recycled seastories: Sgt. Mike
another. if i keep this up, i will never be able to post about my navy days ever again, because you will have all read this stuff.
Well, once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away....no wait, that's a movie. Amen....this is a no shitter..... We were hanging out in Bremerton following our refueling overhaul at Mare Island. You know, the typical weapons testing and sound trials and other such nonsense that submarines have to go through after being taken apart and then hopefully put back together (correctly) again. We had a real problem with the Jar-headed security group there. Seems that they would ambush Seawolf sailors coming from the EM club on their stumbling way to the barracks that we were put up in. And of course, there were some unnamed sailors that thought that stalking and beating the bejeezus out of some Marine was itself great sport. It got so bad that the COB and the Gunny from the Marine barracks got together and threatened a loss of liberty and life to the dumb bastards that attempted further mayhem if they got caught. Well, as anybody that has ever had any dealings with bubbleheads must know, there is always at least one other way to screw with people that nobody else thought of. It seems that the Marines had this white bulldog named Sergeant Mike. Sgt. Mike was of course a full member of the tac squad, with uniform and duties, such as standing full dress inspections with his squad. One night, Sgt. Mike just disappeared. As you can well imagine, this caused great consternation amongst the denizens of the Marine barracks. The boys were combing the greater Bangor Sub Base calling for their dog, at all times of the day and night. Meanwhile, the dog was living large. He had 24 hour attention, was looked after and loved and fed steaks from the galley on the boat to belly rubs and head scratches. That dog was indeed living the good dog life.
As all things must, our good times at Bangor were coming to an end. The last truck from the bus to the pier contained an odd assortment of sailors and one highly agitated seabag. What we hadn't anticipated was that the boomer parked next to us at the pier was offloading missiles, which meant Marines EVERYWHERE. And not just Marines, but ARMED AND DANGEROUS/PISSED OFF MARINES. The truck was driven slam bang into the pier, and everyone in the truck cab and bed hauled ass across the brow, with the last one out emptying the seabag. As everyone was dropping down the hatch, with the poor maneuvering watch slobs stuck topside to cast off lines, a grunt discovered Sgt. Mike wandering down the pier painted haze gray, with 575 masked out so that the white numbers were VERY visible. The skipper saw what was happening, and sped up the underway process by at least 4 warp factors. Why we didn't get at least several thousand rounds fired our direction is a testament to the iron disciple that the officers had instilled in their men. ahhhhh, sure was glad to get out of the navy before the boat went back to Bangor.
Well, once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away....no wait, that's a movie. Amen....this is a no shitter..... We were hanging out in Bremerton following our refueling overhaul at Mare Island. You know, the typical weapons testing and sound trials and other such nonsense that submarines have to go through after being taken apart and then hopefully put back together (correctly) again. We had a real problem with the Jar-headed security group there. Seems that they would ambush Seawolf sailors coming from the EM club on their stumbling way to the barracks that we were put up in. And of course, there were some unnamed sailors that thought that stalking and beating the bejeezus out of some Marine was itself great sport. It got so bad that the COB and the Gunny from the Marine barracks got together and threatened a loss of liberty and life to the dumb bastards that attempted further mayhem if they got caught. Well, as anybody that has ever had any dealings with bubbleheads must know, there is always at least one other way to screw with people that nobody else thought of. It seems that the Marines had this white bulldog named Sergeant Mike. Sgt. Mike was of course a full member of the tac squad, with uniform and duties, such as standing full dress inspections with his squad. One night, Sgt. Mike just disappeared. As you can well imagine, this caused great consternation amongst the denizens of the Marine barracks. The boys were combing the greater Bangor Sub Base calling for their dog, at all times of the day and night. Meanwhile, the dog was living large. He had 24 hour attention, was looked after and loved and fed steaks from the galley on the boat to belly rubs and head scratches. That dog was indeed living the good dog life.
As all things must, our good times at Bangor were coming to an end. The last truck from the bus to the pier contained an odd assortment of sailors and one highly agitated seabag. What we hadn't anticipated was that the boomer parked next to us at the pier was offloading missiles, which meant Marines EVERYWHERE. And not just Marines, but ARMED AND DANGEROUS/PISSED OFF MARINES. The truck was driven slam bang into the pier, and everyone in the truck cab and bed hauled ass across the brow, with the last one out emptying the seabag. As everyone was dropping down the hatch, with the poor maneuvering watch slobs stuck topside to cast off lines, a grunt discovered Sgt. Mike wandering down the pier painted haze gray, with 575 masked out so that the white numbers were VERY visible. The skipper saw what was happening, and sped up the underway process by at least 4 warp factors. Why we didn't get at least several thousand rounds fired our direction is a testament to the iron disciple that the officers had instilled in their men. ahhhhh, sure was glad to get out of the navy before the boat went back to Bangor.
posted by bothenook at 17:17
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