by E. Clay
“What do you mean Gunny?”
“We are painted with the augmentee brush, more like tarred with it. But…I think I know how we can swing things around, but I will need your help.”
“My help? Okay. What’s your plan?” Ramirez responded inquisitively.
“We need to raise your visibility among the staff and officers in the unit. And the way to accomplish that is by changing their perception of you.”
“Okay…” Ramirez said waiting for me to explain myself.
“Everyday at 1330 we have a staff NCO and officer pre-deployment briefing. At the end of the briefing it is always the same three questions that no one knows the answer to. Status on the Rules of Engagement, an update on interpreter support, and what non-lethal weapons are we deploying with. No one in the unit knows because, I MAF doesn’t know yet…officially.”
“Well Gunny, if I MAF doesn’t know, we will just have to wait until they get the word right?”
“Nope, I have a very close contact at Headquarters Marine Corps. Trust me; she has more connections than AT&T. If she can’t help us, she will point us in the right direction. Her name is Gunnery Sergeant Yolanda Mike and she is my son’s Godmother. We go a long way back. Here is her work number, I have been trying to reach her but it just goes to voicemail. I have her old pager number but I think she de-activated it when she transferred to Headquarters.”
“So once we get the info, what is the next step?” Ramirez asked.
“Starting tomorrow, I am taking you to the briefings. When the opportunity rises…jump all over it...with both feet.”
By the end of the week, Ramirez got in touch with my buddy Yolanda.
During the drive to our favorite restaurant, The Black Angus, Ramirez broke the news to me.
“Hey Gunny T! Gunny Mike says hello.”
“What…you talked to her? I had no luck at all.”
“She told me to tell you that she and the boys miss you and Clay Junior. Oh yeah…she is getting married soon to a guy name Richard. The reason why you couldn’t get a hold of her was because she was on leave all last week.”
“Dang, I really gotta call her now…I can’t believe she is getting married. That’s my girl, I am happy for her. Did you get the info?”
“Yup. She spoke to someone in Plans at JTF headquarters at Tampa and they will probably advise I MAF very soon. You were right, she is super-efficient and very nice over the phone.”
Over the next three days, I took Ramirez into the briefings with me and not once were any of the questions raised. In fact on Friday, Captain Shaffner directed me to stop Ramirez from accompanying me as the meeting was reserved for senior staff NCOs and officers. My plan was falling apart right in front of me. Our information had an expiry date on it…the day I MAF got the word. The following day I attended the briefing without Ramirez and I was dozing off, it was almost like Ground Hog Day…every meeting was a repeat of the day before. Then the Provost Marshal raised the questions. Instantly, I became fully coherent.
“Captain Shaffner, so are we gaining any traction on the ROE and the interpreter issues?” Lieutenant Colonel Lawless asked. He was our Provost Marshal.
“That’s a negative sir, I was just on the horn with Major Mallory from the G-3, and there is no new information,” Captain Shaffner responded.
My heart was pounding in my chest. This was Ramirez’s moment to shine but he was nowhere around. I could have looked good and answered the questions, but that wasn’t the plan…and after all, it was Ramirez who tracked the info down in the first place.
“Sir, I think Corporal Ramirez may have some info on the issues,” I said as I stood from the back of the room.
Immediately Captain Shaffner turned around and gave me an evil stare. I didn’t realize it, but I was about to seriously embarrass him in front of everyone. It was too late, I was already committed.
“How is it that a Corporal knows this information and I do not? Go get Ramirez…now please,” Lawless said as he looked over his glasses.
Immediately I ran down the long hall and I happened to pass him as he was getting ready to do a mail run.
“Ramirez, the Provost Marshal Lieutenant Colonel Lawless wants your info. Let’s go,” I said, out of breath.
As Ramirez and I stepped in the briefing, everyone was getting ready to be dismissed, but then the Provost Marshal ordered everyone to sit back down. I was trying not to make eye contact with Captain Shaffner because I knew nothing good could come of this as far as he was concerned.
“Corporal Ramirez, so I heard you know that status on the Rules of Engagement,” Lawless said.
