On the third Saturday, after inspection, I was told to report to Sergeant Nelson’s office. This office was really a small private billet across from the Day Room where he and Corporal Johnson slept. It was never a good thing to be called to his ‘office;’ most of the time it meant trouble. Wondering what the hell I had done wrong, I hurried to report.
As always, the hatch (door) was closed, so I gave it three very firm knocks and brought myself to attention. From the other side of the door, Sergeants Nelson’s voice rang out. “Who is the idiot pounding on my palace door?”
“Recruit Clarke, sir.”
Nelson shouted back, “Show yourself.”
Opening the door, I entered the room and braced myself in front of Sergeant Nelson. He was seated behind a small desk, with a brown file folder open. The room had two bunks on each side, with footlockers and chairs at the foot of each bed. Above each bed, tacked to the walls, were Marine recruiting posters. The desk was in the middle of the room, and behind it was a window with a small table under it. On the table were a hot plate, coffee pot and two white coffee mugs. The room was Marine clean.
Looking up from the desk, Nelson said, “Do you like my palace?”
“No, sir…I mean, yes, sir,” I said with frustration.
Sergeant Nelson looked back down at the file and continued, “The platoon has drawn guard duty this week. I have assigned your squad the first duty, starting at midnight. Your name is at the top of the roster. You will relieve Carter from the 3rd Platoon at 2400. You will be relieved at 0400 by Recruit Benson from your squad.” Reaching down, he picked up the typewritten roster and handed it to me. His gaze now squarely on mine, he continued, “You will wear utilities, and I want you and your squad to look and be sharp. Carter will relinquish his training weapon to you, and you will relinquish that same weapon when relieved. The weapon is not loaded, but I want you to treat it as loaded. Do you understand? Do you have questions?”
“Yes, sir. What is the password for tomorrow?”
“The challenge is ‘York.’ The reply is ‘Sergeant.’ I do not expect you will see a soul, at that hour on a Sunday morning, but if you do, use the challenge. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir! One more question. What are we guarding, and where do I report?”
“Your mission is to guard the drinking fountains directly across the parade grounds from this barracks.”
I paused a moment. “Aye, aye, sir!”
That afternoon, I briefed my squad about the ‘mission’ and passed out the schedule for each man. Stressing the importance of sharpness, I reminded them of Sergeant Nelson’s orders. Before chow, I went to the laundry and picked up two freshly starched and pressed utilities. After chow, I spit-shined my boots and belt buckle to such a high gloss that I could see my reflection. Just before Lights Out, I dressed in my uniform and retired to the latrine, where I would wait. Passing the time, sitting on a commode, I reread the half dozen letters Laura had sent me during the past few weeks. Her words were full of home, love and happiness, and her envelopes were full of the scent of her perfume. While I had long ago memorized each letter’s contents, it was a joy just to see and smell them again.
At 2345, I exited the barracks and walked across the parade grounds towards the fountains. The night was dark, cool and silent. Approaching the other side, I could easily make out Carter, standing at parade rest under a nearby street light. Next to him were ten drinking fountains, raised on a small wooden platform. The raised area was about thirty feet long and four feet wide.
