The Skirmish
OCS, Officer Candidate School USMC, Quantico Virginia.
It was midnight, in a pine forest out in the middle of nowhere.
The three of us in the jeep had been called in to report to the Company Commander. 1st/Lt. Clairfield, our Platoon Commander, was driving. He was a real Marine. I and my good buddy Dennis were officer candidates, with a week to go. As we bounced along, I told the Lieutenant what had happened –
A little earlier that night two aggressors from our opponent the First Platoon had tried to sneak into our campsite and steal our Second Platoon flag, which was our objective of the field exercise. When they got to my foxhole there was a skirmish. We were being called in to explain why we had disregarded the rules against physical contact and beat them up so bad.
We pulled up to the Red Cross tent. We ducked into the tent and the two aggressors were sitting on a cot getting bandaged by a corpsman. They were bloody and bruised. Looked like they had been in a thrashing machine.
The Company Commander, a real Marine Captain came in the tent. We all came to attention and he had us stand at ease and motioned for the two wounded to sit. He stood tall and put his hands on his hips. He looked at our Lt. Clairfield and said, “These two candidates say that your men beat them up.”
Their 1st/Lieutenant said, “This is totally out of bounds. Physical contact in these exercises is totally prohibited. Somebody’s head’s going to roll.”
The Captain looked back at Lt Clairfield and nodded to proceed. Lt Clarfield crossed his rippled arms and spread his stance. He looked at me and said, “Candidate, tell the Captain what you told me.”
“Sir. Earlier tonight I was sitting in my fresh dug four-foot foxhole. As you know there is no moon but my night vision had adjusted. I could look up and see stars until they put the 2-foot thick layer of brush over my foxhole, and then I could still see some stars. We had our perimeter set up. Our 2nd Platoon members were embedded in foxholes every 20 feet around our perimeter. Fishing line connected each foxhole. Each candidate was listeneing intently, expecting to challenge any noise or movement for the proper password. As candidate CO I had already made my rounds and exercised the password at dusk. I was expecting the XO, my buddy candidate Ioerger here to make his perimeter check any time now. All was well. It was pitch black.
But then I heard a twig snap. Then another. I whispered the challenge word, “Peanut.” The twigs went silent. There was no “butter” response. Another twig snapped. I whispered the challenge again, “Peanut.”
I heard one guy say, “Was that you?” The other guy whispered, “No! Shut up!”
I figured they were First Platoon aggressors and had been doing the exhausting stealth crawl in the total darkness for some time. They would be shaking and exhausted.
My M-14 rifle was pointed straight up between my knees. It had a muzzle suppressor and was loaded with fifteen blank cartridges. I eased the safety off, closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
KA-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM- BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM KA-BLAM!
The blast shattered the night. One of our guys said the flashes erupted the size of a Christmas tree. He saw them jump up and crash into each other. I could hear them thrashing and pummeling each other. Brush was falling in on me. One of them said, “Let go you idiot – it’s me!” I heard running and stumbling through the brush and then it got quiet.”
I said, “Sir, none of us touched them.”
The Captain held eye contact for an extra second. He looked down at the two all bandaged up and silently shook his head. He turned and left. I think he was fighting off a grin.