It was a dark and stormy night...in fact, it had been a dark and stormy day into the night. It was the fifth or sixth day of a two week "field Problem". My first. It was early in January, 1965 and I was learning a jillion things every day. Being a fuel truck driver in an armored unit meant lots of driving. You drove all day behind the advancing (hopefully) tanks. When they stopped, you spent hours filling up jeeps and trucks and tracks and generators and fuel cans and everything under the sun that used gas. Including the huge M-88 tracked wreckers, picture some giant moon probe vehicle from the old animated "Man in Space" series that Disney made in the 50's. Since those times, the Army has switched to almost all diesel. After everyone drained all the gas out of my 1200 gallon tank, I had to meet up with all the other fuel drivers and our boss and drive for hours to the rear to refill our trucks. Then drive hours back to where we left the tank units, usually to find them getting ready to move out on the next leg of their advance. You may have noticed there was no mention of time to sleep...there wasn't. So after about three days of this, the fuel and lube platoon drivers were mostly zombies. Usually there would be what they called an "administrative halt" after four or five days so everyone could reorganize and reassemble. For us it meant sleep.
I had already learned not to fall asleep while the platoon sergeant stopped to try and figure out where he was...he took off again but had to come back and wake me up...he didn't like that. I had learned that when we stopped traveling for the day, I was expected to pump fuel...not get into my sleeping bag and tell whoever knocked on my truck's door to pump it themselves. I had learned that no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, you would eventually have to go potty in the woods and delaying it did not make it any better...in fact...well, I'll share that experience with you another time. Oh, there were so many things to learn.
That brings us to the dark and stormy night and the blowing snow and snow packed and icy roads and the hill just outside of Range 39 in Wildflicken. When the weather is clear, this hill was still a little daunting. Paved with cobblestones, extremely high crowned, a steep down hill curving to the left as it traversed the side hill with a small shoulder then very steep cut on the left and no guard rail and a steep drop off on the right. I thought I was the last in line and with the snow blowing so hard, it looked like the trucks in front of me stopped, then disappeared. As I got the the place where they stopped, our lieutenant was on the ground waiting for me. He asked me if I had ever been down this hill before. No. Did I think I could do it? Yes. Be careful. OK. I had no idea what he was concerned about, but then I he was an LT and we hardly ever saw him and never paid any attention to him. So over the falls I went.
Starting off wasn't too bad. I stayed in the middle because the drop off scared me. I was creeping past a M-577 command track that was sitting on the right side. ( I later learned that they had started sliding toward the edge, got it to stop and called it a night), when I felt the back end of my truck start to slip around on me. By the time I got around the 577, I was at more than a 45 degree angle and sort of following the curve. I was starting to get mad. I was already in big trouble with the "toon daddy" because of the sleeping at the pause thing and I was feeling that it was just a little unfair to expect a rookie from southern California to drive in these conditions like all the older, more experienced drivers in the platoon. I was only 17. The rest of the platoon was at least 18 and I knew that one guy was in his twenties.
So there I was...front wheels on one side of the crown, tandems on the other, sliding with no control on steering or braking and just brand new full of 1200 gallons of MOGAS. (that's what the Army called gasoline). As the back of the truck slowly came further around, I realized that in no time at all I would be pointed uphill and sliding downhill. The guys would really give me crap about that. I thought that if I could goose the throttle a little, get the nose into the snow bank on the left side and stop the slide, I might be able to back out onto the road and regain a straighter attitude. So I tried it and lo and behold, it actually worked. I got the nose into the snow bank, got into reverse and slowly backed out trying to get the nose pointed down the hill and astraddle the crown of the road. It took a little while to get straightened out and most of my progress was sliding and spinning, and somewhere in the process I managed to bump the 577 a little. But finally I got the best line up I could hope for, pointed her down the hill and let her roll a little ways and let out the clutch. I was still in reverse. The truck immediately slid to the right again and I was in the same boat I had been in only now I was going faster. There must have been an angel guiding that truck that night cause from that point on I was just a passenger on a five ton hockey puck. I passed one of the M-88's that was off the left side of the road, working like madmen in the storm on something...couple of other vehicles sitting cold and abandoned (and lightless, I might add) on the hill. I got to the bottom. My platoon sergeant greeted me in his usual fashion and when he quit yelling and spitting and cussing, he treatened to have me court martialled for disobeying the LT. I gave him my best, "HUH?" accompanied by the dumb Private look. He said the LT did tell me to stay on top, didn't he? No. Didn't I have enough sense to stay up there? No. Seems the LT, like so many of us, just didn't get the word.
That ride down the hill worked to my advantage, though. Most of the platoon wound up behind me some how and when they got to the the hill, which they were familiar with, they parked and waited for morning. So going down the hill, while stupid, established me a driver who could "stick". Our slang word for some one who was a really good driver. (Later down the line, when teflon pans came out, that became our slang for a driver who couldn't drive for beans..."teflon"...no stick).
The next day my platoon sergeant actually stood up for me for the first time. The occupants of the command track wanted to know who had dinged their track in the middle of the night. My boss chewed on the inside of his cheek, looked around and said, " I don't know...you check with the medics? They always sampling their own goods, know what I mean?" As the inquiring emissary departed, he looked at me and said, "That was pretty good last night, 'cruit...don't try it again."