Case Study: Tabs and Tyrants

[Marauder06]

The gathering on the parade field was for officers and senior NCOs only, but the rest of Faith’s platoon was waiting in the platoon office when Ellery and Faith returned.

“CONGRATULATIONS!!!” They shouted when Faith opened the door and turned on the lights. Faith was startled, but Ellery appeared to know it was coming.

“Damn, how’d all of you even fit in here?” Faith asked as 5th Platoon spilled out of the office and into the hallway to shake hands with their newly-promoted platoon leader. Corporal Laser came forward with something in his hands. “This is for you, sir, from all of us,” he exclaimed proudly. It was a black present bag, with gold tissue paper poking out of the top.

Faith reached into the bag and pulled out a large coffee mug emblazoned with the crest of the 327 Infantry Regiment, and Faith’s name and rank.

1LT SCOTT FAITH
5th PLATOON, 1/327
ABOVE THE REST

Faith was genuinely touched. He had seen this mugs for sale at the local PX and knew they weren’t cheap. He also know that it took a couple of days to get the engraving work done. So that meant…

“Wait… you knew I was going to get promoted, before I did?” he asked incredulously.

“Spec-4 Mafia, for the win!” someone shouted. Faith laughed. The E4s (Specialists) really did have their network.

“Don’t let them kid you, sir,” Sergeant Ellery explained. “The S1 released the promotion lists to the company a couple of days ago. The Spec-4 Mafia’s got nothing on the chain of command.”

“Damn, the LT’s been here a total of like two months, and is already getting promoted!” Sergeant Spencer exclaimed.

Had it only been two months since he came to Delta Company? It seemed like ages…

“I spent a lot of time at Benning before I got here,” Faith explained.

“Doing what?”

“Not graduating from Ranger School,” Faith stated matter-of-factly.

“Ah, that shit’s over-rated anyway,” said Sergeant Spencer. Easy for him to say, he already had his tab.

“This is really nice guys, thanks,” Faith said. And it was. It was a beautiful mug, but what he appreciated it more for was the sentiment it represented. His guys didn’t have to do this for him. This was a sign of acceptance, the kind of affirmation that every young lieutenant sought. Faith set his new mug down on the corner of his desk. He couldn’t wait to drink coffee out of it at tomorrow’s company training meeting.

“We all signed the bottom, sir, so you won’t forget who gave it to you,” Corporal Laser said proudly.

“I didn’t sign it,” Thigpen stated, sounding disappointed.

“Do you even know how to sign your name, Pigpen?” Specialist Spencer teased.

“Well that’s easily fixed,” said Faith, pulling a black Sharpie permanent marker from his desk drawer and handed it, and the mug, to Private Thigpen.

“Oh shit!” Sergeant Spencer exclaimed, looking down at his watch. “Formation in three minutes! OK folks, party’s over.” As the platoon began exiting the office, Thigpen hurriedly scrawled his name on the bottom of the mug and set it down on the edge of the table.

Unfortunately, in his haste he placed it too close to the edge of the table and when he let go of it, it toppled to the floor. It hit the ground with a clank! and a large chip flew off near the opening.

“Oh great, you broke it you idiot,” said a clearly-angry Specialist Spencer to a mortified-looking Private Thigpen. Corporal Laser looked at the broken mug, and then back at Thigpen. Faith knew he was about to say something, probably something not very nice at all.

“Nah, a chipped mug makes it look like I’ve had it for a while, and I’m not some brand-new rookie,” Faith said, picking it up. “Like I didn’t literally just get promoted today. It’s no big deal, let’s roll to formation.”

That seemed to mollify the crowd.

“Why’d you have to break the man’s shit, Pigpen?” Faith heard one of his Soldiers say as the group exited the building.

“Damn, Thigpen, you really can’t do anything right, can you?” said another.

The damage to the mug was much worse that Faith let on. It was actually cracked from top to bottom on the back side, near the handle. It was easily fixed with a hot glue gun, but it probably wouldn’t be suitable for drinking anything out of, ever. Faith sighed, scooping up a handful of pens and markers off of his desk and dropping them into the mug. If he couldn’t drink out of it, it could at least help him organize his desk. “It was nice while it lasted,” he said as he and Ellery grabbed their uniform hats and joined the platoon at the end of day formation.

-----
What is the coolest military-related trinket you received? Alternately, what's the coolest thing you've seen given as a military memento?

 

[ThunderHorse]

The wooden canoe paddle I got when I left the 1AD Plans Section. With the Ben Hurr Quote: "We keep you alive to serve the ship, so row well and live."

For anyone who ever works in the G5 anywhere, it is a crazy place, you plane exercise after exercise after exercise. You stay in the office burning a lot of midnight oil.

We gave one our 1st Sergeants a Kettlebell, he was really into Crossfit. It looked like a Spartan Helmet. Interestingly I was looking to buy some Kettlebells the other day and sadly the company went out of business. It was called Demon Bells.

 

[x SF med]

1. A MoH coin (the traditionally inscribed one) from CSM Jon Caviaini, who was also the man who gave me my first 10SFG(A) coin when I got to Group.
2. An inscribed coin from the PJs at Mildenhall.

 

[Marauder06]

At the end of day formation that evening, Faith noticed the battalion commander and command sergeant major walking up just before Delta’s first sergeant called the company to attention. This was a rarity; most of the time no one ever saw the battalion commander or the CSM, unless someone was in trouble.

But not this time. Today, Delta’s commander explained, the battalion commander and CSM were coming to hand out awards.

“Attention to orders!” Captain Jenkins commanded. “The following individuals will fall out and report for awards formation.”

“Specialist Avery!”

Good, Faith thought. Avery was in Fourth Platoon, but was a solid troop. He was probably receiving an “impact” award for something meritorious.

“Sergeant Collins!” Collins was transferring duty stations soon, so Faith reckoned this was probably his permanent change of station (PCS) award.

"First Lieutenant Faith!”

“What the fuck?” Faith whispered. He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it slipped out. But seriously, what in the world would he possibly be getting an award for? He’d been in the unit for two months. He heard a couple of members of his platoon chuckle as he hurried forward to join the other men receiving awards. Fortunately, he was far enough in the back that none of the leaders in the front heard his exclamation of surprise.

In total, there were seven men receiving awards that day, and they formed a line, organized alphabetically, in front of the company formation. The battalion commander said some nice words, and he and the Command Sergeant Major went through the line to shake each man’s hand, hand him a green vinyl folder, and pin a shiny medal on their chests. Sergeant Collins received an Army Commendation Medal, and the rest received the Army Achievement Medal, which was one level down.

After the awards were presented, the awardees rejoined their platoons and the battalion commander turned the formation back over to Delta’s commander, who dismissed the company.

“5th Platoon NCOs: my office,” Sergeant Ellery instructed. “We’ve got a Soldier issue we need to hash out. First Sergeant wants to see me in his office first.” Although he wasn’t specifically instructed to do so, Faith walked back to the office as well. He had no intention of involving himself in “NCO business,” but as platoon leader, he needed to keep himself informed.

On the walk back to his office, Faith was burning with curiosity about why he received an award. He had been in the platoon a grand total of like two months. All he had done during that entire time was PT, twenty or thirty “white cycle” burial details, and his level best to stay out of trouble. Was it possible they simply made a mistake?

Faith sat down at his desk and opened the green folder that the battalion commander presented with his award. In it was his award citation, which explained why he was receiving the award.

“I got an Army medal for being good at burial detail?” he said in disbelief as he read the document.

“I’m pretty sure it says ‘for exceptionally meritorious service as Final Honors Officer in Charge,’” Staff Sergeant Spencer said smugly. Faith looked at the citation.

“Actually, that’s exactly what it says,” Faith stated. “Now how did you know that?”

