rSlash - r/Militarystories I Accidentally Committed a War Crime

Episode Date: July 13, 2024

0:00 Intro 0:08 Accidental bombing 6:53 Cookie 11:06 Pie to the face Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Connect with a credentialed therapist by phone, video, or online chat. Visit betterhelp.com to learn more. That's betterH-E-L-P.com. Welcome to r slash military stories, where OP's grandpa accidentally commits a war crime. Our next Reddit post is from Tavarsic. My grandpa was a short, hard man with a hypnotic accent and the ability to tell extremely captivating stories. My sister inherited this trait from him. I did not. He told this story to me a year or so before he died, and it's been years since then.

So grandpa was French-Swiss. He grew up in the Alps and he served in either the local militia or the Swiss army as a boy during World War II. It was always unclear to me which. Thanks to a commendation that he received for capturing some defecting Wehrmacht, he was commissioned into the Swiss army once he came of age and became a lieutenant in their bicycle corps. Yes, bicycles!

The Swiss military maintained a bicycle corps up until the early aughts. He was immensely proud of his time in the bicycle corps. Biking up and down the Alps with a bunch of gear gets you into really good shape. One day, his unit was tasked with assisting an artillery unit in their training. As he told it, they were sitting up on a ridge with a radio sending the coordinates of the training target. Grandpa wasn't the radio guy, but he decided that he would be a hot shot and be the guy to radio the coordinates. The transmission went something like this.

Target coordinates are 123. Confirm coordinates are 132. Negative coordinates are 123. Roger coordinates are 132. Negative coordinates are 123. Understood 132. At this point, Grandpa honestly thought. Understood? 1, 3, 2." At this point, Grandpa honestly thought that they were messing with him, that they were hazing the dumb bike corps member who wanted to play big man on the radio.

He sent the coordinates one more time, but they didn't respond or confirm. He decided that they must have known the coordinates ahead of time. They do this all the time, right? And so, he and his guys just sat back and watched the show. He heard the sound of the guns, an absolutely terrific sound, even as far away as they were. And it made him wish that he had gotten into the artillery corps instead of the bike corps. But then there was nothing. They heard a very far off impact. But the training target remained standing. The impact site wasn't even in view. How'd we do? Hey, uh, could you repeat the coordinates that you used? 132?

Then Grandpa turned to his men and said, Well, shit. A quick look at the map confirmed it. They had just shelled the neighboring nation of Liechtenstein. As it turned out, they had specifically shelled a barn owned directly by the reigning monarch, the Prince of Liechtenstein. And despite it being the artillery screw up, and despite the numerous witnesses on both ends of the radio who stepped up to defend my grandpa, it was clear that it would be pinned on Grandpa.

He thought that his military career was over and that he would be in the brig before the week was out. Had in hand, he and his commanding officer went to their highest ranking officer, which he said was the equivalent of a colonel. That way he could face the music. The officer berated him for a while, then said that he was to do two things. Get his dress uniform into perfect order and report to so-and-so for etiquette lessons. Turns out, Grandpa and a few other officers had an appointment with royalty. He said that these lessons were the strictest he'd ever had. It was an old lady who taught them, an officer's wife or something, and she gave him the nun treatment. If he did something wrong, she hit him with a yardstick, but only on places

that wouldn't show in his dress uniform. He recalled that he had little welts and then bruises on his biceps for weeks, but he learned everything he needed. The thing that stuck with him most was eating on the square as he called it. She made him lift silverware in a straight line directly up from the plate to mouth level and then move it in a straight line to his mouth, horizontal with the floor, and then back in the same fashion to the plate. My grandpa said, I've never felt so foolish as when I had to eat like that. Every time I've done it since, people look at me like I'm a lunatic. It did help me to slow down and to not spill my food on myself, so perhaps that was the point in the first place.

So my grandpa and his group drove into Liechtenstein and to Vaduz Castle, the royal seat. There they were greeted by the royal family. They had an exquisite dinner, which he didn't taste at all because he was scared shitless. They had an invigorating conversation over dinner, which my grandpa couldn't remember afterwards for the same reason. Afterwards, the prince invited them to have wine or whiskey or something. Grandpa couldn't remember which, but his stomach was turning from the stress and he was afraid that he would do something stupid if he drank, so he declined.

