Stories+from+The+Far+(East)+Side

//Stories from The Far (East) Side by Don Skinner//
When I arrived at Det B I was the new guy, well everyone was a new guy at one time or another, but I was a new guy for about six months. One of my early days in the photo lab I said I was going over to the II (Imagery Interpretation) Vans to do something. As I was heading out one of the guys said to stop by Supply and pick up some cloud eradicator. I said "Ok" and went out the door. Then it hit me, I went back in the office and asked what cloud eradicator was. I was told when recon planes, taking pictures, fly over clouds you can’t see what’s on the ground but cloud eradicator would remove the clouds from the pictures. I said, "No, there is no such thing." We all had a big laugh. Many months later our next new guy ( I think it was Tom Ewing) was told that we were out of cloud eradicator and he needed to go to Supply to get some for us. Off he went and was gone for some time. Long enough for us to forget. He came back and said Supply was out and the Supply Sgt. would order some. What we forgot was we had a new Supply Sgt. and he didn’t know about cloud eradicator. The Supply Sgt. and the new guy looked all over the Supply Room and didn’t find any so later that day he called Saigon to order some and the poop hit the oscillator! Shortly thereafter the First Sgt. magically appeared in the repro office, he wasn’t happy about our little gag and said there will be no cloud eradicator!
 * Cloud Eradicator**

On occasions Det B would "go on alert". Going on alert was when there was a possibility of enemy action within the city. Danang was an in-country R&R Center for us good guys and it was an R&R Center for the bad guys too. They, the bad guys, didn’t stir up too much trouble in the city because they didn’t want to ruin a good thing. Still, occasionally someone would find a paper or get a report that Danang was going to be hit so we’d go on alert. We were issued M14 rifles but never carried them with us unless we went on alert. When I first arrived and there was an alert we carried our M14s "locked and loaded" (magazine in weapon and a round in the chamber). Over a period of time the powers above determined locked and loaded was too unsafe, so orders came down that we were not to be locked and loaded, but we were to have a full magazine in the weapon. Before I left for home the orders were to carry a full magazine in your pocket with no ammo in the weapon. This was very safe for the bad guys but not so safe for us. Anyone who saw us with our weapons knew they weren’t ready to fire because the large magazine wasn’t sticking out of the bottom of the weapon. Fortunately, before these safety precautions were implemented, we, as trained soldiers, never shot each other while we were walking around with weapons locked and loaded.
 * We’re On Alert, So Be Careful**

I was volunteered to take care of the water truck. I didn’t want any vehicle as once you have it you "own" it and have to perform maintenance on it. On one trip to the maintenance depot the truck was inspected and it was found that the frame was cracked. The truck was "dead lined" and turned in right there on the spot. Well, we needed water for the Repro section and to fill the lister bags so we were issued a 400 gallon water tank trailer. 400 gallons vs. 1000 gallons in the truck meant more runs out to Marble Mt. for potable water. No one liked that. I usually made the runs for water, ordinarily by myself. One of my trips I had someone, who I can’t remember now, with me. Maybe I was showing him the way so he could make runs too. On the way back with a full 400 gallons of water in the trailer I decided to stop at the USO Club that was along the road. We were in the USO for only 20 minutes, a half-hour at the most. When we came out to get in the truck I notice something was not right with the trailer. Upon closer inspection I determined the trailer was not hitched to the truck and the trailer tongue was lying on the ground. We tried to lift the tongue up to the hitch but it wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t budge at all. Here I was, at an unauthorized stop and we needed to be getting back to the compound. I was an E-5 and would have to answer for our situation. I determined we would need a Skycrane or at least one Marine to lift the tongue with all that weight in the trailer. Then a light bulb came on, why not drain some of the water out of the tank so the two of us can re-hitch the trailer. The drain was a ¾ pipe with a cap on it. I unscrewed the cap and realized we would be there for a week waiting for enough water to drain out. Above the drainpipe was a bung which, when removed, would reveal a much larger opening. After removing the ring that sealed the bung to the tank I had to push the bung up inside the tank to drain the water. That did it! Water came gushing out. In no time at all we could re-hitch the trailer to the truck. Now all I needed to do was get the bung back where it belonged and we could be on our way back to the water point for a refill. But since the bung was inside the tank I had to get on top of the tank and open the hatch that was on top and right in the middle of the tank. I decided I should retrieve the bung because I was the one who suggested we stop in the first place and I was smaller than my "assistant". I looked in and saw the bung and the hole it was to go in but I couldn’t reach the bung. I hoisted myself up and into the hatch opening and was inside the tank up to my belt. I was upside down and inside it was quite warm, humid and dark. My body closed off most of the light from entering through the hatch but I could see the bung opening looking white hot from all the light outside. I fumbled around and finally found the bung and went to place it in the opening but my arm was too short. I repositioned myself at the hatch opening and got over-centered. I got the bung in the hole but I couldn’t back myself out of the hatch. It was now darker, warmer and more humid. I was supporting myself with my hands on the bottom of the tank, with only my legs sticking out of the hatch and yelling for my "assistant" to come help me get out! I don’t know where he wandered off to but he didn’t respond to my muffled yells. I guess he got tired of waiting for me to correct the problem and wandered off a short distance. Finally I heard him moving around outside and asking me where I was. He didn’t even know I was in the tank! He finally got the idea to get up on top of the tank and pull me out. The rest of the trip was uneventful. Not too long after that we stole our old water truck back from the motor pool. This was great because we weren’t supposed to have a water truck so every time the brass from Saigon came for an inspection I’d have to hide the water truck over at China Beach for a few hours or so.
 * Trapped In A Water Tank**

