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Frank wanted to graze 30 head of sows, at a location several miles away from his house. The fences weren't much, and he was way too "creative" to just repair the fences. He figured he could make an electric fence that would keep them in, but couldn't figure a way to get the electricity way out there.
So, he picked up a diesel powered generator at a public property surplus option, and hooked it up directly to the wire(s). For some reason, he couldn't get it to run on one wire, but figured out that if he ran two wires, and attached each to a separate terminal on the generator.
Of course, each sow had to touch the wires "just once" in order to figure out what they were, but "just once" was enough to provide barbeque for everyone in the county.
It is for certain, that Frank never read "A Conneticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court."
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Great story! 120. I hope the other parts of the country chime in too. I am working on an evidentiary theory of "The Role Of The Billy Bob Trait throughout American Migration Patterns in the Advancement of Modern Cultural Achievements". Your story adds to the research in the field.
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My Frank Story isn't that good, and the guy was actually named Carl but let's give it a whirl, what say? It was a Montana Moment in retrospect.
It's not about cats either, but I'll pick up on that elsewhere. The scene is near the HQ of 2/17th Cav, in a small trickle of a creek that flowed from near the helipad, between HQ and Delta Troop.
It had been decided that a water source was needed to allow us to wash the choppers, and concluded that if there was a big hole in that creek, that need would be met. Lt. Carl, whose last name I cannot spell thus it will remain anonymous(it was Polish anyway, and I don't want to start a big ethnic broo-haha)(No Shit). Anyway, Lt. Carl ws the Squadron FX dude with explosives, and also doubled up for the Division when they needed some EOD work. He got in touch with Division Fireworks and ordered up a shape charge and a couple of cratering charges to boot, set the time table and went to work. Those cratering things had about 40# of something in them as I recall, and they interlock by mechanical means as a matter of design. He hooked one up to the shape charge and began tamping it into the soft mud of the creek bed. Lickity split young Carl had that'n sunk, and since it's not deep enough in his opinion and the easiest way to continue was to hook up another cratering charge.... Last time I heard any scuttlebutt on GP bombs, the 500# had about 125 pounds of explosive. Carl was getting really close to that with this torpedo-from-hell that he then buried so deep he had to get help to get out of the mud.
The asigned time was high noon. Everybody knew it. No surprises, right? Lt. Carl hit the clackers and a whole lotta stuff happened real quick. There was a hole there, no doubt about it. Problem was that all that dirt and rock was up in the air 'bout a mile or so. The concussion knocked the Squadron generator off line, so every body was in the dark in the TOC(Tactical Operations Center or Panic Central). The people in the TOC hit the hot line to Division, and next thing you know, the entire 101st Chairborne.......ain't. Full scale red alert for incoming arty!
There was a Major in that dark hole known as the TOC, where all the accumulated dust of the ages was coming down, and he was a REAL Major, a NO-SHIT MAJOR of the 2/17th AIR CAV! by GOD, and he feared nothing. Methinks that his immediate solution to the lack of light was to go to where there was light, namely outside, incoming be damned! As he rushed out the door into the burning noon brightness that was Viet Nam in the dry season, he SAW THE ELEPHANT. And he blinked. In this case, it took the form of a rock of about 600 pounds or so, and it landed on the hood of his jeep whilst the MAJOR was only a few feet away in mid stride, full gallop. Kind of like Tick was. I don't recall exactly what the line was on him maintaining his composure but the tale was that Vegas won big! But, the man was a CAV MAN, and he managed to scuttle back into the TOC before other somewhat lighter missles began to impact the vicinity.
Even if he was a Real Live Officer, I'll give him credit for good judgement on that part of the fiasco.
Epilogue: The Division remained on red alert for about 10 minutes before somebody at G1 recalled that Lt. Carl was digging that day. Lt. Carl got to buy the MAJOR a drink at the club that night, I don't know who got him the new jeep. Or the clean shorts. The hole filled with water and the wrench benders had wash water for about 2 months before it filled with silt. THE rock was rolled over by the ZSU 23-2 that had been captured near Tiger Mountain and was deeply revered by the Squadron, exception being the MAJOR. Lt. Carl was there after known as the Mad Bomber, or Lt. Mad Bomber(giggle) if he ranked you. Power and lighting was restored in the area within a few days, holes in the roofs of the hootches took a little longer. The band played on.
Ned, I hope this helps with your research.
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Good story! As my middle name is STAN (as in Shit man, That Ain't Nothin') I have a couple good military/TOC stories.
I had the joy of being on a winter operation in Germany, when the army decided to go to a standardized fuel. JP8 was the go-juice of choice, and the helos and tanks loved it. Unfortunately, the venerable M113-series vehicles and their associated heaters did not. So, there I was, during the coldest winter on record in Germany for quite a awhile (-10 degrees F.), with a broke-dick M577, a TOC extension, and a Herman Nelson-style heater, which was set up to burn JP-8. Unfortunately, we were probably the last unit in Germany that still had gasoline-powered 4.2 kW generators, so we were always nervous about resupply, but I digress. My TOC crew consisted of myself, my Puerto Rican TOC NCO, and my 6'6" 300 lb. Guamanian driver. Myself, being an Iowa boy, thought the weather on the cool side, but tolerable. My two subordinates acted as if the world was about to end.
So, it's 0300, and the Herman Nelson heater runs out of fuel. Of course, there is NO sleeping through fuel can change at -10 F, so I get up to take a whiz. I am busily trying to take care of business without freezing my wang off, when I hear my TOC NCO, shaking and cussing, as he digs through the pile of fuel cans, gets a full one in the saddle and hooked up, and goes back into the TOC extension, where my large Guamanian driver has several choice words for him. They both then try to get the heater started, "helping" each other, and otherwise getting in the way of each other in their haste to get it lit.
At about this time, I am buttoning my fly with numb fingers, and wading through the snow back to the TOC and my freezing fart sack, when one of them gets a match lit. Of course, they left the heater running, with the throttle wide open throughout the time they were changing the can. And, of course, they accidently hooked up a MOGAS can, and failed to smell the difference.
TOC extensions are designed to be "light-proof". Despite this fact, I swear to this day, that I saw the outline of both of those guys through the TOC extension when the gasoline went off, removing all their facial hair and giving them both a severe sunburn. Neither one were impressed when I suggested that the burn ointment they had to wear for the remainder of the field problem would actually help against the cold.
Some people just don't have a sense of humor....
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Determination,,,,coupled with the desire to do the job right the first time,,I love it Clay
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As per usual,a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,hence the question,"Why didn't they just ask a couple of Crew Chiefs to build a Super C". Probably would have been just as effective with less destruction and way more fun for the Troopies! derf
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