“Because he’s the one who put you in for it,” Corporal Laser explained. “I mean, we can’t be doing Final Honors for 101st veterans, and our LT doesn’t even have a full row of ribbons on his Class A uniform…”

As a new lieutenant with no prior enlisted service, Faith had only earned the National Defense Service Medal and the Army Service Ribbon, both of which were more or less “participation trophies” for everyone in the Army. But now he had something he actually earned. And yes, now he had one full row of ribbons for his Dress Green uniform.

“Wow, thank you, that’s really cool,” Faith said, and he meant it. “I didn’t know a sergeant could put an officer in for an award, I thought they had to come from… commanders or whatever.”

“Only commanders can approve them, but anyone can put anyone in for an award,” Spencer explained. “And don’t get excited, it’s just an AAM.”

“Yeah, Sergeant Ellery has like 13 of them,” Corporal Laser added. Faith found out later that it was actually 15.

“An AAM is basically a positive counseling statement from the battalion commander,” Spencer continued, “in the same way that a summarized Article 15 is like a negative counseling statement. Except a medal is more… permanent.”

“OK,” Faith said, “but… why?”

“Why the medal? You remember that burial detail we did a month or so ago, when you had to step in after the funeral home dorked up the dead guy’s uniform?

Faith vaguely remembered that. They actually done quite a few burials in the last two months, and the funeral home almost always dorked up the placement of the ribbons and medals. They’d have to be more specific.

“Well, I guess so.”

“…and how that wasn’t even supposed to be your detail, Third Platoon was supposed to do it, but you stepped up when their platoon sergeant had a family emergency and couldn’t make it?”

“Yes.”

“You remember how the dead guy’s adult children were estranged from each other and almost got into a fight in the funeral parlor, and you defused the situation and got them to actually be civil to each other?”

“Oh God, yes,” Faith said. What a shit-show that was.

“…and how at the cemetery there was a huge thunderstorm, and everyone got soaking wet, and the pallbearers almost fell into the grave, but you grabbed the coffin at the last second, but you got mud all over your uniform and it was ruined?”

“Well, it was just my pants that got ruined, but yeah…” Faith agreed.

“And do you remember that the old lady invited us to the reception after the funeral, with all of that great friend chicken, and one of her grandchildren asked questions about your uniform and you took off on of your crossed rifles and gave it to him?”

“Sure, but…”

“Well sir,” Spencer continued, finally getting to the point. “The widow wrote a very nice note about all of that to the Division Commander.”

“Wait, she did what?” Faith said, aghast. He really didn’t want to be on the Division Commander’s radar over muddy pants.

“Yep. In fact, I think her letter contained the exact words, ‘this lieutenant deserves a medal,’” Spencer added.

“Sometimes it pays to just be a good dude, sir,” Corporal Laser informed him. Well, that was certainly true enough.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful,” Faith explained, “I just don’t think that this is something that someone should get a medal for.”

“Look sir,” Spencer countered. “There are going to be plenty of times that you did something that you should have gotten recognized for, but won’t. So this kind of thing helps even it out a bit.”

“Yep; Corporal Laser confirmed, “The Army’s big green weenie is going to screw you over, time and again, so it’s best to just take the good when you can find it.”

“That makes sense,” Faith said, “I guess.”

“If you didn’t deserve it, it wouldn’t have made it past Sergeant Ellery to the First Sergeant, from the First Sergeant to the Commander, from the Commander to the Sergeant Major, and from the Sergeant Major to the BC. All of those people thought you deserved this, so… there you go.”

The other NCOs in the room nodded in agreement.

At that moment, Sergeant Ellery returned to the office. “OK, I just need Sergeant Spencer and Corporal Laser, the rest of you can go,” Ellery said, his tone all business. “Sir, you’re going to want to hear this too.” Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good.

The other NCOs departed, leaving only Ellery, Faith, Spencer and Laser. After the door shut, Sergeant Ellery explained why they were all there after hours.

“OK, you all know that Thigpen failed both his PT test and height/weight this morning, so he’s flagged. The commander told First Sergeant that he wants to administratively chapter Thigpen out of the Army. But he wants chain of command input first. If we think he’s trainable he can stay, but this, on top of everything else with Private Thigpen… well, the commander says he can have Thigpen chaptered out in like a week. He wants Lieutenant Faith to make a decision by tomorrow morning. So, recommendations for the PL?”

“DX his ass,” said Corporal Laser immediately, using military jargon for “direct exchange.” “The guy is bringing the whole platoon down.”

While this was true, Sergeant Spencer had a different point of view.

“This was literally the first PT test Thigpen took out of AIT,” he said. “Most of the privates we get are in pretty shitty shape physically, and it’s not uncommon for them to fail the first test at their unit. Thigpen did fail, but not by much. Two pushups, and ten seconds on the run. Same thing with weight. He’s only three pounds over. I think if we smoke the dog piss out of him twice a day, he could probably pass the PT test and make weight in like a month. Tops.”

“I tend to agree,” said Sergeant Ellery. “Thigpen is not smart, and he’s never going to be a great Soldier, but with some tough NCO love he might be a decent one, one day. What do you think, sir?” Ellery inquired.

Faith took a moment to think about the situation.

“Thigpen is our guy. I think we have an obligation to explore every option and give him every opportunity to try to make it. Because this guy… he’s not going to make it on the outside.”

“Well, if he’s on the outside, that means he’s no longer our problem,” countered Corporal Laser. “As long as he’s here, I’m the one who has to babysit his dumb ass.”

“That’s why you’re making all of that extra corporal pay,” Ellery told him. This was an inside joke; while corporals were technically NCOs, it was a lateral promotion and corporals received the same pay they did when they were specialist. It was all of the responsibility of being an NCO, with none of the extra pay.

“Roger, Sarn’t,” Corporal Laser replied. He wasn’t happy about Thigpen sticking around, but he wasn’t upset about it either. He would do his job. Thigpen would get better.

That matter settled, it was time to go home. As he was leaving work, Faith exited the building behind two 5th Platoon Soldiers who didn’t know he was behind them.

“New promotion… shiny medal on his chest… hot girlfriend… the LT’s got it going on!” said the first Soldier enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I hope he doesn’t fuck it all up.”

“Me too,” Faith thought to himself, as he walked to his Jeep.

---
1) This story is not far off from the real-life rationale behind the first AAM I received. What is the most ridiculous thing you ever saw someone get an award for? Alternately, what was something someone should have gotten an award for, but didn’t?

2) So, should 5th Platoon take the opportunity to DX Private Thigpen, or should they continue to try to make him a better Soldier?

 

[ThunderHorse]

1) One of my Soldiers got an Army Commendation Medal for being a member of the Color Guard during BMCs Change of Command in 2013.

2) He's flagged, not sure you can get him out inside of a week. A month probably. Depends on what is in his counseling packet. Unless you're going to chapter him for failure to adapt.

If he's that close to passing a PT test, he could pass in two weeks and pass tape in the same amount of time. Interestingly, I had to flag my senior scout for being fat almost immediately when I got to that platoon. He barely passed the PT test. And he had some blue chips with CO, and he didn't get flagged and somehow passed tape the next week. He ended up being a pain in the ass and went psycho on a weekend pause during a major field exercise.

 

[Steve1839]

1) Many years ago, a bus driver for the 10th Group was awarded an Army Commendation Medal for driving teams from the isolation area to the airfield during a major exercise...he took us to the wrong side of the airfield and we had to walk about half a mile with parachute gear, rucksacks and rifles, but I guess he was a stud...also, in the book Soldier by Anthony Herbert, the author recalled a clerk being awarded a Bronze Star in Vietnam for keeping the paper work straight at a headquarters...
2) Not really sure how long Thigpen has been in the unit...if it's a month or two, I'm thinking SGT Spencer is right. If it's been several months, then I'd have to see what sort of counseling followed him over from the other platoon...seems to me like Thigpen would have been one of McNamara's 100K in another time...

 

[Deleted member 11415]

1) I honestly have no recollection. I cannot remember specifics of any award ceremony.

2) I think 5th Platoon should continue to try to make him a better soldier a little longer, because everyone seems to agree Thigpen cares, and he's slow.

