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| USA National Flag |
The day started out uneventful. Not unlike other late-March or early-April days in North Alabama. That would all change in a matter of hours. After eating lunch I walked into the backyard, water bottle in one hand and a mechanics rag in the other to my newly built shed (last summer). It is elevated to keep out water and both legged and legless creatures. Inside my mowers and lawn tools awaited me. I opened the door and was caught in a hasty ambush.
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| USMC Flag |
Dozens of
huge red wasps swarm at me. I dashed left, spun, taking one out with the rag, and made a hasty, yet tactical retreat. From a safe distance, I performed a
quick recce and identified at least four enemy encampments (nests). I returned
to my FOB--Forward Operating Base (garage) to quickly don my body armor (shirt
and hat) and arm myself with both a long-range weapon (Raid Wasp and Hornet
Spray) and close combat breacher (broom). I checked my med kit (medicine
cabinet) to verify I had appropriate emergency medicine (Benedryl), then fueled
up on Go Juice (Dr Pepper). Like many warriors before me, I shared a tender,
heartfelt moment with my wife (I hollered at her saying I was going back
outside).
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| Ed's Shed |
All my
training kicked in. I approached from an angle that provided both cover and
concealment. I crept closer and was soon at the jumping-off place. I noticed
their scouts flying in a protective formation. I checked my weapons and steeled
my nerves. With a Rebel Yell, I flung open the door and attacked. I hit the
first nest in the very back. Quickly re-aimed and hit a second. By now the
enemy had scrambled their air wing. Some went high. Some went low. It was a
nightmare--an evil marriage of blitzkrieg and kamikaze. I felt them zipping by
my face; trying to sink their stinger missiles in my flesh. I bobbed. I weaved.
I zigged. I zagged. I start yelling at them. DIE YOU SONS-OF-BITCHES! I took
aim--leading them and shooting them in midflight. First one, then another. The
battle turned bloody. Hand-to-hand, or at least foot-to-wing. Blood and guts
stained the deck a brownish-red. I was then in a position to attack the most well-fortified encampment: in the A-frame directly above the hatch (door). Adrenalin
coursing through my body robbed me of saliva. With a dry mouth and a
"thousand-yard stare," I took aim and fired twice. Both hitting the
target. I quickly cleared the nests with the breacher.
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| Enemy KIA |
I stood
alone on the field of battle. I felt a little light-headed, dismissing it as
the post-battle shakes. The Fog of War. Everything was hazy. No, more actually foggy. It took a moment
to realize it was the "fog" from the spray can. I reached for my gas
mask only to realize I left it at FOB. I retreated to a safe overwatch distance.
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| Enemy KIA |
After a
while, I return to perform a BDA (Battle Damage Assessment) and get a body count.
Lying on the deck were the remains of the enemy. Thirty-seven confirmed enemy
KIA. There is no greater honor than to give your life for your country or
cause. Today, I gave that honor to my enemy. You are welcome.
For
nearly 240 years Marines have fought in some of the bloodiest battles.
Montezuma. Tripoli. Belleau Wood. Iwo Jima. Chosin. Khe Sanh. Fallujah. Now we
add one more storied battle to the annals of USMC lore: The Battle of Ed's
Shed. Close your eyes and you can hear an all-male squad of Marines singing “Marines'
Hymn”. An American flag blowing in the breeze.
I have
already been approached by some publishing houses wanting my story. Clint
Eastwood wants to bring it to the big screen. I would agree to all provided
they leave out the final scene. My wife laughed from the Rear Echelon (back
deck) telling me I looked like a drunk fat man attempting kung-fu movements
while experiencing some sort of seizure.
Perhaps I
should not have killed all the wasps and allowed one to sneak behind our lines.
Semper
Fidelis!
