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The Final Chapter

Hello all, I know it has been a long time since I have posted about my Task Force experience, but I’ve been busy but mostly I’ve been distracted – let me explain: In my last few posts I talked about the lead up and deployment to the “Island of Spice” AKA Grenada in October 1983. As good as it was for my soul to finally get my memories and thoughts written down it was a physiologically exhausting exercise. I had to dig deep into hazy and sometimes painful memories and then post what I found on the Internet for everyone to read. Scary indeed. With the 30 year anniversary of the invasion looming I just couldn't bring myself to "finish" the story.

What really prompted me to start writing again was meeting with my former boss from TSA. I hadn’t seen him since shortly after I resigned although I have talked to him on the phone a few times and exchanged occasional  emails, but that morning over biscuits and gravy and years after the fact, I asked him some pointed questions and he was finally able to respond completely. That story is for some other time, but his revelations that I had been more right than wrong with things with that job lifted a huge weight off my shoulders and as I drove away I decided that it was time for me to write the final chapter on my days in Task Force 2/505. Fast forward a few months and here I am again:

I have always questioned some of my memories as not honest enough. However, I’ve discovered that I’m okay writing about my screw-ups – of which there are many as I’m sure some of you can attest, but one fact remains. I always had the best of intentions and highest of expectations for those people who worked for me, but also myself.

There were times though that I just gave up. Mostly when I saw how some soldiers seemed somehow like Teflon-coated turds and could seemingly do no wrong. Officers who were more worried about getting a one-block on their OERs and worst of all - the NCOs, senior NCOs who made it their mission in life to crush the spirit in anyone who didn’t conform to their cookie-cutter idea of what a good soldier should be. Let me break it down:

So Much I Owe

There has been enough said about the bad officers, so I’ll leave it at that. Refer to some of my previous postings for those winners. However, there were some outstanding officers: Keith “Kit” Bonn is someone for whom I have reserved a permanent number one spot on my short list of personal heroes. Robert “Burning Bob” Shaffer was another upright officer and was a good example of what I could expect from most officers in Special Forces. Some officers I only knew by reputation but I hoped I would be able to work for someday – one who comes immediately to mind was Pedro Pedrozo. I first met him in passing after he’d left Bravo Company and was the battalion S4; I’d heard many stories about his skills and talents at soldiering. He ultimately went through the Officers’ SF Qualification Course (Hereafter referred to as the Q-Course) after which he had a stellar career in 7^th Special Forces Group and became a minor legend in the SF world. I’m sure he’s retired by now, but I don’t know for certain.

Another fine officer who I got to know later was Lt Greg Gerovac he saved my ass based on the word of a fine NCO by the name of SSG Joe Torres, the S3 Air NCO. The young LT was the rear-detachment commander because he had been recovering from an accident at the time of the deployment to Grenada and was not able to deploy – Good thing for me that he didn’t. He was able to (sight unseen mind you) to arrange a “rehab” transfer for me to our sister Battalion the 1/508, whose CSM had had dealings with Captain Rock already and became my savior. I had to soldier my ass off, but that was what I lived for so I did. Those are a few of my heroes who saved me or inspired me – thank you.

Many of the turds in uniform had certain skill sets that were rare in those days before computers became universal; therefore they became a protected species that (usually) took advantage of their newfound status. Again, I talked about them in a previous posting. There were notable exceptions and I had the honor and pleasure to serve with some outstanding soldiers: Kent Anderson, Tom Coulter, Freddie Hart, Mike Holzer, Dennis Johnson, Rick Kratzner, Thomas Maloney, David Potts, Tim Shaffer, Nelson Vaguchay, and Brian “Wads” Wadsworth to name a few.

The NCOs. After pondering it for some time I came to the conclusion that for the most part the last good SNCO I worked for in the 2/505 was SFC John Smythe. He told me to, “watch my six,” and get the hell out of 2/505. I should have listened to him. Anyways, that’s what leads me into this story. John’s warning was a bellwether for me that ultimately led to my time in SF.