About once a month we would have a water fight at our hotel. This was a great way to blow off a little steam and have some fun. It usually started with someone on the roof with some water and someone down in the courtyard getting wet. We had these fire extinguishers that probably held 2 gallons of water stationed around the hotel. They had to be pumped by the handle to emit a stream of water out the short hose that was attached. Someone would take one or two of these up to the roof and start squirting those people who were exposed down in the courtyard. These fire extinguishers worked well from a high vantage point but not very well for an assault up the stairs as you’d have to stop the assault to pump the extinguisher. Heavier firepower was required, so some brave soul would fill a wastebasket with water and run head long up the stairs to drench the instigators. After that the water fight usually turned into a free for all. One day we were sitting around in the courtyard minding our own business when a secret weapon was revealed. A lone water balloon was launched from the roof down upon us. We started our assault on the roof but we were pushed back by a saturation bombing of water balloons. We were defeated before we got started. This person, I wish I could remember his name, had written home and asked for some balloons. The next day we headed over to China Beach PX to see if we could acquire any water balloons, er, balloons. We looked everywhere and even had to resort to asking but there were no balloons to be had. I don’t understand why the PX didn’t have balloons in a combat zone. The next best thing to balloons that we found were prophylactics, so we loaded up on them and headed back home to the hotel. That evening a horrendous battle took place at the hotel. Water balloons and water prophylactics flew and we all had a grand time. The next morning I awoke to much Vietnamese chattering coming from the courtyard, so I got up to see what the commotion was all about. Down below in the courtyard were all the Vietnamese "maids" that took care of our rooms squatting around in a circle pointing at the walls and talking. They must have thought we had one hell of an orgy that night as all the water had dried up leaving the burst prophylactics stuck all over the walls.
 * Water Fight On The Home Front**

One time someone somewhere found a "list" with places and dates and we, our EM hotel and our Officer’s Villa, were on the list. This meant there was a really good chance the VC were going to hit us. All of us spent two nights on cots at the compound except for a small group of volunteers who would defend the hotel. I don’t remember what went on at the Officer’s Villa if anything. I picked a good spot in the Darkroom (hand lab) for my cot, it would be darker and quieter than the rest of repro. Back at the hotel, the volunteers were stringing trip wires attached to flares up on the roof. The back door was barricaded and then barricaded again. Our Vietnamese guard who was always out front in his sand bagged guard post didn’t show up for work. The front gate was closed and the front doors were barricaded. On the roof over in one corner there was a stack of sandbags, which could be used for a machinegun nest but it was facing the wrong way. These sandbags were old and rotten when I got incountry. I think they were added to but I’m not sure about that. I know some of the volunteers were issued 12 gauge riot guns and I think some got M16s as the M14 was not much good for close quarters. One of the two nights while two of the volunteers were positioned on the roof in and around the sandbags a bird landed on a trip wire and set off a flare. In a fraction of a second that bird had more 00 Buckshot in him than you could imagine. Fortunately, that stupid VC bird was the only attack on our hotel!
 * Alert With A Bird**

