eat the pills.
She didn‘t know where her pills went.

Moral of the story: If you‘re in Meaford, leave no trace of food around ANYWHERE. The ‘coons will get ya.

 

[Slim]

Danjaneau

You made me laugh so hard over your swamp story that I nearly cried at my desk.( please insert vision of client coming into office to whitness big tough bodyguard laughing so hard he‘s in tears!)

Here‘s one I hope you all enjoy.

I was posted to TSS ( Armoured School) in Gagetown and employed as a track driver.

While driving for a phase 4 course one day out in the Lawfield corridor ( Armoured training area-Gagetown) The troop pulled into Cambell woods for an o Group. The M113‘s backed into the woods and we cammed up.

As we would be in that spot for some time I decided to heed natures call. Armed with a shovel, paper and various other nesseccities I set out to find an appropriate area to " mail a package" as it were. This being the days before the outlawed "cat sanitation" it was permissable to dig a hole and "fill it".

Now a bear lives in Cambell woods.

I had just finished and was gathering my stuff to head back to the track when the branches of a large tree near by began to sway in a most unnatural manner.

I made best speed back to the carrier and locked myself in with the one student left behind to guard.

Then I realized that while beating a hastey retreat I‘d left my tank driver‘s gloves behind. To anyone in the Corps it is unthinkable to loose those gloves. They, along with chocolate bar IMP‘s, made life in the field worth living.

So I decided to go get them.

The bear had other ideas.

I had just picked the gloves up when a vicious growl and the sound of something heavy approaching sent me back to the M113 so fast I don‘t remember the trip.

The student in the back, who thought I would have been eaten for sure, saw me coming though.

He said my feet never touched the ground between the point where my gloves were and the back deck of the carrier.

I somehow managed to get off the ground, up onto the deck and into the top cargo hatch. To this day I don‘t know how I did that. I do know that I was very motivated to try though!

Hope you liked it. All true, I swear.

Slim

 

[JasonH]

I‘ll hafto remember that if I‘m in meaford

 

[Danjanou]

Slim, Ou Grizz, you‘re most welcome. Actually I wrote that piece for a civy website I write for. It was actually the prelude to a review of the Siva Compass if you can believe it. I actualy had to edit out all the explanations of military stuff when I posted it here.

Slim, don‘t even talk to me about bears in Gagetown!!

If I find the time I‘ll try and post my own cat hole vs Leo MBT story.

Actually guys, anybody who‘s got the time to post a funny tale today should. With the bad news out of Kabul this morning I think we could all use it.

 

[Franko]

Danjanou and Slim great stories from both of you, I enjoyed them so much I sent them out to the rest of the guys in the camp! Nearly pissed myself laughing

Garry...we did the same thing, less the beans, all the time. Worst one was when we fired under an Apache(he was giving away our position) It dropped a good 150 feet then took off. Needless to say my CC was an idiot.

Regards

Keep them stories comin‘