by E. Clay
All of his buddies started snickering at him under their breath, and now he was the butt of the joke.
“Crocket, I was just on my way to the Chapel. Where are you headed?”
“Do you mind if I tag along? I’m new here and I don’t know very many people yet. And thank you for looking out for me,” she said with a smile.
We walked into the Chapel and I didn’t see Eric so I took a seat on an empty cot. Crocket sat next to me. I saw Crocket as a little sister and she probably saw me as a Gunnery Sergeant, which was cool.
For the last few days, I had many discussions with Eric about a female Somali interpreter whom I was crazy about. Her name was Ayan. Ayan was a dead ringer for the super model Iman and was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in person. After a very rocky start, Ayan and I began to have extended conversations and she offered to teach me her language. Prior to her offering, I spent many hours in the male linguist tent with the hopes of her taking notice of me studying their culture and language. It was beginning to work as we started feeling more comfortable around each other. On the way to the recreation tent, Eric noticed a woman he hadn’t seen before on camp with a friend by her side.
“Who is that? Dude, she’s not Mogadishu fine, she’s just fine period,” Eric said as he did a serious double take.
“Eric, that’s her! That’s Ayan, you know. The one I’ve been telling you about.”
“I thought you said she was an interpreter, because the one I am checking out is a Fly Girl.”
Eric was actually referring to Tootie, Ayan’s roommate on the University compound about a five- minute drive away. Tootie was a Senior Airman in the Air Force. Everyone called her Tootie because she looked exactly like Kim Fields from the TV show, The Facts of Life. She even had the smile, complete with braces.
“Man. I think I just met my future ex-wife,” Eric said semi-seriously.
“Eric. Weren’t you the one that said marriage was like having a cable TV subscription with one channel?”
“Yup, and the cancellation fee is a mother!” Eric replied.
I saw Ayan waving, trying to get my attention. “Clay,” Ayan called out to me as she and Tootie waited for the Humvee to pass to join us.
“Hey, Eric. Here they come now. Don’t call me Pint in front of Ayan, okay? I’m serious,” I cautioned him.
“Okay…Pint.”
(hello) said Ayan as she approached Eric and I.
(How are you?) I responded with a smile from ear to ear.
I then initiated the double air kiss with her.
“Ayan, Tootie, this is Eric. I’ve known him since we were kids.”
Immediately Tootie cozied up to him and smiled flirtatiously. Then she addressed him.
“Is it true that the Marines are a Department of the Navy?” Tootie asked sarcastically with her hands on her hips.
“Ah, yeah. That would be the Men’s Department,” Eric responded as he closed the gap between them.
The instant attraction between Tootie and Eric was so overpowering it was almost off-putting for Ayan and I. Both Eric and Tootie were in predator mode. Ayan and I resorted to small talk while pheromones were colliding with pheromones. To some degree, I was a little envious because ever since high school, Eric demonstrated a natural charisma towards girls, and with me it was a struggle at times. We both were in the presence of our “dream girls” and although I had a two-month head start, Eric was already light years ahead of me. I wanted Ayan to respond to me like Tootie responded to Eric.
Chapter 7
No Graceful Exit
19 February 1993
Later that night, I was in the interpreter tent playing a card game they taught me called Arpaa Turup.
Most nights I would get slaughtered and the linguists got a kick out of watching me stew in defeat. For the most part, I am very calm and measured in how I respond to situations, except when playing cards. With a deck of cards in my hand, I become an absolute lunatic and the biggest trash talker you ever met. I think I got that from my Dad. Whenever he beat me at anything, he would just give me this long smug stare and sit back in his chair with his arms folded across his belly. Then he would break out in unrelenting laughter.
This night would be different, the cards fell just right. I was dealt incredible hands all night long. On the last play of the last hand, I stuck my card on my forehead, just waiting to play it. But I had to preface my final play with a few words to my opponents.
“Shh…Shh. Did you hear that?” I said as I was about to play the last card.
“Hear what?” Mohamed and Yusef asked.
“The sound of you getting your butt handed to you on a silver platter! Boom!” I said as I stood up and slammed my card down on the table Detroit style. All the cards went flying and then I moon walked around the card table in a victory lap.
I was so caught up in my own little world, I didn’t take notice of their reaction. They were not pleased by my antics and clearly, I embarrassed myself. The tent went quiet.
“Okay … that was a little over the top. Note to self, silence is golden. Sorry guys, I forgot where I was. My bad,” I said as I sat back down and apologized profusely.
In the middle of my apology to the group, a young Corporal stuck his head in the tent and looked around. “Is there a Gunny Thompson here?”
I was so glad there was a station break in the middle of my foolishness. I now had a perfect exit strategy and I would take advantage of the opportunity.
“Yeah. That’s me Corporal, I will be with you in a moment,” I said as I looked over my shoulder.
I apologized once more to the group before I got up from the table and made my way out of the tent. They let me off the hook by mocking my words and mimicking my version of the moonwalk around the card table. They laughed and waved as I vacated.
“Gunny. Let’s go for a walk. Follow me,” the Corporal said as he began walking.
