by C. X. Moreau
“And your orders as far as engaging the locals?”
“I was instructed to obey and adhere to the Rules of Engagement at all times during the operation and not to draw attention to my unit or operations, sir.”
“And do you feel you accomplished that task, Sergeant?” asked Simmons.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Very good, Sergeant Griffin,” said Simmons. “Now I would like to move on a bit. When you arrived at the position, at what point did you become aware that one of the vehicles was down due to mechanical failure?”
Griffin paused, trying to remember at what point Slocum had told him of the down six-by. “Maybe fifteen minutes after we were in the area, sir. Approximately.”
“And who informed you of this?”
“Sergeant Slocum did, sir. As the senior NCO present and the effective six, sir.”
“And did you personally inspect the down vehicle, Sergeant?”
“No, sir. I did not,” answered Griffin.
“Why not, Sergeant? Didn’t it occur to you to at least have a look at it?”
“It probably did, sir. But at the time I had just arrived with my squad and my primary concern was with the integrity of the defensive perimeter and the overall defensibility of the position. A down vehicle is secondary under those considerations, sir.”
Simmons hesitated, Griffin’s tone was respectful if a bit angry. He understood that the big sergeant had just been doing his job, but his own job was to determine exactly what had taken place on that hill. The Old Man was breathing down his neck over the whole incident and Slocum’s refusal to answer questions wasn’t going to make things any easier when he gave his daily report in the colonel’s quarters. “That’s correct, Sergeant Griffin,” he said, regretting it as soon as he said it. Griffin was known as probably the best sergeant in the battalion. The last thing he wanted to do here was appear to be condescending toward him on a tactical matter. For a moment he silently wished that Griffin had elected to keep his mouth shut like Slocum. Maybe then the whole thing would just die on the vine. He might even get a night’s rest without tossing until three in the morning wondering if he were doing the right thing or just playing a patsy to the Alpha Company first sergeant. “Let’s continue, Sergeant. At what point were you approached by the local militia leader? Assuming that’s what he was.”
“Sometime that morning, sir. I’m not exactly sure when, fairly early.”
“I see,” said Simmons as the other members of the board leaned forward intent on the next series of questions. “And what took place between you and that militia leader?”
“He ordered us off of his hill, sir. He said something about it belonging to the people of Lebanon and the Marines being imperialist. And that he was here to get us off the hill even if he had to kill all of us.”
“And what was your response, Sergeant Griffin?”
Griffin looked at the young captain as he thought what his answer should be. After only a moment’s hesitation he decided that it just didn’t matter any longer, it was finished. He was sick and tired of the game and he wanted no part of it. He wanted to be done with it and on with the court-martial if that was what they had in mind. “I told him to fuck off, sir.”
Simmons looked again at the young sergeant. He resisted the urge to warn Griffin against showing a lack of respect, fearing the man would just get angry and refuse to answer any further questions. He paused for a few moments struggling to think of his next question, searching for the words that would elicit the answer he wanted. Finally he looked at Griffin and asked, “Sergeant Griffin, why don’t you just tell the board what happened and why. Maybe that will save us all a lot of time and effort.”
Griffin drew a deep breath and began, “Sir, the Arab came up the road to our position and demanded that we get off the hill. He stated that we were violating Lebanese law or some other thing like that. When I said we wouldn’t leave he got smart with me and started sayin’ a bunch of crap about how he would knock us off the hill. I refused to abandon my position and told him to get the hell off my hill, sir.”
“Is that when you hit him, Sergeant?” asked Lieutenant Walters.
Griffin cast a wary glance at the lieutenant and said, “No, sir. I hit him when he spit on me and said he spit on the Marine Corps and everything it stood for. Including our colors that were flying from the roof of the building at the time.” Griffin looked at the members of the board who seemed somewhat surprised at this latest revelation. Before continuing he looked directly at Captain Roberts again and said, “I hit him, sir. A few times I guess. And I disarmed him and his friend. I took their weapons and told them to get the hell off my hill and that the Marine Corps would be there as long as they wanted the damn hill. Nobody but me struck him, sir. I don’t know if he was a Lebanese officer or what, but I was the one who hit him, and nobody else.” Griffin paused and looked again at the officers on the board. None of them seemed the least bit sympathetic toward him or Slocum. He wondered in silence if they had anything in mind other than his court-martial. After a few moments’ hesitation he continued, “If you’re looking for somebody to punish for striking an officer, or anything else that happened up there, then I am the NCO responsible. I was in charge from the moment I arrived at the position and everything that was done was done with my approval or at my direction, sir. Sergeant Slocum modified the defensive positions at my orders and his squad was under my command during the fighting.”
Roberts held up a hand to stop Griffin and said, “Sergeant Griffin, the express purpose of this board is not to find someone responsible in order to court-martial that individual. As you and the others have been told we are trying to establish exactly what happened that day and why. We are particularly interested in why fighting took place and who initiated it, but we don’t have any preconceived notion that you or any other Marine in this battalion is at fault or guilty of a violation of the Rules of Engagement. Am I making myself clear, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Griffin dutifully.
