(This is the continuation of Part Six. Scroll down the page to find Part One.
This story has come up in conversation so often that I thought it needed to be recorded. Everything is true. The timeline, facts, and dialogue have not been altered. The names have been changed, mainly because I’m not sure of the statute of limitations for those still in the service.)
Joel and I assumed the position of attention, centered 6 inches in front of the MasterGuns desk. The door slammed behind us and Master Gunnery Sergeant Satterfield walked behind his desk. He swept a massive arm across his desk, sending sheafs of paper flying. A glass smashed against the concrete wall. Joel didn’t flinch. I probably did. Our eyes remained focused ahead, staring into infinity. The MasterGuns raised a finger, pointing at us, and when he started yelling, he was so loud that I felt the vibrations in my chest. I didn’t so much hear his words as feel them pounding into me. “YOU TWO F’N PIECES OF S--T HAVE EMBARRASED ME, EMBARASSED THE CORPS, AND MANAGED TO DEVALUE THE UNIFORM OF EVERY MARINE THROUGHOUT HISTORY…ALL IN ONE FREAK’IN NIGHT!!!” He stopped yelling and stared at us. The silence pounded at my ears. After an eternity of seconds, Master Gunnery Sergeant Satterfield pulled his desk chair out. The metal chair legs screeched on the tile. He sat down and put his chin in his hand, staring down at the naked wood of his bare desk. The wall clock snapped out a count of the passing seconds. The big Marine continued to stare down. I saw that his shoulders were quaking in the silence. The MasterGuns was laughing. I risked a glance at Joel, who shrugged slightly while continuing to stare straight ahead.
“What am I supposed to do about this, gentlemen?” the MasterGuns asked in a conversational tone which terrified me far more than his yelling. Deciding that the question was rhetorical, Joel and I kept our mouths clamped shut. I realized that I really preferred the yelling. “I’m sitting here,” he continued, “minding my own business, and the phone rings. Like any polite professional, I pick up the phone and say ‘Good morning’…and that fat little doggie Top Sergeant starts yelling at me like he thinks I won’t throw his lard-stuffed ass off this mountain!” The MasterGuns was yelling, again. “Some Marine, he says, just stomped into his formation and snatched his guidon. ‘No way’ says I. No way one of MY MARINES would do something so unprofessional.” The MasterGuns looked up at us. “But, then the fat ass says, ‘ HIS NAME TAG SAID ‘BALBONI’!!!” The MasterGuns jumped up from the desk so fast the chair screeched backwards, collided with the concrete wall, bounced, tipped precariously over on two legs, wavered for a couple of seconds, and crashed over onto the floor.
I really didn’t prefer the yelling after all.
Around the desk came the MasterGuns, stopped in front of Joe and I with his finger raised to eye level. “Gentlemen,” he said, “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to march your stupid asses down to-…” There was a knock on the door.
“MasterGuns?” a voice said. “Can I have a moment?” It was the Major, our Commanding Officer, or C.O. (pronounced “See-Oh”)
The MasterGuns opened the door. In walked Major Taylor. Short, stocky, quiet, capable of running three miles in sixteen minutes flat; he had a standing offer for a free weekend to any Marine who could outrun him up the mountain. He had never been challenged on the offer. The Major glanced at Joel and me and then looked back at the MasterGuns. “We’ve got a problem, MasterGuns. I just got off the phone with the Base Commander, who chewed my butt out because some Marines apparently lost their minds and wen-“
“Sir, I know,” the MasterGuns interrupted. “The Army Top Sergeant called me and told me about these two idiots snatching his guidon. I was just sending them back down to Charlie Company to apologize and return the guidon.”
The Major turned and stared hard at us for a moment, and then turned back to the MasterGuns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Top, but I was coming in here to tell you that some of our young warriors apparently broke out of the barracks last night and painted the Army display tank Marine-Corps-Red.”
Once the C.O. left, MasterGuns Satterfield stood in silence and stared at Joel and me for a couple of minutes. “You gents had a busy night, didn’t you?” I thought about educating the Top that Joel had not actually participated in the tank paining, but the man didn’t seem particularly open to receiving new information at the moment. He leaned against his desk and crossed his massive arms. “You know, I should take some of the responsibility for this mess, myself. I am the one who smarted off standing in front of formation.” He looked me in the eyes. “Yeah, I remember saying that this stunt would impress me. I just didn’t think I had any Marines so lacking in brain power that they couldn’t separate an exaggerated example from a suggestion.” He shook his head. “No matter now. You pay your money; you take your chances, right?” We nodded.
