To a lot of you, November 10 is just another date in the countdown to stuffing yourself stupid with turkey. But to those of you who are already halfway through your OORAH, November 10 is a special day. On November 10, 1775, the United States Marine Corps was founded.Every year since, all across the globe, from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, Marines past and present gather to do the one thing they do as well as kill – drink.
At the time, I was working for the National Security Agency in Augusta, Georgia. My best friend Joe was a similarly-employed Marine. In truth, the only things professional about us were our job title – Cryptologists, and our security clearances. We were in our mid 20’s and we lived for excuses like the Marine Corps Birthday Ball to don some fancy clothes and reach a level of intoxication that is only acceptable on alcoholic high holidays, like St. Patrick’s Day, New Years Eve, and Superbowl Sunday. Thankfully, and with quiet confidence in his heterosexuality, Joe invited me to the ball as his date, it was to be our first.
Our platoon was a hodgepodge of Marine, Navy, Air Force, and prior-service-turned-NSA civilians. The ball was a drunken delight, but it was just the beginning. After sitting through long lectures about the prestige of the Marine Corps, listening to battle hymns sung by half-drunk choir-boys, and watching intoxicated Non-Commissioned Officers use their sabers to cut the cake, the formalities of the evening were over and we were no longer required to continue the illusion of sobriety we’d been ordered to maintain for the ceremonies. As they always do, the Navy was there to supply transportation for this division of drunk Devil Dogs.
Tonight our enemy was sobriety and we’d see it sprawled dead in our wake! We departed from the safety of the Marriott Ballroom and entered the civilian world on a heroic march to a nearby watering hole. We lost a lot of men on that march. They fell before the sore-heeled feet of their wives, the curfew of their kid’s babysitter, the nagging of Saturday duty. Some, too, fell from fatigue, inebriation, and the siren call of lust. Nevertheless, we persevered in the face of adversity. When we arrived at our position, we found it supplied with reinforcements! Friends who’d not attended the Ball joined in this anti-sobriety night-op. One of freshly-acquired auxiliaries was Amy, a girl I’d been pursuing for some time. She worked the cosmetics counter at Walgreen’s and had given me some really great skincare tips.
With the arrival of an additional fire team, our squad was back at full strength. It was clear we’d need appropriate operational rations. Sergeant Joe did what sergeants do and procured a dozen tequila shots. Unfortunately for Joe, closing time was approaching and we’d been drinking for hours already. Our squad was tired, drunk, horny, and nearly out of health and ammo. His generosity was denied by all. Undaunted, he refused to allow any of his largesse go to waste. In a heroic act worthy of a bronze star, he single-handedly dispatched his shot glass foes. Semi-automatic shots rang out, and within minutes, our Patron-fueled patron’s eyes took on a war-weary glaze.
Realizing the tide of battle had turned, it was time for a hasty evac. As our squad was in shambles, I gathered what remained of our makeshift fire-team: me, Joe, Amy, and our friend Nafisa. Our team had to make it three blocks before we returned to the safety of our Marriott base. But, after Joe’s tequila heroics, the walk turned into a stumble through dangerous territory with an injured man. Sergeant Joe was taunting anyone in earshot. Unable to concentrate on both speaking and walking, Joe became our first casualty. ‘MAN DOWN!’ Nafisa yelled from a half-block ahead, I saw Joe collapse and heard the loud CRACK that occurs when bone gives way to concrete. I ran ahead and hoisted him up with his arm around my shoulder. Joe was a wreck, bleeding from his head with blood trickling down the right side of his face, over his dress blues and onto my suit. Nafisa called a Medi-vac and confirmed it would meet us at the Marriott , now only a block away.
That last block was hell, it was littered with debris from the co-located and poorly fenced-in construction zone! Nafisa moved ahead to scout. I continued supporting Joe but in the confusion, Amy fell behind. Moments later, I heard her shrill scream of pain. Leaving Joe momentarily, I backtracked and discovered Amy fallen into a hole in the fence. Her face was covered in blood from a deep gash across her nose. Gathering her and Joe, we continued our slow trek to base.
The familiar blue and red flashing lights of civilian first-responders told us we were safe. Medics rushed out of the ambulance to help Joe, who had vomited as well as bled on his uniform during our harrowing journey. After a hasty triage, it was determined both Joe and Amy would need to go to the hospital. Both, in their drunken wisdom, refused the ambulance. In the face of this crisis, my Navy training kicked in and I did what the Navy always does and provided transport for Marines.
I requisitioned Joe’s truck for the mission and loaded my patients for evac. We arrived at the hospital after only a few minor collisions. The hospital staff, taking one look at Joe covered in vomit and blood, immediately found him a berth. A nurse informed me that, because Joe’s injuries were more pressing and his insurance more promising, he would get stapled and sutured before they began working on Amy. During this discussion, another nurse came out and told me Joe needed my support. I began bouncing from room to room, checking on Joe and Amy. Drunk Joe was emotional, spilling his feelings and repeatedly professing his undying and drunken love to me. Unbeknownst to me, while I was discussing Joe’s injuries with the nurse, Amy was running her own covert op. During her triage, she informed the nurse that she was my fiancé and therefore she was on my government insurance. The hospital staff believed her story and admitted her for care. While Joe was confessing love, Amy decided it was also time to take our love to the next level. On my third trip to her room, I found Amy half-naked and ready to consummate our insurance-fraud engagement. Despite all of her allure, the sterile smell of the hospital, our blood and vomit crusted clothes, and Joe’s confession of undying love prevented my mast from springing to attention.
After four hours in the Emergency Room the nurses allowed Amy and I to depart to our yet-unused hotel room. We’d have to return and pick up Joe later that day as it was now morning and he would be required to remain under observation for a few more hours. She was upset and crying through her bandaged face and nose, lamenting that her career at the Walgreen’s makeup counter was surely over. I remained a bit more calm, at least on the surface. Internally I was rife with strife, Did I just have my first date with a man? Would my friends believe any of this? Was I engaged now? Did I just commit insurance fraud?
Carson Rapose 