“Good. Then maybe we can proceed. Captain Simmons,” said Roberts, nodding toward the other officer.
“Very well, Sergeant. So you struck this Lebanese individual. With your fists I presume?”
Griffin nodded, “Yes, sir. With my fists.”
“How many times, Sergeant? And to what effect?”
“Maybe four or five times, sir. And I knocked him down. After he went down I removed his weapons and the weapons of the other individual. I didn’t hit the other guy, sir. He just surrendered his weapon without a fight,” said Griffin, the contempt evident in his voice.
“Did you hit either individual with anything other than your fists?”
“No, sir.”
“Why exactly did you feel compelled to strike the first individual, Sergeant Griffin? I’m still not completely clear on that issue,” said Simmons.
Griffin sat for a moment, stunned that the captain was dwelling on this point, then asked, “Sir?”
“Why did you hit this individual, Sergeant? The question is plain enough, I believe.”
Griffin looked at Roberts as if expecting an explanation. When Roberts again looked away he returned to face Captain Simmons and answered, “I hit him, sir, because he was in front of my squad, in a position to scout out our defenses, and he made a threat to me and to my Marines. And because he insulted the Marine Corps, sir.”
“And then you proceeded to disarm him and the other man with him? Without any further provocation?”
Griffin looked at the captain and struggled to control his anger. He must be an idiot, thought Griffin, as he dutifully answered, “Yes, sir.”
“This may all seem a bit inane to you, Sergeant, but I feel it is my duty to remind you that we are in a foreign country. We are not at war with its government, nor with any of the factions that face our lines or positions. And we have very specific rules defining the limits of our mission and authority while here. Am I making this clear for you, Sergeant Griffin?�
� asked Simmons.
“Yes, sir,” answered Griffin. “But with all due respect, sir. My first duty is to ensure the safety of my Marines and the completion of the mission. Any actions I took that day, or any other day, sir, were to complete the mission as I understood it.”
Simmons nodded, then continued, “Why don’t you explain to us how a firefight was initiated that day?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Griffin, not quite sure how he was going to proceed. He hesitated then continued, “A little after twenty-one-hundred Corporal Downs reported movement coming up the access road past his position. I had his fireteam at the rear of the building where they were in a position to see whatever came up that road. About twenty minutes after he reported movement we came under small arms fire. Initially the enemy force engaged the little gatehouse just in front of our position with small arms. Some spillover fire went through our position.”
“Did any of your Marines return fire at that point, Sergeant?” asked Simmons.
“No, sir,” said Griffin. “I had ordered them not to fire in the event of an attack unless I specifically ordered them to fire, or they felt they had to fire to defend themselves or our position.” The captain nodded and Griffin continued, “Anyway, sir, they figured out that nobody was posted in the gatehouse and hit the front gate with small arms a few minutes after their attack started. We didn’t return fire at that point until I was positive that they were trying to breach the gate itself.”
“How did you determine that they were attempting to breach the gate, Sergeant?”
“I had rigged illumination flares in the area earlier that day and when we heard that gate rattling and our wire rattling we knew they had to be close. I ordered the illumination fired. Several of them were caught in the open and we took them under fire at that point, sir.”
“Very well, Sergeant. Was that the first outgoing fire from your position?”
“Yes, sir. To the best of my knowledge.”
“I see. You may proceed, Sergeant Griffin.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Griffin. “We took a series of rounds from small arms and an RPG. All fired from the area of the gate and gatehouse. We returned fire and continued to illuminate the area and bring under fire any targets we could identify. We continued to press the attack without abandoning our defensive positions and inflicted casualties on the attacking force. We did not sustain any casualties and the enemy broke off and attempted to retreat down the hill along his route of advance. At that point Corporal Downs’s fireteam brought them under fire on my orders.”
“Were they retreating at that point, Sergeant Griffin?”
“They were falling back, sir. Off my position.”
“If they were no longer aggressively attacking your position then why did you order Corporal Downs to fire on them? It seems to me this is a clear violation of the Rules of Engagement and disobedience of a direct order.” Simmons stared at Griffin, waiting for his answer.
“I was holding an isolated position with only a reinforced squad, sir. I had just been attacked in force by an enemy unit of unknown size and capabilities, and I had a fireteam in position to inflict casualties on them as they withdrew. I took the opportunity to do just that, sir. With all due respect, sir, I was in no position to worry about hurting the feelings of the Lebanese government or anybody else. They had clearly made an attempt to overrun my position. For all I knew they were falling back to reorganize or bring up heavy weapons. In that position, sir, I did what I judged to be the tactically correct thing.”
“Very well, Sergeant Griffin. Did you at any time radio the battalion and ask for permission to engage enemy targets?”
“No, sir. I did not,” answered Griffin grimly, his face set in a mask of anger.
“Any reason why you didn’t do that, Sergeant Griffin? It would appear from your own explanation of events that you had sufficient time to do so.”
“I saw no reason to ask for permission to engage enemy targets, sir. They initiated the fire. We returned it according to the Rules of Engagement. My radioman made a contact report to battalion when comm was working and we requested supporting arms. Battalion had the required information in a timely fashion, sir. I am not required to get the CO’s permission to return fire in defense of my position. Contact was inevitable, sir.”
