Long story Tom, but they made me a clerk in a HQ company, Signal Bn outside of Mannheim. Unit was half German, part of CENTAG, NATO. Ran stations all along the eastern borders. Actually stood formations behind German officers. "Deutchland Uber Alles" and the "Star-Spangled Banner", it was surreal. Peaked hats, the works. These guys still snapped their heels together. So I know Germans pretty good.

Very few Vietnam guys there. I was the only guy in the company M-60 qualified. Big inspection was coming up, and the HHC CO, he didn't have a gunner. (We had field "alerts" every couple of weeks; get up early and go have breakfast in the woods is about what an alert was.)

CO (good guy, mustang CPT) comes to me, says, "You're my gunner, *ickhead," or some such typical mustangese. (Good guy, by the way.)

I say, "Love to, sir. Honored, in fact. But I got this here Physical Profile that says I cain't lift more'n 25 pounds. B'lieve me sir, if I could I would, but I cain't." (I did have a prollem with my left wrist. Fortunately did most everything right handed.) He demanded to see the profile, read it, checked it, sniffed it, bit it, then finally surrendered.

The CO and I, we then went into negotiation mode. Ended up, I was the company executive gunner. The company armorer was my ammo-bearer and official gun-cleaner, because he liked cleaning M-60s. And he and I rode out on alerts with canteens full of Jagermeister in a jeep with some other guy driving. (I couldn't drive, what with watching the gun and all, and the armorer couldn't leave the jeep unattended while he humped the ammo in and out of the barracks.)

Mostly what I did for the CO was that M-60 thing, plus I wrote his letters for him. Then, one time, I removed a thorn from his paw. In return, he left me the hell alone. Worked out good.

Hemingway