“Sir, JTF Headquarters should be notifying I MAF within the next 48 hours about the approved ROE. The first draft was submitted two weeks ago but it was rejected because planners thought it was too restrictive and not flexible enough to carry out the mission.”
“Outstanding Corporal! Okay…now we are getting somewhere. What about the interpreter support?”
“Sir, my contact at Manpower Headquarters Marine Corps says there is only one Somali speaker in their database. He is a Corporal and a Somali native. According to Manpower, the linguists are being contracted and will probably arrive shortly after we land.”
The room was so quiet. Everyone was focused on Ramirez; they were stunned at the level of knowledge he was spewing. Except for Captain Shaffner, I could tell he was furious as he was wringing his hands nervously.
“And Corporal, if you can answer this last question you can have my parking spot for a week. What non-lethal weapons are we deploying with?”
In a last ditch effort to save face, Captain Shaffner interjected.
“Sir, from what I am hearing unofficially, it looks like rubber bullets,” Shaffner said confidently.
Corporal Ramirez responded to the Captain’s comments.
“Sir, there was some speculation that it would be rubber bullets, but JTF Headquarters is leaning more towards cayenne pepper spray. But it is possible we may end up deploying with both.”
“What…my MPs will be carrying MACE? As I was. Disregard that last comment. Corporal Ramirez, front and center.”
Ramirez walked to the head table and stood next to Lieutenant Colonel Lawless.
“Corporal Ramirez, I would like to say the initiative you have demonstrated today far exceeds your rank and level of responsibility. You are a fine Marine NCO,” Lawless said as he stood and placed his hand on Ramirez’s shoulder. Lawless started to clap and the rest of the attendees quickly followed suit. I was proud of Ramirez and so was everyone else in the room…with the exception of one very angry Captain. As we were dismissed, Captain Shaffner remained in his seat waiting for everyone to leave.
“Gunnery Sergeant Thompson…sit back down. I want a word with you,” Shaffner said in a stern voice.
Corporal Ramirez looked back as he was the last to leave the conference room.
“Gunny, should I shut the door?” Ramirez asked.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” I said, knowing that I was about to enter a one-way shouting match with me on mute.
As soon as the door shut, Captain Shaffner wasted no time in ripping right into me.
“Gunnery Sergeant Thompson. What the hell was that?!” Shaffner yelled as he invaded my personal space.
“No one in their right mind believes that Corporal Ramirez had the initiative to contact Headquarters Marine Corps or even JTF for that matter.”
“Sir, for the last week, Lieutenant Favors has responded to those issues, I had no idea you would be on the hook today,” I said as I removed my glasses and wiped his saliva off onto my trouser leg.
“Who do you think Favors works for…he works for me damnit!”
“Captain, I was just trying to raise his visibility, that’s all.”
“Right into my crosshairs. The both of you. I knew you two were bad news as soon as you checked in. I worked my ass off for almost twenty-seven years. I will make Major this next board, you can bet the farm on
that. I did not come this far to have some Gunnery Sergeant augmentee screw it up for me. Do not mistake me for someone who will stab you in the back, because I don’t operate that way. I will stab you right in your chest. Consider this your first and only warning.”
Chapter 8: Autopsy
30 November 1992
It had been two days since I last spoke to Captain Shaffner and my butt was still sore from the ass chewing he gave me. I felt like a private in bootcamp, there was never a notion of back talk or standing my ground. I knew how embarrassed he must have been. Upstaged by a junior NCO in front of his superiors and his peers. The only saving grace was he didn’t berate me in front of Ramirez.
I saw Shaffner early the next morning just before physical training and he was probably pissed off that I was parking in the Provost Marshal’s parking spot. I guess that was my way of protesting…passive aggressive behavior.
Immediately following our three-mile run, Captain Shaffner yelled my name as I proceeded to my reserved parking spot.
“Gunnery Sergeant Thompson! I want to see you in my office ASAP.”
Dang. I hate conflict, especially in the work place. I didn’t know how much more abuse I could take and I didn’t want him to think that I was used to that type of treatment. I knew this was going to be a long deployment. At first, the deployment was about staying competitive. Now it was all about survival.
