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This is a question In the Army Now - The joy of the Armed Forces

I've never been a soldier. I was an air cadet once, but that mostly involved sitting in a mouldy hut learning about aeroplane engines with the hint that one day we might go flying.

Yet, anyone who has spent time defending their nation, or at least drinking bromide-laced-tea for their nation, must have stories to tell. Tell them now.

(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 18:26)
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This question is now closed.

My great-uncle
was one of the guys that liberated Belsen.
He was murdered in 1946 by Jewish terrorists in Palestine.

I've never been in the forces, but I work with them on a regular basis. My first tour in the Falklands, the RIC (Roulement Infantry Company) were the Anglians. They'd caused so much hassle that even their sergeants were confined to their rooms, an armed MP at either end of their accommodation corridor.
At the moment it's the Jocks, they've smeared shit over doors inside the sgts' and officers' messes so it's obviously not the lower ranking squaddies that did that, they've also caused enough drunken brawls to get spirits banned from the Naafi bars, and worse no-one's allowed to buy bottles of spirits as take-outs from the sgts' or officers' messes.
Cheers cunts.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 2:45, Reply)
Armies
My armies are in my sleevies.

Thanks kids, I'm pissed.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 2:38, Reply)
Fancy Dress Shenanigans in the Royal Navy....
It was some bright spark's idea on HMS Bristol in 1990 that all mess members go out for the night in fancy dress to Portsmouth.

So, the date for the 'run ashore' was set and we all went about getting our costumes. There was the usual array of monks, cowboys, St Trinians etc and a rather superb pantomime horse. My receding hairstyle made for a great Count Dracula.

Having supped copious tins of Red Death and CSB in the mess beforehand all 20 or so of us set out to cross the dockyard and head for Pompey.

The first stop for much mirth and pissing of pants was when we were stopped at the gate and asked for RN ID cards. This was a rule introduced a month earlier for those going OUT of the gate as well as in.

Anyhoo, we all complied except for the pantomime horse who tried to make a gallop for it out of the gate (appropriately enough called 'Unicorn Gate').

"Oi!Stop!" shouted the Mod Plod at the gate, I need to see your ID card.

With that a solitary hand clutching a card came out of the horse's arse for inspection by the copper. Believe it or not he checked the photo on the card and waved the horse on keeping a straight face throughout and not even acknowledging that it took two to make a successful pantomime horse!

So the night went on and I'll spare you most of the debauched details of the nun's antics with the St Trinians girls.

The following morning, with hangovers rampant we were all spinning the stories of the previous night, all of us bouyant after a cracking night out. All except the Womble that was who had lost his Orinoco head and (therefore his £25 deposit) after getting in a fight with some lads off of HMS Cleopatra.

Someone soon noticed however that not everyone had returned on time and Jock Fraser (Bugs Bunny the night before) was missing, last seen chatting up some sort in the corner of Joannas Night Club (aka the Royal Navy School of Dancing)...

Worry not though, because a grinning Bugs Bunny returned to the ship at 1000, 3 hours late still clutching his plastic carrot and greeted by our Commander at the top of the gangway for imminent 'trooping'. Ordered to appear before the Captain the following day he was relieved to hear that he wouldn't be charged because the Captain said Bugs Bunny's return was 'the funniest thing' he'd seen in 20 years in the RN.

The close to this story however, was the letter received by Able Seaman England (Orinoco the Womble to you and me) from 5 lads in 3Romeo Mess, HMS Cleopatra. They had sailed to the Falklands the following day for a 6 month deployment and had enclosed a picture of one of their lads proudly wearing Orinoco's head at the Equator.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 2:37, Reply)
The Falklands War?
That was me, that was... Army AND Navy.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 2:28, Reply)
In Korea
I'm a civilian living in Korea, but most of the foreigners I interact with are American military personnel when they're getting drunk on the weekends. Some of them are decent folk, and some just come out to shit on the country. The really racist ones usually stay on base their entire time here.

I have thousands of stories about soldiers. Just need to choose one.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 2:24, Reply)
The Tale Of the Royal Marine and his Pet Koala...
Way back when, I was stationed aboard HMS Ark Royal and the highlight undoubtably was our deployment to Australia in 1988 for the Bicenntenial Celebrations of that year. It was little more than a shag and beerfest of 20 or so ports in 6 months.

The first port in Australia was Brisbane and it was a stampede to be one of the first ashore and get the best Sheilas. The Royal Navy is a hierarchial beast at the best times and it was no surprise that the ship's Royal Marines or 'Bootnecks' were the first ashore - first to get pissed - first to get a shag and first to get in a fight. You guess which order.

