Thanks to all of you at SGT Grit our picnic last weekend was a huge success! As with every year the SGT Grit raffle and auction items were the highlight and had people drooling over them (even the younger people for which drooling really isn't an age related issue). Next year maybe we should order some bibs for the guests as protection at the prize tables!
We raised a grunchload of money, had a good time and stuffed ourselves with ribs, chicken, brats and Leinenkugel beer! Can't thank you all enough for what you do for us through your generosity and Semper Fi attitude. Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!
Great time! Below is a picture of an old WW II and a Viet Nam Marine (I am neither in the photo) sharing a beer and a story or two. We even had our MCL Toys for Tots Jeep there.
Hurry Up And Wait
Sgt Grit Newsletter 7/30/14 - "Modifying rifle cartridges into dum-dum rounds was forbidden by the Rules of the Geneva Convention."
Like so many of Sgt Grit's readers I carried a Geneva Conventions (sic) (there were four conventions, thus the plural) card during my tour in Viet Nam and thought I understood same. For me, not so. Mr. Wise's contribution sent me off on a tangent (as the newsletter so often does) and I looked up the Geneva Conventions on Wikipedia. Turns out the Geneva Conventions are completely people oriented and sets the standards for the treatment thereof during a time of war.
What Mr. Wise stated concerning dum-dum rounds is correct but it is not covered by the Geneva Conventions (news to me). Any round designed to expand once hitting the human body, is covered by The Hague Convention of 1899, (Surprise to me. Never heard of it.) part of which reads:
"(IV,3): Declaration concerning the Prohibition of the Use of Bullets which can Easily Expand or Change their Form inside the Human Body such as Bullets with a Hard Covering which does not Completely Cover the Core, or containing Indentations. This declaration states that, in any war between signatory powers, the parties will abstain from using "bullets which expand or flatten easily in the human body." Ratified by all major powers, except the United States." (During my research, it was not clear if this changed during The Hague Convention of 1907 or as a result of later treaties.)
I also wanted to say, I love reading Gunny Rousseau's reminiscing about (to me) the "Old Corps" and ddick remembering events from his Marine Corps.
Re: The hearing loss issue. I have hearing loss and Tinnitus (verified by the VA) and a claim in with the VA for both. It's been two years and they've denied me twice during that time. The VA concedes that I worked in a noisy environment during my enlistment. They also concede that I have hearing loss and Tinnitus but they're saying those two things are not connected. Bullsh-t! I'm not giving up because I didn't have Tinnitus when I enlisted in the Corps but I sure as h-ll did when I got out. I'm currently in a holding pattern, waiting for a slot for a video conference with the Review Board. I've been advised it usually takes two years to get on the schedule. I thought when I walked out the gate at MCAS El Toro (in reality, rode out in a cab) I was finished with hurry up and wait.
Cpl Jerry D.
Uncle Sam's Dime
Last newsletter, guys were talking about Leave and R&R. I only got 3-days in-country R&R at China Beach. But the real story was what a buddy in my hootch in Da Nang did. He had arrived in country months before me and his tour was ending. He extended for 6-months and got 30 days Basket Leave. Since he put Frankfurt, Germany as his leave address, he also received 20-days travel time.
I can't remember his exact travel route, but it was generally East from Nam stopping in India, Turkey, and I believe either Italy or Switzerland. Once in Germany, his Leave officially started. He moved in with a Swedish actress/model and managed to see all of Europe with her in her sports car. When his Leave was over, it was back to Germany. Leaving Germany, he again flew East to France, England, Greenland or Iceland, New York, San Francisco, Hawaii and eventually back to Nam. In essence, he got an around-the-world trip on Uncle Sam's dime.
Cpl. Bill Reed
The Hand That Held All Knowledge
I entered boot camp at MCRD in July of '65. My last name, the name I used until that point was different from the last name I used in San Diego because, I was informed, my step Dad had never legally adopted me. You can imagine where this is headed. That's right. My new name was called for mail call and, like a dummy, I just stood there in a daze until the slap upside the head cleared the thinking part of my brain to make room for more important stuff.
Being the complete idiot that I was, the second time my name was called, about two minutes later, I was too busy trying to get the buzzing out of my head from my first letter, and failed once again to speak up. Just as the hand that held all knowledge applied itself to the brain housing, I realized my new name had been called once again. Too late. It sounded like a rifle going off beside my ear.
