Nco Evaluation Report Sgt: Fill & Download for Free

Okay, what I am about to say is over 30 years ago, and as far as I know, it’s no longer a National Security Issue, so I will discuss.In the United States Air Force, back in the 80’s, we had what’s called a “flight”. It’s like a “platoon” in the Army. Most “flights” in the Air Force, during that period of time were rear area type units; like aircraft maintenance, supply, administration, flight ops, etc. There are only a few “combat arms” type roles. The most note-worthy are positions like, “fighter pilot”, “para rescue”, “forward air combat controller”, etc.My combat arms job, was a police officer, in the United States Air Force. I was enlisted, at the time, a sergeant, a entry level supervisor of a group of 5 guys, called a fire-team. They reported to me. I wrote their evaluations, filed their initial promotions packets, etc.On this particular “Flight”, I can’t say where; I was introduced to a guy I will call “Sgt. Maloliente” (Sgt. M). He was a solitary person, never got along with others very well; but always flew under the radar. Sgt. M was assigned to me, on my patrol, so I could train him on my section. No big. Welcome… Right?Sgt. M. got into my patrol vehicle and Sgt. M. smelled like death. Not even kidding. He smelled so bad that if I didn’t roll the windows down, my eyes started to water. As a good NCO, I thought that he had to know how bad he smelled, so I started right in.(Credit: Wikimedia)“Dude, you need to take a shower before you come to work, or this is going to be a very short tour…”, I said, very unsympathetically. I can still hear his reply…“It’s a chronic yeast infection. I’ve had it ever since my deployment to Clark ended. They don’t know how to fix it. Sorry. I shower every day.”, he stared out the window like he was going to shoot himself if he ever had to explain this again.I never heard of this before. Being kind of skeptical I replied. “Don’t just women get yeast infections?” Apparently I received my PhD in medicine a while back and forgot everything I was taught…“No, man, guys with certain body chemistry are very susceptible to it. Can’t do anything about it. Sorry.” I felt really bad, and sick to my stomach… What am I breathing?“Do you mind if I keep the windows down?”, I asked. Still processing and trying not to puke.“No, go ahead.”, he looked like he was a thousand miles away, with a machine gun next to him…Several weeks went by and Sgt. M. was EVERYONE’s favorite topic. The Flight Chief was speaking at early formation.“It has come to my attention that most of you are heartless cruel mutha f*ck*rs, and now I have to explain something to you.”, he was looking directly at some mike foxtrots’s at the rear of the formation.“F*ck me…”, muttered Sgt. M, standing behind me.The Flight Chief proceed to yell at everyone telling Sgt. M, jokes and explained his new orders. Anyone caught harassing someone with medical issues, in his unit, will be written up with at least a letter of reprimand for failing to obey a lawful order.(Credit: USAF Archive)Several months went by, Sgt. M. rarely had a riding patrol. He was always in a guard shack, by himself, in the lower priority areas. He did his job. Every once in while, people would be singled out for screw ups and end up on a riding post with Sgt. M as a reward.One day it was my turn… (Yeah, it was MY TURN…) “Hi, John, how’s it going?”, I said as I braced myself for the cloud of death to crawl up my nose; and…. there it is…“F*ck*d, dude, just f*ck*d…”, he had a scowl on his face. “I have diabetes, they might kick me out.”“That’s too bad. John, I’m sorry. I know things have been tough on you. I know you can’t help it. It’s a bummer. If there’s anything I can do, man, just let me know.”“Naw, man, you’re like the only guy I can really talk to. They all hate me. You have no idea how hard it is to come to work every day and they just hate you!”, he said, looking down.“John, man…” I said with as much sympathy as I could muster. I really felt bad for the guy.“I’m a warlock…”, he said, without skipping a beat.“What?”, I heard him. I just needed him to repeat what he just said.“I’m a warlock. I practice dark magic.”, he said.“John, that’s something I’ve never heard another human being say… ever…”, which is true, except for that episode of Bewitched when good ole Uncle Arthur appeared on set.“F*ck*ng warlock, man…”, John said, trailing off into some mumbling and finally silence.The Lieutenant never shows up for mid-shift guard mount until she needed to ream someone out in front of everyone. Oh, who’s going to get it today… We all started looking around doing our own ad-hoc head count.“Where is Sgt. M?”, I heard someone behind me whisper.“The following personnel will turn in their weapons and report to me in my office.”, she said with a dry rasp to her voice. She read three names.Within the next three hours, we saw the Lieutenant’s patrol vehicle with the flight chief in it, roll up to seven duty stations and three patrol vehicles. More officers were getting out of their vehicles or being replaced by guys I recognize from other Flights.The radio crackled.