That is, all except one Marine.

He was struggling to get this particular girl between the sheets who was proving to be a bit more shy than her counterparts in this particular bar. He tried and tried to seduce her but she would have none of it, preferring instead to drink the drinks he bought her and rant on about her love of animals.

Well Marines aren't the brightest of God's creatures and this one took a little time to catch onto her weak spot, but eventually he blurted,

"I love animals too..."

"Oh really?" she cooed.

"Yeah, sure. Especially Koalas" he replied confident in the knowledge he'd soon get her where he wanted her. "In fact" he continued "I keep one on board the Ship"

At this point you should be aware that Koalas are on the endangered list in Oz but you knew that anyway, right?

"On your SHIP?" she begged

"On my ship" he confirmed sensing slight danger "but I look after him, he stays in my locker and I feed him potato peelings from the galley."

I can't remember whether the raven haired beauty threw the glass at him, its contents or both, but she swore an Ozzie obscenity and marched out of the bar.

Our intrepid hero returned Sheilaless to the ship.

Next morning, having related the story to his luckier mates, he hears his name being called over the Ships broadcast system (PA). He diligently reports to the 'Officer of the Day' at the gangway and is stunned to see the girl from the previous night accompanied by two of Brisbane's finest law officers.

"Marine Evans!" barks the Officer of the Day "Did you tell this girl you keep a Koala in your locker?"

"Yes, sir"

"Well that was plain stupid, of course you don't really have one" replied the OOTD.

"But I do sir, I'll go and get him".

Cue stunned faces all round when a grinning Evans returns with a large rustling paper bag 5 minutes later.

The police officers step forward to take the bag from Evans but just as they do our hero dropkicks the bag about 6 foot across the gangway area.

The gasps were audible for miles around but returned to silence when a stuffed Koala toy of lifelike proportions rolled out of the bag.

"Can I take Kevin back now, he's my lucky mascot like?" chirps our man

Well not too lucky. Marine Evans spent a night in an Aussie cell and then the rest of the Brisbane visit confined to the mess for bringing the ship into disrepute.

Deserved a frigging medal if you ask me......
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 1:31, Reply)
Not really the Armed Forces
When I was in my early teens some of my friends started going to something called the Air Training Core (or Corps, or something similar), not wanting to be the odd one out my Dad took me along to meet the Commander and get me inducted. My Grandad was in the Forces during the war and I thought it'd be a great sentiment to become an Officer in the Jr Air Force and make him proud, needless to say this idea lasted about five minutes after I realised that all of my friends had decided to quit the same week that I'd decided to join.

Because I'd agreed to make a commitment I was forced to go along to ATC meetings every week for about three months on my bloody own, the drills and excercises were pretty easy but it's no fun standing around by yourself week in and week out is it? Eventually my parents realised how miserable I was and agreed to let me quit, the week I quit the club went on a trip to a shooting range where they had a jolly fun time playing with assault weapons.

Just call me Mr Bad Decisions :(
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 0:58, Reply)
So many stories...
So little patience at typing....

Where do I start:

Back of a Type 23, that's a ship (cue sniggering at the back- a Frigate in case you didn't know). Houses either a Lynx or Merlin Helicopter on the back.

There's a big hangar on the back for it to stay nice & warm & out the way.

To get it out the way you can't just "drive" it in, it sits on a complex system of pulleys & ropes which drag it under cover.

Some time ago a bright spark decided it would be ace to hide the ropes (health & safety and all), by putting a large plinth over all the pulleys & ropes.

Result- one much cleaner deck, safer in all weather, but I kid you not, no-one thought about the height of the helicopter.

Honestly (got pics on my phone), you have to let the helicopter's tyres down to get it in the hangar.........................

There's more, when time allows....
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 0:53, Reply)
Beer problems.
Naafi bar RAF Abingdon.
Barrack Block piss up.
One lad (Glen) goes for a piss.
Si does too, in Glen's pint.
Glen gets back takes a swig of beer and utters the killer line.......
"Is it me or does the beer taste like piss tonight?"
Beer sprayed, sides split, Glen none the wiser.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 0:38, Reply)
Basic Training RAF Swinderby
Finally finish basic and have a mighty piss up. Entire Sqdn gets back to barracks and jump into bed (our own) fully clothed.
Enter female Sqdn OC 'well done' she says spots one of the lads is clothed and comes out with the immortal line 'I want you all undressed and in bed 5 mins'.
She about turns and leaves with the di staff Sgt.
5 mins later in she comes walks upto Daz's bed whips back the covers to find an inebriated young man nursing a boner to end all boners cos an officer had told him to get his kit off.

