“Are you sure this is where we are supposed to report? Could there be a mistake by any chance?” I asked with obvious unease.
“What’s wrong, Gunny?” Corporal Ramirez asked as I gave him the map.
“Talk about dumb luck,” Corporal Ramirez sighed. Our assignment: Military Police, Security Company, Provost Marshal Office. To make matters even worse, as we proceeded to the parking lot, I saw a Military Policeman writing me a ticket and placing it on my windshield.
“Hey Corporal, that’s my car. What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you a ticket, what does it look like I am doing?” the MP said arrogantly with his clipboard in his right hand.
“This is Staff NCO parking, so what is the problem?” I asked.
“The problem is simple…you are not Master Sergeant Wilkins and this is his reserved spot.”
“Hey Corporal, the Gunny and I are stationed at the Stumps, we didn’t know. Can you give us a break?” asked Corporal Ramirez.
“If I were you Corporal, I’d keep my mouth shut. This doesn’t concern you,” the MP responded.
“Wait a minute Corporal, just because you have a badge, doesn’t mean you can talk to anyone anyway you want…Corporal…Warren,” I said, as I was aware of the escalating tones in our voices.
“You know Gunnery Sergeant…you are confusing your rank with my authority. The fact still remains you are at fault, not me, and my superiors will back me. Now move your car!”
As the MP drove off in his police car, I snatched the ticket from my windshield fit to be tied. Ramirez and I got in the car and we both slouched in our seats.
“Can it get any worse Gunny T?”
“I’m going to be optimistic and say no.” I tried to be positive, but it just felt that there were forces at work here, forces greater than us. At that very moment, I doubted if this deployment was such a good idea, but it was too late to turn back. I regained my composure, took a deep breath and started the engine. We proceeded to base billeting to get our assigned rooms. Check-in was the following morning. For the rest of the afternoon all I was thinking was…Next stop… Military Police, Security Company, Provost Marshal Office.
Chapter 4: Semi-Permissive Garrison Environment
21 November 1992
The next morning Ramirez and I had breakfast at the McDonalds on base. I think we both extended breakfast as long as we could to delay checking into MP Headquarters. Since I got the parking ticket the day before, it was more likely that my vehicle would now be in the Camp Pendleton database. I began mentally bracing myself for a lovely chat with the Deputy Provost Marshal over why we did not salute his sixteen-year-old daughter. I looked at my watch and noticed that it was 0745, and check in began at 0800. Fortunately, the drive was less than five minutes away just opposite the fire station. Ramirez was particularly quiet, as I was. We both grabbed our gear and headed to the car.
As we pulled into the MP parking lot, I was careful not to park in reserved parking to avoid yet another confrontation with Corporal Warren. As I shut the engine off, I saw an old boot camp buddy heading in the building. I hadn’t seen Whitfield since we graduated in October 1979, platoon 2080. I couldn’t see his rank, so I just yelled out his name.
“Whitfield! Hey Whitfield!”
I quickly exited the car and called him again until he made an about face.
“Private Thompson, is that you?” Whitfield remarked in a friendly tone, removing his Ray Ban sunglasses.
“Private Thompson reporting as ordered SIR,” I said at the position of attention in my boot camp voice. I quickly introduced him to Corporal Ramirez and they shook hands.
“Glad to see you are still in the Corps, a lot of us punched out after the first enlistment. Whatever happened to Private Surcoff? He was the oldest dude in boot camp,” Whitfield asked.
“Wow, I guess you didn’t hear. He followed me to Marine Corps Air Station El Toro, right out of boot camp. Within a few months, he was dead, killed in a car accident. I found out in the base paper. They spelled his name wrong in the paper so I ran to his office where he worked hoping it was a mistake. It was him.”
“Damn! Surcoff was my bunkee…he always talked about becoming an officer. Shame!
“So what brings you here?” Whitfield asked.
“We are augmentees in support of the Somalia deployment,” Corporal Ramirez replied.
