<PERSON> has a bad moment in the turret
<PERSON> and I are in the M113. We're out in the back forty of Fort Riley (Kansas), getting ready for the leader's rehearsal of an upcoming exercise. It's a hot and muggy August afternoon, and we're both fucking sweaty and miserable in our nomex pickle suits.
SGT <PERSON> is up in the cupola, checking for soft spots in the armor or whatever. I'm down in the troop compartment, futzing with the radios and listening in on the command net. That is to say, we're both OFO.
I hear SGT <PERSON> drop an expletive from up above: "Shit!"
Me: Everything okay up there?
SGT <PERSON>: Okay enough, sir.
Less than a minute later he's clambering down to the inside and asking me how long we have to LD.
Me: Last update has it about 45 minutes out, why?
<PERSON>: Perfect, I'll be back in a few.
I'm distracted by a radio call so don't give him a second thought as he heads out into the woods. He's back about 15 minutes later and I hit him up.
Me: Everything alright?
SGT <PERSON>: Yeah . 406
. . so, do you remember when I was up in the cupola and I said "Shit"?
Me: Sure, it was only a few minutes ago and my memory's not that bad.
SGT <PERSON>: Well, I said it because I did it. Thought I had to fart, but . . .
Me: So did you get all squared away out there?
SGT <PERSON>: Yep. Fortunately I had another coverall - but cleanup would've been a lot easier if I hadn't been commando today. 406