M*CARBO Brotherhood

Rod Slinger and some fluff

From “The Witness Jose and Me” Allow me to take you back to my young dog days, A time when Rob had just started to climb up the ranks, Clark had yet to melt his first 45 and the Colt 45 was king of the hill and a Gold Cup was even better.

Now in truth at best I am just and average shot. I had won a few local match but this was unusual. This in no way stopped me from dreaming of running with the big dogs. And maybe my chance was just around the corner. You see my club was hosting a major match which would draw shooter from a four state area.

With a large supply of reloaded ammo and my tricked out Wetness I vowed to be match ready. Each night on my way home I would stop at the range and practice until sundown.

As fate always seams to have me in its sights the weekend of the match I had to work. My only hope was to race from work Sunday and hope to get to the match in time to shoot. So I pull into the match in the company truck in my dirty work uniform, work boots and a hat that said IBT (industrial belting and transmission).
There is less than an hour to shoot and all other contestants have fired the course but it is decided that I can shoot if I hurry up and get ready. So here I am loading Mags and reading the course of fire. The match is a jungle run with shoot and no shoot targets which will require a minim of 60 rounds. You are to take Jose who is wounded with you and traverse the course engaging targets on your left and right with two shots each. The rest was the usual does and don’ts. It turns out that Jose is a 120 lb. rag doll of approximately 6’ tall wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. The course was a logging road.

At the sound of the buzzer I grabbed Jose’s arm and away we go. At close targets I would shoot strong hand while holding Jose’s arm, more distant two hand weaver. Now I am no track star but everything seamed to be going well and I was pleased as I crossed the finish line.

At the finish line I was met by a group of my so called friends who wanted to know what Jose and I had been doing in the woods that would result in his jeans being around his ankles? The next group was much larger and most unfriendly and wanted me DQed. As it turned out my time and hits had me in first place. This was all new territory for me. So off we go to see the match director. The problem was that the first shooter carried Jose in a fireman’s carry and everyone else did the same but me. I could only point to the course of fire and the words “take Jose with you”. With this my so called friends piped up with “damm Charlie look at Jose with his jeans around his ankles, is there any doubt he’s been taken?” Not the help I needed. In the end it was decided that any means that got Jose across the finish line was ok. and I was the winner. What I took away from this match was the knowledge that there is a God and He has a sense of humor. R S


@RodSlinger Great story


Nice read… Some. Good laughs in there… Congrats on the win :tada:


How I set a Military Tradition.

In this true story the names have been changed to protect the stupid, mainly me.

In the late spring of 1970 I was well into my military commitment for our war in Nam. I had completed NCO school as a E6 Staff Sergeant lovingly Known as a Shake-n-Bake. Assigned to the Armor Cav. And given a platoon of Sheridan 551’s while waiting for orders to Vietnam. As the youngest Staff Sergeant at Fort Knox I got the jobs no one wanted. This did not bother me as I figured that any job at Knox would be better than stumbling around in a rice paddy. Little did I know that this theory was about to be tested.

It was 5pm or as the military likes to say 1700 hrs. we were having mail call when I was told that the First Sergeant wanted to see me.

After dismissing the troops I went to HQ. Top informed me that at 0430 hrs. I was to take charge of firing the salute gun at Four O First and again at 1630hrs. I informed Top that I did not know a thing about the salute gun (an early world war 2 tank). Top dismissed this by stating there will be a Spec 4 there that knows everything about the gun, that all I had to do is to show up and be in charge.

Armed with this information I made my way to the old tank early the next morning. As I open the TC hatch I was greeted by “Sarg am I glad to see you”. I replied with its good to see you Specialist. What I did not know was, I was also greeting Murphy of the famous Law.
The specialist asked me what we were to do! I told him in no uncertain terms that having fun at your sergeant’s expense was not the smartest move and I was told he knew everything about firing the salute gun. Just by the look on his face I knew we were in trouble.
I asked him what he did know which he replied that he knew how to clean the gun tube. Showing my vast knowledge of all things “Tank”
I said that he must know how to lower the breach the first step in cleaning the tube. After getting the breach open I selected a spent
70mm shell case and inserted it into the chamber and closed the breach. Feeling a little better I told the Specialist we needed to know just two more things, how to fire the gun and when to fire the gun. Looking around the breach I noted a red lever. On a 551 this would be the fire extinguisher, not likely on a tank in 1941. So I pulled the lever and was rewarded with a loud ping! Feeling better by the minute I ejected the spent case and inserted a live blank. I told the Specialist to wait for my orders to fire as I climb out on the front of the tank.

I reasoned that the Officer of the Color Guard would know when to fire the gun and we would pull this off. I had forgotten about Mr. Murphy. As the Color Guard approached I asked "Sir when do we fire the gun. Even though the nine of us were the only ones up the Officer ignored me. So I asked again. On the third try in the tradition of the guards at Buckingham Palace the Officer answered me with out moving his lips. "When you hear the music’

Back inside the tank I informed the Specialist that we were to fire the gun when we hear the music. Did you know (we didn’t) that there is a 15 min. warning that sounds much like the starting of the Kentucky Darby. Yep we fired the gun! As I climb outside the tank I was greeted by the Color Guard laying on the flag. I also noted that the gun was pointed at Gen. Patton’s office. The son of Old Blood and Guts. I could now see into the General’s office as the maple tree in front of his office now had a large hole. The women’s restroom on the other corner had these glass bricks to let in light, not anymore. I now understood why the Specialist was shown how to clean the gun tube. Little children must spent all day putting toy cars, bear bottles and cans, rocks and anything they can get there hands on down this tube!