After that I never missed listening for, and answering to, the sound of my last name. Now a days I'm a little deaf so I do not always answer quickly. Thank God no one here has the hand of correction. I couldn't survive it now.
Wanting To Become Marines
Sgt Giles sent this photo to me. He is busy working with young folks who are wanting to become Marines when they grow up.
Love the newsletter and the great Marine products at Sgt Grit's store. I'm writing in response to Jack Wise's assumption that "Today's Marines probably wouldn't be all that interested in what our fellow Marines did 70 years ago, but it's a small part of our heritage." His statement, I believe, is exactly why so many Marines are interested in battles of past wars fought by our brother Marines. Personally, I've always loved reading and/or hearing stories of the men that made the Corps what it is today. There are so many books about Marines like "Marines!" the book of Chesty Pullers career, "Guadacanal" about the taking of that island and so many more. And of course movies like "Sands of Iwo Jima' starring The Duke, "Full Metal Jacket" about 'Nam and more recently "Jarhead", which showed me that the men in the Corps don't change, the language doesn't change and the Espirit De Corps (sp?) doesn't diminish. Only a Marine can call The Corps "The Suck" and get away with it. The list of great books and movies goes on and on, yet The American Marine is a constant. I think it behooves Marines to study Marine Corps history, even if it's just watching programs on The Military Channel, the History channel, A&E, etc. Even though I'm 56 now, I've been reading about The Corps' history since I was in my 20s. As Mr. Wise said, "It's a (small) part of our heritage." Besides, there is always the old axiom that those who ignore history are bound to repeat it.
J.A. Howerton, USMC (Ret)
In Vietnam, a friend and fellow Ordnance Man was the Ordnance Chief of the 1st Marine Division. Hanging on his wall was a Stoner Rifle left over from the test of the Stoner Rifle in Vietnam. I asked him to come with me on a Recon Mission. The Division Ordnance Officer okay'd the Recon so we left touring the OP's. He took the Stoner rifle as his personal weapon while I carried my M14. At each OP he would allow any one that wanted to fire the Stoner, to fire it. Here is a picture I took at one of the OP's and a Marine Firing it. Don't remember his name or the name of the Ordnance Chief, sorry.
The "Stoner", for you Marines that are not aware of it's Versatility, was a rifle that could be easily converted to a Carbine, or a Machinegun (either fired from the shoulder or mounted). The Marine Corps and the Army didn't find a need for it so it wasn't adopted however a few lucky individuals did get to fire it.
Note this is a Fighting Post with Hand Grenades hanging from the metal ditch covers we found great for protection when attacked and how we built our OP's.
Gysgt. F. L. Rousseau, USMC Retired
Sand Flea Helmet Liner
Drill Instructor to recruit (who is from the South and doesn't know his left from his right - and marching is not his forte!) Drill Instructor gets frustrated as he tries to teach platoon simple drill exercises. Has platoon halt - goes over to Recruit Numnuts and kicks him in his left shin hard - recruit goes down in pain - and DI tells two of us to pick the maggot up. DI goes in the face of recruit and says, "Numnuts - from now on step off with the foot that hurts!" Also, he orders the recruit to report to him or whomever is in charge in the morning - with the message to kick him in his left shin until he figures out which foot to lead with in formation?
One recruit was always a talker and the platoon suffered as a whole for all screw-ups! One DI had his own method and decided that the guilty culprit should be punished - in the DI's own perverse pleasure! He nailed the a-hole and told the Private the following, "You scuzzy worm your orders from me is to pound my hatch after square-away time and before taps - with the message to remind me to kick your worthless asz all over the squad-bay? If you fail to report I will play my favorite game of the "Boot Camp Escapades!" "The Game is Your Asz is Grass and I am a Lawn Mower."
The DI told us that we are only allowed to have proper gear - not more than we are issued - or he will consider it stolen property - and we answer to him as "Judge - Jury - and Executioner". Also, he said that all contraband will be con-fist-a-caded. I would not point out to the Drill Instructor that his grammar was incorrect, and he used improper English and mixed tenses and had a poor vocabulary! (My thoughts were that my mother did not raise any fools)!
As I was in Boot Camp in 1963 - the phrases they used at that time are only funny to Marines of that era.
