The Trained Killers

Copyright 2011 Joseph N. Manfredo.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4269-7433-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-7434-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-7435-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011912350

Trafford rev. 10/11/2011

27921.png www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

fax: 812 355 4082

CONTENTS

Epigraph

Preface

Acknowledgments

Part 1. Fort Dix

1. Greetings

2. Indoctrination

3. Furnace Duty

4. Things We Learned

5. The Target Range

6. Marches and Charges

7. Cleanliness

8. Bivouac

9. Strange Roommates

10. Graduation

Part 2. Aberdeen Proving Ground

1. The S&P Detachment

2. The Ballistics Research Laboratories

3. The Trained Killer

4. Radar Signals & Butt Cans

5. Going to the Movies

6. The Happy Clam

7. First Christmas

8. Havre de Grace

9. The Chicken Coop

10. Apple On A String

11. ΦΤΑ

12. Inspections

13. Article 15

14. Something for Nothing

15. Ruptured Retreat

16. Randy Bambi

17. Go Ahead, Make My Day

18. Sputnik

19. Farewell To Arms

Epilogue

Historical Notes

About The Author

To the scientists and engineers of

the Scientific and

Professional Detachment

Who served their country without losing their

sense of humor.

Thanks for the memories.

EPIGRAPH

You gonna cost the gummint twenny thowsen dollahs ta become trained killahs! We gonna teach you a lotta ways ta kill da enemy befo’ he kills you! You gonna leave here a warriah, a trained killah! Gonna come a time when you life gonna depend on it, so pay attenshun!

Drill Sergeant, Fort Dix, New Jersey

January, 1956

PREFACE

This memoir is based on real events with slight embellishments intended to lend some color to an olive drab tapestry. It recounts what happened to an unusual group of young men during an unusual time in our military history.

After the Korean War the very real Cold War intensified between the United States and the Soviet Union. These men were drafted into the United States Amy during that period. They fought the enemy on the battlefield of science and technology in the race for domination of land, sea and space. This is not the story of that battle, but of the everyday events they experienced as they bounced between laboratory projects, routine army assignments and free time activities. It is the stuff they may never think to tell their grandchildren, yet it deserves telling.

Any similarity to actual persons or places that might get the author into trouble is purely coincidental and vigorously denied.

In the vernacular of the trade: Some names, locations and events have been fictionalized.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A very belated thank you to the news reporters of Baltimore radio station WBAL, the Baltimore Sun newspaper and to the several United States Congressmen who worked so hard to expose and correct the misapplication of technical talents during the early years of the Cold War

My thanks, also, to companion and fellow traveler, Jo Ann St. Claire, whose critical reviews, opinions and suggestions have been so helpful in giving the book a more distaff perspective. Every author needs a Jo Ann

PART I

Fort Dix

1. GREETINGS

Friday morning, 6:30 AM, 1955: The alarm went off.

I had the morning procedure carefully timed. By 6:50 I was downstairs buying a paper. At 7:05 I ordered breakfast in the Blue Belle Café across the street; orange juice, coffee, toast, two eggs – sunny side up. I climbed into my car by 7:25. It was winter in Syracuse, New York and fresh snow lay several inches deep on the streets.

The eight cylinder engine of my 1951 Pontiac roared to life despite the cold and pulled its load of vehicle and me into up-town traffic at exactly 7:30. By 7:45 the warm and growling engine purred into silence in the Salaried Personnel parking lot of the plant where I worked. I walked rapidly to the building and into my office. As I removed my jacket and gloves the large wall clock snapped to 8:00 AM. I was on time again.

It had been a good week. The money was good. Overtime was abundant due to the pressure of a new car model year. The Brown-Lipe-Chapin Division of General Motors contained steel stamping dies, forming dies, zinc die casting machines, rows and rows of buffing and polishing wheels and the largest electronic plating tanks in the world. Bumper guards, hood ornaments, wheel discs, instrument bezels, horn rings, and any other chrome accessory needed on General Motor’s vehicles were manufactured here. The 1956 model chrome trim accessories had been designed long ago and were now being set up for mass production. As a newly graduated Engineer I was busy designing the machinery and methodology for the manufacture of these products.

We had been working ten hours a day, sometimes 6 days a week. Sleep was becoming a rarity. I seldom left work before 7 PM after which I went out with friends or to a girlfriend’s home for dinner and company. On this Friday night I left her home late and started the 54 mile drive to Utica to visit my parents for the weekend.

I arrived well after midnight. Mom and Dad were up waiting—something they had learned not to do a long time ago. On the kitchen table lay an envelope. Mom handed it to me with a look of concern. I noted the return address and already knew what it was. It began, Greetings. I felt a giddy sense of laxity and resignation until reading it a second time brought on a mixture of curiosity, excitement and apprehension. I was ordered to report for induction at the Syracuse induction center in one month.