“Follow me, you will be working with Captain Shaffner, he’s the Detachment Commander.”
“What’s he like to work for?” I asked hesitantly as we walked into the building.
“He’s awesome to work for. He was enlisted, then he went Warrant Officer and now he is a Captain hoping to make Major on the next board. Great guy but he does not suffer fools gladly.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ramirez asked as he tried to keep up with our fast pace down the hall.
“Just bring your A-game. Especially if you are an augmentee. He is hard on augmentees.”
“Oh….great!” Ramirez sighed.
As we walked toward Captain Shaffner’s office at the end of the hall, I saw a picture of Corporal Warren on the wall. Apparently, he was MP of the Quarter. Corporal Ramirez stopped and looked at the mounted picture.
“Hey Gunny!”
“Yeah, I saw it too,” I responded.
“Do you know Corporal Warren?” Whitfield asked.
“Unfortunately, we do,” I lamented.
“He’s a superstar around here. He’s gonna make a fine Sergeant. He has issued more tickets over the last two quarters than anyone in the battalion,” Whitfield said somewhat proudly.
“Imagine that,” I said as rolled my eyes towards Ramirez.
I could see Captain Shaffner’s office on the left, and the office to the right…belonged to the Deputy Provost Marshal.
As we approached Captain Shaffner’s office, we noticed the door was shut. We knocked on the door but there was no response. I sighed with relief, but as we were knocking, the Deputy Provost Marshal strolled into his office.
“Morning, Major Anderson,” Whitfield said as he noticed the Major switching the lights on.
“Morning to you as well, Gunny Whitfield. By the way, I’m looking for a Gunny Thompson and a Corporal Ramirez. If you run across them, send them into my office.”
“You’re in luck sir, they are right here.”
“Send them in!” The Major responded as he sat behind his desk and put his glasses on.
Dang…I was a fool to think I could dodge this bullet. I looked at Ramirez and he was nervous for me. The fact that he knew our names was not a good sign. We slowly walked into his office…I had no idea what to expect, but I did not want to be shouted down in front of Ramirez.
“Sir, Gunnery Sergeant Thompson reporting as ordered.”
“Sir, Corporal Ramirez reporting as ordered.”
“At ease gentlemen. I got a call from Major Ennis, your Operations Officer. He told me that you would be reporting in today. He speaks highly of the both of you. I just wanted to personally welcome you to the team and if you have any concerns at all, I have an open door policy. Do you have any questions for me?” Major Anderson asked.
“No sir!” Ramirez and I respond in perfect synch.
“Great! You Marines have a great day. Captain Shaffner won’t be in today, so I am sure Gunny Whitfield can direct you to our admin to get your check-in sheet. Once again…welcome.”
Chapter 5: Fear Factor
21 November 1992
“Gunny Thompson, we weren’t expecting you until Monday. Captain Shaffner is the Detachment Commander and he is on leave,” the Admin Officer said as he collected our original orders.
“So what do we do until then?” asked Corporal Ramirez.
“Well Corporal, I can turn you over to the Company Gunny and you can support the base beatification program…or I can trust Gunny Thompson to keep you out of trouble until Monday…your choice.”
“I guess I will go with my Gunny in that case.”
/> As we headed for the car, Ramirez and I concluded this deployment might not be as bad as we initially thought. Aside from the encounter with Corporal Warren and the dependent daughter from Hades, everything was copasetic.
It was nice to have four days off and not be charged leave. I had close friends in Los Angeles and I could have easily spent a couple of days with them, but I had a responsibility. This responsibility soon became my sidekick, everywhere I would go, he was right there alongside. One of the reasons we got along so well was because I wanted to mentor him and he trusted me. In his mind, I had to call in a lot of favors to get him on this deployment. After all, he was a Corporal filling a Sergeant slot. I just made one phone call to the First Sergeant and the deal was sealed. I appreciated his respect and I wanted to do for him what Staff Sergeant Beck, Major Henslee and Captain Gundlach did for me…they gave me a chance to excel.