This was most bizarre. I didn’t have a clue what the Corporal wanted, but he seemed nervous. I scratched my head and followed him under the moonlit sky.
“Okay, I would ask if I’m on Candid Camera, but that can’t be the case. What’s up Corporal?”
“I just need you to follow me to the tent at the end of the row here.”
“Okay. But, I want to get this right out in the open. I don’t give it up on the first date and I have a strict Ninety- day rule,” I said using humor to mask my utter confusion.
We reached the last tent on the left a tent, which I knew to be an empty supply tent.
“Okay, Corporal. If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’m popping smoke. This is stupid.”
Then I heard a booming voice behind me coming from inside the tent. It scared the mess out of me.
“Gunnery Sergeant Thompson.”
“Whoa! What the…?” I said as I turned around quickly.
A Master Gunnery Sergeant emerged from the darkness of the tent and sent the Corporal off.
“Come in. I will explain everything in just a moment,” the Master Gunnery Sergeant retorted as he ducked his head and disappeared into the tent.
I let out a big sigh and followed, confused as all get out.
Inside the tent was a control center of some sort with blackout material over the windows to contain the light. It was fully staffed and it reminded me of the TV series Mission Impossible. There were large screen monitors with live feeds and high tech communications equipment that I only saw in movies.
“What is this place?” I asked as I looked around in amazement.
“My name is Master Gunnery Sergeant Pritchard and this is the Sixth Counterintelligence Team,” he said as he grabbed a chair for me to sit and then showed me his badge.
“I must have really screwed up to find myself here. What did I do? Is this about the rape a few years ago?”
“Rape? No. No it’s not,” the Master Gunnery Sergeant replied, slightly unnerved.
“Okay. I will shut up and let you explain.”
&
nbsp; “The Commander of Marine Forces here has asked Counterintelligence to assess the potential for an Insider Threat.”
“Now I am really lost. What’s that gotta do with me?”
“Naturally, we must take a hard look at our linguists who are natives. There is a potential for conflicting loyalties. Some linguists may harbor resentment towards the U.S. mission here. And that’s where you come in,” Pritchard said as he began typing on portable computer.
“You have placement and natural access. We need you to be our eyes and ears and give us atmospherics and indications and warnings.”
“Can you break it down to me like a two-year-old? I need to know exactly what you want me to do.”
Pritchard sighed and stopped typing, and scooted closer to me.
“For now let’s keep it simple. We want to know if they have access to gear they shouldn’t, like weapons or communication devices. For example, non- government issued radios or facsimiles. We also want to know if they are complying with the Commander’s Policy that clearly states they will not visit or contact family members outside the compound.”
“If I do this, can you tell my Officer in Charge so he can put it on my fitrep? I need all the help I can get.”
“Absolutely not. This is close hold. Which means you cannot tell anyone. I am printing out a non- disclosure agreement now for you to sign.”
After I signed the non-disclosure letter, the Master Gunnery Sergeant revisited the issue about the rape.
“A few years ago, Military Policemen on my base back at El Toro, California needed a sixth Black guy who was similar to me in height and build for a lineup. I didn’t see any reason to say no, so I volunteered, liked an idiot.”
“So what happened?” Pritchard asked.
“The victim, a Major’s wife, identified me as her rapist.
“In fact, she fainted when she saw me in person. She swore it was me, even though the prime suspect was also in the lineup. I could not believe I was getting my rights read and my mug shot taken. Fortunately, I was on leave in Connecticut with my girlfriend when the rape took place so I had an alibi.”
“Well, Gunny. There is a big difference between Law Enforcement and Counterintelligence. We fight that battle every single day.”
I signed the letter of Non-disclosure.
Mistaken Identity
Chapter 8
Offense Intended
21 February 1993
Eric and I were sitting in the recreation tent watching Boyz in the Hood, for the millionth time. I woke up just in time for the ending credits. I told Eric I would catch up with him tomorrow for early chow. As I was leaving the tent, I heard Crocket call my name from the back row of the tent. I didn’t even know she was in the tent. But her distinct school girl voice caught my attention.
“Crocket. What’s up?”
“Gunnery Sergeant. I can’t thank you enough for putting those guys in their place. I get that all the time and rarely does anyone say anything.”
“Well. I grew up with three younger sisters. And I can’t stand to see bullying,” I replied.
Crocket sat down on one of the cots as if she wanted to talk. I had nothing else to do so I obliged. As she leaned back on the cot, I saw a tattoo on her right arm, which I hadn’t noticed before. It was a red heart with the name “Jessica” inscribed inside. Underneath the heart was a date, but there wasn’t enough light in the tent to make it out.
She leaned forward and sighed and looked at me with a look of concern.
“I was bullied throughout high school and I was just hoping that I could leave that all behind when I joined the Marines,” she commented.
“Why were you bullied in high school?” I asked out of pure curiosity.
“With a name like Crocket?” she responded. “Oh, I thought that was your nickname.”
“No. My name is Crocket Deanne Jones. My father always wanted a son, but he got me instead. Sometimes I think he named me Crocket as punishment for being born a girl.”
“I played softball, basketball and ran track just to get him to notice me, but I would never be the son he wanted.”
