The Pink Jeep, or how to seriously annoy a Colonel

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
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I must put a disclaimer here, as this story is 2nd hand to me. It was told to me by one of my best friends from high school. I wasn’t there when it took place, but I have no reason to doubt that it’s true, evenif it WAS related to me when I was 2 1/2 sheets to the wind. Enjoy… Ralf Coder

"Back about 1980, give or take a few years, the 2nd Radio Battalion was located on Camp Geiger, in Camp LeJeune, NC, sort of “across Jacksonville NC” from “mainside” Camp LeJeune… This made us close enough to keep an eye on, but far enough from the limelight that we were easily ignored by all but Recon Battalion next door, whose gung-ho “let me show ya what we learned” lunatics had developed a penchant for testing our security by attempting to climb into and out of our operations compound… Apparently the thought that our guard carried a .45 caliber pistol and live ammunition was not nearly enough deterrent to satisfy them and there are, of course, several humorous episodes surrounding THAT bit of idiocy… But, I digress…

What we are really interested in took place some (guessing here) 200 yards away from the compound (as the crow flies or as the Marine scrambles through the brush)… Not very far on foot through the patch of woods, but about 3/4 of a mile away if you took the roads. This was where the Communications Platoon had it’s work and warehouse area affectionately known as the “Chicken Coop”, the naming of which I’m sure has its own illustrious story in the annals of history, or at least scrawled on some bathroom wall. The Chicken Coop itself was a large corrugated metal building with huge doors at each end that, when fully opened, would probably allow an M60 main battle tank to roll on in, (though the Corps was intelligent enough not to let us have any of those to play with). And, of course, the Chicken Coop itself is a source of numerous tales which I will not tap into at this point…

Now just a short distance away from the Chicken Coop was the Motor Transport area with its identical, but not nearly as beloved corrugated buildings and a plethora of vehicles of all varieties, all in various states of repair, save one 1/4-ton jeep which was always maintained in tip-top shape for the Colonel’s driver to take the Colonel wherever it was that Colonels go when they get into a jeep. It was your standard Marine Corps jeep, complete with camouflage
paint scheme, little black stenciled serial numbers and tire pressure markings, and of course the big red plaque with silver rank insignia mounted on the front to let everyone know that the passenger was a Colonel and, in times of war, should be shot first, followed by anyone with a radio on their back or a red cross on their helmet. A comforting thought to anyone who doesn’t fit into one of those categories.

So, the Colonel, whom I shall refer to as Colonel Bob since his name is not Robert and no enlisted man in his right frame of mind would dream of calling a colonel by his first name, where was I? Oh, yes, the colonel had been whiling away his idle hours dreaming up all sorts of things to make all the enlisted Marines miserable. For as everyone knows, a Marine is not truly happy unless he is complaining. What the colonel failed to realize was that when dealing with Marines in the 2600 MOS, you are dealing with Marines that fall within the top 2% of tested intelligence scores in the entire Marine Corps. They don’t take kindly to nonsense, and they aren’t stupid enough to mouth off or get belligerent. They don’t even try to get even - they get ahead. So after a few weeks of this happy horseshit, a few good men from the Communications Platoon decide “enough is enough”. So here’s COMM’s chance to show whey THEY learned.

There’s a single guard that roams the perimeter of the warehouse area at night, and he’s part of Motor Transport (non-2600 Marine). Probably damn good with a rifle, but also not entirely happy to be out circling a bunch of buildings and vehicles for hours on end, and undoubtedly bored out of his mind. Which means the poor guy probably didn’t have foremost in his mind that a sentry is supposed to be vigilant. Our heroes are counting on this…

The sentry walks past and then out of view around the far side of the Motor Transport buildings. Our heroes spring into action. One keeps watch for the sentry, two open the Chicken Coop door, and the others pop the colonels pristine jeep into neutral and roll it quietly into the Chicken Coop. The door is pulled quietly closed and they prepare to retaliate. One is left to time the sentry and watch for him. When the sentry is near, all is dark and quiet in the Chicken Coop, but when he’s not within sight of the Chicken Coop, the work commences to repaint the colonel’s jeep… PINK. Oh, but it doesn’t end there… It is after all a military vehicle and must therefore have all the markings stenciled on in flat black, as well as the serial number (front and back) and the colonel’s plaque must of course be re-affixed to the front of the jeep. After hours of painstaking work, it is finally done, and not yet dawn. With the sentry’s pattern by now well known, it is a simple matter for our heroes to simply roll the colonel’s jeep back to its usual parking space, not too far from the Chicken Coop, and disappear as if no one had ever been there. Yeah, we can do that too, Recon…

The paint job was immaculate, though not precisely what a Marine Corps colonel is used to. From what I’m told, he was rather upset about the whole thing, which he proceeded to tell everyone at morning formation the next day. Morning formation, which normally lasted all of about fifteen minutes, was nearly quadrupled that day, I understand - most of that time being consumed by Colonel Bob berating everyone and presumably tossing in a few less than veiled treats. I’m told the colonel had a REAL good idea of who the culprits were, but had no proof. But, honestly, my guess is that he didn’t have any idea who he had managed to piss off the most and started that rumor himself just to keep the story of the pink jeep from spreading like wildfire.

