I've always been proud to have spent a large portion of my career in the Armored Cavalry Regiments, in my humble opinion the ACRS have produced some of the finest NCOs and officers that I have ever seen. Going through my journals, I found a story of one exception...
I was stationed with 3-2 ACR in Amberg, FRG one January when we had the monthly alert sound one frozen morning. While the drivers rushed to the motor pool to get the vehicles started, I went down to the arms room to draw the crew-served and personnel weapons for my tank.
Our protocol for an alert was to dress in MOPP Level III (chemical protective suit and those thrice-damned excuses for rubber boots), flak vest, kevlar and LBE. With all of that, I loaded up with four M1911A1 pistols, one M-16A1, two M-240Cs and the body of a M-2HB and our ammo can holding the firing pin for the 105mm cannon. I then grabbed my ruck and started up the hill to the motor pool. The side walk was covered in the typical German mix of ice and sleet and crowded with troopers, trying to make their way up a 40 degree slope while wearing rubber boots with slick soles.
Our squadron's S-3 was a certain major who had earned the nickname of Major Pitch-a-Bitch. He was truely loved! There was even a betting pool in the squadron on how long he would last in a war, the longest was a bet that someone would frag him within the first five minutes!
Picture our beloved major, standing in the doorway, screaming at the heavily loaded troopers trying to make their way up an ice-covered slope...
And inside that mass of 200+ troopers, a lone trooper earned the undying gratitude of his fellows
"It's easy for you to tell us to run up the fucking hill you stupid son of a bitch!"
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