I don't know if they decided to take pity on him or if they wanted my grandpa out of the way while they talked business. But the Princess of Liechtenstein offered to give him a personal tour around the castle, which he gladly accepted. They walked and chatted for a long while until he relaxed, and then they rejoined the group. It was at this point that Grandpa's speaking ability came in, and he charmed the whole group. He spun yarn after yarn about being a young alpine cowherd and his time during World War

2. He talked about how he got into a verbal altercation with an SS officer over a stolen cow, about the captured Wormock soldiers that I mentioned earlier, and a litany of other stories besides. The prince and princess were kind people. His commanding officers were clearly pleased that their lieutenant had finally loosened up and shown some aptitude for entertaining polite society. And by the end of it, the Prince of Liechtenstein forgave my grandpa for shelling his barn.

No one had been injured, not even an animal. Grandpa said that it had been a feed store barn, and the Swiss government had paid for the cost of replacing it already. Hands were shaking all around, and my grandpa and his group left. I had been in the US Army about two years when Grandpa told me this story. The story came up when I told him I'd learned a little something about sending information over the radio. He launched into this story and concluded with, If you're ever sending something very important over the radio, make damn sure the son of

a bitch on the other end of the line reports it back to you exactly as you said it to him. He's probably an idiot who will end up bombing Canada or something. The really surprising thing about this story is that your grandpa had to be reminded of the incident of the time that he met the Prince and Princess of Liechtenstein. I feel like that would be your go-to story. Oh, by the way, did I ever tell you about the time I almost committed a war crime and then got to hang out with the Princess of Liechtenstein? Our next reddit post is from OtherwiseWindow.

This is my dad's story. Many years ago, my father did his time in compulsory military service for the Army of the Republic of South Africa. During that time, there was one man whose memory still to this day brings a fond tear to my dad's eye. We'll call this man Cookie, because apparently everyone did. From the lowliest private to the highest ranking officers that dad ever saw pass through the mess hall, Cookie was a cook worthy of legend.

It's entirely possible the man would have set the kitchen on fire if someone asked him to cook for under 50 people. But this man could turn out sunny side up fried eggs for 200 men such that every single man's egg was perfect, hot, and fresh. Outside the doors of Cookie's kitchen were some trestle tables, on which there would be stacks of glasses next to the cold vat of fresh milk. All of it to be kept there, Cookie would insist, because he didn't have room for all of it inside.

He would also usually keep a big tray or two of roast potatoes there, which he would set out there to cool. It was a shocking outrage to Cookie that the young men on base considered it acceptable to steal his potatoes and drink his milk. Occasionally, he'd come out of the kitchens to voice his outrage, waiting a ladle very menacingly. But somehow, there was always more milk and the potatoes would be replaced if they ran low.

Cookie's mission in life was to see to it that the young men on base didn't go hungry, and he took it seriously. One time, Dad was present when an officer stepped by the mess hall and asked one of the guys going through basic training if he had any complaints about the food. Sir, no sir, it's excellent sir! You're sure? Nothing wrong at all? Well…

The soldier observed that each one of the long tables in the mess hall, which sat twenty odd soldiers at a time, only had one set of condiments. And it could be a bit time consuming passing all those condiments around. I see, the officer said. Cookie, he bellowed, got a complaint about your food. Cookie emerged from the kitchens at a run, looking wounded. What? He said.

The officer pointed out the issue with the condiments. Come the next morning, there was a full set of condiments at every single place setting on the table. Cookie just cared. Which made for something of a problem the one time that the fridge and the freezer units on base broke down. Cookie cooked up as much of the food as he could before it all went bad. The lads feasted. The refrigeration didn't get fixed. Cookie did his best with what he had, cutting away spoilage, throwing away what was beyond salvaging and spicing up what was left. But still, the cooling units didn't get fixed. And yet, fresh steak was getting delivered to the officer's mess hall. The enlisted men were

watching these deliveries with what might politely be termed displeasure. Cookie, it seemed, couldn't handle this injustice. So he served the officer steaks to the enlisted. It wasn't really enough meat for them really, but it was better than nothing. Then he took all the old, disgusting, rotted food that he was supposed to serve to the enlisted and served it to the officers. It wasn't even good enough for dog food, but hey, they thought that it was good enough for cookies, boys. The officers were not very pleased.

