I had a PTI say to me that pain has no memory and not understanding what he meant at the time. Then years later you don’t remember the exhaustion after the absolute beastings you had in the gym or assault course, and that saying then makes sense.
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Sorry to hear that about the .45s. The government CMP (Civilian Marksmanship Program) has been selling gov’t refits. Some guys I know got one within the last year and the condition has been much better than anticipated.
You’d think the armorers would have been able to accomplish this before reissue to troops.
Amen to that brother.
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What’s that, I don’t see a bucket and brush?
The bucket and scrub brush was the next step in cleaning those things up… 
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The nice thing about the C-130 being your primary mode of transportation - no clean up required!
True… the loadmasters just wanted you to take the puke bags with you on the way out… 
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Speaking of puke bags - since this is Military Memories…
Many years ago most of my ODA lived in Texas even though our unit was in Colorado. We were simply the “Texas Team” and had a team house at Dallas Naval Air Station.
We were going to do some shooting at Guernsey, Wyoming - a great place for guys like us to shoot. No range Nazis, no flagpole.
After meeting the air crew at JRB Fort Worth, which included hot AF (and that does not stand for Air Force) pilot Candy, we boarded the plane and flew to Houston to pick up a SEAL detachment.
The flight to Wyoming was fairly uneventful, most of us slept until it was time for in-flight rigging. So after chuting up, things began to get interesting. We began flying nap of the earth over some hairy terrain. Of course we made several crude remarks about Candy getting some stick time in the cockpit. At one point I looked out one of the portholes and saw a cliff face that looked mere meters away from the wingtip. I’m sure it was probably much more than a few meters. That didn’t bother so much as the constant up and down twisty turny maneuvers, all while having been breathing in jet fuel fumes for the past several hours. Plus it was hot AF in that aircraft, all chuted up. I couldn’t wait to jump out.
Turns out some of the buffeting wasn’t Candy’s doing - high winds on the DZ. The jump was canked, and we couldn’t land at Guernsey. I can’t remember how much farther we had to fly, but I was pissed. I was starting to feel ill, and I had never yakked in a plane before.
The fumes were really starting to get to me, and it was getting even hotter in the aircraft.
I waited as long as I could but just could not hold it in any longer. I grabbed an air sickness bag and could not get the damned thing open. When I finally did, I discovered that’s not the bag you heave into, it’s the plastic bag inside the bag, which of course I had trouble with as well. I could feel my gorge coming up, still no luck with the bag, and then out it spewed. Got the bag opened a millisecond early. I’d sure I must have gotten some on my hands, maybe my equipment. Not sure. Didn’t care.
But my actions in the aircraft, to borrow a jumpmaster term, caused an almost immediate chain reaction - every Green Beret and SEAL on that C-130 yakked big time. Some in the bag, some not. I remember because I slipped in some unassing the bird.
Definitely spoiled any of our fantasies about hooking up with Candy later in Guernsey…
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I know of what you speak. We jumped into Camp Guernsey after a similar flight from So. Cal. On most flights I liked to put my k-pot on top of my reserve and rest my head, semi napping on it until the jump commands began. At some point during the nap of the earth approach to the DZ thru the badlands I lifted my head, looked out the porthole across the plane and saw those probable same canyon walls right off the wingtip. Most of our jumpers were yakking by then. I just closed my eyes and put my head back down thinking that if something goes wrong, it will be quick and I didnt want to see it. Our jump went off great, although we did have to racetrack because the stick before us took too long getting off the DZ. My team leader was JM for our stick and he turned to me saying that he didn’t care if we were told to hold again or not, after that flight, we go on this pass and follow him out, red light or green. I was only too eager to get off that plane myself.
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Technically we had a wash rack or two on base but I never saw one operational, was always broken for some reason or another.
Wow. Great post with pictures and the model.
July of 1981, doing some abbreviated survival training camp Jackson South carolina. My buddy and I pitched a tent that ended up of being over in ant hill. We’d smuggled a can of Off with us, and ended up just fogging the hole tent and ourselves down. Zipped myself completely up into my sleeping bag. I’m sure the dehydration accounted for my bad performance the next morning, and I’m sure that much Off accounts for some of my lapses of attention I experienced today. Lol. Then at Shaw Air Force base, I got a ride in an O2. Riding along feeling on top of the world because I had like 50 hours as a private pilot. Then we started going through its evasive maneuvers and simulating going after a target on the ground.
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M1IP, D32, D co, 1/33AR CAT practice, 1987 Grafenwoehr, Germany
Last round. Popped up on the Loader’s seat and got lucky with the timing.
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Gents, I just noticed that typo. When I use my phone to post, auto-spell correct makes some exasperating changes and sometimes I don’t proofread or catch them. Seven days later I don’t recall what I said but re-reading it, probably something like ‘You remind me of 1981.’
Reading the rest of what is posted and it is nonsensical. (Thanks piece-of-junk Samsung phone.) I wrote about yanking and banking in an O-2 and ending up almost spackling the cockpit with breakfast.
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It’s not just Samsung. My iPhone auto correct pulls some doozies as well… 
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I like to blame apple also. 
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You were in 1/33 Armor on the Rock?
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Coleman Kaserne, Gelnhausen
Miss the comrades in arms, did not miss the Army useless BS
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