The “Root” has a short but inglorious history. It all started in September 1976 on a small, cold hilltop in Norway.... MACS-5 provided a detachment to support MACS-6 during NATO exercises. A gap filler team - a TPS-22, Op Hut, etc. - was embarked and the adventure began. From the get go, things did not run smooth. After off loading the ship and staging our gear for helo-lift to the remote site, forklifts were reassigned and our gear missed designated lifts. Helo-lifts were reassigned to other areas, and our five-man advance party (to put up tents) spent the first night on the hill in 50-cube boxes. The GP tent and sleeping bags ended up on the wrong hill, and four 50-cube boxes of batreries showed up instead. When we finally got all of the fgear and all of the people on the hill, we found that our Norwegian heaters used wood only, and there were no trees nearby. Our rations were to be “C’s” for breakfast and supper, with a hot lunch flowin in at lunch time. The first day it was, but we weren’t provided with mess kits/trays or utensils. We complained, and after that fresh chow was flown in- potatoes, eggs, meat, etc. - with no ovens, ranges, pots, etc. We improvised. Our generators consumed about 300 gallons of fuel per day, we were in receipt of two 250-gallon bladders every other day. (This was delivered to a LZ 300 yards away from the generator site, which was also 70 yards downhill, with no MHE!) We had “selective” equipment failures every evening so we could shut down equipment and save fuel. Our Op Hut suffered a major failure, and one was sent up from MACS-6. There was no room on the hill for it, so it was set up as close as possible on the side of the hill. We had to dig into the side of the hill with “E” tools and shovel from a jeep to get shelter close enough for the cables to reach, and level enough to sit in. That’s background. Now for the “Root” itself. Since the Norwegian tent heaters required wooe, the Prau Mag made arrangements to helo lift a few cords of wood in every now and then. But we went through it too fast for deliveries to keep up. We took to scavenging through the scrub pine that started about two miles from our site to augment our cord of wood deliveries. Every day working parties were dispatched to bring back dry wood - as much as could be hauled. Footing was treacherous and walking sticks were needed to keep from twisting an ankle. I made a nice walking stick out of a fine root. It took about a week of steady whittling to rough shape the darn thing. By the time it was ready, our back load had started. Things were running smooth for a change and all of the gear was flown off of the hill by around 1330. We kept half our folks to police the area, and prepare for pickup by CH-53 around 1500 (sunset wast at 1550). At 1400, it started to snow & blow and the cloud cover dropped to below our LZ. For an hour and a half, we kept up dialogue with the helo’s who kept checking for a break to come in and pick us up - but no luck. OUr OIC saw me with my walking stick and said that if I were Moses I could part the clouds. I said “I’m a Marine Gunnery Sergeant and could do just as well!” I raised the stick to the sky, invoked Odin (we were in Norway remember), and called for the clouds to part, yelling, “ZOT!” When they did a few minutes later, I ruined a perfectly good pair of skivvies. The CH-53 landed, we boarded, and then the Crew Chief announced the AC had a low level light come on, oil chip detector lights, and an over-boost indicator on one engine. He said we may not be able to lift off, and if we did, we may have to set down in the drink before reaching the ship. Flushed with my earlier success, I raised my walking stick, again invoked Odin and yelled, “ZOT!” (The Crew Chief thought I was crazy). The low fuel & chip detector lights went out, and the pilot lifted off and headed for the ship. As soon as we touched down, both lights came back on and one engine quit for fuel starvation, but we made it. Going through customs we couldn’t bring any agricultural products in, so the walking stick was out. Not wanting to lose my “Zotter” I broke off the head and carried it under my shirt through customs. Upon return to the squadron, I mounted it and passed it on to the next SNCO with unit longevity when I left, in hope that when needed, the “Zotter” would be there once more and come through for the squadron once again. It was renamed the “Root” since no one knew what the heck a “Zotter” was, and besides the “Root” sounds more risque than “Zotter.” Note from Pirate: When I found the framed Root story in the CMCC vault behind a file cabinet I’d moved to check for missing documents, I also found a piece of wood, a stick that resembles The Root in the photo above. The plaque with brass nameplates was gone. At the time, I was a Gunnery Sergeant with unit longevity - the Root found me, I didn’t find it. No one presented it to me, it presented itself. When I retired I brought it home with me because I figured some dumb ass would shitcan it. Then, after meeting the Master Gunz through Milspeak, we were corresponding via email and I brought up The Root. He FREAKED! He was so happy to know where it is, and he told me he typed and framed the story, that he was the original Rootmaster. It was the Master Gunz’ wish that the framed write-up and Root in my possession be passed to the MACS in Afghanistan. So if you are the senior SNCO of the det there, get off your fucking ass and send me an email so I can mail The ROOT to you: postmaster@milspeak.org. Meanwhile, I’ll keep praying for ya’ all and keep this thing until you take it off my hands. Pirate, Out Flag Presenter at Master Gunz’ Going Away Ceremony photo courtesy Yvette Clifford Weapons Detail at Master Gunz Going Away photo courtesy Yvette Clifford All_Things_Sied.html