How Cold Steel Bravo got its name

How Bravo Company became “Cold Steel Bravo”

When Sergeant First Class (promotable) Steven Crews took over as company first sergeant he definitely made sure everyone knew there was a new sheriff in town. Where the previous Top Sergeant had fellow NCOs hanging out in his office at all times during the duty day, First Sergeant Crews ran them out. He told them to get out of his office and get back to their platoons.

Beware the Black Mamba!

A large African American, the 1SG didn’t waste any time establishing himself as top dog within the company. He jacked up a couple black NCOs who tried to get chummy with him. Something along the line of, “I’m not your damn brother, now get the hell out of my office!” About this time a nickname was created that fit SFC (P) Crews to a tee. He became known as “The Black Mamba,” a mean-spirited snake indigenous to Africa that was known to hold a grudge and actually hunt humans. It also had venom that was some of the most lethal in the world – all in all, a perfect name. The First Sergeant seemed to dislike everyone. 

If the commander is supposed to be the brains of a unit, the first sergeant is the heart and soul (or at least should be). It didn’t take long before everyone in the company knew First Sergeant Crews was not someone to be trifled with. One day he was standing in the hallway looking at the bulletin board with his back to the company office doors.  The CO stepped into the doorway and glanced over at the 1sg. Without turning around, Cold Steel somehow knew he was being watched and asked in his usual gruff voice, “What the hell you looking at sir?” Without saying a word, the CO stepped back in his office and gently closed the door.

The Sky Blue Gran Torino

No one really knew if the First Sergeant was married or not. He didn’t offer up the information and no one that I know of had the guts to ask. I don’t believe he even owned any civilian clothes because no one ever saw him wearing anything but Army Green. He did have a car that was the talk of the battalion. I recognized it right off as a 1972 Gran Torino, just like the one I had in high school, but this one was slightly different. Well taken care of, you could see that it had some miles on it. It kind of creaked and groaned as it passed and belched just a bit too much exhaust when the First Sergeant pushed on the gas pedal. The most unique thing about it was the color. It was sky blue. I’d never seen another car with that kind of hue – it wasn’t long before I found out why. Top Crews carried a few cans of spray paint in the back seat of his car and if he ever found a ding, scratch or bare spot he would pull out one of those cans of spray paint (Sky Blue of course) and touch it up right then and there. The guy had class.

Hot chow And Cold Desert

During the fall of 1979 we were deployed to Fort Irwin, California. Just a stone’s throw from Death Valley, Fort Irwin would eventually be revived into the National Training Center but at the time there really wasn’t much to it. However, we had barracks with heat, hot water and hot chow so we were happy. That is until the legs gassed us on the first night we were in the cantonment area! Revenge was foremost on everyone’s mind, but the BC made it clear that if anything happened we were going to move out into the desert for the remainder of our deployment – and grudgingly we accepted his edict. Eventually we did indeed go into the desert to be the aggressors against the armored brigade out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky.

On the first day in the field Bravo Company got the order to dig an anti-tank ditch to block an avenue of advance through a valley. Doctrine dictated that an anti-tank ditch be of considerable dimensions (see the diagram to left) and span from obstacle to obstacle to be effective against armored vehicles. So there we were, a light infantry company trying to scratch a trench across a mile-wide hard-packed valley with entrenching tools and a handful of pioneer tools. Needless to say we were a surly bunch when the CO finally told us to stop well after nightfall. Final instructions were to move up the slope of the hill and establish a company perimeter. Once in place we were told to hunker down for the night – and oh yeah, the First Sergeant had gone to the Battalion Trains to pick up some hot soup and coffee.

By this time the wind had picked up and the temperatures plummeted. The only way to get out of the wind was to dig down into the sand and get as low as possible. I remember distinctly curling up as small as I could and tried to get whatever sleep I could – at some point during the night I felt something run across my back. Never figured out what it was and didn’t really want to know!