The Marvels of the Internet (it’s not just porn and penis enlargers you know)

Through the wonders of the Internet, I have been able to reconnect with many friends and former squad mates. I treasure all of these reconnections because the ones that haven’t reconnected aren’t ones I had wanted to communicate with again anyway – and that’s okay too. If you are reading this Mark D. Rock or Terry Watts then fuck you. Ahem, anyway, I digress. Reconnecting with people who I knew as 18-19 YO Privates that are now parents and grandparents has been a kick in the pants. You guys are awesome and I consider myself very fortunate to call you comrades and more importantly friends. I never had an opportunity to tell you that before and I’m damn happy I’ve been able to do it now!

A couple guys shared the rumors they heard about my departure. Sadly, the real story was quite mundane compared to the stories that were flying around Task Force. Prepare to be underwhelmed.

Radio Ga-Ga

Okay, some of you already know this story, but this is the straight poop on what got me kicked out of the war:

I was on radio watch and received a message from higher that a TV news crew and a psyops team would be in B company’s area the following day, I dutifully passed on the information, entered it into the log and went back to my crossword puzzle.  A few minutes later I got another call on the radio that the psyops team would not be coming to B Company’s area, information that I obediently passed on to the unit. Back to the crossword.  A short time later the B company RTO (Radio Telephone Operator) came up on the net and asked, “Is the publicity team still coming?” somewhat disgusted at this query I grabbed the handset and responded, “No B company, you won’t be getting your face in the news again.” Little did I know that those thirteen words that would soon put my world into a tailspin.

Feeling kind of smug, I tossed the handset aside, looked at my watch to see how soon my replacement would be there when the Bravo Company commander Captain Rock popped up on the net and stated that he wanted to see me the following day. “Roger that,” and back to the crossword puzzle. Unaware that something was already afoot to torpedo the drifting ship that was my life and career. In due time my relief showed up and off to bed I went, unwilling to join in one of the many card games being played.

A Major Ass Chewing

The following day I cleaned up and went about my duties. Soon it was around noon when as I was getting ready to eat my C ration I was called into the ersatz conference room. Sitting in a semicircle were BC, all of the staff officers, the S3 and Captain Rock. I knew this would not end well for me, setting down my ration I assumed the position of attention. Old Mark D. started reading from a piece of paper all of my transgressions and how I kicked puppies and stole lunch money as the S-3, Major Portant sat there listening and the Big Ragoo chewed on his cud of tobacco, slurping sounds punctuated by him spitting tobacco juice into a coke can. The rest of the Ops officers staring at me wordlessly as I was raked over the coals, I don’t remember if there were any NCOs in the room, I suppose Baldy Locks was there, but I don’t recall if the battalion CSM was in attendance.

Returned to the Mother Ship

After that flogging I was to get on the first thing smoking off the island back to Mother Bragg and to an uncertain future. My last official act was to escort two privates back to face charges for an incident I described in an earlier post concerning an ass whooping and an M60 machine gun.

I returned to the Mother Ship, tried to keep myself busy, help run the rear detachment and wait until my situation would be resolved one way or another.

One of the more distasteful tasks I had to do was to cut locks and search duffel bags returning from Grenada. We were to confiscate any poncho liners, two-quart canteens and jungle boots we found. The rationale was that we needed to return the items to the war stocks. Remember, I told you the Division Commander’s nickname was “The Bean-counter,” not a very pleasant task, especially since I was certain that we were taking some items that had been purchased by the individual soldier but there was no way for certain to discern one from the other.

Job Hunting

I started looking for jobs up and down Ardennes Street and even made a surprise office call on the 5^th Special Forces Group, CSM. He was encouraging and suggested that I get my SF packet together and submit it for approval. As quickly as possible I slapped the packet together, got a physical, etc. and dropped it off at the SF recruiting office with crossed fingers.

Time continued and while I was waiting I had to do one of the worst things you could imagine. I had to go into Bravo 2/505 barracks and put together Dinish Rajbanjary’s Class-A uniform. We had just gotten word that he’d been killed and I was directed to help the chaplain prepare for Raj’s return to the States. I knew him, not really well, but he seemed like a pretty squared away trooper. When I heard about how he was killed it broke my heart – killed by an AD or Accidental Discharge seemed more tragic than enemy fire, but you are still very much dead. When I heard I said a quick prayer for both of the young soldiers involved.

Negative Ratings?