One DI on Sunday let us look at the newspaper - naturally the comics were a real treat as the DI had one rule for the comics! No one could read Dan Daly or Dan Daily (he was an Army guy), and the DI said he would kick any ones asz who read a doggie comic strip.
Also, we had no black flag for hot days on the grinder - usually the series Lt. would get a message to us that we could not drill outside due to weather being too hot. I remember the pink salt tablets - and the metal helmets we marched in and the sarcasm of the wit of some DI's. If a recruit kept on scr-wing up, one DI would ream out some poor bast-rd - yelling that if brains were metal the recruit wouldn't have enough metal to make a helmet liner for a sand flea!
We were served apple butter in the mess hall - and one DI was so frustrated with one hard headed obstinate recruit - he blew up and got in his face and was ready to explode (which was bad for all of us). The DI asked the poor Private Numnuts, "What is the difference between sh-t and apple butter?" Recruit too scared to answer - DI made him do 50 push-ups on the spot - naturally a few laughed (bad move) we all were doing bends and thrusts as punishment. Hey, we never won - but I figured early that we would never win anyway.
That night the DI calls the clown to him and asks him what is the difference between sh-t and apple butter - the guy says he doesn't know? (he would be wrong no matter what he said). The DI says they are both brown and taste the same. Are you going to correct the DI?
But we all had a lot of blood - toil - sweat - and tears- to shed - but we made it and we were after some hair raising experiences - became United States Marines!"
Vietnam Era Marine
P.S. Must be a lot of stories out there as I work with a Marine in his late 30's and we have a lot of laughs to share. I told him that the Building Manager needed a blanket party - we roared laughing so hard tears came to our eyes and our sides hurt from laughing so much - and the guys we work with thought we were nuts - it is a Marine thing - A Love of THE CORPS.
How many of you remember your first combat experience? Though it was horrifying to me at the time, I look back on it now and laugh. Up until that point, it seemed like all I was doing was just running around the desert looking for somebody that wasn't there. I had been in the sand box for nearly four months and had seen almost no action. That was about to change soon. At the time I was a Lance Corporal. Our platoon was doing what we thought was just another routine patrol through a local village. This butter bar that was fresh out of the academy had led us down a narrow corridor; perfect spot for an ambush. Just when we were about to walk out of the corridor into the main street, we saw several insurgents pop out of nowhere and they began firing their AK rifles. An IED went off directly behind us. I'd never moved so fast in my whole life. While the bullets were flying around me in all directions I felt something wet in my pants. My first thought was, "Oh, terrific. I'll never live this down." If you know anything about desert camos you know that a wet spot sticks out like a sore thumb. I had to cover this up.
While the mayhem was still going on, I removed my side arm and shot a hole in my canteen. With the water pouring down the back of my pants I thought I had it covered. When it was all over, and our wounded moved to a safe LZ, my platoon Sgt. noticed my wet pants. He walked over and I could tell he was steaming. "O'Briant, I'm just guessing, but it looks to me like you've p-ssed your pants. This ain't the army, kid. What the h-ll is the matter with you?" Thinking I had this covered, I proceeded with my story. "It's not p-ss, sarge! My canteen was hit!" He gave me that "uhuh" glare and reached for a spare canteen in his pack. "When we get back, go to supply and get yourself a new jug. Can't go without water in the desert, now can we?" He never told the rest of the platoon what happened, but the truth of the story got out regardless. Needless to say, I made sure that I very thoroughly relieved myself before I went out on patrol. That's the kinda stuff they DON'T prepare you for in boot camp. So, a word of advice. Pack an extra canteen just in case.
SSGT. Robert O'Briant
Stuck In My Memory
This past June my Nam unit 3/26 Marines held their reunion in Ennis, Montana. Unfortunately my daughter picked that week to have a beach weekend in North Carolina and I was asked to give the bride away. There was a website for the run up for the reunion that included a "buddy locator". I requested the name Frank McCarthy, who had been my first platoon commander in Lima Co. in early 1967. The last time I'd seen him was when he'd been shot leading the charge up Hill 689 outside of Khe Sanh. Much to my surprise I received a reply from now retired Major McCarthy and we exchanged memories via e-mail. I had been a green 18 yr. old replacement when I joined his 3rd platoon and this Mustanged Lt. was a God to me. In my two tours in Nam I must say that he was the finest combat Marine I ever served with. I could, and maybe should write about our exploits under his leadership.
