A National Guard story

After the initial incident I said to SFC Porter, another platoon sergeant, “Nothing like that ever happens when you or I are around.” A while later I thought, “Of course nothing like that happens when you or Porter are around. Your guys would never do a thing like that; they were raised better.”

The company was at Fort Hood, three days before the end of Annual Training, individual platoons going through a four-kilometer long obstacle course. The course was not four kilometers of one obstacle, but a series of obstacles – go over, under or through this one and then move dismounted to the next obstacle.

The final obstacle was low crawl under barbed wire while an M60 machine gun fired overhead. The course was not dangerous or long, 30 or 40 meters wide. The M60 was on an elevated concrete platform and the gun locked in place, no elevation or depression or traverse possible. The gun fired about 10 feet over the obstacle, which meant somebody could stand up and jump up and down and not be hit. Maybe if somebody tall enough stood right in front of the gun and stuck his hand straight up and jumped up – maybe his hand would be hit.

For some reason, Porter’s lieutenant was with a group from another platoon. When the group was about halfway across the low crawl, SP Fumbducks stood up and said, “---- this ----“ and started walking to the far side. The M60 stopped firing. Porter’s LT yelled at SP Fumbducks. “Get down! Get down!” SP Fumbducks said, “---- you.”
The LT then ordered Fumbducks to complete the course. Fumbducks said, “---- you. I’ve got a knife and I know where you sleep.”

When returning to the company assembly area, the LT reported the incident to the company commander. The CO spoke with Fumbduck’s platoon sergeant and squad leader, both of whom were on the course and both of whom said the LT’s story was exactly what happened.

The CO went to the battalion commander, who agreed to court martial SP Fumbducks on a charge of threatening a commissioned officer. But not right then. A little more than two days remaining in AT, equipment and vehicle cleanup and turn-in, road march back to home station, etc. and so on.

The next month’s drill was at armories, thoroughly clean and inventory and store equipment. Logistical difficulties getting everybody concerned to battalion HQ, etc.

Next drill was at Camp Maxey. All the battalion together, no problem convening a court martial.

After daytime Saturday training, with platoons back at the company assembly area, Porter and I saw the CO standing beside his quarter-ton. He was not happy. We went over and asked about the court martial. The CO became almost white-hot mad.

“Not guilty,” he said.

“What!!”

In the two months since Annual Training, SP Fumbducks’ platoon sergeant and squad leader had decided their soldier had not threatened the lieutenant. The lieutenant was wrong. SP Fumbducks had not said “---- you,” nor, “I’ve got a knife and I know where you sleep.”

The board decided not to believe the lieutenant.

Porter and I both were speechless.

The CO then said the battalion commander was considering recommending SP Fumbducks for OCS.

“Then,” he said, “the battalion commander asked about the rampant racial prejudice in this company.”

“WHAT?!!!” Porter and I said.

The CO nodded. “I asked him where he had heard that, and he said from SP Fumbducks.”

That platoon was a detachment of the Company, with its own armory more than 60 miles from the Company armory. The small Northeast Texas town was close-knit, with not too many branches in family trees.

SP Fumbducks ETS’d a few months later. His squad leader got 20 good NG years about the same time and retired. The platoon sergeant later transferred to a tank company in Dallas. Porter’s LT went active duty. The battalion commander later became brigade commander and then somewhere in division command. Our CO commanded two more companies, but was relieved after a couple of months at the third company. He said the battalion did not show good judgment. “It took them three company commands by me before they decided I was incompetent.” A month after his relief, a tank battalion commander called and said, “I need a good S1 and I hear you might be available.”