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My Grandfather was a unit armorer in the Seabees during WWII and served in the pacific.

One island they were on had been cleared of the Japanese. They had a movie theater set up in a clearing and some other nice amenities. Movies were played ant night and gave the guys a chance to take a break and unwind. The only shenanigans was that someone was stealing rations. Finally one night a well fed Japanese soldier made the mistake of running into an Officer in the dark. Turns out the guy dodged the Marines when the island was being cleared. He survived off of stealing food from the mess tent and rations from supply. Spent most of the day sleeping and stayed up at night watching the movies from the tree line. He meant no harm and was  enjoying the American occupation of the island.

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When my dad would talk about it,  he had some great stories. .. he was an incredible story teller and could make almost any thing hysterical. ...

1 story in particular was great because he had photographic evidence. ..

He was on point,  just inside the brush by a huge clear area in the jungle.  He said he thought to himself it was a perfect place for a sniper,  and as soon as he thought that, he got shot.  As he went down,  he saw the sniper in a, tree.

He fired his M79 at the tree, expecting to hear a boom... instead he heard a scream and a thud... when his team found the sniper,  he was dead, lying on his back... the 40mm grenade  had hit the sniper but never detonated.    Someone took a picture looking straight down  into his chest and gave it to him when he got back... you can kind of see the round inside the guy...

Somewhere in my house I still have that picture. ..

The field telephone rings, and a marine picks it up.

From the other end a thin voice comes through the receiver. "Hey, is Mace around?"

The marine who picked up the phone looks over his shoulder, sees me, and then shouts over, "Hey, Mace!"

"Yeah, what?"

"C'mere, you've got a telephone call. It's the mayor of new York. Wants to know if you've got a Purple Heart on."

"Yeah, sure. The mayor. Lemme see if he can get us the f*ck outta here."

"Hello, this is Mace," I say into the field telephone.

"Say, Mace." The voice comes through the other end. "Boy, have I got some dirt for you." I recognize the voice of PFC Verga, one of the new guys in Leyden and Bender's Platoon.

he continues, "Listen, ya might be able to do somethin' with this. It's about Leyden, right? This Okinawan dame is coming up the road - a nice-looking' honey- and somehow Bill and this broad work out a deal. Leyden gets some tail and this sugar gets... I don't know what she gets in return, but anyhow, the next thing you know, Leyden has her up against the side of the hill, bangin' away at her - an' a lot of the fellas are crowded around just watchin', trying' to sneak a peek, ya know? It was the damnedest thing!"

We laugh. This really made my day.

"So," Verga says, "since you guys go back a way, I thought you might like to know. Ya know, give him the business about it, or somethin'."

"Oh, you bet I will!" I say. "Here, get Bill on the horn, willya? Oh, and Verga?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell him that Stumpy's on the line."

[Note: Stumpy is their nickname for their company commander]

I don't have to wait long until Leyden gets on the phone. He must have run right over.

"Yes, sir!" he says.

"Lowering my voice and make it sound a little gruff, I try to make sure that the South Ozone doesn't leak out, or he'll be onto me right away.

"PFC William Leyden?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Yes, PFC Leyden, I've been getting some terrible reports about you have something to do witho one of those Okinawan girls? Is that correct, Private?"

A short pause, then "Ye---"

"And do you know what can happen to you"

"Well, I don't... umm, I don't, what can--? He begins to really stammer, and it takes every bit of my willpower not to crack up right away. I can just imagine the boys from the 1st Platoon crowding around Bill, eavesdropping on the conversation between Leyden and the company CO.

"Well, first of all, " I tell him, "what we've got to do is take a test!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Now, I want you to take out your pecker. Do it now, son! Check it out, squeeze it off, and see if anything comes out!"

"Ye... yes, sir."

"And what do you see?"

"Nothing. Nothing, sir!"

"Okay, good. now do you have any iodine there, or something like that?"

I hear a muffled, shuffling noise, telling me that he's put his hand over the receiver, and in a faraway voice I hear the confused PFC say, "Iodine?"

He comes back on the line, clear again. "Yes, sir! Iodine, sir!"

"Good! Okay, squeeze that off again, and hold the end of your pecker, where that little opening is and put a drop or two of iodine in there. It might burn a little bit, but that's the best precaution."

"Yes, sir!"

"Are you doing it, Private?"

"Yes, yes, sir."

"You know, Private, I begin again - but I had better make this short, because I can't hold back the laughter much longer. "I did have thoughts of making you corporal, but I have to think hard again about whether I want to do this. I can't have my corporals traipsing all over the countryside fornicating with the locals indigenes, now can I?"

"Yes, sir! I mean, No, No, sir!"

"Okay, that's fine, Leyden. Now, you take a look at your pecker every day, and if anything comes out of there, you go down to the aid station - and if you do? Well, "I'll put that in my report, and you can forget all about that promotion. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"That'll be all, Private." I hang up the phone, laughing so hard that I can barely catch a breath.

Soon after, I'm sitting around with my fire team, telling them what I did, when I hear the most god-awful string of curse worse, followed by laughter, blasting from the direction of the 1st Platoon.

"That sonuvab*tch Mace! That dumb bastard, when I find him I'm gonna shove my foot so far up his ass! Where is he?"

I knew his platoon mates couldn't hold back the gag for long. Someone would give me up, sooner or later. It's a good thing Billy and I are such good buddies - though I'm sure he's already hatching a scheme to pay me back, in turn.

"Gentlemen." I rise and bow to my fire team. "I regret to inform you that I'll be indisposed for the evening, so you'll have to carry on without me. In other word, I'm making myself scarce before Bill catches up with me. So long, fellas. It's been good knowin' ya."