“I see,” said Simmons. He knew from the testimony of others and the battalion’s unit diary that Griffin had indeed made his contact report as required. He also knew that, due to the relatively low ground where the battalion CP was located, radio contact was frequently lost with units distant from the headquarters. Still, he was bothered by the apparent orchestration of the day’s events. It had all been too neat, it somehow seemed to have been prepackaged by the Marines involved. Almost as if they had gone out looking for a fight and found one with the neighborhood toughs.
He wasn’t ready to accept the first sergeant’s explanation that Griffin was a renegade NCO who was just looking for an excuse to fire up the locals. He knew Griffin’s reputation, and he had asked the Alpha company commander about him. All the reports had been favorable. He had looked at Griffin’s personnel record and it too had been impressive. He had received meritorious promotion to corporal and sergeant, as well as letters of commendation and consistently high ratings for proficiency and conduct. He had been in the expected scrapes with the civilian police at Lejeune, and another fight on base that had resulted in an article fifteen, but nothing particularly detrimental.
Griffin was the sort of sergeant that any platoon commander was grateful to have in his unit. He was confident, capable, and aggressive. He had an impressive military appearance and Simmons liked the way he answered the board’s questions. His own company commander had praised him as a dependable, hard-charging NCO.
Still, something was nagging at him. Slocum’s failure to answer the board’s questions was an issue, but Griffin didn’t appear intimidated by the board. If he was guilty of some planned disobedience of orders then he certainly wasn’t showing it.
Simmons decided that the real issue would be whether or not Griffin or Slocum, or both of them, had orchestrated the attack on the hill. Even that seemed to be reaching. After all, how could they bait the locals into making an attack? Possibly by Griffin beating the militia leader with his fists, but even that was making the assumption that the man he had struck was the militia leader. And the Lebanese, or whoever he was, had come up to their position and ordered them off the hill. No one could expect an NCO like Griffin to abandon his position under those conditions.
He began again, “Sergeant Griffin, I would like to move on now, to the morning after the firefight. What I would like to know is what type of resistance you encountered as you moved your men off the hill and back to the battalion. Just give it to us in your own words if you will, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” said Griffin. “We came off the hill at approximately oh-eight-hundred on the orders of the battalion operations officer. We didn’t encounter any resistance, sir. I did order the point fireteam leader to detonate a series of claymores as they egressed the position in order to clear any ambushes that might have been set on the withdrawal route.”
“Very good, Sergeant. I am aware from previous statements given to this board by members of your squad and the dragon squad that you and Corporal Downs and the corpsman attached to your squad located one individual near the gate who was wounded, presumably in the attack the night before. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. That’s correct,” answered Griffin.
“And it is also my understanding that you and the corpsman administered first aid to this man. Is that correct?”
“I administered the morphine, sir,” said Griffin, anticipating the next question. “Not the Doc. And I ordered him back to the squad position while it was done.” Griffin swallowed hard and told himself to look Simmons in the eye. The hard questions were coming, he knew.
Simmons cocked an eyebrow at Griffin and asked, “You administered the morphine, Sergea
nt Griffin? Personally?”
“Yes, sir. I did,” came the reply.
“Why you, Sergeant Griffin? Was there some reason the corpsman attached to your squad couldn’t do it?”
“No, sir. I ordered the corpsman forward to check out the wounded man and give me a report on his condition. Only the point fireteam was in front of us and I ordered the Doc back to the compound because I didn’t want to expose him unnecessarily to an enemy ambush. He was the only corpsman on the hill and I didn’t want to risk losing him to treat an enemy soldier, sir.”
“I see,” said Simmons. “What was the corpsman’s evaluation of the wounded man?”
“That he was past help, sir. He had multiple wounds from shrapnel to his abdomen. His intestines were literally spilling out of his uniform. The corpsman treated him and administered one stick of morphine to ease the pain. The Doc advised me at that time that moving the man, even to medevac him, would probably kill him due to hemorrhage.”
“Did you attempt to call for a medevac bird, Sergeant Griffin?”
“No, sir. I did not,” said Griffin as the members of the board noted his answer.
“Exactly what action did you take at that point, Sergeant?” asked Simmons.
Griffin knew that Simmons had him. If he refused to answer the question they would simply ask the Doc what had transpired at that point. Griffin assumed that they already had, and that the point of the current line of questions was simply to formalize his own admission. He stared at Captain Simmons and said flatly, “I determined the amount of morphine necessary to put the guy out of his misery, sir. I ordered the Doc to leave me a couple of sticks of it and clear the area. I then asked the wounded guy if he wanted it and he signaled that he understood it was enough to kill him. After that, sir, I administered the stuff to him myself.”
A murmur of voices rose behind Griffin as the Marines in the room talked among themselves about this latest revelation. Griffin had practically admitted to murder. No matter how humane his reasoning, the officers would see it from another perspective. All the Marines stood in silence as the officers hurriedly conferred among themselves.