A pair of boots echoed in the passageway. “Bates!” the MasterGuns called, “get in here.” Lance Corporal Bates, a close friend of mine, joined us in the office. “Stand over there,” MasterGuns ordered, and Bates stepped against the wall and assumed the position of parade rest. MasterGuns Satterfield turned his attention back to Joel and I. “Since I can’t trust the two of you jackasses together, I’m going to split you up and get this mess sorted out.” He leaned close to our faces. “And then we’ll figure out how to train you two idiots not to embarrass me.”
“Lance Corporal Stevens, return to your room until I send for you.”
“Yes, sir.” Pivoting on his heel, Joel exited towards his barracks room.
“Balboni, take Lance Corporal Bates and return Charlie Company’s guidon. Explain the situation to Mr. Bates on the way and make good and damn sure you don’t so much as spittle when you apologize to that fat, doggy top sergeant. Report back to me when you’re done and we’ll get started on your ‘remediation’.” He smiled. Things did not look promising for my immediate future. In my head, I hoped the end result would be worth the pain. On the other hand, I could assure myself that I would be stronger in the coming weeks. The MasterGuns was certain to give me plenty of exercise.
I escaped from Master Gunnery Sergeant Satterfield’s office with the guidon in my arms and Lance Corporal Bates in tow. “What the hell did you guys do?” he asked as we exited the barracked and turned down the hillside towards the Army barracks. I gave Bates a quick run down on the situation.
“That’s awesome!” Bates exclaimed at the end of my tale. “Why didn’t you take me with you?” For the first time, but not the last, it occurred to me that Brian Bates wasn’t the best choice of Marines to keep me on the straight and level path of righteousness. However, ours was a simple mission. Return the guidon to Charlie Company’s Top Sergeant and apologize. Five minutes and we would be back in the barracks.
The story should have ended this way. Joel and I would have been celebrities had the story ended this way. But it didn’t. In another hour, Joel, Brian, and I would be famous. Marines would recognize me by name years later; and no punishment could be harsh enough to kill the story that was about to be born.
This story has come up in conversation so often that I thought it needed to be recorded. Everything is true. The timeline, facts, and dialogue have not been altered. The names have been changed, mainly because I’m not sure of the statute of limitations for those still in the service.)
Joel and I assumed the position of attention, centered 6 inches in front of the MasterGuns desk. The door slammed behind us and Master Gunnery Sergeant Satterfield walked behind his desk. He swept a massive arm across his desk, sending sheafs of paper flying. A glass smashed against the concrete wall. Joel didn’t flinch. I probably did. Our eyes remained focused ahead, staring into infinity. The MasterGuns raised a finger, pointing at us, and when he started yelling, he was so loud that I felt the vibrations in my chest. I didn’t so much hear his words as feel them pounding into me. “YOU TWO F’N PIECES OF S--T HAVE EMBARRASED ME, EMBARASSED THE CORPS, AND MANAGED TO DEVALUE THE UNIFORM OF EVERY MARINE THROUGHOUT HISTORY…ALL IN ONE FREAK’IN NIGHT!!!” He stopped yelling and stared at us. The silence pounded at my ears. After an eternity of seconds, Master Gunnery Sergeant Satterfield pulled his desk chair out. The metal chair legs screeched on the tile. He sat down and put his chin in his hand, staring down at the naked wood of his bare desk. The wall clock snapped out a count of the passing seconds. The big Marine continued to stare down. I saw that his shoulders were quaking in the silence. The MasterGuns was laughing. I risked a glance at Joel, who shrugged slightly while continuing to stare straight ahead.
“What am I supposed to do about this, gentlemen?” the MasterGuns asked in a conversational tone which terrified me far more than his yelling. Deciding that the question was rhetorical, Joel and I kept our mouths clamped shut. I realized that I really preferred the yelling. “I’m sitting here,” he continued, “minding my own business, and the phone rings. Like any polite professional, I pick up the phone and say ‘Good morning’…and that fat little doggie Top Sergeant starts yelling at me like he thinks I won’t throw his lard-stuffed ass off this mountain!” The MasterGuns was yelling, again. “Some Marine, he says, just stomped into his formation and snatched his guidon. ‘No way’ says I. No way one of MY MARINES would do something so unprofessional.” The MasterGuns looked up at us. “But, then the fat ass says, ‘ HIS NAME TAG SAID ‘BALBONI’!!!” The MasterGuns jumped up from the desk so fast the chair screeched backwards, collided with the concrete wall, bounced, tipped precariously over on two legs, wavered for a couple of seconds, and crashed over onto the floor.