During the four days off, we never put on our uniform. We ate breakfast and lunch on the base and for dinner we ate at Black Angus near Vista. There was a shopping center in a neighboring town called the Carlsbad Mall. I think we spent the entire weekend going in and out of shops. On Sunday, we saw the movie A Few Good Men with Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson. We both thought the movie was great and thought Jack Nicholson brilliantly played a Marine Corps Colonel. I think Ramirez repeated “Gunny, You Can’t Handle the Truth,” at least five times before we got back to the barracks. I wasn’t worried about the truth; I was worried about something else.
The alarm clock went off at 0630. I had been up since 0300. It seemed so much was at stake. I wanted to set an example for Ramirez but as confident as I was…there was this tiny bit of doubt. The images that CNN broadcasted covering the plight of the Somalians were surreal. Babies dying in their mother’s arms from starvation, endemic rapes and kids with AK-47s. I knew this deployment would push me to the limit both mentally and physically. This was going to be uniquely different than anything I could have prepared for. Deep down, I had a fear that I never shared with anyone. A fear that could put me and others at risk in a combat situation. My greatest fear was that while in combat I would be responsible for the death of a woman or child.
In the mid-1980s, I was good friends with a mail courier named Kevin who worked in San Bernardino, about a couple of hours from Twentynine Palms. During one of his morning routes, he drove his mail truck through a red light and killed a woman in her early twenties and her five-year-old son in a car accident. The woman didn’t die of her injuries, she died of a fear-induced heart attack as the truck ran through the red light. Her son died on impact as the truck rammed the passenger side. Some speculated the heart attack was not predicated on fear of impact, but fear of surviving her own son. Kev told me that a piece of him died in that accident too. Although he suffered only minor injuries, he was placed on disability due to a severe nervous condition he developed. The trauma aged him physically and he had permanent dark circles under his eyes, probably from not sleeping. As long as I live, I will never forget some of the conversations we had after the accident.
“Clay, as bad as my nightmares are, and they are worse than you could ever imagine, it’s the daytime hallucinations that affect me most. Sometimes I see the boy at the foot of my bed when I awaken. Other times I see him as I step out of the shower. He is as real to me as I am to you.”
There must have been some transference of guilt on my part because from then on, it became an issue for me. I also knew a Vietnam vet who witnessed children being shot during his tour of duty in the late 1960s…some were hostiles and some were innocent. When I saw kids on TV with their AK-47s, I knew I could possibly face my worst nightmare. I became worried that I might not react like others who could instinctively justify pulling the trigger. After a campaign, conflict or war, you always hear about the acts of valor and courage. Then there are those stories of the “not so courageous.” Marines were balanced that way. Just as easily as you could be glorified, you could be demonized. I had a friend who went to Desert Storm who struggled to adjust and made poor decisions. He was marginalized and bullied by Marines junior to him. Upon his re-deployment back to Twentynine Palms he separated with eighteen years of service as a Gunnery Sergeant, forfeiting a lifetime of retirement. How does anyone know how he or she will respond in a fierce firefight where every second is a luxury? For me, the thought of putting a woman or child in the equation complicated the matter exponentially.
Chapter 6: Internal Affairs
26 November 1992
“Gunnery Sergeant Thompson reporting as ordered, sir!”
“Corporal Ramirez reporting as ordered, sir!”
“At ease, at ease,” Captain Shaffner responded as he sat behind his desk perusing our Service Record Books. His office was massive and the wall behind him was decorated with plaques and framed pictures of him shaking hands with dignitaries. Captain Shaffner had been in the Corps close to thirty years and was a Criminal Investigator Officer at his last command. He hailed from South Carolina and spoke with a deep Southern accent. He had a crew cut and wore bifocals. He had tattoos on his forearms that were so faded I couldn’t make out what they were.
“So what have you boys been up to for the last four days?”
“Not much sir, just getting familiar with the base,” I responded.
“Sounds like goofing off to me,” Captain Shaffner replied.