Okay, so I admit it isn’t much of a tale, but according to all sources I’ve been able to check with, it is essentially true (Colonel Bob isn’t the colonel’s real name), and - what the hell, it’s a GREAT story to tell after you’ve gotten a few beers into your audience…

Ahhhh… Those were the days…

OK, this is Ralf again. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did when I first heard it. I’m trying to get this miscreant to sign up on the board, as he’d be at the very least an entertaining, if not valuable member. And anyone who wants to post a story from the old military days is welcome to.

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Good story, well told–yon miscreant can surely find a place here. Of course, I might be biased toward the over-the-top, pseudomythic style…

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Yep… Okay, so I joined (and thanx for the ego-stroking, Balance)… Anyway, how could I resist after being termed a “miscreant” - had actually thought of using that for my username but figured with what I’ve seen in here before that one would have been claimed by someone else EONS ago… Should probably dredge up some of my other tales (mostly true) for the enjoyment of the twisted individuals that frequent this place…

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I shall one day post the story of the O.D. Green Fiat Shop Van that was adorned with the proper decorations to make it into the Mystery Machine, but I can’t follow this story.

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Good story. Even if it’s not precisely true, it’s close enough to things that did happen that it’ll serve. I’d have given good money to have been nearby when the jeep was found!

Now this one happened on one of my submarines:

On submarines, two of the most valuable perks are space and privacy. Only two persons on the boat have the ability to have privacy whenever they wish it: The Skipper and the XO (Executive Officer: Second in Command). On one particular boat, one particular XO was a prime jerk, regularly pissing-off the entire crew. He was particularly disdainful of the enlisted crew, a very bad prejudice to display on a sub. He had a bad habit of calling a field day (all hands clean-up the boat) whenever he was feeling grumpy, which was rather often. Finally, about two weeks into deployment, he called one field day too many, and while he was back aft inspecting the engineering spaces, some person (or persons) stole his door. Bye-bye privacy! Needless to say, he went ballistic. He stormed into the Goat Locker (Chief’s Quarters), and demanded his door be returned immediately, then stormed out again. One of the chiefs looked around at his fellows, and said “Screw him” (the exact words). Nothing more was said, and the XO’s fate was sealed.

The very next day, just before the noon meal, a polaroid showed-up on the ship’s bulletin board, showing the XO’s door, supported by four masked men, in the shaft ally (extreme aft end of the boat), about to have holes drilled in it. Much hilarity ensued, and when the XO heard the crew having fun, he knew it had to be about him, and came stomping in to see the picture on the board. He immediately called an all-hands field day, waking the off-watch crew, and pissing-off everyone. The next day, same time, a new polaroid appeared, this time showing the masked quartette loading the door into a torpedo tube. This was just after we’d done maintenance on the tubes, including test shots (door go bye-bye?). Again, the XO called field day, and stalked about the boat looking for his door.

Day by day, we relocated his door, taking picture of it in various positions of jeopardy, and day by day, he called field day, hunting his door like some latter-day Ahab.

Eventually, the Skipper came down to the Goat Locker, asking what it would cost to get the XO’s door back, because the XO was driving him nuts. The cost was the XO “cranking” for a day. Cranking is serving as a mess-decks attendant for the enlisted mess. He hated it, we loved it, and the very next field day, his door magically appeared, floating in the torpedo room bilge. Afterwards, he was careful to not piss off the crew too much.

More sea stories upon request…

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I can’t say that I have any personal stories like that, but one of my friends was a lance missle crewman. he told me of one field problem where he had hid the BC’s (Battalion Commander) jeep. The driver had the jeep’s stearing wheel locked up so no one would take it. So on a slow day in the field, he and some of his friends back a 2 5-ton trucks up to it. one with a winch/lift and the other was a long bed. They lift the jeep up and put it in the back of the long bed and put the canvas back over the bed, jeep and all, and repark the trucks. With all of the drills they had to do, loading and unloading the missles out of the longbed, they were fast. The BC comes out of the tent and sees no jeep, goes off on the driver who freaks. The BC sends the whole unit out to find the missing jeep. At which point my friend and his buddies replace the jeep.

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My dad (ex-Special Forces) has all kinds of hilarious stories from jump school…

Here’s a sample:
“One time they were doing a water jump–that’s where you parachute into a lake, so all the guys with broken ankles ‘n’ such could do it to stay qualified–so everybody was wearing t-shirts, shorts, and beach sandals. Well, just as the lieutenant in charge goes out the door, there’s a gust of wind, and he ends up in the woods beside the lake. Falls through pine trees, sticker vines, and all kinds of bad stuff. Finally gets back to the commo van, and the colonel’s there, watching the jump. The colonel made him go back up and try it again.”

Then there was the early-warning monkey* named Assbreath in the base camp in ‘Nam that had been taught a nifty trick: the guys that had been there awhile would talk the new guy into giving Assbreath his Zippo lighter. Ol’ Assbreath would then proceed to flip open the cover of the Zippo, and pull the wick out with his teeth. The only way to get the wick back in was to send it back to the factory. Most guys just bought a new one.