At this point the Lieutenant is very willing to talk to me. Mostly he is inquiring if I had a father and stating I could not have a double digit IQ. He is also informing me that he would make sure that I spent the next 20 years in Leavenworth. I was also ordered to fire the blankly blank gun when I hear the blankly blank music.

Back in side the tank I load a second round, I had to do this as the Specialist is shaking so bad I doubt he could have loaded the gun with the aid of a funnel.

Did you know there is a 5 min warning? Neither did I! Yes I fired the gun. At this time the Lieutenant would like to come in the tank and further discuss my lack of family and how he is going to shape my future. Luckily I have locked the hatch. As the real music starts the Lieutenant is screaming YOU IDOIT FIRE THE F------ GUN, FIRE THE F------ GUN. This went on during what I assume was the raising of the flag, didn’t much care to look out. At the time the Specialist is non combative and I am close behind. During a long wait I inform the Specialist that he does not have anything to worry about because I am the idiot in charge.

I spend the rest of the day in the motor pool looking over my shoulder, and nothing happens. At the end of the day I go to HQ to take my medicine. The only one in the office is my CO and I greet him with Sir, how much trouble I’m I in? To my relief he replies not as much as you might think, although I would stay out of the sight of Gen. Patton if I were you. The CO stated he had spent most of the day in the General’s office trying to explain why his fathers campaign desk which went through all of world war 2 with out a scratch is now so much fire wood, and why his wife’s picture is posted on the bulletin board with a maple limb.

Oh about the Military Tradition, after my one time of being in charge of firing the salute gun from then on it was rotated 180 degrees and pointed at the enlisted men’s barracks. R S


That was pure gold RodSlinger - thank you for sharing that!


You are most welcome. R S


Rod Slinger and the home invader

The tale begins when I was a young man living in Indianapolis. I was working for International Harvester on 2nd shift. When my wife called to inform me that her mother had passed away and my son and wife were flying to her home. I was to get some sleep and joining her the next day.

Arriving home and being efficient or lazy (you take your Pick), I interred my home and did not turn on any lights. Just went to the shower. As I got out of the shower I heard the front door bell ringing so I rapped a towel around me (no small task as I have been mistaken for one of the line backers for the Browns) and being that it was after 3AM I got my only handgun a Ruger SS 6" 357mag.

As I approached the front door I noted that a tire tool was being used to pry the front door open. The twist dead bolt was the only thing that was holding the door closed and this was about to fail.
I decided that the best course of action was to open the door while standing beside the door and then jump in the doorway surprising whoever was on the other side. This worked better than I expected, as I made my jump my towel decided not to make the journey!
There I was standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a 357mag and being illuminated by our gas light!

The young man feel forward and I caught him with the barrel of my 357.
He screamed Wrong House and took off running.

Have you ever made a police report in your living room while two police officers were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their face? I have. R S


A True Classic Thanks for Sharing’ My Step brother was a Duty jeep driver in the Army for About 10 day’s in late 60’s Broke A Generals Nose (Twice) on the Cross Bar of the Jeep after hitting the same pothole in a week !


My First 1911

The year was 1970 and Uncle Sam thought I should be a part of his Green Machine. After basic I was headed for Armor Cav. AIT to become a tank commander. As part of this training we were to learn to use our personal firearms, the ones we took with us when we left the track. These are the M3 sub-machine gun, and the 45cal. 1911A1.

As a farm kid I learned to shoot a rifle and a shotgun. Dad had a revolver that was for home protection. To my knowledge no one in our family ever fired it.

This meant that the 1911 was to be my first experience with a handgun.
The first day of training was with the M3 grease gun. If I remember correctly Uncle had $4.00 cost in this firearm. After inspecting it I was sure Uncle Sam was ripped off. The darn thing was mostly made of sheet metal, the bolt was a four pound hunk of steel with the firing pin turned of the breach face. I had seen better spring on screen doors than this “guns” recoil spring. The trigger was a folded over piece of sheet metal which held the bolt back until you were ready to slam fire off a round. Cocking the bolt was with a hole in the side of the bolt where you stuck your finger and pulled the bolt back.

When it was time to fire off a mag of 45APC the training officer told us to aim at the ground in front and two feet left of the target and let her rip. Sure enough the rounds stitched through the target and you wound up taking out any low flying aircraft with your remaining rounds. What a piece of junk.

