DAIWI. Chuck Pfeifer
Team 22 and Seal Team 2 in the Mekong Delta, and was a Purple Heart recipient. He became the Chief Assistant U. S. Attorney for the American Virgin Islands. We became fast friends and stayed in frequent touch until his death in 2013.
The ground and the tower stages of the United States Army Airborne School (Jump School) were the easiest parts of training for me, even though my already-injured knees and legs bore the impact of the repetitive simulated jumps.
Even though close-to-the-ground jump training was very thorough, I was always somewhat apprehensive as I climbed into a C-123 or C-130 to do static line jumps, particularly the first one. I gave myself a pep talk as the plane took off, but subsequent jumps never really got any better. The familiar adrenaline rush was always with me. Not fear exactly, but close. I tried never to show that anxiety, however. As the plane rose to 1000 to 1500 or so feet, and the Jump Master yelled, “Stand Up, Hook Up, Shuffle to the Door, and Go! Go! Go!” I was out of one of the plane’s two doors with nothing beneath. Although in the company of others, I was on my own, floating to the drop zone, trusting the chute would open, hoping for a soft landing and rehearsing in my mind all I had been taught. I can do this.
Earning my wings in the required five jumps, I wanted to move on to Master Wings, but that would be in the future. That would take a lot more jumps. Along the way, I found I did not have the inclination to complete the required jumps. I have done about 10 free falls in a non-combat setting. Athough not being much of a praying man, free falling made me a believer, at least until I touched down on terra firma.
Named Class Leader at Ranger and Airborne Schools, I received the Top Ranger Award. There was a huge and spectacular presentation ceremony in the company of about 400 battalion Rangers and an eclectic mix of military men from all branches of the service for those of us who had successfully completed Ranger training. The Ranger Tab on my shoulder was the crowning highlight.
I was ready, physically and emotionally, to confront and dispatch whatever enemy came my way and to “give” my life for my country, if needed. I was not yet cognizant that “giving” my life should have been more like “I will allow Uncle Sam to borrow me for a while, and if the interest he has to pay me for that loan could result in the loss of my life, I will fight like hell to save it, or I will die like a man.” Ranger candidates are now required to finish additional training, designed to root out less-qualified soldiers. In mock POW conditions, they are subjected to mistreatment almost to the breaking point. Being able to withstand whatever torture they might encounter as a prisoner was crucial, as was proficiency in the use of weapons, scuba diving, navigation and parachuting. They are taught escape, evasion, survival techniques and how to keep one step ahead of the enemy in every phase of warfare.
I was not required to finish additional training. That was added sometime later, but all our special talents were honed, and all were cross-trained. There was no operation that every successful Ranger could not do. The cadre acted and thought as one.
I found my destiny and encountered my true roots there - clan Campbell, not Park Avenue types, Ivy Leaguers, or West Pointers, but my Scotch-Irish brethren, the rank and file who colonized America and went on, rich or poor, to lead America’s military ranks for generations. I was a man born for unconventional warfare.
Without full recognition, and nearly without a second thought, my military, and maybe my life’s, destinies were sealed at Fort Benning. They would be difficult, dangerous, and life changing, ending with physical and mental challenges I would be fighting to overcome all my life.
After Fort Benning and another leave in 1967, I received my first duty assignment as a minted Airborne Ranger. My orders to report to Schweinfurt, Germany, were confusing in their military language, but I was finally on my way to places and things I could not even imagine.
Chapter 3
SCHWEINFURT, GERMANY
In 1967, I was a First Lieutenant assigned to a mechanized infantry unit, part of the Third Division, in Schweinfurt, in the German State of Bavaria, on the right side of the Main River. At its peak, about 11,000 American troops and family members called it home. Although the Schweinfurt base did not play a major role in the war, it was there on a stand-by basis, if needed. One of the first things I saw was “Ledward Barracks” over the arched entryway. My first thought was that the building looked like a prison.
The countryside was beautiful, but I was not fond of this unexciting and dull assignment. It was boring, and the barracks did turn out to be a sort of prison, and I could not wait to get out. Working in the motor pool as a greasemonkey and performing mundane tasks in and around the barracks were not what I came into the Army to do. I was ready for some blood and guts action. Before my career was over, I would have plenty.
My combat training was never over: Morning to evening, and sometimes at night. When the colors came down, though, I headed to town in my Jaguar XKE, ready for some fun with the beautiful German girls.
After inspection one Saturday morning, Gerry Ogier, a close friend then and now, and I were in the Officers’ Club nursing a drink and watching out the big plate glass window as paratroopers practiced jumps.
I looked at Gerry. “Do you think they would let me do a jump just for the hell of it?”
“Why not? Are you sure you want to though? A couple of drinks can alter a jump,” he warned.
“I know, I know,” I argued. “I’ll be fine.”
I approached the Non-Combat Commander. “How about grabbing a static line?”
“Sure,” he said. “ Load up.”
Floating down was amazing until I realized I could not control the chute enough to keep from landing on the hood of a truck and making a pretty big dent. The chute split right down the middle. I bounced off the truck and hit the ground really hard. Although not badly hurt, the landing knocked the breath out of me, and I was plenty shook up. I laid still for a minute, and Gerry came running.
“I’m okay.” I started to laugh as I got up. “Just got the air knocked out of me.”
“Laugh,” he said, half angry, “go ahead and laugh. You just scared the hell out of me.” Back inside, we grabbed another drink, and I headed for the slot machines. My last yank on the handle of one of the machines yielded a fifty-buck jackpot. “We’re going downtown!” I yelled over at Gerry.
Downtown, we had a few more drinks and finally headed home in Gerry’s brand new Volvo. The trip was not very far, but it was far enough for a German national to run a red light and T-bone the Volvo, bending it nearly in two. We both saw the car coming and knew we were going to be hit, but it was too late to get out of the way. Miraculously, we did not get a scratch. However, the Volvo was not as lucky; it was totaled. A few more inches one way or the other, and we would have been killed. We had given a buddy a ride home, and he was asleep, or maybe passed out, in the back seat. Grinding metal and a gigantic jolt awakened him in a heartbeat. He jerked up, and rubbed his eyes with his fists. “What the holy hell was that?” he exclaimed, as he attempted to crawl out a rear window. It had been another interesting day.
I was in superb physical shape when I finally took the thorough and rigorous four-day test involving long runs, map reading, compass reading, rope, and tactical training with the other men. There were no favorites played here. We were all the same in the eyes of the commanders. I was confident that the test would be no problem, and I was right. I passed with the highest grade in the class, and was awarded the Expert Infantry Badge.
Being long past ready to move on for more exciting duty, I had made a request for transfer before taking the final tests. The Colonel ultimately granted my request, and I moved on to Bad Tolz, Germany.
Even though my time at Schweinfurt was short, I still remember some good times there. I recently learned that the “Call to Colors” sounded for the last time in September 2014, when the base was officially closed and turned