Eventually, we could hear a quarter-ton jeep grinding its way up the valley. Top had finally arrived with some hot chow and coffee. By this time I’d finally gotten relatively comfortable and decided to just remain in my little hidey-hole until stand-to. I could hear the crunch, crunch of steps down the hill as some of the company made their way to the bottom of the hill. Murmuring voices floated up the hill until finally the company executive officer “The Sparrow” called up the hill, “Hey B Company, we have hot soup and coffee for you!” Someone answered his call with a resounding; “Fuck you!” followed by laughter and catcalls from the darkness.

You could almost see the sparks fly when the First Sergeant bellowed, “Who said that? Get your ass down here!” I involuntarily cringed at the thought of someone actually owning up to it, but of course no one did. The following morning Cold Steel chewed out the platoon sergeants, the platoon sergeants chewed out the squad leaders and the squad leaders chewed out us troopies. The Black Mamba had struck again.

An Ass Chewing and Vaseline

A drinking buddy of mine, Jim Crawford, a half-creek Indian from Helena, Montana had done something that he shouldn’t have and was supposed to report to 1SG Crews after PT. Specialist Crawford showed up at the appropriate time and the First Sergeant waved him into the office. Having just gotten out of the shower, Top had nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist.

Jimbo was getting worried about his fate as the 1SG lit into him. Then, without warning, Cold Steel reached in a drawer and pulled out a large jar of Vaseline! Jim said later that his blood turned ice cold when that jar smacked the desk. He said later that all he could think of was that the First Sergeant was going to fuck him – literally! As if to answer Jimbo’s silent question the First Sergeant spun around in his chair and asked (told) Jimbo to apply some Vaseline on his back since he couldn’t reach. Breathing a sigh of relief that his virginity was going to remain intact, Jim quickly obliged the request and dutifully applied the Vaseline. His transgression never mentioned again.

Somewhere along the line, Top Crews became Bravo Company, Bravo Company became his. And his nickname, the one only the old-timers knew about, “Cold Steel,” became B Company’s title, with the company sign repainted to match our newly acquired name. About this time the 2^/505^th became known as “Task Force 2/505,” and somehow someone had the “great” idea for a Battalion PT shirt design and soon we were stylin’ up and down Ardennes Street in our brand new infantry blue shirts and our gawdawful yellow shorts. We were – as far as I could tell, the first unit in Division to adopt a unique PT uniform to get away from boots, fatigue pants and OD T-shirt.  We quickly became known as “Battlestar Galactica,” after the TV series of the same name, a moniker intended as an insult, but we thought it was pretty cool.

This is a photo stolen from Charlie Company, but you get the idea.

Stories, oh so many Stories

In a previous story I told you the story about Lt. Keith Bonn our platoon leader, and as I told you, he was a raconteur of prodigious standards. Like many other platoon members, I just liked to listen to his stories so whenever the opportunity presented itself I would sidle on down to the platoon CP to sit in on whatever discussion was ongoing, that December 7^th was no exception. The machinegun crews were cleaning pistols for an upcoming inspection so as we gave our pistols a once-over we got to listen to the LT tell another story. I do believe Sergeant First Class Ralph Bloomenhagen (sp?) was the platoon sergeant at the time. Ralph was another storyteller so it would be hard telling where the conversations were going to go, I sat there cleaning my pistol and taking it all in. The conversations varied from serious job-related topics, the mundane, the bawdy, to the arcane. 

During one particular discussion Ralph said something that has stuck with me to this day – having seen a lot of combat in Vietnam, he shared a comment that shook me to the core:

“There is nothing heavier than a dead American.”

Heavy stuff – literally, and something I never forgot.

Woody, Sergeant Rose and The Black Mamba

 Friday was supposed to be an easy day indeed, I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was going to be a half-day, which happened to coincide nicely with the weekend AND a platoon party that night at Sergeant Rose’s house. I don’t remember much about Sergeant Rose; looking back on it he might have been a rehab transfer from another unit. A nice enough guy, but kinda pudgy and didn’t appear to be any great shakes tactically either – but he volunteered his house for the platoon party so he was aces as far as Specialist Woods was concerned!

