After I had been reassigned to the 227th Maintenance Battalion at Yongsan, Seoul, Korea, to take command of the 305th Supply and Services Company, some unexpected guests popped in for the change of command. Now, if my senior rater had been keeping a tally sheet, I scored a strike with that performance. Perhaps that was strike one. Getting your first strike the first day on the job is never a good thing. My Battalion Commander and my senior rater both thought of me as a loose cannon because of what unfolded at my change of command ceremony. But the events that unfolded at my change of command ceremony were not my fault. And just exactly what is a loose cannon? I have never seen a loose cannon. Picture in your mind a 155 millimeter howitzer running around on the battlefield or at a shooting range unattended. That would be quite amusing, especially if that howitzer were to be a towed howitzer. A common lay term for howitzer is cannon just in case you didn’t know. If you’ve ever been up close to 155 millimeter towed howitzer, you know just exactly how big one of those sons-of-bitches is. You certainly cannot lift it by yourself. Oh hell no. And you need a big ass truck to tow the sonofabitch around. So explain to me exactly how in the hell that cannon gets away from you and becomes loose so that it can run around all over hell. Inquiring minds would like to know. I would certainly like to know. I don’t think that there is any such thing as a loose cannon. Unless of course, some of the bolts holding it together come loose and it starts to fall apart when you shoot it. If that happens, I hope you can run like hell and you can run really fast, really far, really quick. Otherwise, you might get your ass blown off when you have a decidedly short round go off. That would be one helluva AW SHIT. Of course, you wouldn’t get a chance to say it before you have to kiss your ass goodbye. Nope. The last thing that would run through your mind would be the flash-bang of the explosion. It’s sort of like the last thing that runs through a bug’s mind when it hits the windshield of a car speeding down the highway. You know. Its ass. But I digress. You may recall an event that managed to reward me with a second strike. I scored that second strike because I successfully removed my First Sergeant for cause. The problem was that my First Sergeant was my senior rater’s pet. Oops. Talk about some chickenshit excuse for giving me an ass chewing. Any normal person would understand why my First Sergeant had to go after hearing the story. Unfortunately, my senior rater didn’t exactly see things the way I did. It was an education process. I had thrown a morale boosting T-shirt party for my soldiers as a reward for outstanding work during a historically significant ceremonial event. That T-shirt party in and of itself was a good thing. But the stroke of genius was yet to come. The Eighth Army Commanding General declared a command-wide PT (physical training) run in PT uniform for all units. The run was to be a two-mile run in formation. Units and organizations that had a special designated organizational PT uniform would be allowed to wear it during the run. Once I read the rules, I said, “Hey. All I have to do is write a PT uniform policy that states that the company uniform consists of the PT shorts and our special blue T-shirts with the company logo that we had made for the morale booster party.” I completed the look of the PT uniform by adding a dark blue beanie hat. I had the policy letter typed and I signed it. Then, I took it up to Battalion headquarters and talked with the Battalion Commander about the policy. He liked my idea and countersigned my policy with his approval. I told him that I was going to have the whole company wear the special designated PT uniform during the command-wide PT run. The Battalion Commander said, “Go for it.” I replied, “Sir, this has to be a surprise. Nobody else in the Battalion can know about this until the morning of the run. When we march into formation with our blue beanie hats and matching blue T-shirts, we want to stand out. I am trying to build a fighting machine with my company.” “I understand, Wright. I wholeheartedly support your endeavor.” The morning of the run, my unit showed up in formation wearing our special PT uniform. We could hear the grumbling and complaining of the soldiers in the other companies of the Battalion as we marched into the Battalion formation. They were not happy to see us. It was obvious that we stood out. My plan had worked. The Battalion set out and joined the rest of the post in formation to start the two-mile run. Of course, my senior rater was an observer, not a runner. What in the hell was up with that shit? When my company ran past my senior rater, he pulled me out of formation immediately. I had one of my lieutenants take over the formation. My lieutenants and some of my NCOs asked me where I was going. I replied, “I think I just scored a strike three.” They looked at me with puzzled looks and some asked, “What?” “In other words, I may not be back.” I trotted over to the Group Commander and reported. His face was at least nine shades of red and his veins in his neck were so huge that they were rippling and popping. I thought for sure he had a heart attack in progress. It was quite obvious that he was nine shades of pissed off too. I don’t even know what nine shades of pissed off is. But that’s what he was. I had seen some really pissed off people in my time. But I had never seen anybody as pissed off as my senior rater was that day. He was so angry that he couldn’t even speak for several minutes. When he did speak, his lips were trembling. He looked me straight in the eyes and said (well, he really spit the words), three little words, “You are fired!” I could have taken a shower in the spray from his words. Spittle and drool were dripping from his chin. It was not a pretty sight. Then he said, “Get the hell out of my sight! Your office better be empty when I get there.” I guess he wasn’t kidding, so I disappeared lickety-split. Now, if your memories are really good, you will remember that lickety-split is much faster than two shakes of a lamb’s tail. And two shakes of a lamb’s tail is pretty damn quick. In other words, I disappeared really fast. How quickly can a commander fall? Well, it seems that no matter what you do, you can fall from grace damn fast. And I fell hard. Strike three. I was out for the count. That was one helluva exercise in futility.
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