A couple of weeks before the scheduled reunion Major McCarthy notified me that he had been asked to give the acceptance speech for the new Hotel Co. 2/7 memorial at the Marine Corps Museum. In a subsequent tour he had served as their company CO. He asked my wife and I to be his guests at the dedication and we gladly accepted. Seeing him again was like running into Chesty Puller. The 40 some years melted away as I stood in awe of this great man. When I introduced myself to him he grabbed me in a bear hug and treated me like a long lost brother. He and his beautiful wife, Terry, were wonderful to my wife and myself while we were there. The dedication of the monument was held on a beautiful summer morning with vets, wives, children, and grandchildren in attendance. After the incredibly moving speech Major McCarthy made there wasn't a dry eye on the field. I'm sure our lost brothers looked down from Valhalla and smiled. Being a unit outsider I was asked by some of the 2/7 guys what I most remembered about Frank McCarthy. I regaled them with some first hand accounts and then told them about the three things he's said that always stuck in my memory. They were:
1. "Don't worry boys, they can kill you but they can't eat you!"
2. "Fix bayonets, we're going to take this F--king Hill!" (Hill 689 June 22, 1967)
3. And the most dreaded one of all. "We need someone to help burn the sh-tters and it's your turn."
I hope Frank McCarthy and I will always remain good friends as strongly as we were once bound together by war.
P.S. To add icing to the Quantico trip; as we were packing to leave I struck up a conversation with a gentleman wearing a Marine Corps Drill Instructor Association ball cap. He turned out to be my former Sr. Drill Instructor, then SSgt. Cornelson, when I went through PI in 1966, Plt. 2076.
Gary Neely, Sgt. of Marines, '66 to '72
I would like to follow up on the article submitted by Dan Sutter.
General Mattis is much, much more than four stars, numerous ribbons and a very smart uniform, even though as the article says, that to stand in front of him was/is truly impressive. I have had the opportunity to be in the vicinity of officers from other branches of the military, and there are just very few examples of those that can stack up to a U.S. Marine Officer, especially one with four stars.
I have had the chance of a lifetime to meet an talk to just such an officer. His intelligence, grasp of the obvious, understanding of history and leadership qualities second to none, placed this man of destiny in many situations and engagements that without all of those qualities, might have turned out differently. His understanding of the importance of history and how to use that information seems to me to have been one of his most important attributes.
It is very sad to me that one with such redeeming factors and who had the uncanny ability to tell it like it is regardless of to whom he was speaking was marginalized at times by clueless individuals. That ability to cut through the cr-p and get to the root of the problem without fanfare is and will be missed by the Corps and America.
His knowledge of the Middle East and relationships that he had developed over the many years there, seem to be even more important now than before. I remember him saying once that when politics and diplomacy fail, as it often does, the General to General relationships between armies and countries is the only hope sometimes of getting things accomplished. Not having that relationship, at least on an active basis any longer is problematic.
I personally believe he would have and still could make a great Secretary of Defense, Secretary of State or even Ambassador. I would love to be a fly on the wall at a meeting between him and Putin. What a story that could be.
And last but not least, his mother, mentioned in the article is herself a treasure trove of experiences and stories, many that rival the General's.
Another Lesson Learned
In November, 1960, platoon 374 boarded a bus to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. We had made it, we were Marines, or so we thought. Several busses of recent PI grads unloaded at the receiving area in platoon formations. We were standing at ease while the First Sergeant called the roll and issued assignments to our separate companies while our company Gunny paced back and forth in front of the ranks. There were one or two in the ranks who were a little too salty after surviving boot camp and one of them was standing behind me chewing a wad of bubble gum and grab-assing with his mates. Gunny Grogan, a short powerful man who, I learned later liked to run wherever he went, stopped directly in front of me, staring through me with red rimmed eyes, jumped straight up in the air. He came down on the grab-asser in back of me and throttled him, wrapping his fingers around his throat, picking him up and slamming him into the parking lot. He then straddled his chest, banging his head on the ground, until he spit up the wad of gum. The First Sergeant paused a second and continued with the roll call as if there wasn't any problem. It was clear to me that we had a long way to go before we became true Marines.