While I was with Det B, in 1969, about half way through my tour I turned 21. That magical date when you are an adult and get to do adult things like, drink beer. The only problem was that I could buy beer from day one in Vietnam. As a special treat we got our birthdays off so we didn’t have to get up early, go to chow and stand in formation when we got to the compound where we worked. Oh, yeah, we didn’t have to slave away in an air conditioned room either. With the city off limits to military personnel there was nothing, or next to nothing, to do on your special day off. Oh, you could hitch a ride to the PX but what fun was that by yourself. So there I was, with the day off and it’s my Birthday. I got up and didn’t have a clue as to what I was going to do. I didn’t want to be where I was for my birthday and the day started to turn into a real funk. I was moping around my room depressed and feeling sorry for myself when Ron Berryman stopped by. I didn’t get to see Ron very much anymore because he had taken permanent night shift. The only times I did get to see him was when I was on nights or sometimes on the weekends. Ron asked me to come to his room so I followed him upstairs to his room. When I got there Ron handed me a beer, put //The Beatles// (The White Album) record on his turntable and set it to play //Birthday// and told me "happy birthday". I was in shock. How did Ron know it was my Birthday and how did he know exactly what to do to help me out? In 1974 my wife and I were traveling by car and stopped in Eurika, California to visit my oldest friend (we grew up together) who had moved there after school. I knew Ron Berryman had lived close by in McCloud, California so I looked in a phone book and there he was! I called the number and Martha, Ron’s wife, answered the phone. She said Ron wasn’t there at the moment so I said I’d call back later. Later was 2003. I really wanted to thank Ron for what he had done to help me out in a time I needed some help. I found his phone number on the Internet and called. This time Ron answered the phone. We talked for an hour and 45 minutes and I got to thank him. We made the usual agreement people make to get together "sometime". Later that year I had a mild heart attack and I realized I wasn’t going to be around forever. I called Ron and we made arrangements to see each other. I was very nervous and getting more nervous the closer we got to Ron and Martha’s home. After being with Ron for about two minutes we were 20 years old again and best of friends. That evening we poured over Det B pictures I’d brought with me and Ron got his out too. Ron and I were telling stories and filling in on each other’s stories. The girls sat and listened and asked questions. Later my wife said she really enjoyed the stories even if she had heard most of them before, but with Ron and I both telling the same story it made them more real to her. If there is someone, anyone in your life, you think you should contact do it now, before it is too late. It is well worth the trip.
 * It’s My Birthday**

With Danang off limits to military personnel, you had to plan on using one of the unit vehicles and get a group together for an event such as going to the PX or the Air Force Theater at the air base. You could also call for a free taxi. This involved a working telephone and a taxi that was freed up to come and get you. Taxies were gray Navy International 4-door pickups driven by Navy personnel and you usually got tired of waiting for one to show up so hitchhiking was in order. There were always or almost always military vehicles going by so it was easy to get a ride. Hitching a ride sometimes turned out to be quite an adventure, especially if you got picked up by a jeep load of Aussies. For some reason the Australian Army guys really liked us and would go out of their way to give us a ride to where we wanted to go. Of course they had a bottle of whisky under the seat and picking up an American was cause to celebrate. You had to be very careful not to get too sloppy before they poured you out at your destination with a friendly "take care mate" and "g’day mate" before they took off in a raucous departure.
 * Hitchin’ A Ride**

We were shooting B&W for a long time over there for happy snaps (our term for personal pictures) and then we got this idea to trade our non-compatible film (16mm??? and some other junk) and supplies for Ektachrome and developer. We got bulk reels of Ektachrome so we could load up our cassettes to around 40 exposures each. We had a large wash tray around 3'x3' and filled it with water to control the temp of the chemicals for developing the film. Next, we needed slide mounts. I don't remember the deal that was made but the Navy was to supply us with slide mounts for something we had. Anyway, when the slide mounts came they were on a pallet. We had ordered/asked for 2,500 and got 250,000! We were in slide mount heaven!
 * Slide Mount Heaven**

One time I was running late and I was supposed to be in the CO’s office for a promotional photo shoot. As I was running around looking for a camera, one of the Repro guys handed me one and said it was loaded and ready to go, well bless his heart! It was loaded with film all right but it wasn’t threaded onto the take-up reel so no pictures were taken. I got my ass chewed out because I didn’t check to make sure the other guy had done it right.
 * What, No Pictures!**