Since he's slow, to get with the program, he may need a longer period of intensive "overlearning" with two overlapping parts: the first is ingraining the task, and the second is overlearning, sustaining the ingrained tasks. It's a pain and a gamble. I would say try it.

They could add writing to everything else they are already doing.

Or if they don't want to read his essays, give him lists. Have him find the definition of each term or word and copy it. Or have him memorize terms and definitions and tell them.

Like,

1. "Personal Hygiene"
2. "Squalor"
3. "insist on"
4. "living in"

If Thigpen keeps failing, it seems like the Army isn't a good fit for him.

Edit: added the word "need"

 

[Marauder06]

OK. About 8 or so posts left. I think it's time I wrapped this up.

 

[DA SWO]

1) This story is not far off from the real-life rationale behind the first AAM I received. What is the most ridiculous thing you ever saw someone get an award for? Alternately, what was something someone should have gotten an award for, but didn’t?
ARCOM for supervising the NCO's who set the new CG's Office up. The NCO's received AAM's.

2) So, should 5th Platoon take the opportunity to DX Private Thigpen, or should they continue to try to make him a better Soldier?
[/QUOTE]
Give him 90 days to shape up or out.

 

[Kraut783]

AAM for organizing a banquet....not a large one, small no big deal one.....crazy

 

[Kaldak]

Fellow student at OCS got an AAM for preforming recon undetected with his 4 man team. That was the entire point of the exercise. Best part, no cadre was with them, so nobody knows for sure if they even followed the exercise's rules.

Give Thigpen a month. If he isn't making the minimum by then, chapter him out. I'm not a fan of second chances for those not showing self motivation, but as a new PL I think you should show some extra effort helping him rather than simply taking the easy route off the bat.

 

[Marauder06]

Faith and Ellery decided that they would go to bat for Thigpen, so he was allowed to stay in the company. But any further screw-ups, and Thigpen was gone. Fair enough.

A few weeks went by, and LT Faith was starting to think that he was getting the hang of this “Infantry platoon leader” thing. He was getting stronger and fitter thanks to Sergeant Ellery’s relentless PT program, his platoon was leading the company in almost every measurable category—PT test scores, weapons qualifications, vehicle maintenance, TOW qualification tables—and morale was sky-high. Even Thigpen was getting better.

But it was easy for Thigpen to get “better” when the baseline was so low. Faith found Private Thigpen to be an interesting case, largely because it was hard to figure out what motivated him. He didn’t care at all about money, or rank, or prestige, or responsibility. The only thing that seemed to work with him was yelling at him, or to threaten some form of mild physical violence, after which he adjusted his level of effort accordingly. While he managed to get within standards—barely—on most things, he still caught a LOT of crap over his barracks room. Because of the personnel shortages in the company, Thigpen had his own room. But try as he might, he couldn’t keep it clean. And we’re not talking “West Point white glove inspection” clean, we’re talking “an average person wouldn’t be totally disgusted” standards. That was kind of gross.

What Thigpen really wanted, Faith discovered, was a friend. He had none. And it was easy to understand why, because Thigpen was just an unlikeable guy. While his hygiene habits had improved to the point that he wasn’t getting regularly jacked up by every NCO who happened by, he still gave off a distinct “Pigpen” vibe. He would do anything for attention and acceptance, and while the other members of 5th Platoon tolerated Thigpen, he was seen more like a retarded little brother than as a real friend by most of the platoon. The only one who he seemed to have any kind of meaningful relationship with was Specialist Stringer, whom Thigpen idolized and tried to (unsuccessfully) emulate. In his off hours, Thigpen hung out mainly with some other low-performing non-hackers in 2nd Platoon, which Faith thought was weird given the way that they had treated him previously. He also thought they were a bad influence, but what was he going to do, hang out with Thigpen himself?

Faith eventually learned that Thigpen had been home schooled by a single mother, and joined the Army with a GED and an ASVAB waiver. He was stunted physically, intellectually, and emotionally. He found it hard to make friends, and was absolutely terrified to talk to girls. He was mentally slow and emotionally unstable. Faith considered it a crime that he was let into the Army at all. But right now, the Army was all that Private Thigpen had.

A few weeks after pinning on First Lieutenant, Faith and a few of the other newly-minted 1LTs decided to go in together on a promotion party. As was the usual practice, they catered it through the post’s all-ranks club, the Stabajinski Club. The Stabajinski was named after a famous World War II war hero, but its name did not live up to its performance. It was a dump. The food was decent, but the ambiance was distinctly “Army ghetto.” It was dingy, dimly lit, and there were no private rooms, just a large bar, a bunch of tables and chairs, and a large central buffet area. The walls were adorned with a mishmash of beer signs and military paraphernalia, most of it 101st Airborne-related. The club was managed by Mr. Park, a no-nonsense Korean-American Vietnam War veteran who not only wouldn’t take anyone’s shit, but was also reputed to be some kind of tae kwon do expert.

As the all-ranks club, it was also the only club on post that didn’t check for military ID at the door, which meant that that it was a hangout for locals as well as troops. And although it was technically an all-ranks club, most of the NCOs and officers hung out at their own clubs, not this one. But because the place attracted young single men with money, it also attracted young women, not all of whom were of age, and some of whom were straight up prostitutes. The process of ensuring people ordering drinks were of age was, at best, sporadic. All in all, it was a volatile mix. The MPs referred to the club as the “Stab n Jab” because of the number of fights that broke out there.

In the Army, the expectation was to put one month’s pay difference between the former rank and the new rank towards the party. There was a noticeable pay bump in going from 2LT to 1LT, and on top of that, an additional longevity pay increase for going over two years. By pooling their money, the four lieutenants were able to put a considerable amount of money towards a group party. And of course being young, and in the Infantry, most of that money went towards alcohol.

The Stab n Jab was packed even more than usual on the day of the party. Faith and the other lieutenants arrived early and were able to secure a corner of the club near the bar. Mr. Park brought out several coolers and plastic tubs filled with ice, which he then filled up with beer. The beer was cold just before the hot food came out. Faith was surprised at the number of people who showed up, but he wasn’t sure if that was a testament to the popularity of him and his peers, or if it as the lure of free alcohol. He was pretty sure it was the latter.

An hour or so into the revelry, Faith’s company commander showed up, had one beer, congratulated Faith, and then excused himself. That was fine, because Faith intended to get really drunk tonight, and would feel better about doing so if his boss wasn’t watching. Sergeant Ellery was there of course, as was all of 5th Platoon. While this was a joint party, most of the participants self-segregated by platoon. Faith’s 5th Platoon, out of nothing more than coincidence, was nearest the bar. There were 20 of them total, crowded around three or four plastic round-top tables, which were at this point covered with empty beer cans, dirty plates, and cigarette ash trays. Everyone was having a really good time. Faith was very buzzed, but he kept drinking. He tended to be a happy drunk, and he didn’t understand how some people got violent and wanted to fight when they drank. Faith just got sleepy, and he woke up at more than one fraternity party with dicks drawn on his face with black magic marker after nodding off during a party.

There was little chance of nodding off this time, though, because there was a LOT going on. In addition to four more-or-less entire platoons from 1/327 there, but there were lots of troops from other units, and lots of locals. Karoke was going on, so there was a lot of noise. Young women dressed up for a night out provided stimulating “eye candy.” And there was also a hot card game going, and Faith was right in the middle of it. It was, of course, Spades. Faith’s platoon learned he played during one of their many road trips to perform burial duty. One of them thought it was weird, because “officers don’t play spades.” Well not only did Faith play spades, he was actually quite good at it, and at Hearts.