The base commander came up to Cookies Mess Hall and a few other officers behind him. The base commander saw that the enlisted were eating the real food and he was a bit peeved about it. The base commander thought that he was furious, but if I said that he was furious, then I wouldn't have a good word left for Cookie. Cookie was furious. In the middle of the enlisted mess, in front of God and the privates, Cookie tore strips off the base commander. He questioned his fitness for command, his mental health, and exactly what sort of favors the commander had offered to whom to attain his present rank. He finished with a threat to accept Commandant General So-and-so's standing invitation to become

his personal cook, and to tell the Commandant General exactly why he'd left the job that he'd loved and clung to for so many years. The freezers and refrigerators were fixed within 24 hours. Cookie baked pies for the soldiers that week. They also had ice cream. Our next reddit post is from Lscrx. While stationed overseas for a few years, my wife and I had a baby. We already had a toddler.

I got 10 days of paternity leave, which was nice, and I didn't expect that I'd be going anywhere anytime soon, so I was around to help with my wife. Since she'd had a C-section, she wasn't allowed to lift anything heavier than our newborn or drive a car. Now, my unit was planning to send a couple of teams to a nearby country for a training mission. Each team consisted of one NCO sergeant and four lower enlisted specialists. So two teams only had two NCOs and eight lower enlisted specialists.

We had eight sergeants in my section, including myself, that could run a team. I had asked my supervisor if I was on the rear detachment, and he said that I definitely was. Great, that makes sense since I just had the baby and my wife can't leave the house without assistance. Fast forward to a few days before the 30 day training mission and I see that my name is listed on the manifest. What the hell? So I ask my supervisor, who asks our first sergeant, and he confirms that all the NCOs in my section are going, all 8 of us for just 2 teams worth of equipment. To be clear, only two of us are needed. So I appeal this decision earnestly, asking

that they assign me to the rear division and take me off the manifest. This is a huge hardship for my family. Eventually, my first sergeant and captain call me into my commander's office to talk to me. I honestly thought that they just didn't understand the situation they were putting me in, and that if I just explained it to them, they'd see how silly it would be to make me go. Oh, how naive I was. They took turns trying to humiliate me. My commander told me how his wife was driving just a few days after her C-section, and that

he didn't see why my wife couldn't. I explained that she was just following doctor's orders and that our car insurance wouldn't even cover her to drive so soon after surgery. It was around then that my first sergeant took a call and left the room. I was younger, stronger, and bigger than my commander. I have zero doubt that I would have destroyed him in a one on one fight. But that didn't stop him from insulting my wife, calling her lazy, entitled, stupid, etc. You know how when you get really mad you start seeing Red?

I was that mad. I was honestly getting ready to snatch him up and throw him out the window before I caught on what he was trying to do. If I did anything, he'd have a huge advantage. The army will not excuse an NCO assaulting an officer just because he insulted him or his wife. And I wouldn't have had any witnesses either. He was, I believe, trying to get me mad enough to do something physical to him, and it would be my word against his. I calmed myself and calmly said to him, my word against his. I calmed myself and calmly said to him,

Sir, it sounds like you're calling my wife lazy and stupid. Am I understanding you correctly? He quickly backtracked and claimed that he was just speaking about dependent spouses in general. Then the first sergeant came back in and they both agreed that it was just too difficult to change the manifest at this point and that I would just have to suck it up. So I didn't punch him, but I wanted to. Turns out, a friend of a friend knew someone a few levels up, who filled them in on my situation. I'd resigned myself that I was going to have to go,

and I'd purchased a second refrigerator so that we could stock up on food before I left. The day that we were set to leave, my first sergeant grabbed me and said that I was on rear division and to get my bag off the pallet. Fast forward a few months and we're having a mandatory fun day. There's a raffle and if you win, you get to throw a pie in the face of your leadership. My commander, the guy who insulted my wife, was one of the volunteers. He generated a HUGE pile of cash since so many people hated the guy. Sadly, none of my many tickets were called when it was his turn. But my supervisor did, he had the winning ticket. He turned to my wife and I and handed the ticket to us. Thanks dude! My wife walked up to the guy, whipped cream pie in her hand, and just launched that thing into his face.

Her hand never left the pan. I heard him whining to the orderly room clerk later that he thought that his nose might be broken. It wasn't, he was just a wimp. That was r slash military stories and if you liked this content, be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new reddit podcast episodes every single day.