I didn't get an Article 15 for this but I should have.

SPOILER ALERT: One of the highlights was getting smoked by the Chaplain.



Back in 1994 I went to JRTC. My buddy from OSUT and I were on gate guard duty overnight. As the commander's driver, he had access to one of the few vehicles in a light infantry unit. We had planned ahead, replacing useless items like camouflage nets in the back of the HMMWV with useful things like pogy bait and a pallet of Coca Cola.



We were bored, so we two geniuses decided that empty Coke bottles plus MRE heaters = fun. We would prime a charge, then toss it in the back of outgoing vehicles, snickering about how funny this was. (*I realize this is not really funny NOW, but then it seemed like a great idea). Well, the third vehicle out of the gate belonged to the Regiment CSM. My buddy checked nervously whether I had chucked an MRE-IED in CSM Duree's truck (I had). "Crap!, Well, maybe it will be a dud." Not so much. After what seemed to be forever, we heard a BOOM, tires screeching on gravel, and a crash.



The sound carries very well in the bayou. We could hear the CSM cursing from what I would estimate as a mile away judging by the 15 minutes it took for him to walk back to the gate. It started off as a string of muttering, like the dad from "A Christmas Story". Soon though, it was clear what he was saying, and the fear of our impending demise gripped us like a vice. He comes into range, and we challenge him with a "Halt, who goes there". In no mood for this, the CSM responded with something like You know damned well who I am.

Advance to be recognized.

Hoo, hoo, you will find out soon...

Place your ID card on the ground.

Ah HA, sure, come on out here...

Hmm. Uh... we issued the challenge... and he didn't know the password.

We wouldn't let him in.

This only served to enrage him, as he explained in great detail what would happen if we didn't let him in. Still, we refused.

Finally my buddy chickened out and gave him the number combination.



We got smoked for about an hour, then the CSM had us recover and told us depending on what kind of mood he woke up in, we'd either be E-1s or be on the bunker for the rest of the rotation (three more weeks). Knowing that he had NCO call at 0500 and it was now almost 0400, I realized we were screwed. Having just made PFC, I was doubly depressed.

I think at some level, the CSM respected us standing our ground as sentries, even if we were jackasses.



What happened all day the following day was we were paid a visit by everyone in our chain-of-command, each of whom took a bite out of us. But the best part was the Chaplain.

He walks up around noon with the Chaplain Assistant and asks us how we were doing. I said we'd had better days. He says: " I am about to do something I've never done in 22 years in the Army. I'm going to smoke you two." We proceed to do pushups. I think we were approaching 1500 repetitions on the day by now. As we were pushing, he continues:

"I am going to tell you why I am doing this. In all my years, I have never ever heard such a string of vileness, filth, blasphemies, and taking the Lord's name in vain as I heard from CSM Duree this morning. Because of this, I am pretty sure that you have damned his eternal soul through your foolish actions. And now I am going to take it out of your sorry Asses!"



We could not help but fall on our faces laughing. Chaplain Jobe was not impressed. He was serious as a heart attack.



This news spread like wildfire, and Soldiers from all over the unit came to verify what we had done and we had in fact been smoked by the Chaplain. BWAHAHAHA!



Later, our Platoon Sergeant showed up with a spool of 550 cord. He carefully measured, pounded in two stakes, and leashed us to them, informing us that was as far as we could go for the rest of the rotation. At full extension, we could just make it to the water buffalo and with one leg hanging outside, the port-a-john.



We paid all right, but we didn't get an Article 15.

I also couldn't buy a beer in the NCO Club for the rest of the time I was in that unit, as the legend of that night got told, retold, and embellished every time I was in there and drinks rained down on us like manna from heaven.



About a year later, after 12 straight months of going to Soldier of the Month boards (my PSGs sick joke to ensure I got regular face time with the CSM, but that is another story), I think I might of earned a bit of respect from CSM Duree. As he was throwing me out of his board room for the umpteenth time, he called me back to the X and handed me my first coin.

I still have it, and it is still my favorite.