On one of my forays down Ardennes I ran into Raj’s platoon sergeant who’d been relieved by Rock for dereliction of duty. Both he and the LT had been relieved after another witch-hunt
. I don’t remember either one’s name, but the (former) PSG gleefully showed me the Relief For Cause NCOER he’d gotten from Rock and Watts. I didn’t know you could rate someone with negative numbers! I’m kidding of course, but not far from the truth. He then showed me his most recent evaluation for comparison and the difference was brutal. I don’t know whatever happened to him or the LT, but I’m certain it wasn’t fun. Just like a sycophant to immediately cut away from the platoon chain of command to protect himself from any fallout.

Movin’ on Up

Back to Joe Torres and Lieutenant Gerovac. Unbeknownst to me Joe was talking to the LT, let him know that I got a raw deal and to help me out if possible. And help me he did. The rear detachment commander for the Brigade (1/508's BC) was known as “Pac-man” because he gobbled up soldiers' careers. His first response to my situation was to chapter me out no questions asked. However, providence interceded on my behalf (Thanks LT and Joe) and I moved over to the ’08 to a mortar platoon no less. Other powers were in play too. I found out I had a few people in my corner. It would be up to me to soldier my way out of this mess that my mouth had gotten me into.

When I reported to the ‘08’s Command Sergeant Major Forsythe he had me sit down and he shared with me how he already knew all about my situation and he’d already experienced Mark D’s way of doing business and that as far as he was concerned I was good to go. However, there was one small problem. He had no place to put an 11B SSG other than slotting me as an assistant mortar platoon sergeant in Bravo Company. The current PSG was a shit-shot mortarman but the CSM said he was not so strong in NCO business. Therefore, my job was to help him out and his job was to teach me mortars. Come to find out, SSG Johnson was far more squared away than the CSM knew and I learned a lot about NCO business from him. The platoon leader was pretty squared away too, but sadly his name has faded away with time.

A choice?

Fast forward a few months after the final troops from the 82d had returned, I found myself staring at an overseas movement warning order. I was going to Panama! Shit. How did that happen? Right about the same time, my orders for the Q-Course came back approved, so here I was, in a pretty good assignment with the mortar platoon with things starting to click but in one hand (literally) Orders to Panama and orders to the Q-Course in the other. I scheduled an appointment with the S1 and asked him what should I do, he looked at both sets of orders and then looked up at me and chuckled, “Well, Sergeant Woods you get to pick which orders you want.” Holy Crap! I get a choice? It didn’t take me very long to decide on going to the Q-Course. My reporting date was in just a short time and I had almost no time to try and get myself into some sort of physical shape to pass the PT test.

Déjà Vu All Over Again

I had experienced the SFQC PT test once – actually twice before. Upon my return from Italy I had started the Q-course once before and failed miserably. I had been putting lots and lots of miles in Italy and hitting the gym on a manic schedule, but I discovered much to my dismay that the Q-course still ran the PT test in boots whereas the rest of the army had gone to running shoes for PT. I made it, barely. But what got me the first time was the pushups. I thought I was ready, but the grader was ULTRA strict and few of my pushups were even counted! One week later the CO of the training company graded my PT test personally and you can imagine how well I did.

Part of my problem had been that I didn't understand physiology very well. I worked out every day like a madman – between work details of course – right up to the day before the test. With no recovery time I was asking my muscles to do the almost impossible! Rest days were an unknown factor to me at that time.

Fast-forward a few years I understood physiology and the importance of “G2ing” the PT site first. Suffice to say, I passed the PT test. More on the Q-course later….

Thanks Mark & Terry!

A very wise woman recently pointed out to me that the debacle I caused with my poorly chosen words might have had some help. I will never know if the RTO might have relayed my message in such a way to make me look bad, or if good old Mark was leaning over his shoulder.  Bottom line was I should have kept my comment to myself. Nonetheless, I’ll take the hit on this one. I never should have said it.  Anyway, I do want to thank Mark Rock and Terry Watts for being the way they were so I was pushed into a change. Had things gone along on an even keel I might very well have stayed with the 82d for the remainder of my career – however long it might have been and I don’t know if I would have ever worked up the nerve to “go down the street.”