In the Hand Held section of the Photo Lab we had to go around and individually turn on the safe lights. I got tired of that so during a slow period I decided to rewire the Lab so that all the safe lights would be controlled by one switch. One of the guys was taking this all in and was quite taken that I knew what I was doing. When all the wiring was done all that was left was to install the wall switch and wire it. This individual, who had been watching me decided he wanted all the credit so he made it very clear that he would finish the wiring. So he wires the switch and then announces he has completed the project (indicating that it was his all along). Everyone gathers around except me, way in the back and just a little upset. He flips the switch and the safe lights go off all at once and he is the man of the hour. Everyone is excited and I yell out that they won’t turn back on. He flips the switch to on and nothing happens. He had wired the switch to cause a direct short when turned to the off position, which popped the circuit breaker I heard go pop when he tried the switch the first time. I left the Repro office and the repairs to him.
 * Let’s All Turn On Together Now**


 * Mark Mason:** My roomie. We were total opposites of each other. He was from Phoenix and lived about six blocks from Barry Goldwater. His uncle was the Mason of Mason Mints. Mark never wore a pair of jeans in his life. I, on the other hand rode a Harley and partied with Hell’s Angles on an occasion or two. Mark knew which buttons to push to get me going but he took good care of me too. We watched out for each other and I wouldn’t trade him for almost anyone.

Some time later Capt. Wilson arrived but I don’t remember if he ever did get up to speed. One day Lt. Steimke had visited Supply and some of us saw him carrying some supplies back to Repro when Capt. Wilson asked what he had. The Lt. showed him a new item that just came in. Wilson asked what it was and the Lt. said it was a new kind of hard tack. Wilson asked if he could try one, unwrapped it and tried to chew off a corner. We all disappeared real quick and Lt. Steimke beat feet back to Repro. Seems Capt. Wilson was trying to eat a compressed sponge.
 * Lt. Steimke** was our Repro Lt. and a great guy. When he first arrived Mike Davis tried to sell him a Pentax 35mm camera. The sale was almost final when the good Lt., while signing for all the Repro equipment noticed the camera he wanted to buy was on the equipment list.

HQ brass was heading to Det B for an inspection. We spent the better part of a week getting ready. When the Brass arrived at the Modern Hotel we were all stationed in our rooms just waiting for them to make their entrance. Marky Mason and I were in our room on the second floor with the door open and could hear the commotion in the stairs and then all was quiet. Then someone outside said "Where’s the guy with the poster of his Harley?". Crap! Now what!!! Just then a (I think) Major came in, spotted the poster of my Harley above my bed and wanted to talk Harley talk with me. The "other" Brass just kind of stood around looking like they should be doing something. We had a good conversation and then they left without inspecting our room.
 * Who Has The Harley?**


 * Paul Benoit:** Paul was a good friend and we had the same taste in music. When I arrived in Det B I was the New Guy for about five months. Granted, after the fist four months or so the novelty for the other guys kind of wore off and then Tom Debold showed up. Whew, was I ever happy to see the next New Guy. But even when I arrived, Paul always treated me like an old friend he had known all his life. I remember one day I was outside his room in the courtyard and he called me into his room. He handed me his headphones, told me to lie on my back on the floor and close my eyes. Then he put on his newest album, Led Zeppelin and the song was //Whole Lotta love.// What a treat!


 * Thunder Thornton:** Our First Sgt. I know others had run ins with him but for some reason I stayed below his radar except for the letter I wrote that went thought the chain of command backwards. More on that later. I remember one night about six of us were taste testing the beer at the Modern Hotel and we got this idea to go to Thornton’s room and invite him to have a beer with us. We made it upstairs and knocked/barged into his room. I think he was in bed reading or writing a letter. We all gathered around and offered him a beer and he accepted. After that everything became very awkward. I was very fuzzy, or, I mean everything else was very fuzzy and I don’t remember anything else. Probably a good thing.