“Fox ten, meet up with with Wiskey one at Hotel one.”“Roger, Fox Ten, is in route.”“Sh*t!”, my partner said. “Sh*t!”In the United States Air Force, there are three types of jobs. The jobs anyone can do. The jobs only really smart, trusted people can do, and the jobs where they don’t care how smart you are, they just need to trust you. (The smart ones get promoted. The really smart ones get out and get paid.)My job was one of those they really need to trust you! Really, really need to trust you. My job was to guard theater level weapons systems. The most powerful weapons systems in the USAF inventory. (Really can’t say what they are, but you get the idea.)The day that Sgt. M went missing, was unforgettable to me, because one by one, 37 people out of an 82 man unit, were now picking up trash, as their cases were being reviewed by the JAG office. For a solid week, guys were being called out of formation, or arrested right in the barracks. For a solid week, EVERYONE, didn’t know who they were going to be working with or for, the following shift. At the end of that week, the Commanding Officer of the United States Air Force had to brief the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs on why he had to capture the whole graduating class of several technical schools and divert people to a single Air Force Base on the front lines of our Countries’ strategic defense.They found Sgt. M at a local market. He was selling a new IBM Selectric type-writer for $20. On his table were flight crew helmets, combat survival knives, chemical masks, computers, and about a thousand dollars in his pocket. They were tipped off because an officer who happened to be enjoying his day off, saw his flight helmet for sale on the good Sgt. M’s table and struck up a conversation.Apparently, the officer bought his own flight helmet for $50 (DOD Cost was about $80,000.00, not even kidding. In 1980’s money.) The next day, the officer reported back to his CO, that he had recovered his helmet from a guy who looked like he was military, and who apparently SMELLED very very bad.“I know exactly who that is…”, said the Lt. Col.The lieutenant colonel contacted the full colonel in command of the base. Who in turn called the OSI Commander, (USAF Office of Special Investigations), who in turn contacted the Security Police Commander, and like a house of cards, Sgt. M was arrested and was given a proposition. Who else was stealing with him? Sgt. M was very cooperative.Apparently, the USAF was missing about $1m dollars worth of it’s property as things started to magically disappear from offices all over the flight line. In secure areas! Sgt. M was making his nightly withdraw and sneaking it back to his post, when he was caught.What makes this so haunting, is this:On day four of Fox flight’s inquisition, they were calling off names and mine was read. Yep. My name. (The air pressure in the hanger nearly went full vacuum, when everyone in the building collectively gasped.) There was a lot of whiskey tango foxtrot’s being muttered.I turned in my weapon, was escorted without handcuffs to the base OSI office, where several uniformed friends of mine started asking leading questions.Well, this was it… This is what all the stuff was about. (No one was talking.) My eyes lit up. I explained that while I was training Sgt. M on how to ensure everything was locked down, I was complaining how vulnerable the security of the flight line was. People could steal all kinds of stuff, I explained. I explained how I had told the flight chief, the LT, the First Sergeant and my supervisor. I gave detailed descriptions on what was told and to whom. I knew the guy who was interrogating me from another duty station, he stopped the interview about half way down his question sheet.“That will be all, Sgt. Phillips, we will return you to your patrol. This is an ongoing investigation. If you hear anything about this, here’s my phone number.”Why this haunts me to this day, is that most of the guys who talked crap about Sgt. M, suddenly became his buddies. Sgt. M put them all under his wing. They were making some serious bank! No one was talking crap to the smelly Security Police. He had corrupted one third of our entire unit and would have compromised more, had he not been discovered at this obscure market, ten miles away.What haunts me even more, was that Sgt M got every guy, down to the last, who humiliated him and his condition. I saw him, just before he went to spend the next few years at Fort Leavenworth. His eyes were cold, lifeless, full of hatred, vacant…One of my good friends lost his job and got a dishonorable discharge for it. Before he was arrested, I remember the day he offered me a combat knife from an open supply closet. He smiled like he was doing me a favor. What I didn’t realize at that moment, but what I realized later, was that he