"Walking Away From The Ledge” The Cut List: Vol. 3. These are the stories that didn’t make the cut to the final edit in my book.
Some of these stories will jump around, but I’ll do my best not to leave you, the reader, guessing when and where they happened. Just one story today: A trip from Fort Bragg, NC to Fort Story, VA for a water train-up in December. Large moving vehicles, training on Zodiac boats in cold water, what could go wrong?!
December arrived with the cold, but that didn’t stop the water team from conducting a water training session right at Fort Story, VA. Ironically, a person would need a CDL to drive a large truck pulling a trailer with four Zodiac boats and three 55 hp Evinrude engines attached, but here I am, now Private First Class (PFC) Kruger, driving just that down the road to VA. A danger to myself and others.
I came to enjoy driving the Light Moving Tactical Vehicle (LMTV). It was large and slow, but still, it could move. Bonus, it was more fun to drive and be up front than sit in the back on a thin metal seat absorbing every bump with little shock absorption. The thing was loaded to the hilt in the back, and the flat bed with the boat gear was weighty as well. The truck is no slouch when pulling a load and we made it there after a quick stop to Cracker Barrel with a platoon worth of assholes.
When the Marines aren’t training at Fort Story, as was the case six months prior when I was there, the small area they had was open for use. We settled into the barracks area they had provided, placed all our gear where it would be most beneficial, and prepared for our training. We had some refresher training in finning, nautical nav, and boat prep for optimum placement of gear and quick releases in the event of a capsize or boat sinking. Then the training was on. 
It was a lot of boating around in the ocean and daily finning with gear. There were a good number of freight ships in the Chesapeake Bay, so we would ride around and jump the wakes of those. The Zodiac would never get too high off the water, but high enough that whoever was riding the gunwale near the front would usually smack their face on the side if they weren’t paying attention and ready for it.
One guy hit his face so hard he had such a severe nosebleed that the following wave sent blood on three other guys, me included. Everyone thought that we all were bleeding until we saw the guy up front, face covered in blood, looking like he wanted to die, or just came back from death. We laughed, he didn’t, but we kept going and switched him to the back of the boat.
Of course, training usually came with three-day missions. We planned a mission to watch the dining facility, but first, it involved a nighttime infil, luckily without finning. We took a Zodiac to a preplanned point, a buoy, and then returned to a point on the shore, conducting a short patrol to our usual setup, which included a hide site and surveillance site.
We ended up capsizing the boat on infil, but it was right on the shoreline break, so we didn’t lose any gear. There was a second safety boat that was traversing the shoreline, looking for gear and people. They just happened to boat over one of the guys who grabbed onto a rucksack in order not to drown in the waves. He lived but was none too happy about the incident, to say the least.
After dragging everything up on shore, we got on with the mission. It was more of an admin mission, where we conducted surveillance. However, during the day, we would take breaks to undergo supplementary training, such as using long-range radios and communicating back to Fort Bragg, approximately 400 miles away. Land nav, survival, and any other “hip pocket” training we could come up with. While training,
I happened to see something on the ground that looked like a three-pronged wire terminal. I could see it looked plastic or rubber with three screw terminals on it. Once I pulled it from the grass, I could see it was an old Vietnam-era Commando Knife. If you Google that statement, you’ll see what it is. I got it cleaned up and sold it later for over $200. I feel for the poor bastard who lost it, which had no sentimental value to me.
During the great capsizing of 2001, some of my radio batteries were submerged in water. Stop picturing a ruck full of “D” batteries, that’s not “military grade,” which, by the way, means the cheapest yet durable produced shit that government money can buy. It doesn’t guarantee that it’s great, just that it’ll work in austere environments.
The batteries were approximately three inches by three inches square and an inch and a half thick, and seemed to weigh about five pounds each. They were lithium batteries, so they would last about a day when two were used in a long-range radio. Anyway, the next day I open my ruck to turn on the radio and I get blasted in the face with a smell that instantly permeates my lungs and gives me what I can only describe as an asthma attack. It felt like I couldn’t take a full breath of air, and my throat and lungs were restricted, and I was the “medic” because I had EMT training.
We contacted the CP and a commo guy who all had no idea what it was. We all assume that the saltwater affected the battery in some way, and I took a hit of some type of aerosol lithium. It all cleared up in about ten minutes, but I’m assuming it gave me some permanent damage. Probably not much more than all the vaccines and immunizations I’ve been pumped full of over the years. Oh well, glad for the VA!
Want to know more about some of these situations? You’ll have to get the book “Walking Away From The Ledge" for more details! If this story hit home—or reminded you of your own service—drop a comment below or share it with someone who might need it.