While in Vietnam I received my orders that stated when my tour was up I got a 30 day leave and then I was to report to Ft. Hood, TX. (I still had about 14 months to go on a 3 year enlistment.) Some of the guys said Ft. Hood was not the place to go, hot, dusty and hot. Also Mechanized. I got this idea to write the Pentagon and request reassignment to Ft. Lewis, WA. The main plan was to convince the people who have the power that I needed to be at Ft. Lewis so I would be closer to my elderly parents. One evening three of us sat down with much beer and composed a 6 page letter explaining why I should be reassigned to Ft. Lewis. The next morning, after my head cleared, I reread the letter and made appropriate changes. Ron Cyrus, our OR clerk got me the address for E6 and below reassignment at the Pentagon and off went the letter. I had forgotten about the letter when I got a post card from General Abrams (The General Abrams). The post card said he had reviewed my letter and if there was anything he could do to please contact him at his personal villa. I had the post card out on display and it disappeared, never to be seen again (CRAP!). A week or two later I was told to report to the 1st Sgt. When I did he asked me if I had sent a letter to the Pentagon and I said I had. He then said I was to be on the next plane to Saigon and to report to the Captain in charge of Personnel. Seems I went through the chain of command backwards and the poop was about to hit the spinning oscillator. As directed, I reported to the Capt. in Personnel. He asked my why I was there and I said I had written a letter to the Pentagon. He said I could write to anyone I wanted and asked if there was anything else he could do for me. I said no and he suggested I make a long weekend out of my trip and return late Monday. That was fine with me. Tuesday at morning formation the First Sgt. noticed I was back so he made a statement that we could not be writing letters to the Pentagon. Well, for some reason I can't explain, even now, I couldn't resist getting the First Sgt. attention. When he asked what I wanted I said I had just returned from Saigon and had talked with Capt. (forgot his name) in charge of Personnel and he said I could write to anyone I wanted. As you can see, I survived. The Army in its infinite wisdom realized that my request was valid and sent me new orders that reassigned me to Ft. Carson, CO. TIt wasn't Ft. Lewis but this was a good place to go for my last months in the Army. I got married while home on leave and we moved to a nice little duplex off post in Colorado Springs. My parents came to visit us for a week and that was the last time I saw my father, he died unexpectedly the day (12:01AM) I got out of the Army.
 * Let’s Do the Chain of Command Backwards**


 * Mike Davis:** Aka, Animal. What can I say, what can anyone say. If you’ve seen John Belushi as Animal in the movie //Animal House// just move him to Det B. I mean that as a compliment Mike.


 * Sp6 Broa** was tasked with burning the classified papers and pictures in the burn barrel. One time when I knew he was going to be doing his duty, Marky Mason and I hid a couple of spray paint cans in the barrel. The little dance or jig Broa did when they went off was quite satisfying along with the near heart attack that followed. I got mine a little while later. It was monsoon season and we had the canvas top on the duce and a half with the sides down, all nice and cozy. We were heading back to the compound from lunch and were stopped at the intersection right across from the compoun waiting for traffic to clear. All of a sudden one of the ARVN in the guard shack decides to onload his M16 in the air right beside us. Without knowing what was going on we all thought we were dead.

Although we pretty much looked like everyone else in Vietman, we did stand out some. When we were "on alert" we packed out M-14s around with us. This didn’t draw any attention until we went to the Danang Hotel for chow. We’d file in and park our weapons in the rack. Almost everyone was familiar with the M-16 and the M-14 was being used as a sniper rifle. Our M-14s weren’t equipped with scopes but what the onlookers saw was the rifle and assumed we were all snipers. We got some strange looks with a dozen or so of us snipers all filing in for chow. Occasionally five or six of us would go to the Danang Air Base and take in a movie at the Air Force Theater. While waiting for the doors to open we’d be standing around with a bunch of Air Force guys and then one of them would spot our MIBARS Crest. . . and they would all move away from us just a little. Must have been spooks around somewhere but we never saw ‘em.
 * Spooks? You See Any Spooks?**

Who stole the duce and a half and repainted it with our Bn identification?