“You wanted to see me?” I asked as I stood just outside his office.
“The Oceanside Coroner’s office called yesterday. It must be that time of year,” he said as he thumbed through his rolodex.
“What time of year is that?” I asked.
“Every year, our CID investigators view an autopsy for training. I decided this year to open it up to other Staff NCOs deploying with us…including you. This way troops can get their feet wet before we take the plunge.”
“How will attending an autopsy help get our feet wet?”
“Well, I can guarantee you that the corpses we will see in Somalia won’t be all purdy and cleaned up. Troops need to smell death and be able to function without getting all queasy inside. I need you to call the coroner’s office and schedule an appointment for tomorrow morning,” Captain said.
“Sir, I can’t make it tomorrow, I have to go to small claims court over a botched engine job my mechanic did.”
“Small claims…sounds like personal business to me.”
“Well, it is…I got shafted,” I replied.
“Then I expected to see a leave chit on my desk before you go.”
“But it will just be for one day,” I said.
“Don’t matter…I want it on my desk. And don’t forget to schedule that appointment.”
No one puts in for leave for just one day, in my thirteen years of being in the Corps I have never put in for one day leave. The games had already started and I was right in the middle…I just had to play along.
I went straight to the First Sergeant’s office to get a leave form because our admin had just run out.
“Hey First Sergeant, I need a leave chit for tomorrow. Can I get it approved by then?”
“Leave chit? When are you returning?”
“Same day,” I said.
“What kind of bullshit is that? Who told you to take leave for one day?” the First Sergeant asked as he spit into his Coke can.
“Captain Shaffner directed me to.”
“Nobody in my Marine Corps puts in for one day leave. Let me chat with the Executive Officer, standby Gunny.”
After about five minutes, the First Sergeant came out of the XO’s office with a leave chit. I guessed he lost the battle and I would be taking leave after all.
“Gunny. Here is your leave chit for tomorrow.”
Then he surprised me. He ripped it into four pieces, slowly, looking straight at me.
“Now give this to your Captain, all four pieces and tell him the XO gave you the day off.”
Wow, what a turn of events. The XO was instantly on my all-time list of favorite officers, right next to Major Henslee and Captain Gundlach.
No way was I going to place the shredded leave chit on his desk. My career would not survive that. It was safer just to take the day off and maybe he would just forget about it. I went back to work to schedule the autopsy for the next day.
“Good afternoon, Oceanside Coroner’s office. How may I help?”
“Yes ma’am, I am Gunnery Sergeant Thompson and I would like to schedule a viewing for an autopsy for tomorrow. I am calling on behalf of Captain Shaffner.”
“Thanks for returning my call. Can you get here by eight in the morning?”
“Yes, but will you have a body for us to view on such short notice?”
“We don’t have a body at the moment. The body you will view tomorrow is probably alive as we speak. But he will make his 8:00 appointment. We will see you tomorrow then.”
She was right. Mr. Williams was alive when I made the call that afternoon, but tragically, he was killed by The Gangstas of no Jealousy, in a drive-by shooting as he stepped out of Albertos Mexican Restaurant just outside the rear gate.
I am sure Captain Shaffner was ready to chew the other side of my butt for not having a leave chit on his desk. But…immediately after the autopsy, I MAF got the Execute Order to support Operation Restore Hope in Somalia. We were wheels up in ninety-six hours.
Chapter 9: I MAF Execute Order
4 December 1992
News of the Execute Order was surreal. Back in 1979, my drill instructors told me training was a dress rehearsal for the real thing. It really hit me when I went to the armory to check out my 9mm pistol and the armorer said “Good luck Gunny, be safe.” Then he gave me a box of ammo. That was my first of two awakenings. The second was my trip to the Corpsman to collect my malaria tablets.
“Now Gunny, take these pills as prescribed. You may be tempted to stop taking them but don’t fall into that trap,” said the Navy Corpsman.
“Why would I be tempted to stop taking them? That sounds pretty dumb,” I replied.
