The only peace was during the day when we went to class. The vast majority of the instructors were very laid back and good teachers. Many of the instructors would ask the SF guys to interject with any comments or experiences that could be useful. For the most part (more to that later), our times in class were largely non-eventful. But then there were the inevitable meals. Three times a day we went to the mess hall where the WOCS ate. I can say with absolute certainty that the entire system there with the “disciplined dining” rules is a pain in your fourth point of contact and served no earthly purpose for creating a better Special Forces Warrant Officer.
What it did do, however, was to create a weight loss program for WOC Steve B. I lost almost 20 pounds at Ft. Rucker. When returning to Ft. Bragg, people asked, “Is Rucker that tough?” No, it isn’t. But I rarely if ever finished a meal there. Because my good buddy Wade invariably got us tossed out of the mess hall. I’m not going to get into all of the details about the WOCS idea of disciplined dining. There were many, perhaps it teaches attention to detail, discipline and a ton of other attributes that make great pilots. I don’t know. I thought it was a load of crap. As for my buddy, he thought it “unseemly for a barrel-chested freedom fighter” to resort to such unmanly ways to eat. He immediately set out to make a statement. As per the norm, I was beside him all the way. Chapple would invent new ways to piss off the cadre in the dining hall every day. And every day we’d get tossed out with a meal, half or less eaten.
Strict silence was imposed, the WOC will not talk during meals. The mess halls were quiet except for the sound of knives and forks on the plates. Welcome to 7th Special Forces Group dining rules as dictated by Wade. He made it his mission to push against the rules every day. And nearly every day we’d get tossed out of the mess hall, for the inevitable push ups outside.
On Day 2 we were eating lunch and across the table, from me, I see that old, devilish grin and know something is about to go down. Wade chugs a glass of milk and then another. Which wasn’t too out of the ordinary as that time of year, late August – early September is hot in Alabama. But then he unleashed the loudest belch possible. It was one of those five seconds, “Revenge of the Nerds” burps that reverberated around the room. All motion stops, all eyes go to our table. Every student at our table is trying their best to stifle laughter save for Wade, who calmly munches a piece of bread. Outside we were invited to go and begin to push Ft. Rucker halfway to China.
It wasn’t long before Bewley and Andrews, our other two SF buds in the squad began getting to the back or front of the line to stay away from the floor show and eat in relative peace. They were in retrospect the smart ones.
Each class had a board in the mess hall with these little hooks like you’d hang your keys on. Each class had a color (ours was Gold), and the board had different categories, Disciplined dining, pig rights and dessert rights. Being the junior class, we were stuck in disciplined dining. At the end of flag detail which they saddled the SF guys with (again more to this later), we finished and arrived at the mess hall about five minutes before the class did marching from the classroom. Wade decided a little celebration was in order. “Hey I think we did a great job on the flag detail and the class should get pig rights. “Pig Rights” was eating like a normal person, slouching back in the chair, talking in low tones but more like a regular mess hall in the Army. Wade walked into the mess hall, walked straight over to the board and moved the Gold class tag to the column under the pig. He then walked outside and smiled….”alrighty then.”
The class arrived and as they entered the mess hall and standing at parade rest while waiting to get a tray, everyone caught sight of the disk dangling from the pig rights hook and thought the cadre were giving us a treat. The class sat and conversed without a care in the world. None the wiser. Our cadre looked over incredulous, everyone in the class was talking. Our TAC’s head snapped to the board and there proudly dangling under the pig was the Gold disk. The other TACs immediately had a huddle and thought the Senior TAC authorized it….nope just the senior SF guy.
The Senior TAC showed up as the class was filing out. A quick conversation ensued and the TAC officers waited until the class was assembled and then commenced to reading the riot act. They wanted to know why the class was using pig rights and the students said because the board said it was so. We all knew who they suspected but the flag detail although first to arrive was the last in the chow line. They stopped short of accusing anyone since no one actually saw the disk moved.
Fast forward about 10 days later, once again the senior NCOs (Read SF guys) get the flag detail in front of the Post Commander’s office. It goes off without a hitch. In fact, the Major General who was the commander of Rucker at that time was a stickler for the flag detail and liked to watch it. After it was over, his aide came out and told us to stand fast the general wanted to speak to us. Needless to say, he was surprised to see all those SF tabs there. His first comment “I thought you SF guys hated doing drill and ceremonies.” He told his aide to send a note to the WOCS that the flag detail on this day was the most professional he saw during his time there.
On the way to the mess hall, Wade thought it was time for another celebration. As we marched over, he jogged ahead to ensure he beat the class there. We turned the corner just as the class was arriving from the class building. A few seconds later Wade appears at my elbow. “It is ice cream time.” We all cracked up. Sure enough, the Gold Class had dessert rights. As everyone filed in they noticed the disk and headed to the soft-serve ice cream machine. Our TACs were livid. And our nemesis, who we nicknamed “Rat Face” made a beeline for our table. “Candidate”, he said looking at me. “Did you give the class dessert rights?” I made the most innocent face I could make up. “How could I do that?” I protested. “I don’t have the authority.” He looked skeptical. “Chapple, did you give the class dessert rights?” “Sir,” he said. “I am aware of no such action or activity…however, if I were, I would not be inclined to discuss it.”
Rat Face looked ready to blow a gasket. Just then the note from the General’s aide arrived…in a nick of time. The CG sent a message to the Senior TAC that we should be rewarded. After marching back to the barracks we stood there for 10 minutes waiting to be dismissed. The TACs finally emerged from their building and said that for the remainder of the class, the Gold Class would not be granted either Pig Rights or Dessert Rights in the mess hall without a TAC officer specifically telling us so. In the battle of psychological operations, don’t mess with the men trained in Unconventional Warfare. Chapple 1 WOC Cadre 0.
In our next segment, we’ll look at the rest of the course…and what a strange trip it was.
Photo Courtesy: DOD
Courtesy of Special Operations.com and written by
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