really wasn’t himself. He reacted badly when I told him to put it back, that’s not how the government issues you gear. You can’t just withdraw a combat knife from some supply closet. I remember it taking significant energy to speak those words. He said he put it back. But later, explained that he just kept it for himself.Epilogue: (The names were changed, along with minor details, to protect the innocent, and some things that are still not for public knowledge.)I am not saying that I know anything about causation. I am not pretending that any of this is anything other than the facts as I describe them. As a police officer you get to see some dark stuff.In and by it’self, all this doesn’t seem like a big deal. So what. Some shady dude starts some Michael Dowd stuff. It happens.I know, right? But that Air Force Base seemed to be cursed after Sgt. M. left. It was like whatever was in him, stayed there. My patrol vehicle smelled for weeks after he was arrested. I can still remember that smell to this day!Don’t mess with evil. Shun it. Walk away from it. The incidents on that base, following Sgt. M’s departure are too numerous to mention, including the death of my new born first son, the damage to Casper Wienberger’s plane, in route to SALT talks, a couple of serious national security type accidents, and the storming of the base by war protestors, most of whom were WICCA and Druids.I nearly killed a couple of local citizens in a t-bone car accident… (Found not to be at fault after an 18 hour shift, two days in a row. No permanent injuries. Thank GOD!)Just some scary stuff… I hope this answers your question. Civilian cops aren’t the only ones who encounter stuff like this.EDITS: A few edits just to make it more readable.

ANSWERED - 25 December 2020 - UPDATED - 21 April 2021—PREFACE: Viktor, I’m White, and American.In Vietnam, I was a Force Recon Marine, not a Vietcong soldier. I did special assignments where my job was to scout them, report their whereabouts, occasionally capture them, and when the opportunity was right, kill them.Bear with me while I share some of what that was like for me.INTRODUCTION: Before age 13, I lived in Camp Pendleton, CA. It’s famous for hills, and canyons, perfect for kids at play. Jake, one of the guys, was very creative. He became a screenwriter in Hollywood.DISCUSSION: One of our favorite games was a Jake creation he called Ambush. This was a modification of his version of Hit and Run.Yet another Jake creation he called, Snoop and Hide. This was his version of Hide and Seek.In our game playing, it was always exciting to ambush an opponent, especially when the opponent knew you were lying in wait, and despite their knowing, you were still able to make good on your surprise attack.It was particularly exciting when you got away with the prize, a cache of pretend loot, or a captured opponent.Just before my 13th birthday, we moved to North Park, an older neighborhood in San Diego, CA. The games continued with new friends. There were as many canyons in San Diego as in Camp Pendleton, and the exhilaration of surprise attacks, hit and runs, ambushes, and getaways continued.Then I went to Vietnam!VIETNAM: Fear replaced Exhilaration. Expectation replaced Surprise. Sorrow replaced Satisfaction. Anger replaced Wonderment. Loss replaced Gain, and Cussing became the operative language 24/7 with Son of a B*tch!, and F*ck It! being my two favorites.In-Country it felt necessary to take another’s life, and it even felt right, but after a few months, Vengeance and Revenge from payback left me Empty and Hollow.And nothing over there really felt good until 19 months later (after an extended tour of 6 months) when I boarded the wonderful big bird known as a C5a for my return flight to Travis AF Base in Fairfield, CA.CONCLUSION: Before leaving for Vietnam, I had been accepted in several PhD programs. All of them graciously held their acceptance open until I returned. Luckily, I returned (and I returned without a physical scratch), but my head was full of trouble.What cured my head is I went back to lifting weights and running, buried myself in books in a PhD program, and began chasing as many co-eds as my legs and time permitted.NOTE: As crazy as this sounds, I volunteered to go to Vietnam when I didn’t have to go (they weren’t sending reservists to Vietnam). Also, I went as an NCO, not as an Officer, though I had a BA, an MA, and a Calif. Secondary Teaching Credential. Why?ANSWER: I went to Vietnam because I had to prove to myself that I could do what my Marine Raider NCO Dad had done in the Pacific in WW2, and again as a 1st/Sgt in the 1st Marine Division at the Chosin Battle in Korea. He had 3 Purple Hearts and a Locker Box of awards. He tried everything, short of locking me in a jail cell, to keep me from going to Vietnam.I went to Vietnam as an NCO because Officers didn’t go on Force Recon missions. They remained behind doing planning and evaluation. I don’t think this policy has changed today.WHAT DID I LEARN? I