“Well there are some side effects and some Marines have a hard time adjusting,” the doc said.
“Side effects, what kind of side effects?” I asked.
“Well, to name a few: nightmares, insomnia, nausea, chronic diarrhea, dizziness, anxiety, and then there is depression. But 75% of people on the tablets don’t experience any side effects whatsoever.”
“What you are really saying is that 25% of the people on the tablets suffer like hell,” I replied.
What if the combined side effects of a drug causes more discomfort than the illness? Is it really worth it?
When I saw the flight manifest on the bulletin board at work, I noticed that I was on the first wave and Ramirez was “To be determined.” I was bummed. Besides Ramirez, I really didn’t know anyone else. It was weird, it felt like I was experiencing a little separation anxiety at the thought of us not deploying together. He was like a little brother to me.
I already knew what my pastime in Somalia would be…cards and more cards. I wanted to see if Ramirez knew how to play. I saw him standing by my car at 1630 waiting for a ride back to the barracks.
“Hey Gunny, I got word you are headed out in a few days,” Ramirez said.
“Yeah man, my number came up. I guess you will be right behind me though. I heard we will be on fourteen hour days once we land,” I said as I pulled into the Seven-Day store.
“I will be right back, just need to pick up a deck of cards,” I said.
“Good, when we get back to the barracks I can school you,” Ramirez said.
That was music to my ears. Now I had a card partner.
When I returned from the store, I was surprised to find out he knew how to play all the card games I played and one I never learned.
“So what is your poison?” I asked.
“Spades, Rummy, Poker, Bid and Pinochle,” Ramirez answered.
“Now you talkin’, I play Spades only if there are no Bid pla
yers. But I am surprised that you play Pinochle. The only people I ever knew who played Pinochle, learned while they were in prison doing time.”
“That’s funny because my uncle taught me…not too long after he got out of jail,” Ramirez said lightheartedly.
After evening chow, we played two-handed spades for the rest of the night.
Chapter 10: Passenger 67
11 December 1992
I had an aisle seat - number 64 D. I was slightly anxious as I buckled up because the flight was twice as long as I had ever flown…twenty hours. I found myself taking deep sighs to relax because I knew life would be very different once I deplaned in Mogadishu, Somalia. I remembered my drill instructor’s words and those words seemed to ring true at that moment. My thirteen-year Marine Corps career seemed to be a dress rehearsal for the big show…Operation Restore Hope.
A Captain who sat about two rows in front of me waved at me and I waved back. But then I realized he was waving at someone behind me so I looked back. I recognized the Marine he waved to. I became nervous, extremely nervous. The Marine who sat three rows behind me was Master Sergeant Howard, whom I served with on the Rock (Okinawa, Japan) a few years back. Howard had a secret, a deadly secret that few people were aware of.
Master Sergeant Howard had survived four aircraft/helo crashes during his career. Three mishaps were on land and one at sea. I remembered when his helo fell from the sky and plunged into the ocean during an exercise. It was particularly chilling for me because I was supposed to be on that chopper. I was a Staff Sergeant at the time and I ended up getting bumped onto the next manifest. Staff Sergeant Jones was also bumped, but we didn’t think anything of it…at that time. We were supporting a joint exercise just off the coast of Okinawa, conducting a nighttime helo insertion from ship to shore. Minutes before Howard’s chopper reached altitude there was engine failure and the chopper fell from the sky and plunged into the ocean in total darkness. Because helos are top heavy, they fall upside down, making survival all the more improbable. Immediately the ship’s Captain dispatched a Search and Rescue mission. There were eighteen Marines on the chopper; Gunnery Sergeant Howard (his rank at that time) was the lone survivor. The bodies of the other seventeen Marines were never recovered. I remember when the divers brought him back on board the ship. Two large divers supported him and his feet dragged along on the deck. He was shivering badly and they quickly covered him in green wool blankets. Shortly after the Search and Rescue mission concluded, a Search and Recovery mission commenced. That search yielded negative results…the chopper became a watery tomb for those seventeen Marines.