For some reason we had around 50,000 rounds of 7.65mm ammunition we had to get rid of. The ammunition had passed its expiration date and had to be disposed of. I think most of Det B and their weapons were rounded up and trucked over to China Beach. I don’t know how long we were there shooting up the ammunition into the South China Sea but it was hot, we were hot and our weapons were hot. I got tired of doing this so I loaded up nine magazines and changed the selector switch on my M14 to full auto. I stepped up to the firing line and SSgt. Valdez was on my right. I warned him that hot brass would be coming his direction but he decided to ignore my warning. I fired off a full magazine from the hip, John Wayne style. You should have seen him scramble. I fired off the other eight magazines and stepped back. I was holding my weapon by the wrist grip with the butt resting on my belt, barrel in the air when someone came by, stopped and said my weapon was smoking. Upon further inspection I noticed it was smoking more than I expected it to. I field stripped the weapon and there were glowing embers in the fore-end area of the stock. I threw some sand on it and it went out. The M14 had a tendency to attract more rust after that.
 * Too much ammo!**

The Vietnamese (city?) police were called White Mice. Their uniform was all white but I don’t know where the Mice came from. At that time here in the States, police used Harley Davidson motorcycles so it was only proper to supply the Vietnamese Police with Harleys too. Fortunately, these little guys were given Harley Sportsters instead of the bigger, full size 74. Unfortunately these Sportsters provided more power and torque than they had ever experienced. Occasionally one would pile up on a corner or go zooming by with a wide-eyed Mouse perched up on the seat, but mostly they would putt around on them and plug them up so much they barely ran.
 * White Mice**

Repro was running low on some supplies so Lt. Steimke thought it would be a grand adventure to drive a jeep with a trailer to Det E and bring back some of the extra supplies they had. He decided I was to be his companion on this trip. The trip to Phu Bai, about 75 miles North and took most of the day to get there, was uneventful, but the duce and a halves and larger trucks we passed had armor plating on them with little slits to see through the windshield and door windows. Here we were in an open jeep with our helmets on for protection. When Lt. Steimke and I arrived at Det E it was getting dark and I started looking for a place to sleep. After taking care of that I wanted food and started looking for that. A bunch of the guys were crowded around so I went to see what they were doing. They had a garbage can sitting on top of a fire and were cooking something. Occasionally one guy would pick out a bone that had floated to the top. I asked what they were cooking and they said they were fed up with the Mess Hall so they rounded up a bunch of ingredients and started building Chicken Cacciatore. They had 23 chickens in the garbage can, er, pot and it was about done. That was a great meal and Chicken Cacciatore is still one of my favorite food groups.
 * Phu Bai Is All Right**

One day while working in Repro we got an unusual container with an order form for processing. The order form stated it was from one of the Special Forces units. I opened the container and pulled out a small film cartridge. Lt, Steimke, sitting at his desk looked over and asked what it was. I said it’s from one of those "spy" cameras. A "spy" camera was very small for that time period and used 16mm film in a cartridge much like the Pocket cameras sold in stores in the 1980s. I don’t know if these "spy" cameras were actually used by spies but you could purchase a couple of different models at the local PX. Well, as soon as the Lt. heard "spy" come out of my mouth he immediately designated the "mission" as a priority 1 mission, which was to be expedited immediately. Crap, I’m the one holding the "mission" and the LT. is looking at me like I need to jump through some hoops if there were any laying around to jump through. I head off into the hand lab to try and figure out how to open the ding-dang cartridge and get the teeny-tiny film developed. 16mm film is too small and won’t thread on to a 35mm processing spool so I have to figure something else out. Fumbling around in total darkness I finally get the film developed. Don’t ask me how I did it as I erased all memory of that. The "mission" called for 8x10 inch prints so I had to figure out how to get this tiny strip of negatives in the enlarger, which is set up for 35mm negatives. When I finally got everything set up the first image projected on to the easel was a "happy snap" of a beer party. Happy Snaps were what we called personal pictures and had no military value what so ever. All the pictures on the strip of negatives were happy snaps. I was just a little POed so I printed all the pictures with our border mask that printed "Confidential Material" within the pictures. We occasionally got more of these "missions" from Special Forces, they always got the priority 1 designation from the Lt. and they were always happy snaps. I usually disappeared if I knew one was heading for Repro, sorry guys, it was usually my fault you got to play with the "spy camera" film. I just happened to be in the wrong place when another mission came in from Special Forces and the good Lt. was looking at me to jump through those hoops again. I accidentally dropped the film cartridge on the floor and as I was bending over to pick it up I accidentally stepped on the cartridge breaking it. I picked the cartridge up and pulled all the film out inspecting it to see if it was damaged. The film was not damaged but by pulling all the film out it was exposed to light and became useless. I explained to the Lt. that I was real sorry that happened and I’d be more careful next time. The crushed cartridge and ruined film were sent back to Special Forces with an oopsy we screwed up note and we never received another "spy" mission from them.
 * Happy Snaps**

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