The good old FTX

Discussion in 'RAC' started by GeordieHussar, Mar 2, 2007.

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  1. I am sure that there are loads of funny stories from the days when we went out on FTXs so lets hear some, Im sure soprano54 and the Armoured Farmers have some.
     
  2. the joys of motering along the german roads in your cheiftain ,,,knocking down as many road markers and signs as you could, ,,sticking quick to try and throw them on to the back decks,,,finding a nice gastate and telling the driver to,,fix the engine ..so you could wait for the frg,reme to come...have a packlift in the car park ,,radio watch from inside the gasthaus...on a bit of d10....great days...
     
  3. Tytus_Barnowl

    Tytus_Barnowl On ROPs

  4. Never a truer word said PUP. I remember being umpire for 3 RTR on one of the big ones, may have been spearpoint, and we sat in this tiny village with one Sqn for at least a week. During this time the guys in the Sqn passed time by playing there own war games, tiny tanks and all, LOL. On the day that the Div Comd decided to deploy his reserve Sqn to counter an enemy attack the good old Armoured Farmers mounted up and sped out of this pleasant little village demolishing everything in their path in their haste to defeat the dreaded enemy. Problem was it was a bluff attack and when the Sqn had deployed it was flanked by, if I remember correctly, a Regt of enemy armour and wiped out in the space of 20 mins. Result, a very unhappy General. Oh happy days.
     
  5. was umpire on a bridge guarded reseve demolition...by the raf regt....
    hsaw too helicopters coming,,,,upps i thought this could be fun...
    one landed one end the other the other side,,,outstorm the ememy,,,,kosb,s...bayonets fixed,,,screeming charge over bridge,,,,to be honest to the raf guys,,,i did in fact run too....if theyed had done that trick at arnheim,well ,,,thats history..
     
  6. read on a damage card it was only DM54.00 for rape.!!!
     
  7. Well you asked for it!

    Back in the day we were the Corp Recce Regiment based in Wolfenbuttel. During the big FTX of the year we started by doing our normal recce screen for the first phase and were then subsequently redeployed as enemy / ‘tank hunting parties’ dependant on the time of day.

    Given a couple of grid references we were tasked to find out if there was anything of interest in the area. Sure enough after a standing patrol to cover routes in we had a picture of LO’s Rvrs and Ferrets going in and out, pointing to a BG HQ.

    A more detailed recce was carried out the following night to ascertain guard’s positions and hide layout, it was definitely and Armd BG; armed with this info the raid was planned. We had attached to the Sqn a Tp of Chieftains from the cav north of the boarder so we could we could simulate CRPs during the day. They were keen to get involved and so joined us for the op.

    The plan was simple, the Q’s bedy would contain a dozen guys and drive up to the first sentry on the pretext of a delivery from A2, the guard was to be overpowered chucked in the back and the bedy would drive on. A second group of about a dozen guys on foot would be poised on the other side of the HQ to sweep in once the bedy reached as close to the centre of the hide as possible and the occupants had jumped out to start the raid.

    It started well, the guard was taken, taped and chucked in the back of the beddy along with his GPMG. We got to the centre of the hide and leapt out throwing thunder flashes and smoke. The second party swept in from the woods, cam nets were cut, smoke thrown into cv’s, maps taken, within minutes we were bugging out to the RV in a village about 1 km out of the wood.

    We looked at the spoils, a prisoner, GPMG and the RSO’s ferret! But that’s when it started to go wrong, the BG HQ we had raided belonged to a famous RAC Regt from the Brummie area where the men were wide of shoulder and short of neck. There CO at the time famously walked around with a shepard’s crook and was as hard as nails having spent much of his early career practicing the black arts. We were still in the village in self congratulation mode when 2 or 3 Rvrs screamed into the square and out leapt some extremely pissed off members of the midlands finest.

    In the ensuing melee the CO took rather a shine to me and I recall him chasing me through the darkness into a field of sugar beet whilst shouting ‘I’M GOING TO F*CK YOU LITTLE MAN’, luckily after decimating an acre of beet with his crook whilst gleefully outlining exactly what I could expect when he finally found me he gave up and headed off towards the village.