One of our exercises in ITR was to crawl under live machine gun fire across a field strung with barbed wire and set at intervals with dynamite charges. The field was about 100 yds. long with a trench at the end that was our finish line and faced a berm for stopping the .30 caliber rounds from three machine guns set up on a platform to our rear. These guns were set at about waist high so it was in our interest to keep low. Each squad had 13 men, three four man fire teams and a squad leader. Each team had three M1 rifles and one BAR. I was the BAR man in my team. We all had our 782 gear besides our weapons, including our helmets. When my squad's turn came up, we got a pretty good start, crawling on our backs, lifting the wire above our weapons, with the guns and charges going off. I rolled into the trench at the end just I heard whistles blowing and shouts of "cease fire, cease fire". Looking over my shoulder I saw Pvt. SA, our rifleman running and jumping over the wire to catch up with the rest of us, finally jumping into the trench. Half way through the exercise, his helmet came off and he stood up, machine gun rounds zipping past him, and ran back to retrieve his helmet. Quick action by the instructors blowing the whistles and the gunners releasing their triggers saved him from becoming Swiss cheese, but it didn't save him from the wrath of Gunny Grogan. After all the squads had completed the exercise we fell into company formation. The Gunny called Private SA front and center and reamed him a good one. He then collected six or seven M1s from the troops and had the Private carry them to the next exercise a few miles away in the boonies. As a company we had to do this at double time but poor Private SA had to run in circles around us, carrying the rifles and chanting loudly, "Wait for me John Wayne. Wait for me John Wayne." Another lesson learned.
The DISBURSING CHIEF
(Vol #8, #1)
In this era 'king size' beds were becoming popular - and hotels were trying to squeeze them into rooms that were never meant to accommodate them. The Ambassador was one of the older hotels and the rooms were rather small. Put in a king size bed and you were cramped. I was laying on my stomach. I said to her "Let me get up and we can sit in chairs to talk." She said, "The chairs are on opposite sides of the bed. You just stay where you are. You look too comfortable where you are to move." I was under the covers and she was on top of them. I had turned face up and we stayed that way. We talked until just after 0200 when she said she would have to go check on S:. She said "I don't think I will be back." I said, "Please do come back!" We had another one of those extended kisses - and she walked out of the room. Was this to be the last time I would ever see this gorgeous woman? I sure hoped it was not.
I turned over to go back to sleep. I was thinking of a wonderful day that we had shared. The door opened and she returned. I turned face up and she returned to her diagonal position on top of the covers. We talked - and reminisced - about the time we had shared - until 0300. She said, "I simply must get some sleep - and I want you to know that compared to my marriage - and my honeymoon - the past 12 hours were like Heaven - following a trip to Hell!" We had another of those special kisses - and then another - and a 3rd one. She got up and said "I shall NOT return." And out she went. I was sure I would never see her again.
I was afraid I would not get awake in time to catch the 0700 train to Philly so I called the desk and put in a call for 0600. I fell into a really deep sleep but got wide awake when the phone rang. I was up, showered, shaved, did my teeth, dressed and made it to the station in time for the 0700 train. You cannot guess what was on my mind all the way to Philly. My parents met me in front of 30th St Station and we headed home. A typical Mom said, "I'm sure you are starving. What would you like me to fix you?" I was quick to respond "A half dozen fresh eggs, a half pound of scrapple, a pile of corn meal mush and a quart of milk. Do you have all that?" She replied "I sure do - and I'll fix it for you ASAP." Dad told me, "Harvey brought your car over just before we left."
We were home by 0945. I called my sweetheart, Mary. She had come down from New York City - by Greyhound - Friday evening. I told her I would see her about noon. I finished every bit of the breakfast my Mom had fixed and we talked - about everything - until it was time to leave for Mary's home. When I arrived they were getting ready to sit down for lunch. I was invited to join them. I said, "I will sit down with you but I am not hungry." Her Mom told me "Mary tells us you have been talking of marriage?"
'til next week. The old, real old, real, real old (85) Master Gunny.
Harold T. Freas, Sr.