Once finished cleaning my sidearm I started to head down to the arms room, but the Platoon Sergeant stuck out his hand and motioned for me to hand over my weapon. Handing it over, I watched  as the pistol seemed to fall apart as he checked for cleanliness - and as quickly as he disassembled it the weapon seemed to reassemble itself all on its own. Ralph did a functions check, locked the slide to the rear and handed it back to me for turn in. And this is where the story really begins…

A Sneak Attack on Pearl Harbor Day

As I turned to head down to the arms room Sergeant Rose reached out and grabbed the barrel of my pistol and my right forearm! What the fuck?!? He was attempting – I found out later – to disarm me. Towering over him I had the mechanical advantage. However, he wouldn’t let go, he then lowered his shoulder and shoved me into the side of a wall locker. For whatever he was or wasn’t, he didn’t quit and slammed me hard into the locker. With the second impact, Specialist Woods lost his temper and all those hours in the sawdust pit during Basic and AIT finally paid off. I stepped back with one leg behind Sgt Rose, pivoted and stepped into my attacker throwing him off balance and did a classic side throw just like in combatives class. It worked! Next thing you know Sgt Rose is flying over my shoulder and headed towards the ground with me following on top of him with elbow to the solar plexus. He let go of the pistol.

As we landed in a heap, with him on the bottom I was astonished to see that it had really worked, but before I had a chance to congratulate myself I heard a distinctive ‘CRACK!’ followed by Sergeant Rose’ plaintive cry, “My leg, my leg!” Holy Crap! I broke him! Immediately everyone in the CP jumped into action and began treating him with first aid – that is everyone but me. I got up, dusted myself off and stared incredulously at Sergeant Rose rolling on the floor as Luther Hankins and a couple other platoon members tried to immobilize the apparent fracture suppressing their laughter as the pudgy Sergeant Rose whimpered on the floor clutching his ankle

Somewhat dazed and unable to help I stood there for a short while with Sergeant Blumenhagen giving me that, “What the fuck have you done now Woods?” look that I got so often. Ralph instructed me to go turn my weapon in as someone else called the ambulance to haul Sergeant Rose off to the hospital.

The Black Mamba Strikes

Specialist Woods didn’t have long to contemplate that thought. The Black Mamba reared his head from his lair and shouted, “Woods! Get you ass in here!” I hustled into the First Sergeant’s office as Cold Steel glowered over me. I remember his words verbatim, “Woods, what the hell you doin’ breakin’ my sergeant’s ankle?” I stammered my response, “Oh gee Top, I don’t know! It was an accident!”

After a few more choice words the First Sergeant told me to get the hell out of his office! As I hustled out the door I could have sworn I saw the faintest wisp of a smile flash across his face, but I was probably mistaken.

It was awfully quiet in the platoon CP after that. The PSG just shook his head and gave me that half-smirk he always gave when I pulled a bonehead stunt. Then Lieutenant Bonn patted me on the shoulder and said quietly, “You really should have just let him disarm you…”

Later, after the ambulance carried the patient off to the hospital the question on everyone’s mind was, would we still have the platoon party?

Party On Dude

The answer to that question came a few hours later after Sergeant Rose had been discharged from Womack Army Hospital in a cast – yes, we would have the party and yes, it would still be at Sergeant Rose’s house! Whew! I was sweating bullets.

I must admit I almost didn’t go to the party that night. I did feel quite guilty about breaking one of “Cold Steel’s Sergeants,” but my bunkmates wouldn’t hear of it and goaded me into going along with them.

Entering the front door was awkward but since the party was going in full gear on our arrival, music blaring, beer flowing I thought I could slide in unannounced, However, there was Sergeant Rose sitting in his recliner with his plaster cast emblazoned with the names and well wishes of the Platoon. Upon seeing me, he motioned me over and extended his hand and told me there were no hard feelings – we shook on it, but I don’t think Mrs Rose was as forgiving as her husband.