had friends in Vietnam, but we weren’t playing games like we did as kids. Most important, I learned that Vietnam wasn’t our war. It was a Civil War, and we should have let them have their Civil War. To paraphrase US Army General Omar Bradley, “THE VIETNAM WAR WAS THE WRONG WAR FOR AMERICA, WITH THE WRONG ENEMY, AT THE WRONG TIME IN HISTORY, AND IN THE WRONG PLACE.”Most of all, I learned that despite what we did to them, and to their county, the Vietnamese people like us, regardless of which side of the 17th parallel they are from! They like America! And they like Americans! Furthermore, some of my best students were Vietnamese! And, as well, some of my best students were Persians! But that’s another story!My barber is a Vietnamese refuge who is the widow of a North Vietnamese soldier who was was killed during the TET offensive. I don’t know all the details, but she emigrated to San Diego in January, 1969 with their 2 year old son. She was also 6 months pregnant. Both sons graduated from University of Calif., San Diego. The older son is a heart surgeon in San Diego, and her younger son is a defense lawyer in a major law firm in San Francisco. Also, she owns the Barber Shop, but is now retired. My hair cutter is her older son’s son. He cuts hair by appointment because he’s a full time grad student at UCSD.Semper Fi,JE-PhD—Political ScienceOld Corps, New Corps, Same Corps

I was a brand new SSG stationed in Korea after recruiting duty. When I reported to my platoon, I met my platoon Sgt. He was a lot older as he had came in as a young man, and got out, only to come in again later in life. First thing he said was where you coming from. I said recruiting duty, he looked at me and said with out smiling, “I hate recruiters because of all the messed up kids you send me when I was a drill sergeant”. I looked for smile but didn't see one. I then asked when were u a DS? He said 6 years ago. I said well I am sorry about that but I was not on recruiting then. He said doesn't matter saying we we're same.He was a piece of work, complaining about everything. He had a profile so he didn't do PT all he did was smoke and drink coffee. He was a relic of a by-gone era. He also NEVER signed for any range. But I degriss!He was also one that would show up right before the Battalion Commander would show up and lead him through the inspection as if he had done everything himself in the motor pool. I saw this out first Saturday right I arrived.One thing that did make smile about when he met me was, he said, oh I see you have a EIB( Expert Infantryman's Badge) . You will need to set up the EIB road march (12mile) our platoon has been tasked with. He was going to have to do it. I said Roger that. I said when, he said in 3 days.So a totally brand soldier to Korea/unit had to set it up. I was okay, set it up in one day. I even walked it too. A couple of days days later, the Battalion Commander/ Command Sergeants Major was going to certify the course. Well the day came and at 8:00 I drove the course again. At mile 7 or 8 my driver and I saw a while powder on the road a head of us. I don't know why but I told the driver to stop. As I got closer my eyes started burning. It seems the Rock soldiers had been doing some CS gas training.I turned around and was going to get a detail with some soldiers, and we were going to get that powder off the road. I was going to get the protective mask and we were going to get a wet weather suits with over shoes and Rubber gloves. As far as I can tell it was it was was only in that area. I figured it would be be a couple of hours. I would tell the colonel and reschedule for later in the day.As I got back to the start point, my PSG was getting into the colonal's Humvee. It had no doors. The Command Sergeant Major couldn't make it so it was going to be just the colonel and my platoon Sgt. I started to say something but he looked at me smiling, as he was telling the colonel how hard he worked on setting up the road March. So I just smiled back.it was one of the best days of my life when he came back covered with CS powder. I felt sorry for the driver, I really did, but other than that it was awesome.Also the colonel was chewing his ass about not checking the site that morning.All in all it was a good day!It didn't change much as he was still totally worthless, as he would show up in the motor pool 10 minutes prior to the Colonal's Saturday inspection. When he left 10 months later he tried to screw me on my NCOER or enlisted evaluation report. He didn't give a bad or good one. He gave me a middle-of-the-road one which is almost the same as a bad one, and he left it on his desk signed. My PAC NCO said that he would change the scores if I wanted to I told him no I would never do that. While it did hold up my promotion for a couple of years, I still made SFC E-7, 1SG E-8, and I made the list for promotion to Sergeant Major E-9. I had an approved retirement and DA said I had to get out. He didn't make the E-9. Just saying!