Ah,
Picture it. Fort Pickett, VA, 1995. (Yeah, a lot of my stories are either Ft. Pickett or Knox). We young impressionable ROTC cadets are out on a STRAC lane. Well, we're supposed to be reacting to a far ambush. Ok, fine, we know what to do and when to do it. Well, one thing we didn't consider? There'd been a drought that summer. Everything was as dry as the damned Sahara. Well, ok, we make contact with the OPFOR, and blanks are going off everywhere. Our squad leader asks the TAC for smoke, so he pops smoke...next thing we know, there's a good sized fire (bigger than a weenie roast, we're talking Battle of the Wilderness-light) coming right at the OPFOR. They come running out screaming "We surrender, do over, do over!" We spent a good twenty minutes putting out the fire and all agreeing (including Captain Sutton, the TAC) that NOBODY was going to mention it.
That same FTX, we have another STRAC lane, I'm a fireteam leader and our job is to recon a OFPOR position. So, we get fairly close to what I am sure are the OPFOR (I'd seen them putting on grey tunics with red "shoulderboards" in the parking lot). Somebody in my fireteam turns to me and says "Hey Weiser, you sure they're the enemy?"
My response? I turn to him with a look of
surely your mother didn't raise you this dumb and said "Gee, I dunno, why don't you go up and ask them, and I'll wait here and see what happens."