The start of the Korean War caused Congress to enact a mandatory draft just as I was graduating from High School, five years earlier. At the time I was 17 years old and a prime candidate for the military on my next birthday. However, by then I was enrolled in an engineering college. As a consequence I received a critical skills deferment which would last until graduation.

That deferment had expired just a month ago. In accordance with the terms of the deferment I now faced two years of active military duty followed by three years of active reserve, then one year of standby reserve—a six year commitment.

The Korean War had ended in a truce. It was on hold. Both sides agreed to stop fighting, for now. There had been no winners. There had been many losers; the thousands of dead and wounded on both sides. The mandatory draft had ended but Congress had not rescinded the mandatory six year commitment of deferred students. They had, however, cancelled all educational and insurance benefits. There was no longer a GI Bill of Rights for those now being drafted.

I would serve in the armed forces of the United States during a relatively peaceful time, provided hostilities did not break out again, anywhere in the world, within the next six years. It was the early years of the strategic and technological race for supremacy between the Soviet Union and the United States which became known as the Cold War.

The following Monday morning I showed the letter to my department manager. My school buddy, fraternity brother and co-worker, Chuck Shaver, had received the same letter. We had one month to make arrangements.

The office staff threw a magnificent going away party for us with food, music and presents. Someone had put a lot of thought into that because they gave us each a suitcase set and toiletry travel kits. Chuck and I sang a duet, putting our own words to a popular song of the time, You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone. Our friends laughed. Our girlfriends cried. It was wonderful.

On the appointed day I picked Chuck up and drove to the Syracuse induction center where we were joined by a group of candidates just like us. There were several I remembered from my high school days. We joked nervously as we lined up for each stage of the induction process. One kid was sent home because his blood test showed too much sugar, the result of eating doughnuts for breakfast. He was ordered to return another day. A couple more were released for poor eyesight, bad feet or other serious physical ailments. I lost track of Chuck for a while.

After being subjected to the nefarious short arm inspection, the old bend and spread ‘em, and the turn your head and cough procedures they pronounced me fit for duty. Chuck came to me and, with relief and embarrassment told me that he had been rejected. I don’t recall exactly why……something to do with his eyesight or teeth or both. He wore thick eyeglasses and partial dentures.

I envied his escape from the draft. He would return to his girlfriend and his engineering job. But, on reflection, I did not envy the fact that when we went to work the next day he would have to tell everyone he had been rejected. And, what would he do with the farewell presents? I wondered.

We twelve survivors lined up, shoulder to shoulder, raised our right hand and took the oath to serve our country in the armed forces of the United States beginning that very moment. After the swearing in ceremony we received orders to be at the Syracuse train station in one week for transport to Fort Dix, New Jersey. There we would receive two months of indoctrination and basic military training. Subsequently we would be permanently transferred elsewhere.

The week flew by. I sat in the station, along with a dozen or so other young men, waiting for the train. It was mid-day. The huge station was eerily silent, occasional footsteps or whispered conversations echoing in the high ceilinged, marble columned station. More young men appeared, some alone, others with a girlfriend or parents. They sat, scattered around the station, seeking privacy with loved ones. Shortly several Non Commissioned Officers (NCOs) appeared wearing army uniforms. All eyes drifted in their direction. As they called out names from a clipboard the inductees, one by one, arose and answered Here as we had been directed. We followed the NCOs to one of the outside platforms and awaited the train’s arrival.

Presently it came. As it chuffed, clanked and hissed to a stop anxious, excited voices made vapor puffs in the frigid January air. Amid the damp clouds of engine steam the recruits made their way aboard. The NCOs urged stragglers, some engaged in tearful goodbyes, to get aboard. The NCOs seemed friendly enough. They climbed aboard, told us to find a bunk for the night, and then disappeared. We were left to our own devices as the train moved out.

The atmosphere was one of jovial excitement. The unsuspecting recruits, all wearing casual civilian clothes, were in a party mood. They joked and laughed as they scrambled to lay claim to one of the Pullman bunks that lined both sides of the cars, then settled down to play cards and generally have a good time on this free train ride to New Jersey.

The train clattered on, stopping frequently at other stations where additional passengers and recruits came aboard and the noise increased with renewed intensity. I climbed into my bunk around 10 PM but it took a long time to fall asleep because of the noisy celebrants around me who remained up most of the night.

2. INDOCTRINATION

It seemed I had been asleep only a few minutes when the quiet predawn silence was broken by harsh voices bellowing into our ears. The first words I recognized were Fall out! Fall out! Get dressed, c’mon, let’s go!! There was general bewilderment. No one, it seemed, had anticipated this rude, early morning awakening. I looked out the window. It was still dark outside. I squinted at my watch. It was only 5 AM. They couldn’t be serious, could they? They were.

Guys who had trouble awakening were told, You’re in the Army now! This ain’t your Mama’s house. Get up and get dressed! Let’s go! Move it!

A few of the slower witted guys complained and received immediate, personal, unwanted attention. Most of us learned quickly to overcome our shock and outrage. From that moment on we were told what to do, when to do it and how to do it.

The train