Open Mic Thread

AWP

Formerly Known as Freefalling
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Random did you know…

If you have a keypad on the front of your garage, you can just press “enter” to close your garage door; you do not have to enter the four digit code first.

Things it took me way too many years to discover.

And you can Google the default codes for any manufacturer, so B&E is easy.

So I'm told.
 

ThunderHorse

Verified Military
Joined
Feb 22, 2012
Messages
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Maricopa Basin
And you can Google the default codes for any manufacturer, so B&E is easy.

So I'm told.

So, if only it were thus. We're pretty sure on the other side of the ol development where we were living someone was trying to break into our garage and others. We would close the cover to the keypad at night and it would be lifted. Never knew the code to that one, tried to reset it, wouldn't work either when I reset it ten times. Probably closed that cover 200 times, and in the MARNIN, it was open.
 

Brill

SOF Support
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Oct 24, 2010
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221B Baker St
That's a rather inciting comment to make in these frightening times of uneasiness.
I call on all staff members to vote for the impeachment and immediate dismissal of this obviously troubled and hateful Administrator.
Almost half of the members here were on the verge of being practically violently killed or otherwise just about mentally assaulted almost.
 

Steve1839

SF
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Jul 14, 2019
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"I'm in Colorado, when I'm not in some hotel..."
Permit an old man a rant...I am providing an article written in Veritas, which was once the periodical of all things SF, from back in the 1970s...the author was the CSM of the JFKSWCS back in the day when it was actually the JFK Institute for Military Assistance...SFQC was run out of A Company, Institute Battalion...officers had their own course, lest they be contaminated by EM and NCOs attending...that's a story for another day...

In the 1970s, the term "Green Beret" was a pejorative among qualified personnel...it was felt that if a man told another man he was a "Green Beret" , he was lying...if he told a woman he was a "Green Beret", he had ungentlemanly intentions...honestly, it was thought only wannabes used the term.

I understand that the earth has made quite a few trips around the sun since I completed the Q course (which was referred to as Training Group at the time) and new generations have since taken the term "Green Beret" and elevated it to much higher esteem than it was held in my day...never the less, I still flinch when I hear it...

Below is the farewell article written by a dear friend, CSM William Edge (RIP)...men like CSM Edge were the men that trained me, brought me up in the profession...

What’s so Special About Special Forces

By William E. Edge

"What’s so special about Special Forces? I’ve heard that question 20 years, and answered it 13. To me, this is what’s special about SF: it’s the only combat unit in the US Army where enlisted men can and do command troops, in schools as teachers, in guerrilla bands as organizers, in foreign armies or in para-military units as advisors and leaders. Where else can staff sergeants be assigned as platoon leaders, sergeants first class as company commanders or master sergeants as battalion commanders?

You don’t think three companies of 150 men each and a 40-man scout platoon is a battalion? Why? Because they were “Yards” or “Cambodes” or “Nungs?” Hogwash! Did you ever hear of the Mike Force? Delta, Sigma, Omega or CCN? Did you ever hear of the “Snake” teams or the “States” teams? All those were led by US Special Forces men and NOT by the bare-chested, snake-eating, guitar-playing, media-induced image of the “Green Berets” (how I hate that term applied to men, damn it. A green beret is a hat and nothing but a hat. Special Forces are SOLDIERS!).

The Special Forces I refer to are those who worked from Khe San, Ashau, Phubai, Kontum, Dak To, Lang Vei and a thousand other obscure places that were denied to the enemy because 6 or 12 SF soldiers lived there with their “Yards” and dared “Charlie” to come take it. And he did, and other SF soldiers and their “Yards,” “Cambodes” and “Nungs” in the Mike Force fell on him and waged a fearsome gut-twisting war on him, no quarter asked, none given.

War waged at the bottom of the line, your guys vs his guys, no big 175s or 8 inches for cover. Air when you could get it, and we got plenty, usually called in by sergeants, those lovely big hobos, and the sleek fast movers, all bringing death from the sky to our common enemy. Special Forces’ NCOs played such roles. Sixteen Medals of Honor and more than 80 DSCs, 50 percent of them awarded posthumously, were a partial reward.

The heart of the SF group is the “A” detachment, 10 sergeants and 2 officers, a self-contained, do-anything group of men. And yet they are the first to tell you it cannot be done without the support from those unsung heroes who man the supply, commo, personnel, psy war, civic action and flight organizations farther back.

You see, it really is a team, and the “A” team is the blade of the ax. But it takes the whole ax to cut the trees, and that’s the real SF: the whole ax. Officers, good men with blisters and cuts from stringing wire, sunburn and bug bites from filling sand bags, bruised shoulders from firing BARs and 1919 A6s (oldies but goodies), were in the mud and blood with their troops. These officers wore oak leaves and bars, but you couldn’t tell because their shirts were hanging on a tree limb while they sweated with the troops.

Blue Max, Splash, Iron Mike, the Greek, Roger P. Bucky and a blue-eyed black captain with steel nerves were leaders you could respect and never forget. Hard-eyed majors who personally led a relief party to rescue a wounded sergeant first class, cut off, lost and pursued by the remnant of a NVA company, and brought him back, shot, but alive.

Lean and mean “slick” pilots who stood that groaning Huey on its tail to load wounded “Yards,” or yanked you out on a McGuire rig for a ride you would not forget. And soft-voiced chaplains giving comfort to the dying in a bloody mortar pit, in the drenching rain, to a man whose god was probably a spirit. And the medics. Ah, those medics, the eighth wonder of the world. Their routine feats read too much like fiction, but they were more than that. They were also superb riflemen, scouts, killers as well as healers.

That was Special Forces. It wasn’t all the sporting bar and Saigon. Rather, it was hard-eyed reality and too much death. We had our crooks, our drunks and our quitters, all to our shame. We also had our giants, and, by God, most were enlisted men, there because they wanted to be there.

Professionals now semi-dormant, training as force multipliers, honing their skills. They are few in number, but strong in spirit and mind. They await the next call. Oh, how I will miss their friendship, their respect, their scorn and hate. It’s all part of being “special.”

Mr. Webster defines “special” as “distinguished by some uncommon quality, designed or selected for some particular purpose, having an individual character, noteworthy, unique.”

And remember, go to any division in the US Army and count right shoulder patches, and you will see that Special Forces cadred out a lot of top notch talent to the rest of the Army. I’m sure you get the point, anyway. That’s how I answer the question."

ETA: A big thanks to @Dame for finding this article for me...it used to hang behind my desk when I was an infantry company commander, but I lost it in the divorce, methinks.
 
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Dame

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Here or There
I hear from the OP above that the CSM had good reason to love on the 18Ds. He'd been wounded at least five times.
And the medics. Ah, those medics, the eighth wonder of the world. Their routine feats read too much like fiction, but they were more than that. They were also superb riflemen, scouts, killers as well as healers.
 
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