He actually preferred Hearts, because it was harder for people to cheat. And the only thing that Soldiers spent more time on than playing Spades, was figuring out how to cheat at Spades. It wasn’t that Faith was morally opposed to cheating; to the contrary, he was quite adept at it himself. His favorite way was to take his hand after it was dealt, spread his cards out in his hand, and start organizing them. This is, of course, what every other player was doing at the same time. The difference was, Faith would fan his cards in his hands so that they showed towards his partner, instead of himself. With the two opposing players focused on their own cards, most of the time no one except Faith’s partner would notice this little trick. And if someone did notice? Well, it was all part of the game.

Tonight, though, Faith was playing it straight, partly because his partner was one of the Soldiers in the platoon he never played with before, but mostly because there were too many witnesses. Sergeant Wilson had returned victorious from Ranger School and had come to pay his respects, and he was paired with Specialist Stringer against Faith and another lieutenant. Because Faith refused to gamble for money, the wager was for pushups and bragging rights. Wilson and Stringer were good players and played together often. They were also accomplished cheats. What they didn’t realize, though, was that Faith had figured out their signals and table talk. That was the edge that was needed to push Faith and his partner over the edge and to a win.

When the final cards were played, the table erupted in cheers and laughter. Wilson and Stringer had run their mouths the entire game, and lost in the last hand. They loudly protested but were shouted down by their colleagues. Laughing, Stringer and Wilson dropped to the floor of the club and knocked out the wagered 101 pushups.

Still laughing, Faith stood up to go to the bar and get a round of shots for him and his platoon. Some of his men were underage, but everyone was just going to let that go tonight. He got in line behind one of the locals, a tough-looking youngster that walked around like he had a chip on his shoulder. The young man dressed as if he wanted everyone to think that he was a gangster, but Faith suspected it was just a show. He noticed the man and his friends snaking beers out of the coolers Mr. Park put out for the promotion party, but had decided to let it go. This was a party, and there was plenty to go around.

The man in front of Faith was a local, also known as a townie, and he was taking forever to get his drink ordered. With all of the background noise it took Faith a while to realize that it was because he was trying to talk to a young woman seated at the bar, who plainly had no interest in him.

“Hey man, can I slide by?” Faith asked, tapping the man lightly on the shoulder.

“In a minute,” the man said, not even bothering to face Faith. “Can’t you see that I’m asking this lady if I can buy her a drink?”

Faith was annoyed. “Hey look, if she’s thirsty why don’t you just go grab another of our beers, like the ones you’ve been stealing all night?” Faith said, testily.

The man whirled around to face Faith, his face twisted with anger. “W’at did you say t’ me?” he slurred.

“Oh my God, this guy is really drunk,” Faith thought to himself.

By this time, everyone on that end of the bar was looking at Faith and the townie. “Look, I just want some shots,” Faith explained, “Can I get by?”

“No,” the townie said definitively, squaring up to Faith. Faith sighed. He didn’t want a fight, he just wanted a tray full of whiskey shots. Ordinarily he’d want to fight, but the alcohol had mellowed him out. He also knew that this guy was here with four or five of his buddies, and any with all of the people here with Faith, any type of fight was likely to turn into a full-fledged brawl. Faith looked towards the tables where the men in his platoon were partying. But the club was crowded and noisy, and none of them were looking Faith’s way. Faith decided he’d come back for the shots later and started to turn away.

“You know what? Never mind,” Faith said, turning to go back to his platoon.

Seeing Faith leaving, the townie grabbed the woman he was talking to by the arm. “That’s what I thought. Come on, let’s dance,” he ordered her.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!” Faith heard a tiny female voice exclaim. Faith turned and saw that the townie had his hand on the bare bicep of a young brunette in a short black dress. She was attractive enough, but that was probably just because of the dress and the makeup. He was trying to pull her towards the dance floor, but she clearly didn’t want to go. Faith didn’t want to get involved, but now he felt he had to.

“Hey bro, don’t grab her like that,” Faith said.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” one of the townie’s friends said. Now Faith was facing the townie and four of his friends.

Faith didn’t want a fight. He just wanted to have a good time with his guys. But he also deeply detested bullies. He had about a second to think about his next move before the situation escalated dramatically.
Faith saw something moving towards him at the last second, but by then it was too late to do anything about it. While Faith’s attention was focused on one of the townie’s friends, the townie swung a mostly-full beer bottle directly at Faith’s face. It was more or less a sucker punch, but with a bottle. Fortunately it did not break when it made contact, but it was still a solid hit directly under Faith’s left eye. It was a wild swing, and not particularly fast, but it was an accurate one. If he hadn’t been so drunk himself, Faith thought later, he probably could have ducked it.

The blow impacted with a solid THUNK that rocked Faith’s head back and left him momentarily stunned. He might even have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t already had his hand resting on the bar. Faith sensed more than heard what happened next. Someone behind him yelled “Oh, HELL NO!” and there was the sound of chair legs scraping the floor and a lot of men jumping to their feet. The girl who the townie was holding let out a small scream.

The townie’s friends, more aware than he was that Faith was at the bar with a group of 40+ other men that were now very much interested in what was happening, wisely grabbed the man and held him back from any further aggression.

“Stttoooppppppp!!” Faith bellowed, standing back up straight and holding out his arms to stop his men from rushing into the fray.

“You hit like a little bitch,” Faith informed the townie who had hit him, calmly but forcefully. “And unless you want to be on the wrong end of an Alabama monkey stomp, you and your little girlfriends,” he continued, waving a dismissive hand at the man’s cronies, “will get on out of here, right fucking now.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” the man said as his friends dragged him towards the club’s exit.

“Well, right now you probably should be,” Faith retorted.

As the townies made a well-advised exit from the club, Mr. Park the club manager arrived on the scene.

“What going on here?” he asked in his thick Korean accent.

“Nothing, Mr. Park, we’re all good here,” Faith assured him. Mr. Park didn’t look like he believed Faith, but he let it go.

“Are you OK?” the cute brunette in the black dress asked Faith after the townies had cleared out. Her name was probably Tina or something.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Faith informed her.

“Do you want to buy me a drink?” she asked, smiling fetchingly.

“Nope,” Faith said immediately, “But I’m sure one of those guys do,” he added, indicating the areas where his Soldiers were now settling back into their seats. “Plus I bet they will treat you better than that clown you were just talking to.” Faith was sure one of his guys eventually ended up going home with her that night. He just hoped that the woman wasn’t some sergeant major’s underage daughter.

Most of the Soldiers in 5th Platoon hadn’t seen what happened at the bar, but they heard what Faith had said to the group of townies, and they were all ready to fight if required. In fact, it seemed that everyone had gotten up to back Faith up after he got hit by the townie. Everyone, that is, except for one person.

“Damn Thigpen, how are you going to let your LT get hit in the face, and not do anything about it?” Specialist Stringer admonished, after Faith rejoined the group with his tray of shots.

“Yeah, you kind of sat there like a little pussy and didn’t do anything,” Sergeant Wilson agreed. Even Sergeant Ellery had something to say:

“Look, Thigpen,” he said, not unkindly, “We’re a team. We back each other up. The next time someone puts their hands on our LT, or any of us, I expect you to do something about it. Just like we would do for you.”

Thigpen seemed genuinely embarrassed. It wasn’t that he was scared to get into a fight… well, it wasn’t just that… but he genuinely did not know what he was supposed to do.

Faith assured them that he was fine, reiterated that the townie hit like a bitch, and there was no need for anyone to do anything other than to continue to drink, which everyone was more than happy to do.


After sharing the round of shots with his platoon, Faith decided it was time to wrap things up. His face was starting to hurt, and he was getting tired. And God only knows what else was going to happen if he stuck around. In the retelling of what happened, the term “Alabama monkey stomp” because the platoon’s catch phrase and inside joke. It had definitely been a night to remember.

Sergeant Ellery decided it was time for him to leave as well, and Faith and Ellery walked out together. “You’re going to want to put some ice on that when you get home, sir,” Ellery informed him, “or you’re going to have a black eye.”

“Eh,” Faith replied noncommittally.

“Give you a ride home, sir?” Ellery inquired.

“Nah, I just live down the street,” Faith said. “It’ll be good for me to walk it off.”

