Evil Lieutenants or, The Hamburger of Doom
In 1992, yours truly was an Infantry company commander in the Oregon Army National Guard.
Annual Training was at Camp Rilea, Oregon that year and we had a company of Scottish Territorial Army (reservists) with us for training. That fact required some sort of social gathering for the officers at some point in the training.
Most of the training was routine. The Scots loved the firing ranges, though, especially the M203 (grenade launcher). They were still using WW II style rifle grenades, which sometimes exploded as they were fired. (leading to loss of confidence in the system.)
Towards the end of the training period, the company commanders were each directed to provide their most junior lieutenant to act as KP (kitchen police, i.e. drudge labor) for the Battalion officer’s social, which was to be a barbecue. I had two brand new lieutenants, who had just graduated from Officer Candidate school the month before and they were pretty much inseperable.
Seniority was fairly simple; the guy whose name started with a K was technically junior to the one whose name started with a C, because diplomas get handed out alphabetically. So I went to LT K and told him to report to the Sergeant First Class at the barbecue site. His buddy, LT C asked if he could tag along and, being a generous sort, I quickly agreed. Failing to ask just what their task was, they departed to find they had been set up.
At the appointed hour, the rest of the Battalion officers and our guests arrived at the location and commenced socializing. The burgers were cooking and the beer was flowing. The Scots had been a blast to train with and they were fun to talk with. I started off with a drink and good conversation with their company XO (Executive officer or second in command). I usually wait for the rush on any food line to die down so I can serve myself at leisure, so I was in no hurry to grab a burger.
“Sir, what would you like on your burger?” One of my lieutenants. Was he trying to curry favor, thinking his assignment was punishment? Nah, just being polite.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “I’ll be over and make my own in a few minutes.”
“No, sir, that’s OK. I’d be happy to get it for you. What would you like?”
Well, OK, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I told him what I liked on my burgers and asked for some regular potato chips. He was gone and back to us in a flash.
These burgers were lovely. Huge, probably half a pound of meat in each patty. Cheese, onions, tomato, a dash of catsup and two dashes of mustard. It smelled heavenly.
I usually eat chips first, so I nibbled at them as the conversation continued. I happened to be turned so that I could just barely see my two lieutenants at the barbecue grill out of the corner of my eye. Hard to see at that angle, of course, but it seemed like they were staring at me. Odd but nothing really notable.
I finished the chips and picked up the burger; but you can’t talk well with a mouth full of burger, so I just hung onto it until I finished what I was saying, then took my first bite when the Scot started another comment.
HOLY MOTHER OF CORRUPTION, WHAT HAVE I JUST BIT INTO?
The flavor of beef promised by the heavenly smell was virtually covered by … something cloyingly sweet. So sweet it couldn’t even really be classified as sweet but only as disgusting beyond words. So disgusting that it couldn’t be tolerated. Got. to. spit. it. out.
AMBUSHED.
I could still see my two young officers at the grill. They were actually leaning forward, anticipating.
When ambushed and in the kill zone, fight through. Don’t bog down. Attack. I chewed. I’ve eaten forty year old C rations, cold. I can do this. I … swallowed. Then I took another bite.
As my digestive tract went further into shock with each bite, it actually became easier to shove the abomination down.
My young lieutenants were beginning to look distressed. Their victim wasn’t writhing on the ground, or whatever they had expected. With each bite, they looked more and more horrified.
I finally finished the terrible thing. Licked my fingers. Drank down half a can of Coke to get the taste out of my mouth. Kept a poker face.
The Scottish captain finished his comments and wandered off to find someone else, so I headed over to the grill. The guilty twins looked positively apprehensive.
Smiling a happy smile I told them, “That was GOOD! Could I get another one just like it?”
I wish I had a picture of their faces. They looked like abject slack jawed failure.
Then, “You bastards,” I continued, “What did you put in that thing?”
A little color came back to their faces as they realized their joke hadn’t completely misfired. At least the old man had noticed what they had done. They weren’t total rubes……
Turned out that the Mess Sergeant had decided they were short of condiments and needed someone to run into town and pick some up. My two heroes volunteered. One of the items they found was a package of gummi worms, which they liberally applied to my hot hamburger. It immediately melted into a thick, super sweet paste. Something like toothpaste, only sweeter. I’ve never liked gummi worms or bears or anything else gummi anyway.
So, they got to pay the old man back for putting them on KP and the old man had, well, not fun exactly, but he got to show them they’d have to work a lot harder to mount a successful ambush!