I really didn’t prefer the yelling after all.
Around the desk came the MasterGuns, stopped in front of Joe and I with his finger raised to eye level. “Gentlemen,” he said, “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to march your stupid asses down to-…” There was a knock on the door.
“MasterGuns?” a voice said. “Can I have a moment?” It was the Major, our Commanding Officer, or C.O. (pronounced “See-Oh”)
The MasterGuns opened the door. In walked Major Taylor. Short, stocky, quiet, capable of running three miles in sixteen minutes flat; he had a standing offer for a free weekend to any Marine who could outrun him up the mountain. He had never been challenged on the offer. The Major glanced at Joel and me and then looked back at the MasterGuns. “We’ve got a problem, MasterGuns. I just got off the phone with the Base Commander, who chewed my butt out because some Marines apparently lost their minds and wen-“
“Sir, I know,” the MasterGuns interrupted. “The Army Top Sergeant called me and told me about these two idiots snatching his guidon. I was just sending them back down to Charlie Company to apologize and return the guidon.”
The Major turned and stared hard at us for a moment, and then turned back to the MasterGuns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Top, but I was coming in here to tell you that some of our young warriors apparently broke out of the barracks last night and painted the Army display tank Marine-Corps-Red.”
Once the C.O. left, MasterGuns Satterfield stood in silence and stared at Joel and me for a couple of minutes. “You gents had a busy night, didn’t you?” I thought about educating the Top that Joel had not actually participated in the tank paining, but the man didn’t seem particularly open to receiving new information at the moment. He leaned against his desk and crossed his massive arms. “You know, I should take some of the responsibility for this mess, myself. I am the one who smarted off standing in front of formation.” He looked me in the eyes. “Yeah, I remember saying that this stunt would impress me. I just didn’t think I had any Marines so lacking in brain power that they couldn’t separate an exaggerated example from a suggestion.” He shook his head. “No matter now. You pay your money; you take your chances, right?” We nodded.
A pair of boots echoed in the passageway. “Bates!” the MasterGuns called, “get in here.” Lance Corporal Bates, a close friend of mine, joined us in the office. “Stand over there,” MasterGuns ordered, and Bates stepped against the wall and assumed the position of parade rest. MasterGuns Satterfield turned his attention back to Joel and I. “Since I can’t trust the two of you jackasses together, I’m going to split you up and get this mess sorted out.” He leaned close to our faces. “And then we’ll figure out how to train you two idiots not to embarrass me.”
“Lance Corporal Stevens, return to your room until I send for you.”
“Yes, sir.” Pivoting on his heel, Joel exited towards his barracks room.
“Balboni, take Lance Corporal Bates and return Charlie Company’s guidon. Explain the situation to Mr. Bates on the way and make good and damn sure you don’t so much as spittle when you apologize to that fat, doggy top sergeant. Report back to me when you’re done and we’ll get started on your ‘remediation’.” He smiled. Things did not look promising for my immediate future. In my head, I hoped the end result would be worth the pain. On the other hand, I could assure myself that I would be stronger in the coming weeks. The MasterGuns was certain to give me plenty of exercise.
I escaped from Master Gunnery Sergeant Satterfield’s office with the guidon in my arms and Lance Corporal Bates in tow. “What the hell did you guys do?” he asked as we exited the barracked and turned down the hillside towards the Army barracks. I gave Bates a quick run down on the situation.
“That’s awesome!” Bates exclaimed at the end of my tale. “Why didn’t you take me with you?” For the first time, but not the last, it occurred to me that Brian Bates wasn’t the best choice of Marines to keep me on the straight and level path of righteousness. However, ours was a simple mission. Return the guidon to Charlie Company’s Top Sergeant and apologize. Five minutes and we would be back in the barracks.
The story should have ended this way. Joel and I would have been celebrities had the story ended this way. But it didn’t. In another hour, Joel, Brian, and I would be famous. Marines would recognize me by name years later; and no punishment could be harsh enough to kill the story that was about to be born.
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