Ellery did not seem to approve.

“I mean, what’s going to happen, it’s not like I’m going to catch a DUI,” Faith laughed. “See you Monday.”

It was only a mile or so back to his house, and he was on foot. What could possibly go wrong?

 

[DA SWO]

Faith and Ellery decided that they would go to bat for Thigpen, so he was allowed to stay in the company. But any further screw-ups, and Thigpen was gone. Fair enough.

A few weeks went by, and LT Faith was starting to think that he was getting the hang of this “Infantry platoon leader” thing. He was getting stronger and fitter thanks to Sergeant Ellery’s relentless PT program, his platoon was leading the company in almost every measurable category—PT test scores, weapons qualifications, vehicle maintenance, TOW qualification tables—and morale was sky-high. Even Thigpen was getting better.

But it was easy for Thigpen to get “better” when the baseline was so low. Faith found Private Thigpen to be an interesting case, largely because it was hard to figure out what motivated him. He didn’t care at all about money, or rank, or prestige, or responsibility. The only thing that seemed to work with him was yelling at him, or to threaten some form of mild physical violence, after which he adjusted his level of effort accordingly. While he managed to get within standards—barely—on most things, he still caught a LOT of crap over his barracks room. Because of the personnel shortages in the company, Thigpen had his own room. But try as he might, he couldn’t keep it clean. And we’re not talking “West Point white glove inspection” clean, we’re talking “an average person wouldn’t be totally disgusted” standards. That was kind of gross.

What Thigpen really wanted, Faith discovered, was a friend. He had none. And it was easy to understand why, because Thigpen was just an unlikeable guy. While his hygiene habits had improved to the point that he wasn’t getting regularly jacked up by every NCO who happened by, he still gave off a distinct “Pigpen” vibe. He would do anything for attention and acceptance, and while the other members of 5th Platoon tolerated Thigpen, he was seen more like a retarded little brother than as a real friend by most of the platoon. The only one who he seemed to have any kind of meaningful relationship with was Specialist Stringer, whom Thigpen idolized and tried to (unsuccessfully) emulate. In his off hours, Thigpen hung out mainly with some other low-performing non-hackers in 2nd Platoon, which Faith thought was weird given the way that they had treated him previously. He also thought they were a bad influence, but what was he going to do, hang out with Thigpen himself?

Faith eventually learned that Thigpen had been home schooled by a single mother, and joined the Army with a GED and an ASVAB waiver. He was stunted physically, intellectually, and emotionally. He found it hard to make friends, and was absolutely terrified to talk to girls. He was mentally slow and emotionally unstable. Faith considered it a crime that he was let into the Army at all. But right now, the Army was all that Private Thigpen had.

A few weeks after pinning on First Lieutenant, Faith and a few of the other newly-minted 1LTs decided to go in together on a promotion party. As was the usual practice, they catered it through the post’s all-ranks club, the Stabajinski Club. The Stabajinski was named after a famous World War II war hero, but its name did not live up to its performance. It was a dump. The food was decent, but the ambiance was distinctly “Army ghetto.” It was dingy, dimly lit, and there were no private rooms, just a large bar, a bunch of tables and chairs, and a large central buffet area. The walls were adorned with a mishmash of beer signs and military paraphernalia, most of it 101st Airborne-related. The club was managed by Mr. Park, a no-nonsense Korean-American Vietnam War veteran who not only wouldn’t take anyone’s shit, but was also reputed to be some kind of tae kwon do expert.

As the all-ranks club, it was also the only club on post that didn’t check for military ID at the door, which meant that that it was a hangout for locals as well as troops. And although it was technically an all-ranks club, most of the NCOs and officers hung out at their own clubs, not this one. But because the place attracted young single men with money, it also attracted young women, not all of whom were of age, and some of whom were straight up prostitutes. The process of ensuring people ordering drinks were of age was, at best, sporadic. All in all, it was a volatile mix. The MPs referred to the club as the “Stab n Jab” because of the number of fights that broke out there.

In the Army, the expectation was to put one month’s pay difference between the former rank and the new rank towards the party. There was a noticeable pay bump in going from 2LT to 1LT, and on top of that, an additional longevity pay increase for going over two years. By pooling their money, the four lieutenants were able to put a considerable amount of money towards a group party. And of course being young, and in the Infantry, most of that money went towards alcohol.

The Stab n Jab was packed even more than usual on the day of the party. Faith and the other lieutenants arrived early and were able to secure a corner of the club near the bar. Mr. Park brought out several coolers and plastic tubs filled with ice, which he then filled up with beer. The beer was cold just before the hot food came out. Faith was surprised at the number of people who showed up, but he wasn’t sure if that was a testament to the popularity of him and his peers, or if it as the lure of free alcohol. He was pretty sure it was the latter.

An hour or so into the revelry, Faith’s company commander showed up, had one beer, congratulated Faith, and then excused himself. That was fine, because Faith intended to get really drunk tonight, and would feel better about doing so if his boss wasn’t watching. Sergeant Ellery was there of course, as was all of 5th Platoon. While this was a joint party, most of the participants self-segregated by platoon. Faith’s 5th Platoon, out of nothing more than coincidence, was nearest the bar. There were 20 of them total, crowded around three or four plastic round-top tables, which were at this point covered with empty beer cans, dirty plates, and cigarette ash trays. Everyone was having a really good time. Faith was very buzzed, but he kept drinking. He tended to be a happy drunk, and he didn’t understand how some people got violent and wanted to fight when they drank. Faith just got sleepy, and he woke up at more than one fraternity party with dicks drawn on his face with black magic marker after nodding off during a party.

There was little chance of nodding off this time, though, because there was a LOT going on. In addition to four more-or-less entire platoons from 1/327 there, but there were lots of troops from other units, and lots of locals. Karoke was going on, so there was a lot of noise. Young women dressed up for a night out provided stimulating “eye candy.” And there was also a hot card game going, and Faith was right in the middle of it. It was, of course, Spades. Faith’s platoon learned he played during one of their many road trips to perform burial duty. One of them thought it was weird, because “officers don’t play spades.” Well not only did Faith play spades, he was actually quite good at it, and at Hearts.

He actually preferred Hearts, because it was harder for people to cheat. And the only thing that Soldiers spent more time on than playing Spades, was figuring out how to cheat at Spades. It wasn’t that Faith was morally opposed to cheating; to the contrary, he was quite adept at it himself. His favorite way was to take his hand after it was dealt, spread his cards out in his hand, and start organizing them. This is, of course, what every other player was doing at the same time. The difference was, Faith would fan his cards in his hands so that they showed towards his partner, instead of himself. With the two opposing players focused on their own cards, most of the time no one except Faith’s partner would notice this little trick. And if someone did notice? Well, it was all part of the game.

Tonight, though, Faith was playing it straight, partly because his partner was one of the Soldiers in the platoon he never played with before, but mostly because there were too many witnesses. Sergeant Wilson had returned victorious from Ranger School and had come to pay his respects, and he was paired with Specialist Stringer against Faith and another lieutenant. Because Faith refused to gamble for money, the wager was for pushups and bragging rights. Wilson and Stringer were good players and played together often. They were also accomplished cheats. What they didn’t realize, though, was that Faith had figured out their signals and table talk. That was the edge that was needed to push Faith and his partner over the edge and to a win.

When the final cards were played, the table erupted in cheers and laughter. Wilson and Stringer had run their mouths the entire game, and lost in the last hand. They loudly protested but were shouted down by their colleagues. Laughing, Stringer and Wilson dropped to the floor of the club and knocked out the wagered 101 pushups.

Still laughing, Faith stood up to go to the bar and get a round of shots for him and his platoon. Some of his men were underage, but everyone was just going to let that go tonight. He got in line behind one of the locals, a tough-looking youngster that walked around like he had a chip on his shoulder. The young man dressed as if he wanted everyone to think that he was a gangster, but Faith suspected it was just a show. He noticed the man and his friends snaking beers out of the coolers Mr. Park put out for the promotion party, but had decided to let it go. This was a party, and there was plenty to go around.

