FTX survival

Field training exercises or FTXs were a routine part of our life back in the Eighties Army, at least for those of us in combat arms units. We spent a large amount of our time either preparing for, in or recovering from the field, cleaning gear, repairing our vehicles, inventorying equipment, training with weapons anything related to combat.  Everything we did was directly related to preparing to go to war, the Cold War was in full swing, and we expected to be fighting the Russian hordes at any moment.  There were middle of the night alerts, designed to test our ability to rapidly deploy to our local assembly areas, from which we would then deploy to our assigned zones.  There were always classes going on in which we were taught Russian tactics, counter-measures, chemical warfare survival, and on and on. These were the things the Army wanted us to know in order to survive in the field. And then, there were the things we did on our own to prepare to survive in the field.

One quickly learned to keep an ammo can stocked with condiments for the field, essential ingredients included Louisiana Hot Sauce, catsup, mustard, salt, lemon pepper, and the like, but by no means was it limited to these. I’ve known troops who carried curry powder, capers, and even a bottle of cooking wine to the field to enhance the rations. These items were staples, but then the imagination took over and we could really get creative. I once took a canned ham to the field, and in the middle of the woods, served up baked ham with a honey glaze.

Books were also a necessity, especially for an avid reader like me, and I kept an ammo can with several thick paperbacks in it. It was in the field that a buddy, Steve Ruch introduced me to what was to become my favorite author, WEB Griffin. With a good book, you could escape the Army for a while, and be transported to somewhere pleasant without the reality of sweaty bodies, dirt, grime, and diesel fumes.

Almost everyone I knew carried a deck of cards with them, Spades and Tunk being the main games played, with tournaments going on for days or even weeks, depending on the length of the exercise. We were even issued cards by the Army, with pictures or drawings on them of various enemy aircraft and armored vehicles. While we paid little attention to the vehicles, we used the cards a lot.

Those of us who were married often received care packages from our wives, packed with canned goods, smoked oysters, sardines, spam, and everything in between. Homemade cookies were a hot commodity in the field, and lasted slightly less time than a snowball in Hell. I’ve seen more than one fight over baked goods while in the woods and God help the bastard caught raiding someone’s personal care package.

For those of us who smoked, we carefully calculated the amount of cigarettes needed to last the entire time, taking into account the amount needed for the inevitable mooches who never took anything with them. It never failed, they’d know about a FTX for three weeks in advance, and still leave for two weeks or more with a pack of cigarettes, or in some cases a half a pack. Then drive you nuts begging for a smoke, or the “short” off the one you were smoking.

I remember one FTX in Hohenfels training area, one of my buddies decided to quit smoking, he stood at the edge of the woods, opened up his tightly packed ammo can of cigarettes and tossed pack after pack away. I watched and said nothing until he finished, then when he returned to the vehicles, walked over and picked them all up.  I stashed them away, and in about an hour he was hunting frantically for them.  As I recall, I did show pity and give them back, except for a pack or two as a finder’s fee.

We had small hard plastic boxes in the pocket of our protective mask carriers in which we carried mock decontamination wipes, they were supposed to be used for training when we were doing chemical drills, but were most often used for cleaning scrapes and scratches, or wiping off the graphics you’d placed on your map the day before. I managed to scrounge up several of these and used them for waterproof containers for my cigarettes, because they held two packs nicely. Once in a drill, I popped open the container and discovered I’d put the wrong one in my mask carrier, much to the displeasure of the NBC officer.  We sometimes were issued water-proof bags, but they didn’t stay water-proof long in the field, so we became experts in devising ways to keep things dry.

Our ammunition came in wonderful metal cans, with gaskets and latches, and every vehicle had at least 6 or more which held anything from condiments, to smoking material, to books, and anything in between. It was not uncommon to be on a range and open a box of ammo only to discover bolts or something else, why we didn’t paint the lid a different color I don’t know. But the cans were in high demand, and if you could by some miracle get your hands on a 20 millimeter cannon ammunition can, you could store all sorts of stuff. They were about the size of a small suitcase and scarce as hens teeth, and thus, prone to being stolen from you.

Necessity is the mother of invention, and soldiers are the worlds best at field expedient inventing, give a soldier a few minutes and a pair of pliers and he’ll make something.  Back in the days of C-rations, which came in cans, we made small stoves from the cans, fed with cardboard to heat our food.  When the MREs or Meals Ready to Eat came along, we had to come up with different ways to heat them. I usually placed mine on the engine of our Armored Personnel Beater and heated it, but I’ve seen guys who used a canteen cup full of water and a flare, dangerous, but effective. Now days, they come with chemical heaters, but back then, we were on our own.  Some times you would be lucky and have a small squad stove, powered by gas, which was also difficult to obtain in the field, or heat tabs, which when burned gave off  noxious fumes and made a hell of a mess on your canteen cup. We tried the old fashioned Coleman stoves, but they didn’t fare well what with the rigors of life in an M113.

While at Ft. Benning Georgia, our platoon held a survival class, taught by a natty little Airborne pathfinder sergeant, who was from Columbus. He showed us various ways to catch animals, find native foods, as if we were going to be fighting a war in Georgia, and prepare it. There were several of us from Georgia, and we listened in bored silence as he described what he called “Bacon wood” which would burn with ease, and could be used to start fires under the direst of conditions.  Of course, anyone from the south will know immediately he was referring to what we call lighter knot, or lighter wood, which is heart pine that has cured with the pitch still in it. The Yankees among us were fascinated by it, and quickly searched the woods to find this miracle wood and spent much time playing with it, wetting it down and lighting it with delighted glee.

