When I was stationed in Schweinfurt, there were two clubs that used to be a nightmare for Army leadership. The two clubs were the “Rock Fabrik” and the “Megadrom.” It seemed as if right after head count on every single Monday, the First Sergeant would name at least three names of Soldiers that had gotten into a fight with the Infantry guys, the Field Artillery or someone had been stabbed by an angry, drunken Turk.
After PT, the Soldiers had to go with their first line supervisor to see the Command Sergeant Major. The CSM would want to know what happened. A typical scenario would go something like this:
“Specialist, why did you get into a fight with the Field Artillery Soldier?”
The Soldier would reply, “Sergeant Major, The gun bunnies were talking shit about the Engineers, so Jones popped the gun bunny!”
The CSM would ask, “What happened after that?”
The Soldier would say, “A squad of gun bunnies jumped on Jones and started kicking his ass!”
The CSM would ask, “Did you get your ass kicked too?”
The Soldier would answer, “Yes, Sergeant Major.”
The Command Sergeant Major would conceal a “That’s my boy” smile, and say “Get out of my office!” The Soldier would go from parade rest to attention and beat feet out of the CSM’s office.
We had each other’s backs. We didn’t always make rational decisions. Life isn’t always perfect or rational. In Iraq, as soon as I heard a “thuk,” I put on my flak vest, grabbed my rifle and beat feet. There isn’t always time to make rational decisions. If I always made rational decisions, I would probably be dead. It is called being in survival mode.
I really don’t appreciate being judged. I don’t need anyone’s approval. I can self-validate. Certain things tend to set me off. If someone is going after one of my friends, I will probably go after the one that went after my friend. You look after your battle buddy whether in a bar, the battlefield or Twitter.
Just a gaggle of people from all over who have similar interests and loud opinions mixed with a dose of humor. We met on Twitter.