The man in front of Faith was a local, also known as a townie, and he was taking forever to get his drink ordered. With all of the background noise it took Faith a while to realize that it was because he was trying to talk to a young woman seated at the bar, who plainly had no interest in him.

“Hey man, can I slide by?” Faith asked, tapping the man lightly on the shoulder.

“In a minute,” the man said, not even bothering to face Faith. “Can’t you see that I’m asking this lady if I can buy her a drink?”

Faith was annoyed. “Hey look, if she’s thirsty why don’t you just go grab another of our beers, like the ones you’ve been stealing all night?” Faith said, testily.

The man whirled around to face Faith, his face twisted with anger. “W’at did you say t’ me?” he slurred.

“Oh my God, this guy is really drunk,” Faith thought to himself.

By this time, everyone on that end of the bar was looking at Faith and the townie. “Look, I just want some shots,” Faith explained, “Can I get by?”

“No,” the townie said definitively, squaring up to Faith. Faith sighed. He didn’t want a fight, he just wanted a tray full of whiskey shots. Ordinarily he’d want to fight, but the alcohol had mellowed him out. He also knew that this guy was here with four or five of his buddies, and any with all of the people here with Faith, any type of fight was likely to turn into a full-fledged brawl. Faith looked towards the tables where the men in his platoon were partying. But the club was crowded and noisy, and none of them were looking Faith’s way. Faith decided he’d come back for the shots later and started to turn away.

“You know what? Never mind,” Faith said, turning to go back to his platoon.

Seeing Faith leaving, the townie grabbed the woman he was talking to by the arm. “That’s what I thought. Come on, let’s dance,” he ordered her.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!” Faith heard a tiny female voice exclaim. Faith turned and saw that the townie had his hand on the bare bicep of a young brunette in a short black dress. She was attractive enough, but that was probably just because of the dress and the makeup. He was trying to pull her towards the dance floor, but she clearly didn’t want to go. Faith didn’t want to get involved, but now he felt he had to.

“Hey bro, don’t grab her like that,” Faith said.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” one of the townie’s friends said. Now Faith was facing the townie and four of his friends.

Faith didn’t want a fight. He just wanted to have a good time with his guys. But he also deeply detested bullies. He had about a second to think about his next move before the situation escalated dramatically.
Faith saw something moving towards him at the last second, but by then it was too late to do anything about it. While Faith’s attention was focused on one of the townie’s friends, the townie swung a mostly-full beer bottle directly at Faith’s face. It was more or less a sucker punch, but with a bottle. Fortunately it did not break when it made contact, but it was still a solid hit directly under Faith’s left eye. It was a wild swing, and not particularly fast, but it was an accurate one. If he hadn’t been so drunk himself, Faith thought later, he probably could have ducked it.

The blow impacted with a solid THUNK that rocked Faith’s head back and left him momentarily stunned. He might even have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t already had his hand resting on the bar. Faith sensed more than heard what happened next. Someone behind him yelled “Oh, HELL NO!” and there was the sound of chair legs scraping the floor and a lot of men jumping to their feet. The girl who the townie was holding let out a small scream.

The townie’s friends, more aware than he was that Faith was at the bar with a group of 40+ other men that were now very much interested in what was happening, wisely grabbed the man and held him back from any further aggression.

“Stttoooppppppp!!” Faith bellowed, standing back up straight and holding out his arms to stop his men from rushing into the fray.

“You hit like a little bitch,” Faith informed the townie who had hit him, calmly but forcefully. “And unless you want to be on the wrong end of an Alabama monkey stomp, you and your little girlfriends,” he continued, waving a dismissive hand at the man’s cronies, “will get on out of here, right fucking now.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” the man said as his friends dragged him towards the club’s exit.

“Well, right now you probably should be,” Faith retorted.

As the townies made a well-advised exit from the club, Mr. Park the club manager arrived on the scene.

“What going on here?” he asked in his thick Korean accent.

“Nothing, Mr. Park, we’re all good here,” Faith assured him. Mr. Park didn’t look like he believed Faith, but he let it go.

“Are you OK?” the cute brunette in the black dress asked Faith after the townies had cleared out. Her name was probably Tina or something.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Faith informed her.

“Do you want to buy me a drink?” she asked, smiling fetchingly.

“Nope,” Faith said immediately, “But I’m sure one of those guys do,” he added, indicating the areas where his Soldiers were now settling back into their seats. “Plus I bet they will treat you better than that clown you were just talking to.” Faith was sure one of his guys eventually ended up going home with her that night. He just hoped that the woman wasn’t some sergeant major’s underage daughter.

Most of the Soldiers in 5th Platoon hadn’t seen what happened at the bar, but they heard what Faith had said to the group of townies, and they were all ready to fight if required. In fact, it seemed that everyone had gotten up to back Faith up after he got hit by the townie. Everyone, that is, except for one person.

“Damn Thigpen, how are you going to let your LT get hit in the face, and not do anything about it?” Specialist Stringer admonished, after Faith rejoined the group with his tray of shots.

“Yeah, you kind of sat there like a little pussy and didn’t do anything,” Sergeant Wilson agreed. Even Sergeant Ellery had something to say:

“Look, Thigpen,” he said, not unkindly, “We’re a team. We back each other up. The next time someone puts their hands on our LT, or any of us, I expect you to do something about it. Just like we would do for you.”

Thigpen seemed genuinely embarrassed. It wasn’t that he was scared to get into a fight… well, it wasn’t just that… but he genuinely did not know what he was supposed to do.

Faith assured them that he was fine, reiterated that the townie hit like a bitch, and there was no need for anyone to do anything other than to continue to drink, which everyone was more than happy to do.


After sharing the round of shots with his platoon, Faith decided it was time to wrap things up. His face was starting to hurt, and he was getting tired. And God only knows what else was going to happen if he stuck around. In the retelling of what happened, the term “Alabama monkey stomp” because the platoon’s catch phrase and inside joke. It had definitely been a night to remember.

Sergeant Ellery decided it was time for him to leave as well, and Faith and Ellery walked out together. “You’re going to want to put some ice on that when you get home, sir,” Ellery informed him, “or you’re going to have a black eye.”

“Eh,” Faith replied noncommittally.

“Give you a ride home, sir?” Ellery inquired.

“Nah, I just live down the street,” Faith said. “It’ll be good for me to walk it off.”

Ellery did not seem to approve.

“I mean, what’s going to happen, it’s not like I’m going to catch a DUI,” Faith laughed. “See you Monday.”

It was only a mile or so back to his house, and he was on foot. What could possibly go wrong?

Hope he enjoys going to the hospital in a "bus"

 

[Ranger Psych]

Townie and bro bros are going to be waiting outside, more than likely. Shit gets started in a bar, buddy team minimums now apply at all times with break contact SOP's etc in full effect.

 

[racing_kitty]

Townies are like Sand People, driving a Camaro instead of riding a bantha. This is going to end badly.

 

[ThunderHorse]

Faith and Ellery decided that they would go to bat for Thigpen, so he was allowed to stay in the company. But any further screw-ups, and Thigpen was gone. Fair enough.

A few weeks went by, and LT Faith was starting to think that he was getting the hang of this “Infantry platoon leader” thing. He was getting stronger and fitter thanks to Sergeant Ellery’s relentless PT program, his platoon was leading the company in almost every measurable category—PT test scores, weapons qualifications, vehicle maintenance, TOW qualification tables—and morale was sky-high. Even Thigpen was getting better.

