Well.....here we are again. Sitting once again, up at four or so in the morning, unable to sleep. It has been several months now, since I did a bit more on this thread, and pity the poor newer members of the forum that never plodded their way through this stuff before.....
There is an old saying that goes something to the tune of "Jumping out of the pan, and into the fire". In this case, a fitting bit of text, because, I just hadn't known how "Good" I had had it in the old unit. The old unit had it's ups and downs, and being one of those types that just doesn't like to be told what to do, I had indeed been bothered by those times the "downs" came rolling around.
(Makes me wonder how I ever survived the 20 years I put in in the military, or for that matter, how I survived so many years in good old Schnitzelland. Sometimes the American in me, wants to cram all the rules and regulations they have here, down some ones throat....but that's another story.)
When I jumped out of that pan and landed in the fire, it didn't take long to figure out that the pan had been rather a better place to have stayed. Located just off an autobahn, on the outskirts of the city, Camp Swampy had a character all it's own.. Compared to the old unit, this place was huge and the people in it, were of a different class altogether. Where the other unit had mostly been a mixture of males and females, that just wanted to have a good old, drunken or drugged up time and couldn't be bothered to be worried about anything besides the next party, this new unit seemed more interested in whether you could survive it or not. Tough place. A real dangerous place.
I was quickly assigned a bed in one of the rooms in the barracks. I still had a room off post, but I didn't bother to tell them about that. Turned out to be just as well, as it was forbidden. They wanted all of the children in one place where they were easier to keep an eye on. I have no doubt why. If I had to describe my impression of the lot...there comes only one word to mind. Animals. The high fences around the compound, did more than just keep people out...they kept the animals in.
Within the first week, I discoverd why the place was called Camp Swampy", and it wasn't just to honor the workplace of the cartoon character Beetle Bailey, either. Most of the buildings were permanent type structures, but not the area where most of us had to "work". I had kind of wondered about the walkways around post that were made out of old pallets, and the fact that most of the other buildings were what are called "Quonset Huts", (a kind of prefab metal roofed igloo shaped building) had kind of surprised me, but I hadn't thought too much about it. The fact that almost all of the floors of the huts were lined with pallets inside too, hadn't made me wonder yet, either, there were too many other things going on and keeping me on my toes. The first time it rained though, it kind of got my attention. The landscape changed. What had been grass, or dirt, became a lake. The pallets suddenly had a purpose. You could have caught barracuda between the motor pool and the mess hall. And.....it took days for it to go away. (My roommate was all proud when he showed me his hockey skates. Apparently there would be ample opportunity to get your head smashed in by a hockey stick, during the winter months. How nice.) I must admit, though, my sergeant was on the ball. He remembered to send me to the medical facility to get my malaria shot. After all...it was still warm weather.
My new roommates had kind of taken me under their wing and helped me get off to a proper start in the unit. Whereas in the old unit, the guys dragged you down to the red light district to sort of "initiate" you.....in this unit they brought you to the supply and made you put out 20 bucks for a "Buck" knife. I wasn't too enthusiastic about it, but I didn't really have any choice. "Part of the uniform", I was told. This may sound strange, and it was.....but let me explain. Unlike the old unit, where the commander might not feel like bothering for months at a time, there was a "formation" in this unit, every morning. If for no other reason than to see if everyone was still alive after the long dark hours of night in that place. The first sergeant had a thing about "manliness" and a theory that part of being a "man" was carrying a good old "American" Buck knife. Today, I couldn't do it, but back then, I got drilled half of the first night I was there, by my room mates on how to open that thing one-handed and with "style". There was a rhythm to it and you went methodically by the numbers and flicked the knife open. If I am truthful, I can indeed still do this, I just don't want to admit to it. Some things you never forget.
Now this had a purpose. Standing in formation, all in rows and such, the next morning, it all became clear. The First Sergeant walks out in front of the squads and instead of shouting, as expected, "Attention", he shouts "Buck". There, all in neat rows, in the half light of dawn, stand a good hundred of us and by the numbers, put the right hand behind the back, pop the leather holder for the "Buck" open, move the hand to the front, place the thumb on the blade and flick it open with a click and shout "Buck". Beyond belief. A hundred uniformed idiots standing there with open knives in the dawn. God did it feel "Manly".
There was more to the formation though. Things were just beginning to get interesting. The Commander came out and made a motion that he wanted to inspect the troops. This is sort of the norm, and this didn't surprise me, but what happened a few minutes later, did. In about the second row, he had a complaint about one of the fellows in the other squad. Something about him not having shaved. This Commander wasn't very well liked, but what happened came totally unexpected. The Commander was so stupid as to poke his finger into the fellow's face. Bad move. Real bad move.
