Did I ever tell you guys about going fishing with Wayne? You know. Downing. LTC Downing!

Well, seems the Navy had some troublesome Marines out on San Clemente Island, off the coast of California. Surely, you know the place. The Navy also had way too many goats on the same island. They got in trouble with the Granola Heads, Tree Huggers, Yippies, Yuppies, and Save the Whales Foundation for wanting to shoot the excess rather than let them starve. Another time.

Well, the President had some trouble, and he didn't know what to do, so he called on me and he called on the 2d Battalion, 75th. Of course we answered the call, because the 82d had left the Madigan Club for the time being, and we were sorely lacking enterainment. Anyhow, up in the air, down on the ground, plan, rehearse, modify plans. Load the big boats (the Navy hates it when you call their stuff "boats") full of our motorized assault craft (RB-15s with paddles), and head out. Of course, being from Fort Lewis (if it ain't rainin', we ain't trainin'), we waited to launch the assault until the weather was primo!

Ever hear the soft, gentle slapping of the waves as they roll over the sandy beach? Well, neither did we that night. Pitching, rolling, puking, capsizing. Oh, why didn't we all join the friggin' Navy? "What's that roar?" we asked. Why, it's the surf breaking the rocks into more rocks. No sandy stuff for us. No sir, we're the Rangers, by God, and we don't need no stinking beaches to land on. After what must have been too long, we got our boats out of danger (I didn't say out of the water!), and moved inland.

Now thoroughly wet, pissed, tired and hungry, we were on the lookout for Marines. It was their good fortune that we found them out in an open area, all under tents, doing what Marines do best. Sleeping.

Up go the star clusters, out goes the smoke. Rat-a-tat-tat goes the M60s. Boom go the 90mm RCLR APERS rounds (well, the subcals, anyhow), in the air go the M203 airburst simulators. Honest, they went in the air.

The Marines start yelling something about Rangers not having fathers and mothers, and the war was on. Now the airbursts simulators are going through GP smalls, mediums, larges. Between Marines. Under Marines. Very near Marines. Who's laughing now? Well, we won, and that's that. But what about fishing, you say?

Well, after a short walk (which Wayne was famous for), we came to the docks on the island, and hastened our departure. We had a long, cold, wet ride back to the mainland. The Navy wouldn't let us go below deck (probably had a group hug going on down there), so we got to stay topside and keep warm. Keeping warm is always easier when you stay entertained.

What better entertainment than fishing on the open sea? Well, we had plenty of simulators and stuff left over. Someone (no names, remember) took a grenade simulator (5 seconds until detonation), pulled the fuze and threw it. Five seconds of drifting put it starboard near the stern. BOOM! Waterspout! No fish!

Well, better use more bait. Someone (no names) tied several together, pulled all the fuzes and threw harder. Bigger BOOM! Higher waterspout! Still no fish. Someone (!) bundled many more together, wrapped them with det cord and a cap, added weight, pulled fuze and threw.

Just in time to hear that voice (you know the one) say something about "knock that crap off, and there better not be any more of it!" Too late.

KA-BOOM! Waterspout sprays the starboard side of the boat. No fish. Big ass chewing. And that's the only time I went fishing with Wayne. Honest.

Ranger Mellinger 2/75