Your Funny, Humorous or Incredible Military Stories

One of our Canberra's is going on a Navex and I'm in front controlling things. I point to the port engine, thumbs up and she bursts into life and settles down to idle. Point to the starboard engine and all hell lets loose. The turbo starter explodes, red hot turbine blades go through the fuselage into No 1 tank and kerosene pours out on to the still burning fragments of the cartridge, the whole lot goes up! The crew are out in a shot and even get their chutes out, they had to, they would have had to pay for them otherwise. A phone call to the fire section has their brand new Rolls Royce fire engine charging round the peri track and screeches to a stop at the bonfire. An erk in gents natty asbestos suiting complete with a big helmet jumped down and pointed a huge pipe at the bonfire and shouted "Send it fru". The trouble was noffink came 'fru', they had been so busy polishing their new toy, no one had thought to fill it with foam!!! Then the wheel hubs and the cockpit coaming, which are magnesium alloy, went up with a bright flash, we just looked the other way. Then someone muttered "What about the ejector seats, we just backed off as few more yards and sure enough, there was a triple explosion and three steel tubes,with bits of the seats still attached shot a couple of hundred feet into the air. The next morning, there was a perfect silhouette of a Canberra, burnt into the tarmac, with two Avons still in situ. I dare say there were new faces at the fire section in the next few days.

Ken

Nice Ken!

Not my story, but one that was told to me by a WWII veteran.

Lieutenant-Colonel Charles "Charlie" Forbes, Royal 22nd Regiment Commandos, Nederland, 1944.

It was a dark evening and we were in a small town in Holland doing some "house clearing" (removing German troops from civillian houses) when I broke through a door. A teenage female voice asked from a dark corner of the kitchen, first in German, then in English and finally in French, who we were. I answered that we were Canadian soldiers. She immediately awoke everyone in the house...

"Canadian troops ! Everyone get up ! The Canadians are here !"

Her family came down, put some light in the room and offered us food and drinks. We told them that we were looking for a German HQ in this town. The young woman who first answered us told us that she knew where they were and offered us to lead us there.

However, she couldn't come with us wearing a dress... So I asked my machine-gunner to undress and gave her the uniform so she could lead us to the enemy HQ.

On our way there, we came across a German patrol, everyone left the road and jumped into the ditch... Everyone but the girl. She raised the machine-gun, aimed the German troops and opened fire. I then grabbed her and pulled her into the ditch.

May be girls aren't as strong as men, but I can tell you that they can use a machine-gun as well as any man !

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@Canberra's story, that's one where you just quietly slink back to your barracks and start packing your bags!

Good one, too, Maestro!

While serving in Hawaii. 1st work formation of the day our squad leader would go to each person and ask, "Whatcha got!" If we had an appointment or had some special duty of course we reported what we had to do for that day. Then there was guy we called Murbo. Squad leader gets to him and asks, "Whatcha got!" He replies... "Sergeant! I got 16 lbs of swinging meat, balls the size of cantelopes, and enough hair in the crack of my a** to weave two Indian blankets!" Needless to say he was speechless for a moment. Everybody else within earshot was nearly rollin on the ground laughing. Murbo just stood at attention with a straight face. Finally the squad leader just replies, " Carry on!"

EXCELLENT answer!

Another one from my grandfather.

During his time as the Chief of Police in Hartford(although it might have been before, I'm not sure) He was in charge of a hostage situation. A man had his family held hostage in his house, really out of his mind. He had police surrond the house and sent for a negotiator. While this was happening, there was a few news stations that were filming the whole standoff. Only problem with that is that the father was watching the whole thing on the news, and was getting agitated on seeing the cops surronding his house, and was getting more desperate. Seeing this, my grandfather told the news crews to back off, making sure the father didn't see any more of the cops movements. In the end, the situation was diffused, and I believe nobody was hurt.

About a week later, he got a call from the Public Relations Manager from one of the news stations. The guy was apparatently pissed that my grandfather told the reporters to back off, saying that it infringed on the first Amendment or something along the line. At first, he tried to explain why he did it, explaing the risk it had on the hostages. Apparently the guy didn't get the message, or cared. So after awhile of the man complaining, my grandpa got fed up and basically told the guy to go f#ck himself.

