Memories of 1987 - October

It was a cool October morning. I believe it was 0400hrs when I was woken up to the sound of the tankers warming up the engines of the M1 Abraham tanks and the Howitzers firing rounds over our camp at their targets. "Dear God… don't let a round hit us…"

I was in Grafenwoehr Germany… Grafenwoehr is a military training ground that we used to practice maneuvers. This was not the first time our battalion trained here, nor would it be the last, but this time it would be different. I hadn't been able to put my finger on it… that is not yet.

Four months earlier we had been in Hohenfels, another military training center… that is where I spent my eighteenth birthday… carrying any M16 and ruck sack.

The next week was going to be different; we were all going to be hooked up to M.I.L.E.S. military laser tag, as real as it was going to get to an actual war.

Not wanting to leave the warmth of my army issued cold weather sleeping bag, I finally cleared the sleep from my eyes and quickly jumped out. The best analogy is that it was like jumping into a cold lake, just do it and make it quick… "Oh my God, it is cold".

I said good morning to the "fire guard" on fire watch. You may ask, "What is fire watch?" Well… It is where some lucky person in your tent gets to stay up and make sure that the heater, gasoline fed, does not catch your tent on fire. I quickly got dressed and slowly made my way out of the tent to the M2 burner staging area to begin the preheating process.

Sgt. Monroe was already awake smoking a cigarette outside. He didn't sleep much… he had served so many tours in Vietnam that he had lost count. I really enjoyed talking to him, in-fact, he is the one that gave me my nickname… J.D. (But he would always add "notorious gangster", I don't know why he added that, but it made him smile, and that is all that mattered.)

We watched as the tankers carried the sixty-cals to their tanks. Yes, they looked and are heavy, but I had no sympathy… I had been issued a fifty-cal that I mounted to my deuce and a half (21/2 ton truck) or sat in a 'nest' with. The deuce was used to pick up rations for the mess hall, which in the field is known as an MKT (mobile kitchen trailer).

Monday! I had almost forgotten… Time to head to the make shift motor pool to perform the weekly pm's on the trucks. We were almost like the Battlestar Galactica fleet "rag tag". In-fact, we had a Sgt that would recite the beginning monologue from the 70's version and insert the names of our trucks, it was actually quite humorous.

I carefully fire up the M2's and place them in the MKT's and then proceeded to the area were the rations were stored. I had a secret, picking up a three pound can of coffee I head off to the motor pool.

When I arrived at the motor pool the coffee maker was brewing. As I approached the Master Sgt of the motor pool, he wasn't smiling, that wasn't really a surprise because he really didn't smile that often. Come to think about it, none of us smiled that often while in the field. I then saw an empty coffee can lying on the table next to the coffee pot. Here was my opportunity, I held up the three pound can and then saw a smile begin to break on his face. I placed the can on the table, the exchange had been made. He called over one of the privates, he handed them my pm paperwork and off they went… now you know my secret. It pays to have a bargaining chip.

Now I had some free time… time to explore the area. I have always been curious of my surroundings and I loved to explore. There are hidden bunkers throughout the area. We had been told that if we discovered any, under no circumstances… do not enter, report it, they may be wired to detonate.

I began walking down one of the many trails in the area. I saw empty shells scattered all over the place on the ground, never moved, and never cleaned up. Somehow reality comes up from behind and kicks you… a war was fought on these grounds. I continued down the path when I caught something different out of the corner of my eye… I stopped and doubled back. Buried halfway in the dirt was a pair of pilot goggles, they looked old. Little did I know how old they really where. I carefully removed the dirt away and picked them up and headed back.

I arrived back at the site. Our NCOIC Sgt Kemp smiled when he saw me. One of the few people who made the best of any situation… he was a father figure to most of us. He is a man who I will always admire and never forget. He had a passion for old military relics, in-fact he had collected quite a few… I handed him the goggles… he studied them. He had determined that the goggles had belonged to an American fighter pilot from World War II.

Questions came to my mind… How old was the pilot? Had he been shot down? Had they been taken prisoner? …Did they make it back home? I may never know.

Time to get ready for next weeks simulated war…