Cue red faced OC an apopleptic Sgt and a week of scrubbing the block for 3Sqn 15 Flt.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 0:33, Reply)
Not me but...
Studying for a future career at the Bar has led to a working knowledge not only of the major judgements which form the foundation of the law, but also of the (often hilarious) circumstances which led to the case coming to trial in the first place.

Sorry to be boring, but in order to understand the story, it has to be explained that consent is currently no defence to a charge of GBH. S&M enthusiasts can and have been successfully prosecuted for significant prison terms even where the "crime" has been paid for by the "victim" (or "gimp" for a more pc term).

I now turn you to the case of R v Aitken.

It was 1992, and four airmen were attending an RAF celebration party. Having consumed a "considerable quantity of alcohol", the four began playing practical jokes upon other passed out airmen. A particular favourite was to spray white spirit upon their comrade's flame retardent suits, and then set the sleeping man alight.

A few hours, and several more drinks later, airman "A" decides to retire for the night. Leaving the bar, he returns to his bunk, onto which he collapses and promptly falls asleep. The remaining airmen: B,C and D feel rather let down by A's early exit, and resolve to play a similar joke on him.

They creep into the dormitory, pour liberal quantities (the whole bottle in fact) of white spirit on his (NON flame-retardent) suit. Airman A has by this point regained a measure of consciousness and is ineffectualy attempting to escape.

The eye-witness accounts by B,C and D during their trial described A as "going up like a torch", and medical reports indicated he “suffered extremely severe burning, with 35 percent of his body sustaining superficial burns of a life-threatening nature”.

They all got let off. It was held on appeal that as the men were "indulging in rough and undisciplined play", that a "genuine belief" that A had consented (no matter how unreasonable) was sufficient for a full pardon.

Moral of the story? Legally: You can't agree to a fistfight, you can't hurt someone in a private sexual act, and you can't touch the sleeve of another persons coat without their permission.
But by God, you can set people alight for fun if you're in the army!
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 0:28, Reply)
At the age of 13...
i, polished boots in hand, skipped to my local TA centre and became a army cadet. Best time of my life! I was the only girl and so the guys became very protective over me. Even the sergeant would hurl me into his office to give me fatherly advice. The majority of the time was spent climbing trees, rolling around in mud and shooting guns. Exactly what all 13 year old girls love!

On one occasion, we all went to a local dog show on a camp site in order to help out. There are too many stories from that weekend to post but the most memorable (for other people, i cant remember it at all) was playing on the assualt course. There was a zip wire. Instead of going down it the normal way, the guys were clinging on to it with their hands and legs and being swung round by about 70 other cadets. I decided to have a go but was told it wasnt safe for a girl. Ha! i think.. ill show them. I lasted about 30 seconds before i flew 20 feet into the air and then clipped the wire on the way down and landed on my head. I didn't remember the date or what school i went to for a few hours and ended up with concussion. Good times!!

How i miss that place.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 0:06, Reply)
I don't have any true stories about the army, don't know anyone in the army, and haven't been in the army.
And I'm betting 99% of the people who have posted here haven't either!

But never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Carry on, soldiers.
(, Fri 24 Mar 2006, 0:06, Reply)
Not me, im only young..
But my grandfather was in WWII, as most peoples grandfather's here were.
Mine stormed onto that beach thingy, dunno much about it however as he died when I was a wee whipper snapper.
What I do know is that he got some shiny medals, and a stamp book.
Yes, a stamp book.
While other platoons broke into banks and stole all they could, my grandfather stole a stamp book from a german post office!
Why not the fecking gold! I could be rich now!
Damn him.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 23:47, Reply)
i used to...
watch M.A.S.H. a lot, that Clinger guy cracked me up. i used to think i had hearing like Radar and would pretend like i could hear incoming choppers in the distance, Hawk-Eye was cool too, but BJ had an unfortunate nickname.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 23:42, Reply)
They tried to make me join.
Sweden is in the process of getting rid of the draft, but I was lucky enough to be called in for duty. Being a long haired hippie at the time, I was having none of it. It's two days of stupid tests and you get an assignment at the end of it.

So I systematically set about doing as badly as I possibly could. I now have a piece of paper that tells me that I; am suitable for a position with limited theoretical requirments, am unsuitable for a stress induced situations at war (Messing with the minds of a psychologist is great fun), 2/9 muscle power, 9/9 stamina and good blood pressure (It was a cycling test. I love cycling and I was damned if I was going to fail that one). Got refered to a hearing specialist because I failed the hearing test (Randomly clicked the button when I 'heard' a beep) and during the doctors interview I had many things to complain about (Bum knee, dodgy stomach...)