*–Assbreath’s cage was right up against the base commander’s shack. There was a hole at the bottom of the shared wall. Whenever the monkey sensed a mortar attack coming in, he’d dive under the wall into the major’s room and hide under the bed. He’d do this several minutes before the shells started to hit, every time.

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Great story Ralf!

Just stay the hell away from my B-52s.

Tripler
I’m still working on my story. I haven’t found a good one yet.

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Colonel Black was a jerk. I was stationed at Camp Humphries in South Korea 1976-7. This bozo is scheduled to assume command on a hot summer day. his helicopter is late, but we must STILL be assembled on the motor pool blacktop. Folks start passing out. That was just the beginning. There was a stupid statue of a tiger, the unit emblem. One night someone broke off its tail and pulled its teeth. Col. Black insisted on a 24-hr guard for the statue until someone confessed. No one did and eventually the guard was called off. He like to fly up to the little units close to the border to try and suprise them. So he would come in to our radio area to whistle up the copter, never realizing that as soon as he left we contacted his intended victims to tell them to get the dirt swept under the rug. We operated on Zulu(Greenwich) time, and when we tried to expain the time certain events occured he would say “Don’t give it to me in Zulu time, give it to me in REAL time.” What a bastard. Too many other idiocies to tell.

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Tripler, don’t congratulate me, congratulate Mobieus74. He told me this story years ago over a few beers. I’m sure there’s a few more on tap - beers and stories, that is!

Mobieus, next we gotta get the baboon in here!

Another story: My grandfather was in the Navy between WW1 and WW2. This was back in the days of wooden decks, and they were cleaned with hoystones and sand and canvas rags. There were three unpardonable offenses on board in those days. The first was not bathing often enough, the 2nd was stealing from a shipmate, and the 3rd was ratting on or telling on a shipmate. All three offenses were tried by a kangaroo court.

For not bathing, The offender was warned a couple of times. If he didn’t get the hint, several crewmembers would hold the offender down, and he was scrubbed clean with canvas and sand and seawater. They came out of this a bright pink color, no matter what kind of tan they had started the day with. Nobody ever needed to be warned again after this.

The other two offenses warranted the silent treatment for thirty days. Nobody heard you, nobody saw you, nobody responded to you at all, except for such things required by duty. They wouldn’t stand aside for you in the passageways, or pass salt and pepper at mess, or any other such. You effectively didn’t exist. This only happened once on my grandfather’s ship. The guy jumped ship before the month was up.

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I is a small world RalfCoder.

My father was in 2nd Radio Battalion in 1980. Unfortunately he was killed in Beirut in 1983 so we can’t ask him to verify the story. I am going to print your story out and ask my mom if she remembers hearing it.

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I’m sorry to hear about your father, Zumba. I hope he enjoyed the times he had in the service.

And again I must stress that this story came from a friend, and I wasn’t there. You might check with Mobius74 to see if he knew your dad.

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An old one, told to me by my father from back when he was Air Force stationed at Vandenburg.

(I’m not sure which Rocket Slip it was that runs next to the Pacific Rail line, I think it is #4, so I’ll use that designation.)

At Vandenburg, missle test launches are supposed to be secret, no one is supposed to know when the rocket is going to be launched before hand except of course the crews involved. But everyone can tell anyways, since the launch slips are quite visible, and you can see when one has a rocket on the pad. Anyways, slip #4 runs next to the Pacific Rail line, and there is a launch coming up, but the launch window coincided with a train passage. So the Powers that be declaired that the launch could not occur until the train had passed the slip. This shouldn’t be a problem since the window was pretty wide, and the train was to pass just before or after the window opened. Day comes for the launch, everyone is ready, wiating for the train to pass so they could light the candle. No train, time for train comes and goes, but maybe is late, so continue waiting, delay the launch. Still no train. LaunchChief is getting worried, window is getting close to close time and no word about the train, which supposedly left on time. Maybe it derailed or something, so he sends a jeep down the track to see if they could findout what is going on. Jeep drives several miles down the track and finds the train…stopped, and the engineers and train crew all sitting on the top of the train to get a spectacular view of the launch…

(When radioed about the situation, Launchchief stopped delays and ordered the launch to go as scheduled.)

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Seems we’ve now heard from every branch of the armed forces except the Coast Guard, so I can only assume that nothin’ happens in the USCG worth reporting or that nothin’ ever happens in the USCG that’s safe to report… If they don’t speak up soon, maybe I’ll have to post the stories of Operation Cookscrew (yes, that’s spelled right) or maybe some of the bonafide idiocy that went on while I was participating in an amphibious excercise on the west coast…

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When I was stationed in Germany, our 1st Sgt made damn sure his jeep was always in perfect shape. We got just a bit tired of his analness about it one day and painted the whole thing with silver Krylon (spray paint). His driver had to repaint the whole thing with three coats of paint to cover it.

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Oh yeah? Well howabout a Pink Tank!

You can annoy an entire country.