posted on Jul, 28 2009 @ 03:55 PM
I recall in the combat zone, when soldiers and Marines met up in bars, invariably, there'd be a brawl in no time. Both sides made fun of the other,
and though we were brothers in arms, fists would fly in direct proportion to the amount of beer consumed.
We'd screw with each other. Once due to the extent of my wounds, everytime we'd come in from the field, they'd send me by daily convoy to Bien Hoa
for a big jug of IV Penicillin.
One the way, there was a small Marine post guarding a bridge, and they had obtained an aircraft drop tank, built up a tower, and had constructed a
Not having a shower, I grabbed an M203, stood up in the back of the deuce and a half, yelled at them to run, and I blew a good six-inch hole in it.
The convoy didn't stop, we proceeded, and the next morning on the way back, they had patched it, I grabbed the same guy's 203 and this time, the
Marines were paying attention, and upon seeing this blonde-headed guy stand up and start taking aim, everyone unassed the area near the drop tank.
I did this for three consecutive days, and the third day, we got a visit from a very irate Marine Colonel. A formation was called, and all three of
us blonde headed guys were asked to step forward and we were grilled.
When I owned up to being the "bastard" that kept putting holes in their tank from a moving duece and a half truck, he stared for a while and
concluded I was a Marine who was merely stuck in the Army. And THEN congratulated me on my shooting.
Gotta love Marines. They're reliable, dependable, they have a sense of honor, a sense of respect of other fighting men, and are men I'd like
alongside me when any shooting starts.
Now for my Army brothers who think I've gone completely off the deep end here, I will admit that Marines had some of the stinkiest feet who ever put
a foot in a boot.
So they weren't perfect.
But damn near.
[edit on 28-7-2009 by dooper]