But it was easy for Thigpen to get “better” when the baseline was so low. Faith found Private Thigpen to be an interesting case, largely because it was hard to figure out what motivated him. He didn’t care at all about money, or rank, or prestige, or responsibility. The only thing that seemed to work with him was yelling at him, or to threaten some form of mild physical violence, after which he adjusted his level of effort accordingly. While he managed to get within standards—barely—on most things, he still caught a LOT of crap over his barracks room. Because of the personnel shortages in the company, Thigpen had his own room. But try as he might, he couldn’t keep it clean. And we’re not talking “West Point white glove inspection” clean, we’re talking “an average person wouldn’t be totally disgusted” standards. That was kind of gross.

What Thigpen really wanted, Faith discovered, was a friend. He had none. And it was easy to understand why, because Thigpen was just an unlikeable guy. While his hygiene habits had improved to the point that he wasn’t getting regularly jacked up by every NCO who happened by, he still gave off a distinct “Pigpen” vibe. He would do anything for attention and acceptance, and while the other members of 5th Platoon tolerated Thigpen, he was seen more like a retarded little brother than as a real friend by most of the platoon. The only one who he seemed to have any kind of meaningful relationship with was Specialist Stringer, whom Thigpen idolized and tried to (unsuccessfully) emulate. In his off hours, Thigpen hung out mainly with some other low-performing non-hackers in 2nd Platoon, which Faith thought was weird given the way that they had treated him previously. He also thought they were a bad influence, but what was he going to do, hang out with Thigpen himself?

Faith eventually learned that Thigpen had been home schooled by a single mother, and joined the Army with a GED and an ASVAB waiver. He was stunted physically, intellectually, and emotionally. He found it hard to make friends, and was absolutely terrified to talk to girls. He was mentally slow and emotionally unstable. Faith considered it a crime that he was let into the Army at all. But right now, the Army was all that Private Thigpen had.

A few weeks after pinning on First Lieutenant, Faith and a few of the other newly-minted 1LTs decided to go in together on a promotion party. As was the usual practice, they catered it through the post’s all-ranks club, the Stabajinski Club. The Stabajinski was named after a famous World War II war hero, but its name did not live up to its performance. It was a dump. The food was decent, but the ambiance was distinctly “Army ghetto.” It was dingy, dimly lit, and there were no private rooms, just a large bar, a bunch of tables and chairs, and a large central buffet area. The walls were adorned with a mishmash of beer signs and military paraphernalia, most of it 101st Airborne-related. The club was managed by Mr. Park, a no-nonsense Korean-American Vietnam War veteran who not only wouldn’t take anyone’s shit, but was also reputed to be some kind of tae kwon do expert.

As the all-ranks club, it was also the only club on post that didn’t check for military ID at the door, which meant that that it was a hangout for locals as well as troops. And although it was technically an all-ranks club, most of the NCOs and officers hung out at their own clubs, not this one. But because the place attracted young single men with money, it also attracted young women, not all of whom were of age, and some of whom were straight up prostitutes. The process of ensuring people ordering drinks were of age was, at best, sporadic. All in all, it was a volatile mix. The MPs referred to the club as the “Stab n Jab” because of the number of fights that broke out there.

In the Army, the expectation was to put one month’s pay difference between the former rank and the new rank towards the party. There was a noticeable pay bump in going from 2LT to 1LT, and on top of that, an additional longevity pay increase for going over two years. By pooling their money, the four lieutenants were able to put a considerable amount of money towards a group party. And of course being young, and in the Infantry, most of that money went towards alcohol.

The Stab n Jab was packed even more than usual on the day of the party. Faith and the other lieutenants arrived early and were able to secure a corner of the club near the bar. Mr. Park brought out several coolers and plastic tubs filled with ice, which he then filled up with beer. The beer was cold just before the hot food came out. Faith was surprised at the number of people who showed up, but he wasn’t sure if that was a testament to the popularity of him and his peers, or if it as the lure of free alcohol. He was pretty sure it was the latter.

An hour or so into the revelry, Faith’s company commander showed up, had one beer, congratulated Faith, and then excused himself. That was fine, because Faith intended to get really drunk tonight, and would feel better about doing so if his boss wasn’t watching. Sergeant Ellery was there of course, as was all of 5th Platoon. While this was a joint party, most of the participants self-segregated by platoon. Faith’s 5th Platoon, out of nothing more than coincidence, was nearest the bar. There were 20 of them total, crowded around three or four plastic round-top tables, which were at this point covered with empty beer cans, dirty plates, and cigarette ash trays. Everyone was having a really good time. Faith was very buzzed, but he kept drinking. He tended to be a happy drunk, and he didn’t understand how some people got violent and wanted to fight when they drank. Faith just got sleepy, and he woke up at more than one fraternity party with dicks drawn on his face with black magic marker after nodding off during a party.

There was little chance of nodding off this time, though, because there was a LOT going on. In addition to four more-or-less entire platoons from 1/327 there, but there were lots of troops from other units, and lots of locals. Karoke was going on, so there was a lot of noise. Young women dressed up for a night out provided stimulating “eye candy.” And there was also a hot card game going, and Faith was right in the middle of it. It was, of course, Spades. Faith’s platoon learned he played during one of their many road trips to perform burial duty. One of them thought it was weird, because “officers don’t play spades.” Well not only did Faith play spades, he was actually quite good at it, and at Hearts.

He actually preferred Hearts, because it was harder for people to cheat. And the only thing that Soldiers spent more time on than playing Spades, was figuring out how to cheat at Spades. It wasn’t that Faith was morally opposed to cheating; to the contrary, he was quite adept at it himself. His favorite way was to take his hand after it was dealt, spread his cards out in his hand, and start organizing them. This is, of course, what every other player was doing at the same time. The difference was, Faith would fan his cards in his hands so that they showed towards his partner, instead of himself. With the two opposing players focused on their own cards, most of the time no one except Faith’s partner would notice this little trick. And if someone did notice? Well, it was all part of the game.

Tonight, though, Faith was playing it straight, partly because his partner was one of the Soldiers in the platoon he never played with before, but mostly because there were too many witnesses. Sergeant Wilson had returned victorious from Ranger School and had come to pay his respects, and he was paired with Specialist Stringer against Faith and another lieutenant. Because Faith refused to gamble for money, the wager was for pushups and bragging rights. Wilson and Stringer were good players and played together often. They were also accomplished cheats. What they didn’t realize, though, was that Faith had figured out their signals and table talk. That was the edge that was needed to push Faith and his partner over the edge and to a win.

When the final cards were played, the table erupted in cheers and laughter. Wilson and Stringer had run their mouths the entire game, and lost in the last hand. They loudly protested but were shouted down by their colleagues. Laughing, Stringer and Wilson dropped to the floor of the club and knocked out the wagered 101 pushups.

Still laughing, Faith stood up to go to the bar and get a round of shots for him and his platoon. Some of his men were underage, but everyone was just going to let that go tonight. He got in line behind one of the locals, a tough-looking youngster that walked around like he had a chip on his shoulder. The young man dressed as if he wanted everyone to think that he was a gangster, but Faith suspected it was just a show. He noticed the man and his friends snaking beers out of the coolers Mr. Park put out for the promotion party, but had decided to let it go. This was a party, and there was plenty to go around.

The man in front of Faith was a local, also known as a townie, and he was taking forever to get his drink ordered. With all of the background noise it took Faith a while to realize that it was because he was trying to talk to a young woman seated at the bar, who plainly had no interest in him.

“Hey man, can I slide by?” Faith asked, tapping the man lightly on the shoulder.

“In a minute,” the man said, not even bothering to face Faith. “Can’t you see that I’m asking this lady if I can buy her a drink?”

Faith was annoyed. “Hey look, if she’s thirsty why don’t you just go grab another of our beers, like the ones you’ve been stealing all night?” Faith said, testily.

The man whirled around to face Faith, his face twisted with anger. “W’at did you say t’ me?” he slurred.

“Oh my God, this guy is really drunk,” Faith thought to himself.

By this time, everyone on that end of the bar was looking at Faith and the townie. “Look, I just want some shots,” Faith explained, “Can I get by?”