    We lost three guys that night, literally, one didn’t turn up until a few days later when cold and hungry he turned himself in to a GCP station. Another one was later found at a bus stop!

    I often wonder what the locals thought of that particular battle and some years later I was telling the story to a fellow instructor in Lulworth. ‘I remember that night, I was the CO’s gnr’. It transpired that in the initial assault one of Comd Tp had been badly hurt (unintentional on our part I’m sure) and that had caused the reaction.

    Happy Days
     
  8. the happy days of wuffers...
     
  9. AlienFTM

    AlienFTM LE Book Reviewer

    THE NIGHT OF THE MAD DOG

    It was the end of October, 1983. 12 Armoured Workshop Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (my posting after transfer into the Rape And Pillage Company), was on FTX.

    As usual, I was once again volunteered to run the MRG radio net cos I had been a Con Sig. We'd been in the field for about a week, when I noticed one early afternoon that this was Halloween, and being bored shitless, I had to do something to liven up the exercise.

    Word got around the HQ that I was up to something and as darkness fell, an air of expectant tension fell over the MRG. OC Stores Platoon, a legend in his own lunchtime and Captain RAOC known as SAS cos he thought he was hard, challenged me about it. I told him it would be a simple wind-up of the Workshop nutter, let's call him Dave - everybody did, a totally stupid lad, but with a heart of gold, a great sense of humour, and he didn't realise he was stupid. SAS warned me not to or he'd kill me. This was guaranteed to get me to do it.

    I finished me radio stag about 2000, rounded up young Francis, a Paddy Craftsman in the HQ who was up for the wind-up, picked up me rifle and radio, briefly outlined to the Admin Officer who had come on stag and was theoretically the man in charge, and we wandered off.

    As I left the HQ vehicle, I asked for a radio check to ensure I had the right
    frequency. This was the cue for the fun to start. The platoons were laid out
    like a circle of covered wagons round the HQ, and each platoon guarded the arc to its front, every pair of guards having a radio. One of the reasons the wind-up was as it was was that I could rely on the victim to be on stag because when we went on exercise, it was all he ever did, to stop him breaking things.

    We went round each of the guard posts in turn, explaining the scheme. We
    generated an unusually high amount of radio traffic as part of the wind-up: everybody else's instructions were simply to reply to any message I sent using the right Voice Procedure.

    I made sure we visted Stores Platoon last. There was a glorious full moon in the clear Autumn sky, and even in the dark, the fields leading down to the River Weser were clearly visible. I came up on Dave from behind and explained to him that I wanted him to load his live ammunition into his rifle, because the mad creature (I never actually used the term dog) was in the field to his front. (I knew he didn't have any live ammunition, because the small amount that went on exercise to cater for genuine terrorist activity by German fascists was safely locked up in the safe in the command vehicle I had just left).

    Dave, aware that something was in the air, played along with the game and said he'd done so. I asked to check. He was of course lying and
    trying to cover up his apparent ineptitude. When I gave him a severe bollocking he got the message that we weren't ******* about. I told him to watch his front for the creature: it was not to be allowed to bite him at any cost: it must die. I told him I was off round the other platoons then I'd try and flush the thing out.

    I had of course already told all the other platoons, so Francis and I, as soon as we were ten yards from Dave, wheeled round back into the field about 200m to his front. Plenty of radio traffic (being so close, I had the radio on Whisper, but everybody else was gibbering loudly and I couldn't be heard) convinced Dave that the trouble was all going to be on the far side of the position.

    Then, as the moon came from behind a cloud, I released a blood-curdling howl like a coyote that went on forever courtesy of my Fullwell End training. Francis and I jumped up and making lots of noise started running straight at him. Francis, being a Regimental cross-country runner, got well ahead. I then stopped and screamed that the thing had got me and for God's sake stop running and come and help me, Francis you bastard. Francis just kept running at Dave, whose rifle was flung far and wide as he turned and ran. His webbing followed. He was off into the distance, and when Francis caught up with him, he assumed the thing was right behind. Francis couldn't Dave victim who just kept running.