“On this deployment, there are no days off. You boys need to get your head in the game…and quick.”
Just as Captain Shaffner closed our record books, Corporal Warren poked his head in.
“Skipper, the staff meeting has been moved back to 1000 hours,” Corporal Warren said as he recognized Ramirez and me.
“I’ll be there, Corporal. And Corporal…I am still waiting for that CID (Criminal Investigator) application package you promised me,” Captain Shaffner responded with a smile.
“Skipper, you know I have to be a Sergeant before I can apply.”
“Well, you are my man for the next Meritorious Sergeant board, so you better study you tail off.”
“Roger that!” said Warren.
Before Corporal Warren walked in, I thought Captain Shaffner was soulless. He did have a heart, and I could see why the MPs respected him. But we were not MPs, we were augmentees.
“Corporal Ramirez, wait outside. I would like to speak with Gunnery Sergeant Thompson in private.”
“Aye aye sir,” said Ramirez as he excused himself and shut the door.
“In my Marine Corps, no one takes that much time off without a leave chit. You should know better than that, and don’t tell me the young lieutenant said it was okay either. I always have problems with augmentees because they lack discipline. No unit ever offers up their top performers. Commands always send us their shit birds. I had an augmentee last year who never even reported in. Instead, he got a full-time job at the local Sears collecting two paychecks. He got away with that for five months until his unit called us about some letters of indebtedness. I ended up taking the heat for that piece of scum.”
“Well Captain, I can assure you that Corporal Ramirez and I volunteered and we are not the bottom of the barrel. Corporal Ramirez is a fine NCO and no one can shoot a weapon as steady and accurate as he. He shoots “bull’s-eyes” from the 500 yard line.”
“So what, a lot of Marines do that,” Captain Shaffner countered back.
“Not standing in the off-hand position sir.”
“I will be honest with you…during this deployment you will be evaluated with your peers, but you will be marked lower.”
“Excuse me sir…If I perform on par with my peers there should be no bias.”
“And that’s just it. You will be marked with other Gunnery Sergeants who do this for a living and have been for many years. You will never be as competent or as tactically proficient. The same goes for your Corporal, his marks will be lower as well. That Corporal who was just in here, would mop the floor with Ramirez on MP matters.”
“Sir, isn’t there
a better way to evaluate augmentees? Like grade them against other augmentees. That way at least it would be a level playing field.”
“I don’t make the rules, and if you don’t like it, take it up with Headquarters Marine Corps.”
It’s good thing the Captain wasn’t a mind reader. If he was, he probably would have court martialed me on the spot. I wasn’t worried about myself so much as I was about Corporal Ramirez. I got him on this deployment and I felt obliged to look out for him. I hated it when he compared Corporal Warren to Corporal Ramirez. I took it personally. I needed to find a way to fix things, to level the playing field. My A-game wasn’t going to be enough, but no way was I going to lie down. Almost immediately, my brain went into overdrive searching for a solution. After racking my brain over most of the lunch hour, I experienced an epiphany. I now had a plan in mind…a brilliant one. I needed to get Ramirez on board.
Chapter 7: Perception Management
28 November 1992
We had just finished unit physical training and we ran just over three miles. I struggled to keep up with the younger Marines but the last thing I wanted was for the formation to have to circle back and pick me up. Corporal Warren sang cadence most of the run session. As much as I disliked him, I could see why his superiors were grooming him for increased responsibility and rank. He was what you would call a poster Marine. He was about six feet two inches, about two hundred pounds with almost no body fat. His military appearance was super squared away and he was clean-shaven. He sang Marine Corps cadence as if he had served multiple tours on the drill field. Either someone spent a lot of time mentoring him, or he was just one of those naturals that you see every now and then in your career.
After we were dismissed from PT, I gave Ramirez a ride back to the barracks. I thought I would discuss my plan with him and see what he thought.
“I am sure you know by now that once we left the Stumps we lost home field advantage. As unfair as it all seems, the deck is stacked against us.”