Anyone raised south of the Mason Dixon line knows that it is great for starting a fire, but never do you attempt to cook with it, as it gives off tons of soot and flavors anything cooked over it with the taste of turpentine, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

One field problem shortly after that, I observed one of my privates build a small fire and begin to roast a link of sausage over it. I walked over and asked.

“What the Hell are you doing Cocca?”

“Damn Sarge, what’s it look like? I’m cooking” was his reply.

I informed him that he wouldn’t be able to eat it when he finished and he retorted that I was just saying that because I wanted some of his sausage. I assured him I had no desire at all for any of it.

I sat back and watched him cooking the sausage, the fat made little trails through the soot as it sizzled over his fire. When he decided it was done to his satisfaction, he carefully wiped the soot off, and with a look of anticipation, he took a large bite. He chewed for a second, then began to spit and curse, spewing half chewed sausage everywhere.

“Goddamn Sarge, why didn’t you warn me?”

Baconwood soon lost its appeal with the rest of the platoon, and they went back to squad stoves and other methods. As I remember, Cocca swore off sausage for a while as well, and tended to gag every time someone mopped the floor with pine cleaner.

When we deployed to the field, we were issued at least three MREs prior to departure, these were for the first days meals, as it would take time for the mess hall to get set up and start preparing meals. Being Scouts, we were issued a case per vehicle in addition to the 3 per man, as our job sometimes kept us to far ahead of the battalion or squadron to be fed on a regular basis. And, being Scouts, we took matters a bit further, by stealing everything we could get our hands on, and it would be a fair guess to say that we had at least three to four cases of MREs on each vehicle. And God forbid if you let us get near the mess tents, because if it wasn’t nailed down, it was ours.  We supplemented our rations with cans of bacon packed in lard, cases of UDT milk, which wouldn’t spoil due to how it was processed; we once even got our hands on a box of frozen steaks and ate very well for a few days. Needless to say, if the Scouts were in the area, people kept a close eye on the food supplies. 

But when the mess hall finally got set up, they would send out our meals, packed up in Mermite containers, sort of an metal insulated chest, with sleeve like pots inside, surrounded by hot water, which always leaked into the food, along with trail dust from the mess truck delivering it, along with a little diesel from time to time, as we usually got our food, ammo and fuel at the same time. 

The first meal they served without exception unless it was morning when they started serving would be Chili-Mac, not one of my favorites at anytime, but Army style, in the field, it was the ultimate in culinary flops.  It never failed that it would have large chunks of un-dissolved chili base in it, the noodles were either crunchy or soggy to the point of being mush, and indigestion and heartburn soon followed. 

For breakfast, there would be dehydrated eggs, soggy bacon, cold, salt-less grits, and stale light bread, but if you tossed the bacon and the grits, you could make a decent egg sandwich. Once however, they served us real eggs, but the genius in charge decided that if he put the eggs in the marmite half-cooked, they’d be done to perfection when they got to us.  This too proved to be another misconception on his part, as they arrived runny and totally inedible.

The introduction of T rations, or Tray rations thrilled us briefly, but they too soon became less of a novelty, for some reason it seemed that the Scout platoon always drew the Chicken al King, or chicken breast in gravy. I have yet to understand how you can pack chicken breast in gravy and it still be dry as a bone inside, but the contractors who prepared the stuff had it down pat.

As I said earlier, we would raid the mess tent in the field trains when ever we got close, and carry away everything we could grab. One great raid, we managed to steal a whole case of bacon, packed in lard in gallon cans. These were punctured and wired onto the engine, near the exhaust manifolds. The heat would melt the lard and after you drained it off, two slices of bread made a hell of a sandwich.

Being the driver and later track commander for the platoon leader gave me ample opportunity to raid the field trains, as the platoon leader made frequent trips back to the Tactical Operations Center, or TOC as we called it. While he was occupied with mission orders and briefings, I’d scrounge around the area, on some legitimate errands, and on my own illegitimate errands. If the supply trucks could be found unguarded, chem.-lights were the frequent victims of my plundering, as they were in great demand by the little German kids who sought us out. They could be traded for anything ranging from beer to bratwurst and anything in between.

Once on a midnight requisition mission, I scouted out the supply truck, and discovered the assistant supply sergeant asleep in the cab, and the back of the truck apparently unguarded.  I carefully crept over the tail gate, careful to make no noise which would waken the sleeping sergeant.

As I placed my foot down in the bed of the truck, I managed to step right on someone’s head, a young supply clerk, who was asleep in truck.

He awoke cursing and swinging at me, “You jackass, you damn near tore my ear off.”

Then he asked, “what the hell are you doing in my truck anyway?”

Much like the Grinch, I thought up a lie and thought it up quick. “Uhh, the Sergeant Major needs some lantern fuel and sent me to tell you to bring some to the TOC.”

He swore and started griping about having to run errands all night, fussing about the unfairness of not getting any sleep.

“Man, you better get your butt in gear, Sergeant Major don’t like to be kept waiting.” I said, “He ain’t in the best of moods anyway.”

I stepped out of the truck and walked away while he stumbled around getting the can of lantern fuel, finally he walked off towards the TOC, staggering in the dark. As he disappeared into the night, I quickly checked the front of the truck to see that the sergeant was still sleeping, then climbed back into the truck, quickly snagged a few items and snuck back to my vehicle.

As I walked up to the back door, I saw Lt. Kearns standing there looking about for me.

“Rangers lead the way sir, Scouts lead the Rangers.”

He turned at the sound of my voice, and seeing my arms loaded smiled. “Need I ask if you know anything about a confused private showing up at the TOC and waking up the Sergeant Major?”

I handed him a couple of boxes, and tossed what I had left into the hatch, “Sir? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”