Three Beer Soldier

D Vautier
11/2006

In the service drinking became like a way of life for many of us.  I’m not sure if it’s still the same today with the new, improved, and up-to-date volunteer army, but in the 60’s it was definitely a way of life because most guys didn’t want to be where they were anyway, nor did they particularly care about anything to do with army life either.  So while on duty we did a lot of useless things like polish our helmets, endlessly repaint equipment and shine up screw drivers.  The rest of the time we drank… And we drank an awful lot.

I was never much of a drinker myself, more your typical “three beer soldier”.  But a lot of the guys felt isolated and trapped in this foreign land called Germany or “Rad-land” (short for the German word Komrad which means buddy), a strange place far from home where the women are beguiling and the komrads are allof.  The only real solace was in smokes and beer, smokes and beer, beer and smokes, a continuous cycle of smokes and beer.  These are the things that can take you back to America, the land of hamburgers, hot dogs, baseball, real door knobs, and smokes,  and beer.

German beer is truly something.  A bottle cost 1.8 marks which came to about 35 cents.  At that rate just about anybody can afford to get blasted from here till Sunday.  Not only that but the usual alcohol content is 8% to 10% which means that after your typical “three-beer soldier” is done he can barely stand up to find the bathroom.

I remember so well the first day in my permanent unit.  Unknown to me, it was a well-established tradition in our platoon to take any new “crut” (recruit) out and demonstrate first hand the powerful medicinal and cosmetic effects of good wholesome full-bodied well-aged German beer.  I was more than taken up in this newfound camaraderie, and for some reason everybody kept buying me another beer.  Only too late did I realize that I had been set up.  I was in a completely hopeless state of mind and body.  The world began to spin and I couldn’t seem to stop it.  I only remember staggering out of the guesthouse and seeing the ground come rushing up to meet me.  The next thing I remember was waking up in my rack (bed) with one super hangover.

I had passed my initiation OK, and had been duly accepted into the group as a full fledged and competent drinker and smoker.