Crocket then opened up to me and revealed a more personal side. A side that really didn’t surprise me.
“When I was in junior high, I got caught kissing another girl after gym class. That just made things worse. My parents totally freaked out. I wanted to move after that.”
I had my own experiences with bullying and I felt compelled to chime in.
“Well. I know what it is like to be bullied. I was bullied too. In junior high.”
“You were bullied too? How come?” Crocket asked with her chin cupped in both hands looking at me.
“My father is a Baptist minister from Detroit, and he never let me use slang when I was growing up. I couldn’t say the word ain’t or even the phrase you just used, how come? Most of the popular kids at school spoke street slang and used some profanity. As much as I wanted to speak like them, it wasn’t tolerated in our house.”
“My dad told me that one day I would interview for a job and I needed to be able to speak correctly. He said I was too young to understand, but one day it would all make sense. He was right, Years later, I appreciated him for that.”
“But, I got teased and bullied because I spoke too proper and I didn’t speak Black enough.”
“So we were both misfits growing up,” Crocket said as she smiled.
“Yeah. I guess we were. But that was then …and this is now. We all remember our childhood bullies. I had a few but one name stands out. Antonio Frost. Antonio beat me up almost daily and always chased me home from school, until one day I spoke with my Dad. He reiterated that although he was against fighting in school, he was all about defending yourself. That conversation over dinner literally gave me an enlightened perspective. The next day I went to school, I didn’t run home after the bell. I waited for Antonio instead.”
‘So what happened?” Crocket asked.
“You see, bullies usually are not very bright and they are predictable because they work off a script.
“He approached me with his buddies cracking his knuckles and he was surprised I didn’t run away like I always had. He spit in my face and called me a name in front of everyone. They all laughed as I wiped his spit of my face. I politely asked him to hold my book bag, and like the idiot I knew him to be, he complied.
“And…?” Crocket asked, intrigued.
“With both his hands holding my book bag, I wound up and clocked him as hard as I could in his face and bloodied his nose. Three years of built up torment was unleashed in just a few seconds. It was therapeutic and healing.
“I momentarily knocked him out. I stood over him and looked at his friends who were stunned in their Chuck Taylors. Then I grabbed my book bag and walked home with my sister Cheryl for the first time in a long time. I was never bullied again. I even gained Antonio’s respect and we were cool after that. I wish I had done that long before. Bullies need you to retreat. Don’t retreat.
“Let me know if you have any more problems, okay Crocket?” I replied as I stood and walked with her out of the tent.
Crocket waved goodbye to me and smiled as she departed. It was really nice talking to her, but I had one burning question: Who was Jessica?
Chapter 9
A Fool and his Honey
21 February 1993
As I left the recreation tent, I began to reflect on my conversation with Crocket. We both had confided in each other over very personal issues and with that, I felt a trust with her. I was just hoping that if we were to become good friends, it would extend beyond the deployment. Never in a million years would I have imagined I would have anything in common with her at first glance, but I did.
As I headed to my sleeping quarters, oncoming headlights blinded me. I squinted to see who it was, but the lights were just too bright. It was Eric.
“Hop in. You and me have a date tonight,” Eric said as he put the Humvee in park and turned off the engine.
“Man, how many times do I have to tell you…I don’t date White men,” I jokingly replied.
“Not with me, you dufus. I talked to Tootie and told her if I got hold of the Hummer I would stop by the University compound and visit her.”
“Have fun. But how do you plan to get past the gate guard?”
“When I got the vehicle I got the pass in advance. Check it out.”
“Eric. The pass is dated for tomorrow. No way can you pull this off. Man, you are gonna get busted big time.”
“C’mon. I am willing to bet they just wave me through.”
“Eric, I really need to keep my nose clean. Major Lewis is just waiting for me to mess up. If I miss the 0700 morning briefing, I’m as good as dead.”
“I promise to get you home before you turn into a pumpkin, Cinderella. We’re only gonna stay a few hours,” Eric said as he looked at his watch.
“No way. It’s too risky. Check you later bro,” I said as I started walking to my quarters.
Eric started up the Hummer and slowly drove past me.
“No problem. I will tell Ayan you wimped out,” Eric said as he revved the engine and conceded he was on his own. Then he drove off, leaving me in a dirt cloud.
“Hey Eric! Sherm!” I yelled as I sprinted about a hundred meters at top speed to catch up.
I caught up with him and placed my hand on the hood as I tried to catch my breath.
“Ayan? Is she expecting me?” “Duh…yeah. I thought you knew that.”
I was nervous. I was taking a big chance and I knew it. If we could just get past the gate guard we would be home free. I began thinking of how wonderful it would be to spend time with Ayan. I wanted her to know how much she meant to me. Sneaking away to see her under the cover of darkness would surely be a way to let her know. No way would I have wanted to hear how much fun Eric had if I had not tagged along. I made up my mind. I was in. But my heart was racing, hoping to make it past the gate guards.
“Okay, okay…let’s do this,” I said as I climbed into the Hummer, worried about being caught.
As we got within one hundred meters of the gate, Eric looked at me and realized just how nervous I was.