One of ourCanberras developed a strange fault. After about twenty minutesd flying time, both engines would lose about 20% power. It was puzzling for quite a while and eventually Rolls Roycw were contacted and in due course the 'boffin' arrived. He carried out an engine run and then she was pushed into the hangar. To say that the 'boffin' became the most hated bloke at Binbrook, was an understatement. Shortly our elec/sgt told me that while she was at the dispersal, the engine lads thought one of the fuel pumps in the bomb bay was noisy and would I have look at tt while the a/c was u/s. I went into the hangar, there appeared to be no one around, no boffin. So I went to the cockpit, no warning notices, so I sat in the bang seat and switched on the 24v system and switched on the suspect pump. Then it happened, there was a strangled gurgling sound of someone drowning trying to shout "bloody rotter!" Then "it" appeared at the cockpit, the "Boffin" covered in kerosene from head to feet. He said, or rather gurgled through half a gallon of kerosene that he was going to report me to the flight sergeant and splashed away. He came back. still splashing and told me the flight sergeant wanted to see me amd I was 'for it'. He went or rather splashed away. I went to the office and tapped on the door and was bade enter. The flight sergeant said. "If he's gone, come in and shut the door." I shut the dorr and a big grin split his face, he told me it was a good show and when the b,,,,,rd gets on the starboard engine, do it again, there are all the needed warning cards in the stores and its his own fault, he said he'd told the CO and he was still laughing. He left the next day and his replacement had the job done in half a day. The original dimwit had the cheek to write to the CO claiming a new suit and was politely told to gbet stuffed.

Ken

x2

Thats a good one Can Man!!!

Nice!

When I was TDY to Columbia, South America,back in 1993, during the evenings the good Colonel and I would get together to enjoy some scotch. Lt. Colonel Philip Tennant was a self proclaimed expert on scotch and would launch into lengthy dissertation on various brands and malts. He also said that he was an heir to the Tennant Distilleries in Scotland. Since I was in charge of ordering supplies for the detachment I always insured that the weekly resupply C-130 flight leaving Panama would have an adequate scotch supply on board.

One evening Airman Tim Gajeck happened upon our nightly get together and spy-ed the bottle sitting on the table. "Hey can I have some of that?" asked the young Airman. "Help yourself" I replied. Were upon he whips out his canteen cup pours in half the bottle and mixes it with some coke. He than proceeds to chug it down in four or five swallows followed by a very loud belch..
Colonel Phil upon witnessing this complete disregard of scotch etiquette flew in to a rage.
"Gajeck, you scotch sucking, pig!!" roared the Colonel. "You have as much class as a kick in the nuts." The Colonel continued to lambaste this hapless airman about his complete disregard of scotch etiquette and for his anti social mannerism. The Colonel glared at the accursed and added,"Gajeck, I want that scotch replaced by tomorrow or I will court martial you and since we are deployed in a hostile fire area I will have you shot."
Gajeck nervously looked at me and whispered, "He's kidding isn't he?". With my best poker face I replied, "No he's not." Gajeck turned as white as a sheet and quickly disappeared.

Early the next morning I saw the Colombian Air Force Huey helicopter that was attached to us on an early morning take off. As it passed by through its open doors I noticed a blond haired young man was on board. Knowing that the Colombians did not have any blond haired crew members, I assumed it was Airman Gajeck off on his quest for scotch mission.

Where he could have gone I do not know. We were 6 miles north of the equator, near a river that flowed into the Amazon. The nearest civilization was a couple of hundred miles away. We were truly out in the jungle. That afternoon our Scotch Hunting Hero returned with his prize and proudly presented it to the Colonel in exchange for his life. I don't recall the name but the bottle was packaged in a box and it did say scotch on it. I also learned that it cost Gajeck about $500 to bribe the flight crew. A small price to pay when your ass is on the line.

heh...never get between a dedicated drinker and his beverage of choice!

LMAO, NICE!

Funny.


Wheels

The Squadron is in Malaya for 6 months, attacking the terrs with 1,000 pounders and the Canberra's are returnning from the latest mission. They are taxying in to the dispersal, I direct one onto the pan, signal him to stop and open the bomb doors with an armourer standing by in case of hang ups. There were no hang ups, oh no! far worse. As the bomb doors opened, a thousand pound bomb squeezes through the gap and crunched onto the tarmac. The ground crew were wondering whic way to run and how fast, when we realised, the bomb hadn't fallen far enough to arm. Fun over for the day!

Ken

The force of the winds rushing into the vacuum drawn by the collective puckering of every sphincter within a 500-meter radius was felt as far away as Rhode Island.

A crewman in a squadron attached to the carrier Yorktown, 1963 we pulled into Yokosuka Naval Station. There was a 3rd class in our group who had just married in the States and promised his new bride he would stay faithful on this cruise. Having been on several Far East cruises, he was our guide. On one of our Liberties, we were walking "downtown" Sasebo where all the Mamasans and some of their "girls" were pitching their services from the upper floor windows,"hey sailor, want a nice girl"? For an 18 year old this was quite something! Well, our "guide" clued us in to what was on offer, we were pretty eager young shipmates. But to our surprise our leader looked up at Mamasan with a smile and replies,

"not really, but do you have a nice fat boy"?
To which everyone broke up into hysterics and we made our way to the Blue Moon stand bar for another laugh.