That Is Classified
By 1960, our Jeeps (M38A1C version) and 106MM Recoilless Rifles had caught up with us on Okinawa, at Sukiran. We had turned them in, allegedly for Depot overhaul by the Marine Corps Supply Center at Barstow, before embarking on USNS Hugh N. Gaffey as the second transplacement battalion... meaning that we (2/1) were the second unit to undergo unit transplacement... 1/1 had been the first, and there were several more to come in the years leading up to Viet Nam. (Barstow, BTW, is located in the Mojave Desert... it is said of 29 Palms, that it is two miles from hell and twenty miles from drinking water... it's a little further than that to drinking water from Barstow...) We were happy to see our gear again, as it meant that instead of humping all the M1919A4 machine guns that H&S owned... which was a bunch... and meant that our machine gun teams were smaller numbers-wise than the ones in the line company weapons platoons... we got to R-I-D-E! (well... except for that once on Taiwan, when the Bn Cmdr, LtCol Ike Fenton spotted us among the BN column... then everybody except the drivers got to walk...)
Part of our regular routine was to visit the line companies with a section (two jeeps/106's) and give capability briefings. At the time, we only had two types of live ammo, the HEP-T (High Explosive, Plastic-Tracer) and a HEAT (High Explosive Anti-Tank) round. This might occur at a range (Hansen Left or Hansen Three), usually with one gun in firing position, and the other parked in front of the bleachers, or grunts in a school formation. The squad leader would do his spiel as to range, rate of fire, use of the spotting rifle (.50 Cal... boresighted to the recoilless), armor penetration capability, etc. The SOP was that if somehow the squad leader (a Cpl... could have been either E-3 or E-4) was asked some technical question he couldn't answer, he was to say "Sorry... that information is classified... what is the next question?"
So there we were... just a part of a big dog and pony show... for the COMMANDANT! (General Shoup... MOH from Tarawa)... Boots were shined, tires were shined, practice rounds for range were fired long before the official party arrived, Majors and Lt.Cols were nervous (not ours... he'd been at Pusan and the Frozen Chosin as a Captain)... rounds went down range as the first part of 106's part of the show, then the other vehicle pulled up and stopped in front of the Commandant, Division CG, Regimental Commander... may even have had the Bn Surgeon out there. The squad leader dismounted as the jeep stopped, saluted, shifted to parade rest and recited his canned spiel. One of the items omitted from these recitations was the number of inches of armor the HEP-T round would penetrate... mostly because the round was not designed to penetrate, but to 'squish' against a tank, then detonate, causing a washtub or two worth of white-hot razor sharp splinters to go whirling around inside. (sometimes you might find a pencil-sized hole on the outside... visualize a window pane hit by a BB). Guess what the Commandant's question of my worthy brother Corporal doing the brief was? "How many inches will that HEP-T round penetrate?" Reflexively, and just as taught, our briefer responded with "I'm sorry Sir... that information is classified", even though he had the look of a deer in the headlights. Gen Shoup leaned forward, put a hand on our worthy's shoulder, and said: "That's all right son... you can tell me... I won't tell anybody..." This really amused the assorted Colonels in the area, and prompted our Lt to step in and explain... Not certain, all these years later, but I think the briefer was Roy Knight, who went on to a LAPD career after his enlistment.
Your "old corps" when you can say "I was on a Med Cruise when the Dead Sea was ALIVE..."
BOB LAKE, LCpl, 1957-1960, Honorable
"You cannot exaggerate about the Marines. They are convinced to the point of arrogance, that they are the most ferocious fighters on earth--and the amusing thing about it is that they are."
--Father Kevin Keaney, 1st MarDiv Chaplain, Korean War
"Marines are about the most peculiar breed of human beings I have ever witnessed. They treat their service as if it was some kind of cult, plastering their emblem on almost everything they own, making themselves up to look like insane fanatics with haircuts to ungentlemanly lengths, worshipping their Commandant almost as if he was a god, and making weird animal noises like a band of savages. They'll fight like rabid dogs at the drop of a hat just for the sake of a little action, and are the cockiest SOBs I have ever known. Most have the foulest mouths and drink well beyond man's normal limits, but their high spirits and sense of brotherhood set them apart and, generally speaking, of the United States Marines I've come in contact with, are the most professional soldiers and the finest men I have had the pleasure to meet."
--An Anonymous Canadian Citizen
"Flip-Flop, Hippity-Hop, Mob STOP!"
"Private, you are about as squared away as a soup sandwich!"
"Dress right dress! Cover down!"
"When I give you an EYES RIGHT I want to hear those eyeballs click! Do Not Move! I don't care if there's a bee on your eyeball maggot! DIG'EM IN, DIG'EM IN! Six to the front three to the rear!
God Bless the American Dream!