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My grandfather was a cook aboard the USS Juneau II / CLAA-96 (formerly CL-119) during Korea.

He told me that he was known for three things - practical jokes, theft of government property, and going AWOL.

Aboard the Juneau, the mess had a trough sink for the disposal of kitchen waste - the water flowed through the kitchen, then through the head, and ultimately out the aft of the ship and into the ocean. My grandpa liked said he like to make a little boat out of pasteboard, fill it with paper towel, douse it with grease, light it on fire, and drop it in the trough. Then he'd run down the hall to the head and laugh as sailor after sailor would jump up off the head as his little viking funeral made its way through the ship.

Upon arrival in Norfolk, they were granted shore leave. As the sailor disembarked, the captain and a couple of the officers were at the bottom of the gangplank watching the men go by. Upon spotting my grandpa, the captain shouted "METCALF! What are you stealing off my ship this time?" He responded "Sir, silverware. I've got eight place settings taped to my belly under my shirt" - to which the captain responded "Get the hell of my ship, wiseass."

The silverware at my grandparents' growing up was all stamped "U.S.N."

Then there was the time MPs showed up at my grandmother's apartment in NYC. She started crying and cussing my grandpa for stealing hams and telling the MPs that she told him he was going to get caught and that she'd had nothing to do with it. They were looking for him because he'd gone AWOL three weeks before in Hawaii and hadn't had any idea about the hams...

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persuaded myself that if I could live through my nineteenth birthday, I could make it all the rest of the way.'"

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dad--a former SAC pilot--sometimes talks about his flying days.  in the early '60s, pilot training was a bit different than now--a substantial amount of time was spent just accumulating flight hours in unplanned and unsupervised fashion over wide stretches of uninhabited american west.  his first jet trainer was the t-33 (formerly the p-80 shooting star).  dad loved that airplane, and his first unstructured solo, he wanted to see what it could really do.  after a while, it hits him that he hasn't been minding his fuel state, and he suddenly realizes that he's pretty short.  after a bit of mental math, he figures that he can make it back to base instead of diverting (and getting in serious trouble).  so back to base he goes.



...only to get put in a holding pattern while emergencies are declared by several other airplanes.  so now LT dad is stuck orbiting, trying to figure out whether to own up to his mistake by declaring an emergency of his own (thus getting the airplane down quickly and safely, but possibly getting grounded), or trying to white-knuckle it out on very limited fuel (risking a dead stick if it doesn't pan out).  he decides to keep his mouth shut.



everyone made it down, and dad breathed an enormous sigh of relief as he taxied to his spot on the flight line.  after post flight, he bumps into the crew chief for that airplane (who had taken a liking to dad).  the conversation went something like this...



CC: "cutting it pretty fine on the juice there, weren't you LT?"



dad (sheepishly): "yes sergeant.  had to hold for those others."



CC: "know off the top of your head the capacity of your tanks?"



dad: "sure.  it's xxxx pounds, or xxx gal."



CC: "correct.  you might be interested to know that your bird took exactly that amount when we refueled her.  the only fuel you had remaining was in the lines."



dad:  



CC: "be a shame to lose a trainee over something like that, so let's try to keep a better eye on that gauge so that i don't have to report anything, sir."





dad loved NCOs.

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My father told me that during training for WWII, he was assigned to KP.
They had a machine that was like a washing machine, but you put potatoes in it and it rubbed off the skin.
The put the potatoes in the machine, and then proceeded to goof off.
He said when the stopped the machine, the potatoes were a whole lot smaller than when they started.  
The stories of them hitting the beer joints were classics too.

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proceeded to take the temperature rectally which led to it's death for some reason

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Dad's unit got a new Lt. (I think) and he decided he want to go out with dad and his radioman on listening post duty. (Again, I think that's what it was called, please excuse incorrect terminology) This was during Vietnam.



Basically, they'd go out so far from the fair base and setup, making sure they were good and visible. After dark, they would more to some other predetermined location and see if anyone came to check out the original location.



Well, they went out and setup. After they moved, nothing really happened. After a while, the Lt. decided he wanted to "look around" a little and led them further from the base. Dad was pretty worried. The base knew where they SHOULD be, but they weren't supposed to be on roving patrol. If they ran into anything, they'd be more or less on their own.



They ended up walking a mile or so and come up to the base of a cliff. Up above, somewhere, they could hear two guys talking in Vietnamese. After listening for a minute, the Lt. backed away from the base of the cliff, pointed the grease gun he was carrying above them, and dad heard a "click" he assumed was the guy pulling the bolt back or switching the safety off. He tried to motion to the guy not to fire. After all , they had no idea how many more enemy were in the area and they were too far from base to get support or expect to be able to retreat without being killed. The guy wasn't listening, until there was another click. He stopped.



Dad looked around him and saw the second click was his radioman taking his 1911 off safety. The radio man had it pointed at the Lt's head and looked pretty pissed. Dad surmised he didn't want the Lt shooting any more than dad did.



He put the grease gun back on safe and returned under the cliff. They waited until the voices faded off into the distance and made their way back to the fire base.



The next morning, Dad got called down to see the base commander. He told Dad he had heard his radioman had a "problem" with the new Lieutenant. Dad confirmed he did and told the commander he, frankly, had a problem with the guy, too. He then went on to explain what had happened. The base commander thanked him for clearing things up and told him to find the Lieutenant and tell him to come see the base commander. The guy got transferred out, presumably to be someone else's problem. Neither dad, nor the radioman heard anything further about it.