    Naturally I stopped, laughing fit to burst, and became aware that the entire workshop was watching from a safe distance, killing themselves laughing and fighting for the odd night site broken out to watch the proceedings.

    I got to the road and stopped to catch my breath.

    Eventually Francis convinced Dave to stop running. They walked back toward me, panting heavily. I knew they hadn't seen me, so I silently slipped into the shade of a tree. The contrast with the bright moonlight guaranteed they wouldn't see me.

    When they'd gone about ten meters past me, I leapt onto the road and let out another howl. Dave was off again. He flagged down a car. The German didn't have a ******* clue, but when this scruffy squaddie tried to climb in with him, he floored the pedal and the Merc disappeared very quickly. He ran to a nearby farmhouse and hammered on the door. By this time Francis had caught him up again (I was again in stitches and incapable of anything coherent). Francis dragged Dave away and we tried to convince him that it was all an exercise.

    At this point the Admin Officer came up on the radio and told Dave to return to the command vehicle for a debrief. Dave went up the steps to the CV and reported to the AO how Francis had run off scared by the creature but that he (Dave) had looked after him and they'd got away safely.

    All credit to the OC, 2IC and all the senior ranks who had crammed in for this event: not one of them tittered, until Dave threw up the smartest salute he'd ever managed, turned and marched out of the CV. Then fell down the stairs.

    Epilogue.
    The following morning, at breakfast, SAS cornered me. "Corporal Alien, you said you were going to pull a stunt on my man last night?"
    "Yes, sir"
    "And I told you not to?"
    "Yes, sir"
    "But you did anyway?"
    "Yes, sir"
    "You're a kerrrrnt, Corporal Alien"
    "I'm sorry, sir, it was ..."
    "You're a kerrrrnt, Corporal Alien, because I wasn't ******* there, I'd had to go off on a recce."

    (The original of this document is stored in my memoirs directory. Some edits have been performed for Persec reasons.)
     
  10. To bloody true, only camp i was ever glad to see after a ftx or well anything!!!
     
  11. Just read the 3 RTR thread! :cyclopsani:

    I don't think it was Ex SPEARPOINT, cos' we umpired on that one as well! I can remember QRIH umpiring us once, as D*n K**anski was one of them . I would have remembered 15/19 doing us by their distinct accents......................Raziarrrrrrrrr Bleaaaaaaaaaaddddss and Becoooooooonn Rooooooooooooolllss do dar do dar deay!!! :blowkiss:
     
  12. Now lets get this straight you plonk-bag you find the fact that a good friend and damn fine trooper lost his life in an accident amusing. I find it in very bad taste indeed. I was 2 Antars in front of the one involved in the accident, some brainless officer thought it would be a jolly jape to have the crews insitu so to speak , save some money on transport!
    The people involved were in my Sqn, they went on to the back decks for a leak and climbed back into turret. For some reason Tpr S stuck his head out again and was to all intents and purposes decapitated.
    On a bridge.
    Still funny is it?
    We learned about this when we de-bussed, my driver Robbo was travelling in the tank involved we had to keep him and the other people boozed up for 3 fecking weeks as the Army wouldn´t let them go back to camp.
    Still funny?
    We had to wash the blood off the turret in question and only after hefty threats would anybody use the fecking thing on that FTX.
    Still funny?
    Just supposing that happened to one of your mates , think you would like to see it getting the piss taken out of it.
    I would like to smack you one on the kisser but I and my fellow Scots DGs would not soil our hands with the likes of you. You are below contempt.
     
  13. Tytus_Barnowl

    Tytus_Barnowl On ROPs

    Expected nad apologies already imparted. I knew the man in question as well, just passing what was a tasteless black humour anecdote rife at the time.
    TB
     
  14. Sqn smoker during one FTX and I had brought a box of 50 king Eddies for the scheme. One chap asked me for one, fcuk o*f was my reply. Then went to empty my bladder, came back sat by the fire and continued drinking beer, but something was amiss, it took me about 5 full minutes before I realised that "everyone" was smoking a King Eddie, I raced to my Scorpion only to find a totally empty Cigar box, My screams of "bas*ard" were drowned out by a Squadrons worth of laughter. :headbang: