If the GOP having won the war on political correctness moving tens of millions of people to vote Republican is not enough for you, how about college students needing “emergency counseling” who are “traumatized by seeing “TRUMP 2016” written in chalk around their campus, gosh, please, as I said to my kids a gigamegatrillion times, TOUGHEN UP! Which was about the same amount of times I channeled the Rolling Stones telling them “you can’t always get what you want.” This is of course, other than fear of terrorism, has become the top story over at Fox News and on talk radio.
Chalk!
Reminds me of true story:
Wet Powder
Lt. Jite was so short he was dating quarks. His head below his hat was peeling and he was sorry now he had it shaved so close to returning to the real world, but under fire is not the place for the brass to complain about hair length and he had wanted to make a statement to that effect. He had enough problems coping with the BS in the back, yet up front, so under orders to report to the General at Officer Club #4 with haircut and no mustache by 21:00 hours, he shaved and shined his head and painted the words “REAL SHORT, SIR” on top. He made the point to the General but certainly looked foolish to all the girls back home that coming wonderful summer of 1969.
Jite walked up the wide gravel driveway to the motor pool thinking about home only two days away. God, he hated that duty, Motor Stables, 14:00 to 16:00 everyday, busy work he thought as he tossed an aerosol white paint can to Corporal Tubbs.
“Going to re-stencil the names and numbers on all the vehicles today, have at it Corporal.”
The heavy dirty corporal caught the can, “Sir, we just did that yesterday!”
“Well Tubbs, day-glow orange just ain’t got that camouflage look we’re after. Come on, get going, you rather rotate the wheels on all 16 deuce and a halves again.” He said as he wandered under the hot metal roof to remove his hat to play with his head.
At 16:30 he went to Capt. Corats office to get the coordinates for the evening cannon salute. Corats was regular army and a creep. Jite took the information Corats handed him and walked to the parade ground where the Fire Direction Center was located to find where the 8” shell would drop.
“Ben, I think he’s got this 180 degrees out, look at this!” Lt. Billings saw it immediately, shoved the info into the FADAC computer and they both shook there heads in disbelief. “Yep, right in the center of town! Christ, we’d even have to re-lay the gun to deal with his numbers. Well, let’s call him.”
“Ben, let me handle this, I owe this guy one. No, I owe him about twenty, I’m gonna leave him a going away present.”
Jite’s wheels spun as he looked at the map. He found an open target area about three klicks directly below the town on the same azimuth. He was the Safety Officer and Ben had to do what he said. And anyway, Corats had screwed even gentle Ben on occasion. Jite went out to the guns, started up #4, turned it around, and re-laid it. It sure looked funny seeing that fat ole barrel pointing opposite the other three, so unparallel, so unmilitary. Sgt. Smith came by to help in loading and firing as usual.
“What ya got here Capin’? You crazy? That ain’t the one we’re firing?” he asked pointing at the out of wack cannon.
“Yep! That’s the way Capt. Corats wants it, that’s the way he’s gonna get it.”
The sergeant went into FDC and checked the map. “You gonna kill about fifty people to screw ole Honky-Harvey?”
“Thought we’d only put in charge #4 and #5, it will drop about 3 klicks short, on target range #21, same elevation and azimuth figure Corats gave us only it will fall short on a safe I Corp target area. Hell, Smith, I’m gonna do it.”
“Okay, it’s your neck, but why don’t ya call Corats and make him verify the info so its recorded on FADAC?” Jite returned to FDC and called Corats, he knew he would stick to his guns, he never admitted a mistake. No sweat, in fact he said he wanted to fire six rounds as it was his son’s sixth birthday. They all shook their heads in disbelief as the most hated man in the Battalion dug himself deeper. Sgt. Smith helped with the shells, but Jite pulled and loaded the charges, and yanked the lanyard himself keeping Smith out of it. He fired all six and went to the Officers’ Club to wait. It didn’t take long before Corats stormed in.
“Jite! I want you to issue a max Article 15 to Corporal Tubbs, RIGHT NOW!” This caught him off guard, what was going on? “Come with me.” Corats ordered. Jite chugged down another glass of Jack and followed the little twit to the Motor Pool.
“Defacing government property and foul language. He’s your man and you are going to take care of this to the fullest extent of Military Justice! LOOK!” He looked down at the gravel Corats indicated, there in letters about a foot high, were the letters FTA in white spray paint.
“Hmmm..” Jite contemplated the derogatory acronym and dragged a foot back and forth over it erasing it.
“Kicking it away doesn’t make it so it didn’t happen, BUST him!”
“For what? Defacing Gook Gravel? Gimmie a break.” he said turning away walking toward the Club.
Corats grabbed his shirt. “You’re going to do this, I’ll see to it.”
Jite shook off the rabid little man, “Listen you jerk, I been across that river there for most of a year with Tubbs while you sat on your fat little fanny here causing trouble. You wanna screw people, screw em yourself.” Jite said thinking how pleasant it would be to bite off Corats’ nose.
“You’re a lousy Officer Jite, the only one that goes to the NCO Club, to the Enlisted Man’s Club, Christ, you even go to the N**ger Club with Sgt. Smith! You get drunk most every night, stagger in and out of the Donut Dollies’ hootch, go into town making friends with these damn Gooks, and wear those fruitcake wrap-around sunglasses, my God man, LOOK AT YOUR HEAD! And you think you know what’s going on!? You don’t know jackpoop! And if you think you are going to put anything over on me, think again!” He stormed away toward Tubbs who Jite knew would handle himself fine.
“Corats!” Jite yelled unsnaping the holster cover on his .45, “DRAW YOU WORM!” Corats turned and raised his hands away from his gun.
“Shithead!” Jite called turning away wondering if the idiot really thought he was going to shoot him, “And stop by FDC later, I think the Colonel has another being here metal to pin on ya.”
When he re-entered the Club he noticed Billings under duress from the Colonel who vigorously waved him over. “Six shells landed in Target area #21, I Corps is mad as hell, you’re the Safety Officer, didn’t you get Corats’ Coordinates?”
“Oh, I got em all right.”
“Dammit, well you’re both in it deep, what’s the matter with you people? You come out of combat and you think you’re above it all. Well you’re not! You have a very simple job Lieutenant, at 17:00 everyday you fire a shell so it falls within 500 meters of the coordinates designated by my S-2, Capt Corats. What is so damn hard about that? We’re going to straighten this out even if it means no Stateside. You understand me?”
“Yes Sir.” Jite replied as he and Billings followed the angry Colonel out to his jeep and made for the gun battery.
“LOOK AT THAT!! That damn ‘shooter’ is backwards! In twenty years in the artillery I have never seen such a ridiculous sight!” He stormed into Fire Direction and sat at the map table, though quiet, he was seething while he inhaled the data. “Okay, get out of here, both of you! I have a feeling that if I asked about the ‘charges’ I would hear something about wet powder.”
“Must of been wet powder Sir.” Both Jite and Billings replied in unison.
“Jite, you’re suppose to be leaving tomorrow, right? Have my driver take you to the airport right now! Out of my life! What’s Corats doing? Where is he?”
“The usual Sir, Court Marshaling someone in the motor pool.”
ASIA 1969
Epilog: Corats? He is probably some big shot in the NSC, if not personally killing or funding the killing of poor brown women and children in faraway places, at least planning or hoping to. Jite? He went home a day early!