“No,” the townie said definitively, squaring up to Faith. Faith sighed. He didn’t want a fight, he just wanted a tray full of whiskey shots. Ordinarily he’d want to fight, but the alcohol had mellowed him out. He also knew that this guy was here with four or five of his buddies, and any with all of the people here with Faith, any type of fight was likely to turn into a full-fledged brawl. Faith looked towards the tables where the men in his platoon were partying. But the club was crowded and noisy, and none of them were looking Faith’s way. Faith decided he’d come back for the shots later and started to turn away.

“You know what? Never mind,” Faith said, turning to go back to his platoon.

Seeing Faith leaving, the townie grabbed the woman he was talking to by the arm. “That’s what I thought. Come on, let’s dance,” he ordered her.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!” Faith heard a tiny female voice exclaim. Faith turned and saw that the townie had his hand on the bare bicep of a young brunette in a short black dress. She was attractive enough, but that was probably just because of the dress and the makeup. He was trying to pull her towards the dance floor, but she clearly didn’t want to go. Faith didn’t want to get involved, but now he felt he had to.

“Hey bro, don’t grab her like that,” Faith said.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” one of the townie’s friends said. Now Faith was facing the townie and four of his friends.

Faith didn’t want a fight. He just wanted to have a good time with his guys. But he also deeply detested bullies. He had about a second to think about his next move before the situation escalated dramatically.
Faith saw something moving towards him at the last second, but by then it was too late to do anything about it. While Faith’s attention was focused on one of the townie’s friends, the townie swung a mostly-full beer bottle directly at Faith’s face. It was more or less a sucker punch, but with a bottle. Fortunately it did not break when it made contact, but it was still a solid hit directly under Faith’s left eye. It was a wild swing, and not particularly fast, but it was an accurate one. If he hadn’t been so drunk himself, Faith thought later, he probably could have ducked it.

The blow impacted with a solid THUNK that rocked Faith’s head back and left him momentarily stunned. He might even have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t already had his hand resting on the bar. Faith sensed more than heard what happened next. Someone behind him yelled “Oh, HELL NO!” and there was the sound of chair legs scraping the floor and a lot of men jumping to their feet. The girl who the townie was holding let out a small scream.

The townie’s friends, more aware than he was that Faith was at the bar with a group of 40+ other men that were now very much interested in what was happening, wisely grabbed the man and held him back from any further aggression.

“Stttoooppppppp!!” Faith bellowed, standing back up straight and holding out his arms to stop his men from rushing into the fray.

“You hit like a little bitch,” Faith informed the townie who had hit him, calmly but forcefully. “And unless you want to be on the wrong end of an Alabama monkey stomp, you and your little girlfriends,” he continued, waving a dismissive hand at the man’s cronies, “will get on out of here, right fucking now.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” the man said as his friends dragged him towards the club’s exit.

“Well, right now you probably should be,” Faith retorted.

As the townies made a well-advised exit from the club, Mr. Park the club manager arrived on the scene.

“What going on here?” he asked in his thick Korean accent.

“Nothing, Mr. Park, we’re all good here,” Faith assured him. Mr. Park didn’t look like he believed Faith, but he let it go.

“Are you OK?” the cute brunette in the black dress asked Faith after the townies had cleared out. Her name was probably Tina or something.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Faith informed her.

“Do you want to buy me a drink?” she asked, smiling fetchingly.

“Nope,” Faith said immediately, “But I’m sure one of those guys do,” he added, indicating the areas where his Soldiers were now settling back into their seats. “Plus I bet they will treat you better than that clown you were just talking to.” Faith was sure one of his guys eventually ended up going home with her that night. He just hoped that the woman wasn’t some sergeant major’s underage daughter.

Most of the Soldiers in 5th Platoon hadn’t seen what happened at the bar, but they heard what Faith had said to the group of townies, and they were all ready to fight if required. In fact, it seemed that everyone had gotten up to back Faith up after he got hit by the townie. Everyone, that is, except for one person.

“Damn Thigpen, how are you going to let your LT get hit in the face, and not do anything about it?” Specialist Stringer admonished, after Faith rejoined the group with his tray of shots.

“Yeah, you kind of sat there like a little pussy and didn’t do anything,” Sergeant Wilson agreed. Even Sergeant Ellery had something to say:

“Look, Thigpen,” he said, not unkindly, “We’re a team. We back each other up. The next time someone puts their hands on our LT, or any of us, I expect you to do something about it. Just like we would do for you.”

Thigpen seemed genuinely embarrassed. It wasn’t that he was scared to get into a fight… well, it wasn’t just that… but he genuinely did not know what he was supposed to do.

Faith assured them that he was fine, reiterated that the townie hit like a bitch, and there was no need for anyone to do anything other than to continue to drink, which everyone was more than happy to do.


After sharing the round of shots with his platoon, Faith decided it was time to wrap things up. His face was starting to hurt, and he was getting tired. And God only knows what else was going to happen if he stuck around. In the retelling of what happened, the term “Alabama monkey stomp” because the platoon’s catch phrase and inside joke. It had definitely been a night to remember.

Sergeant Ellery decided it was time for him to leave as well, and Faith and Ellery walked out together. “You’re going to want to put some ice on that when you get home, sir,” Ellery informed him, “or you’re going to have a black eye.”

“Eh,” Faith replied noncommittally.

“Give you a ride home, sir?” Ellery inquired.

“Nah, I just live down the street,” Faith said. “It’ll be good for me to walk it off.”

Ellery did not seem to approve.

“I mean, what’s going to happen, it’s not like I’m going to catch a DUI,” Faith laughed. “See you Monday.”

It was only a mile or so back to his house, and he was on foot. What could possibly go wrong?

Someone is going to be in the stockade...and someone is going to be in the hospital.

 

[Kaldak]

What could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words. He's getting jumped.

 

[Marauder06]

Someone is going to be in the stockade...and someone is going to be in the hospital.

Interestingly, when I commanded 5th Group's MID we were located inside Campbell's old post stockade. Good times...

 

[Bambi]

Never ever go alone leaving a bar/restaurant/ any place after having an altercation inside. A year or so ago 2 friends and I had an altercation at a Waffle House with drunks/druggies, when we went outside, 2 girls had a pipe wrench and a screwdriver waiting for us, and a guy who’s right hand was deep in a jacket pocket, had not been for deescalation and all of us being out there, they would of tried to jump one of us.

 

[Marauder06]

Like most things on post the Stab n Jab Club was walking distance from Faith’s house, and if the walk home didn’t sober him up it at least made him more alert. It also popped into his mind that the townie and his boys might be looking for some payback, but that didn’t happen. The walk back was longer than he remembered, and Faith regretted not taking up Sergeant Ellery on that ride.

Faith’s face was hurting badly by the time he got back home, and he really meant to ice it, but he ended up falling asleep on the couch instead. And as predicted, in the morning he had a black left eye. Faith hoped that his black eye would be gone by Monday, but it wasn’t. He was not looking forward to explaining to his company commander how he got a shiner over the weekend, but interestingly, Captain Thompson never asked. And since there wasn’t a police report on the incident, it was like it never even happened.

Faith was amazed by how the story of the Friday night fight grew in the telling. His personal favorite was “LT beat the shit out of five drunk-ass townies, and all that happened was that he got a black eye!” That was, of course, not at all close to what happened, but it was an interesting enough twist on the story that Faith just let it go.

Sergeant Ellery held the platoon after the First Sergeant released everyone after Monday’s end of day formation. When the rest of the company was out of earshot, he addressed the men:

“I just wanted to say thanks to our LT for the party on Friday night,” Ellery said, “and that I’m proud of you for your discipline and your behavior. Friday night could have ended very badly for a lot of people,” he added.

“Alabama monkey stomp!” someone shouted from within the platoon, illicitly a burst of laughter.

“BUT… the next time someone threatens the LT, you better stick up for him,” admonished Sergeant Ellery. “All of you,” he added, looking directly at Private Thigpen. “In 5th Platoon, we’re all in this together. We all take care of each other.”