While the fellow finished pounding the crap out of the commander, the sergeants all stood around and watched. One of them lit a cigarette, as apparently there was enough time for it. They weren't inhuman though. When it began to look like the fellow might actually kill the commander, they stepped in and pulled him off. Guess that would have involved too much paperwork.
Every day there was something new to learn. The commander apparently though, wasn't one of those easy learners. Within a week, he had tried to push his weight around in the enlisted mans club too, what he was doing there, lord knows, but the gist of it is that the fellows around the pool table crowned him with a pool cue, and dumped him in the bushes beside the building. Must have been a good headache, because he missed formation the next day.......
Life was keeping me on my toes. There was enough stuff going on, that there was never a dull moment. One thing quickly learned, was that, NO MATTER WHAT, you just didn't talk about anything you saw someone else doing that might not be quite legal. Blabbermouths weren't liked. I had sort of figured this out gradually, in my life, but not everyone is that smart. A fellow one of the buildings down by the headquarters evidently hadn't. Don't know exactly what the reason was, but it got spoken around that it had to do with drugs. Anyway, one morning the MPs and German Police were all over the place on post. Apparently someone didn't like the fact that this fellow had a big mouth and they tied him up, threw him out of the second story window with a rope tied around his feet, slammed him a number of times against the building, and left him there. It never was clear whether he had been killed before or after the trip out of the window...but the results were the same. He wasn't going to be butting into other peoples business again.
Nice place to work...made for a real relaxed atmosphere. Seemed like the whole place was insane and it was worth your life just to look twice at someone. Drugs had a lot to do with it. Every time the barracks had an inspection, the sergeants had to wear gloves to run their hands under the lip of the stainless steel sinks in the latrine. This was the place everyone stashed their needles. I saw it checked once by my sergeant. He ran his gloved hand up under the lip and knocked 5 needles out and on the floor. I can still see it in my minds' eye...and it still gives me Goosebumps.
This wasn't the only distasteful bit going on. Our building was lucky enough to have been chosen as the favourite haunt of the "Mad Shi**er". Piles of human poop, appeared at irregular intervals in rather strange places. In the middle of the hall, in the middle of the shower, in front of the first sergeants office door,etc. There was definitely something strange going on. This went on for months, until one day someone noticed a stranger walking into the latrine and never coming out again. There was only one door to this latrine and he had to be somewhere. Eventually he was found, drugged and fast asleep inside a tiny door in the wall above one of the toilets, in a sort of rats nest of old blankets and old food stolen from the mess hall. They figured out eventually that he had been discharged a year earlier and his mates had been feeding him and holding their tongues about it. As I said..... the code of silence was what kept you alive in this unit.
So..... the piles of poop appeared no more and life returned to normal, if you can call it that. My two roommates were worth mentioning. One went out every evening and never came back to the room before 4 or 5 o'clock in the morning. At that point, he opened the door and fell face first into the room. Now the door was open. That means, get out of bed, drag roommate into room, let him sleep on the floor, return to bed and try and get another hours sleep. Quarter to six, get out of bed, shake room mate until he sits up and gets ready for formation. That wasn't much work for the roommate, he 's still dressed in the uniform from the day before and it saves him time. So, stumble to formation, do the Buck thing and go to work. He tried to share his stash of Jackie that he kept in the desk, with me, almost every morning.... but who in their right mind wants to drink whiskey at 06:30 in the morning? And "Jackie", of all things...Yuck!
My other roommate was sort of a quiet guy...didn't say much. He had a beef with the commander too. Still waters run deep, as they say. Anyway.... one night he is feeling the urge, so he goes out to the motor pool, hops in his big truck, and drives over the fence and down to the red light district. Parks the truck on the sidewalk and goes in to get himself a bit of you know what. He comes out feeling better, and there stand the MPs, looking at the truck. Never one to miss an opportunity, he marches up and asks the MPs how his truck got there. Naturally, they don't believe him, when he says he took the bus there, and doesn't know how his truck ended up there in front of the cathouse. So they take him away and the commander charges him with stealing the truck. Never say die, is his motto, so he waits until the weekend, talks to his buddy on the front gate and pulls into the compound with a tractor and trailer load of cow poop he has arranged to borrow. The commander has his Thunderbird convertible parked behind the building, with the top down and is distracted by some kind of paperwork. This trailer has a dump mechanism.
Take a guess. You will be most likely correct.
Within a week, our favourite commander put in for a transfer, and had gotten it. Somehow, the charges on my roommate were forgotten in the shuffle.................
I started to look at the lines of the tank and engine.....OOOHHH that engine with those kidney shaped engine cover! I kept imagining how it will look with the polished engine covers, black barrels, beautiful chrome pipes, and that sound that I have not heard in years! Geez...I can't wait! I just wish I had more money right know to start a restoration, But at least I have it and can look forward to the day she is back on the road!