The next day was training on the 1911A1. After the grease gun I was looking forward to learning the handgun. Even learning to use a slingshot would be better than the M3 or so I thought.
We spent 2/3rd of our time field striping and cleaning the 45. The gun I was issued rattled not unlike six nuts and five washers in a tin can. Hay what did I know, I thought this was the way the gun should be!. You got the barrel bushing out, it kind of fell apart in your hand.
Now was time to qualify with the 1911. The target was a half silhouette set at 7 meters. The training officer stated we needed to get one round in target to qualify. “ONE ROUND” out of a mag of 7.
How hard can that be? Will I left the firing line with one round in the target and a firm belief that I would spend my whole tour in Nam. inside the track. If things went south I would need all seven rounds in the 45 to commit suicide.

If it was not for Col. Cooper I would most likely not have a 1911 today. R S


@RodSlinger Another great story Gary. Took basic training at Fort Knox in the winter of '69. Damn near froze to death there.


Absolutely priceless! I enjoy the stories … keep’m coming.


@RodSlinger The M3 you were issued was the A1 version. the M3 had a lever on the side to get the bolt back, but would bend if you looked at it too hard and then you had to bend it back just right or you could throw the rounds at the bad guys. :rofl:


I was there in 69 we often said the hawk was out and it was wearing mickey mouse boots! Run the tracks all night so we could go out on exercises the next day. Had a 114 with tracks frozen to the ground, the GM 283in engine did not have enough power to break it free. Yea it was cold. R S


Remember you asked for it. Will do. R S


Me and Joe on Redman’s Hill

I had just turned 13. Joe Noris and I were talking about squirrel hunting. We had a little over a week before school started and we were wanting to do something special. I told Joe of a place I had seen up river from our farm where the squirrels had not seen a hunter. Shortly we had a plan, we would hike in and camp on Redmans Hill from Friday to Saturday the following week.

Friday found us in my Fathers 55 Chevy pick-up headed towards Readmans Hill. Dad took us as close as he could, which left us with a 5 hour hike. By mid afternoon we had started up a grown up road which circled the hill clockwise. We found a small clearing where we could set up camp. As a Boy Scout I had a small two man pup tent with a sewed in floor. The tent was so small that it was just big enough for the two of us. The tent took up most of the road, with a cliff on the right side and a drop off on the left side. That night we enjoyed hotdogs and pork-n-beans around the fire. With the camp in order we crawled into our sleeping bags for a good nights sleep.

We were awaken by the sound of a pack of hound dogs running some critter. I told Joe that I bet they had jumped a deer. It soon became apparent the dogs were on the road and coming our way. Still in our sleeping bags we threw the flaps open on the tent and I got a flashlight to see what was about to come through our camp. What was coming was a bobcat running flat out with it’s tongue hanging out and five hounds in close pursuits.

By the grace of God the bobcat missed coming in the tent with us by mere inches. In fact there were claw marks down the right side of the tent. Four of the five hounds were not as lucky. My two man tent was now a two man and four crazed hound tent. Of course the tent poles were the first thing to go. This did not improve our lot. The dogs very much wanted to go out the back of the tent. If I could have reached my knife I would gladly made them a door. Let me tell you there is no way in hell two boys half in sleeping bags can turn around four hound in a collapsed tent. Also hound dogs do not back up. To this day I am not sure how Joe and I got out of the churning caldron of crazed dogs and humans.

What I can tell you that night we broke camp in record time. I have often wondered what we left behind, but not enough to go back and see.

Lessons learned: If you are about to be over run by a bobcat don’t shine a flashlight in its face and blind it. Not a good idea. R S


The Kel-Tec Sub 2000 is like bad coffee, you keep adding sugar and cream until it is tasty. R S


Sgt. Miller, me and the Mad Minute

1971 found me in First Platoon of D Troop of the Armor School. I had 21 to 30 M551 Sheridan’s to complete training requirements. Orders came down to our CO to supply a Sheridan for the Mad Minute. The CO tasked 1st platoon with the assignment. The Mad Minute is where Fort Knox fires every thing it has for a minute. This is done to impress VIP’s who hold the purse-strings, as with most things it takes much more time than a minute.

The big day came with me as TC of 101 on the firing line facing three fields of red balloons about the size of a football field each.
The plan was when directed by the tower we were to pop smoke and engage the troops in the center field (balloons). My mike was hot so the VIP’s could hear my fire commands. What could possibly go wrong with this?
101 was looking good with a fresh coat of paint and I had dress khakis, yellow ascot, and a black helmet liner with armor school decal.
I never occurred to me to ask who or what was to shoot the two remaining fields of balloons.
Our turn came with TC “Enemy in open 12 O’clock, fire smoke, load beehive round, driver reverse.” Loader “up” Gunner " identified. TC “fire”. Textbook! I was standing tall in the hatch feeling good about our small part.
The unspoken question of what was to shoot the remaining troops came in the form of a Cobra Gunship firing it’s chain gun. If you want to know true fear then have a Cobra open up 20’ over your head. Cases were pelting me and the track. I couldn’t get the hatch closed quick enough. The gunship cleaned up the balloons in the field to the left, the remaining ones in my field and the field to my right.

I was told that on my open mike the orders I gave to my driver (Sgt. Miller) was back ----ing back now, or something like that. I do not know, we come off the hill first straight, then sideways, then straight then sideways. If not for the woods behind us we would have been on our way to Tennessee backwards. R S