At the end you go to what is essentially a guidance counselor. The guy looks at my papers, says "You don't want to be here, do you?", "Nope.", "You are what we call 'a draft dodger'. Go away and don't come back."

I was placed in group D. As I understand it, once the big bad Ruskies invade Sweden and groups A, B and C are killed, I'm up.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 23:23, Reply)
I was a student nurse in Belfast
One of my friends had a real thing about squaddies - loved anything in a uniform if you know what I mean. Well one drunken night we were wandering the streets of Belfast and an armoured car went past - one of the ones with the big squaddie with his rifle looking out a hole in the top. We were drunk, and young, and female, so we waved at him and shouted hello. Unfortunately this put the driver off, and he veered out of his lane crashing into another car. He came to an abrupt stop and the squaddies in the back obviously panicked, and thinking they were under attack from the IRA or whoever piled out the back ready to shoot whoever had ambused them.

We did the only thing we could and legged it, managing to dive into a friendly pub round the corner just as the army helicopter got to the scene.

Oops.

They didn't catch us, but I'd love to know what they put on the insurance form for the damage to the other blokes car.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 23:22, Reply)
My connection with the army is limited to say the least
But why not tell what I have? My brother is in the TA (I think only so he can get paid to play around on assault courses and steal supplies). For christmas he got our mother some bags of "instant white tea"

the concept was so disgusting, I just had to share
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 23:07, Reply)
Well...
I got abducted from my home world at the age of four and replaced with a clone, then I underwent rigerous training and cyborg augmentations until the day some nasty alien religious fanatics decided to try and exterminate the human race! So of course after being fitted with the latest combat armour (and a starship AI no less!) I managed to crash on a strange ancient alien artifact in deep space! Imagine my surprise when I found it was a weapon! Well- after sorting that nasty mess out I took a nice trip to my home town of New Mombasa- only to find that was full of bloody aliens too! I ended up on another one of those space ring things, and then some giant plant sent me to look for something called the ark- quite an adventure I can tell you!


Love Master Chief Spartan-117 xx
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 23:07, Reply)
On Exercise
In the army cadets at grammar school we used to go on exercises at Catterick. The marshall would come round during the exercise on his motorbike and declare some of you dead by chalking a big X on your battledress sleeve.
My mate Alan - who was a bit of a big moody bastard (he later joined the paras) took exception to having an X chalked on his sleeve and rubbed it straight off. Marshall chalks back on, Alan rubs it off.
This goes on for about 5 minutes Alan getting more and more moody looking and marshall turning purple with rage.
Marshall finally storms off, jumps on his motorbike, kicks it over really hard and the bike misfires and throws him in the air and he falls on the ground screaming and clutching a broken ankle.
Alan walks over, picks up the chalk and puts a big X on the marshalls sleeve.
Not a word said during the whole exchange, rest of the squad wetting ourselves laughing, it was worth cleaning the billet out for the rest of the week.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 23:02, Reply)
In the RAF
Basic training is the most fun you can have without actually having any fun. Only realised it was actually pretty cool after I passed out.
Anyhoo. One part of the training is to get suited up in full NBC(nuclear, biological and chemical) suit and go into the gas chamber *ahem* Respirator Test Facility. Full of CS gas (similar, if not the same as, mace) we had to walk around for a while, jump up and down, wave our arms, make sure our suits worked. Then everyone stands at the back of the room in a group and the only thing standing between you and the fire exit is a huge feck off rock ape built like a brick shithouse, easily the hardest guy I ever met.
One by one the new recruits (we'd been in about 4 weeks by this point) would walk up to him, take off their respirator and try and answer some simple questions.

First guy: Name? "Sno...sno...snwegh"
he gets kicked out cos he's dying
Second guy: Name? Gazzard *cough*, Number: Bravo*cough*eigh..eigh...eigweh*cough*cough*
He gets kicked out cos he's dying
Now everyone is shitting housebricks
I walk up: Name? Beed, Number? G8515172 Siblings? One sister, she's 14, Why did you join the RAF? You've seen the guys that join the other forces right?
I get kicked out for being a smartarse

Turns out some people are immune to the gas, I rock!
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 22:56, Reply)
My family had a great time in the early 40's
My grandad was (like most of his generation) a soldier in WWII, in fact a captain no less, and he was actually in the bunker with all the senior officers, including General Montgomery waiting for the order to advance. After days of waiting...the radio crackles into life...