Throw Down

As with most platoon parties there was much alcohol to lubricate the evening and an enormous amount of lies too I’m sure. One aspect of the party was slightly graver than the others. One of our younger troopers “Private Smith”* had a penchant for punching other people without the slightest provocation, and of course this activity was exacerbated when there was alcohol involved. A pretty good soldier except for that one bad habit, Lt. Bonn forbade Smith from drinking and tasked SSG Baker to keep within arms reach at all times that night and keeping him under control. Well, it worked – for a while – SSG Baker turned his back for a moment and WHAM! Smith threw a solid punch that smeared another “Private Jones’”* nose all over his face. “Shit!” How the heck did that happen? Smith was just as surprised as anyone! The blood was cleaned up and the music continued. As I recall a couple shots of Tequila took care of the broken nose until medical attention could be sought. Smith and Jones were friends again and Tony Baker could relax just a little bit.

The Christmas Spirit

Eventually, the party began to wind down as Lieutenant Bonn called for everyone’s attention. At his feet he had a couple OD green Laundry bags that seemed to be overflowing with gifts. This being so close to Christmas the LT took it upon himself to buy each member of the platoon a small gift that he’d selected specifically because of a funny story, not so funny story or just because it fit. We sat there laughing with every gift he pulled from the sacks his description of the event and person more hilarious than the last. I even forgot about the day’s events. Finally he reached in and continued, “Now for Specialist Woods….” He recounted the day’s event in minute detail but reaching into the bag he pulled out a bottle of cognac – or as I’d described it after I drank a shot at his place while watching “A Bridge too Far,” French gasoline. Handing me the bottle I could see that he’d replaced the label with a hand drawn one with “Cognac de Francais le’ Petrol,’” he was always a class act and a good time was had by all.

Eventually, SGT Rose healed up, I went off to Italy, Kit went to Brigade, and I do believe that Private Smith punched his way into an administrative discharge. First Sergeant Crews eventually pinned on his third rocker and diamond and was on his way to Division Headquarters to terrorize the rest of the Division. Airborne, All the Way

Postscript

As most of you know, I eventually went off to the Special Forces Qualification Course and once I earned my Green Beret and Tab, I was reassigned to Fort Lewis, Washington. As I was getting ready to leave Fort Bragg I had to sign out at One Stop which required me to be in uniform – besides, it was really cool to have another reason to wear my hard won Green Beret.

On my way off post for the last time in September 1984, I decided to stop at the Melanie village gas station, a place I almost never went to, but it was on the way off post so I thought I’d just gas up there and get on my way. I had five hundred miles to go before dark and I was burning daylight.

As I got out of my pickup, I pulled on my beret and with extra care smoothed it out, gave it a tug so that it would hang just so and began filling my gas tank. About that time I glanced over to the other side of the pumps and there sat a sky blue Gran Torino with a very large Sergeant Major filling his own car – it was Top Crews! “Wow, what a surprise First Sergeant! Er, I mean Sergeant Major!” He looked up and for a moment he didn’t recognize me. Then, as he scanned my face and a glance over my uniform his face lit up and by God, I saw what I do believe was a smile. He extended a beefy hand and we shook hands for just a moment. He looked up and down my uniform and he smiled that half-smile of his and remarked, “Damn, Woods, you’ve really come a long way from the last time I saw you – Staff Sergeant, Green Beret, Master Wings and a CIB. I’m impressed.”

Holy crap! I impressed Cold Steel?!?! I stammered my thanks and tried to tell him that he’d really been an inspiration and kind of a northern star of what a good NCO was supposed to be. He patted me on the back once more and wished me luck as he climbed into his mighty fine ride and left me standing there in a blue cloud of exhaust.

I’ve thought of him many times since then and I truly hope he retired and is still cruising around in his sky blue Gran Torino. Thanks Top.

* Some names have been changed to protect their privacy