All the officers lean forward...

...pulses racing...

...I expect you could have heard a pin drop...

..."Congratulations from HQ to Captain Gravity on the birth of his beautiful baby girl!"

Cue a slightly embarrassed "Oh erm, sorry gentlemen..." from my grandad.

Other stories of his include seeing a german soldier being stoned and beaten to death by a group of famine-stricken concentration camp survivors, and then having to give them food.

Also bumping into his brother randomly in a hospital in africa.

Also one of my great uncles managed to escape the clutches of the 3rd Reich in a rubbish bag...they didn't bayonette ALL of their trash luckily...

Probably more, but I expect you've had enough, and the FBI are after me for supplying counterfeit food...
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 22:51, Reply)
the thin red line
hagis_uk you twunt you could at least try posting a story that you didn't just read somewhere....the boy who doesn't know the marines aren't part of the army is a standard pisstake in the army...... you cock.

How about the exercise where the only casualties were me an my platoon sergeant, in the space of 5 minutes he tripped over and broke his leg, I fell over a wall and broke my arm.....stunningly bad way to take out the 2 most senior soldiers in your platoon, particularly when the enemy didn't shoot either of us.

...or the day when we found some SAS guys asleep under a bush (but then they were only TA SAS).

....and ex-SAS guys from the 80's do all have dodgy moustaches.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 22:47, Reply)
fun times
i had a fun time in the army filming soilders abusing small iraqi children o how i masterbated
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 22:44, Reply)
Umm..
Well, I piloted U.S. Marines into France 9 hours before D-day. I sub-jacked a U-boat and then later destroyed a whole U-boat facility. I rescued some Brits in Arnhem. I also did stop the Nazi's from initiating their super-flying V-bomb campaign that they were going to wage on the Allies. OOOh! and I also stole their HO IX flying wing. It was wonderfull when I returned home to the arms of my lovely wife. Her dirt-track never smelled better!

-Lt. Patterson
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 22:18, Reply)
800 quid in highly-polished pound coins?
My son was stationed at the far end of the country and most of the regiment was allowed weekend leave most Fridays, AFTER a long run and a parade.

Every now and then though, the colonel would let them off at noon after a special parade.

Each man had to polish up a £ coin until it shone, then dress in smart casual civvies and parade as normal on the parade ground with his weekend bag.

The colonel would 'inspect' the troops, taking care to examine each quid-bit before it was dropped in one of his minions' buckets.

When the money was all in - some £800 - he would dismiss the regiment and they'd cheer and disband and scarper for the car park, from whence they'd race each other recklessly along the motorway the 200 miles home.

Son didn't know what hapened to the dosh - he assumed it went into the colonel's pocket.
More likely it went towards a regimental charity. Happy days.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 21:55, Reply)
Army friends
An old marine friend of mine and four of his mates went for a weekend in Blackpool. Marines are a decent bunch but hard as nails: they have to be.
The idea was to get drunk, recover, get drunk again. On the first night they were more or less shitfaced going back to their hotels; Enter stage left 23 of Blackpool's finest examples of cro-magnon shithead.
Blackpool has more than it's fair share of shitheads at the best of time. That lot would have picked a fight with each other of they couldn't find someone else.
Perhaps the worst thing my mate could have said was, "Lads we don't want any trouble", which is a pity as the reaction was for one of the locals to pull a knife.
This turned out to be a bad idea.
You may be asking how I know there were 23... well... it was in the paper the next day. 23 locals were treated in hospital for a variety of injuries including:
Dislocated shoulder (that was the one who pulled the knife).
Broken fingers.
Broken collar bones.
Broken cheak bones (an accident, he fell badly).
Twisted knees.
Dislocated ankle.
Concussion.
And my own favorite:
Minor surgery to remove a knuckle duster from where the sun doesn't shine.
Moral: never pick a fight with someone you don't know.
The five marines had a couple of scratches and one of them threw up.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 21:48, Reply)
Does Cub Scouts count?
Uniform, regimental etc? Yes? Good (we'll ignore the lack of 'arms' shall we?)

I got kicked out of the 1st Hallcroft Cub Scouts pack in Retford at the age of 9.

My crime?
Refusing to recite the Cub Scouts promise while saluting the flag. It was the "To do my duty to God and to the Queen" bit that got me, being an atheist republican.

Akela gave me a slap on the legs and I told her to piss off. So they kicked me out, without so much as a by your leave.

Oooh my old man was not happy as I'd only managed to get my cooking badge.
(, Thu 23 Mar 2006, 21:30, Reply)

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