From: Sergeant Major Esposito
To: Colonel Palmer
Subj: After Actions Report For Operation ‘Dig It’
Summary:
At 13:37, Soldier One crept over the great lawn armed with his standard issue folding shovel. Soldier One stepped around sunbathers, dodged frisbees, and held his nose before smoking grills. Soldier One ignored the hot dogs and hamburgers, but did help himself to a plate of mustard-based potato salad: his reasoning for which, I could only assume, was to provide him with the energy necessary to focus on the objective. Stomach full, paper plate and plastic fork discarded, Soldier One continued towards the objective at a steady clip. The objective was in plain sight at the southern end of the great lawn, napping on a beach towel in full battledress. I do wonder how Soldier One felt after realizing that both he and the objective wore grease paint on their faces, and also how they were the exact same height and build. Their uniforms were also the same olive drab. I wonder if the frolickers bothered Soldier One. A DJ had set up an impressive soundbooth near the playground spinning house music. Forgive me, Colonel, I will not waste anymore space on description. I am only trying to paint the scene for you. I want you to understand what happened. The true point of interest occurred when, at 13:41, Soldier One closed in on the objective without compromising his position (perhaps thanks to the DJ) and executed a routine shovel-bashing upon the objective’s head. Soldier One performed a vicious assault. Face bloodied, the objective rolled away but could not get ahold of his own standard issue folding shovel. It seemed that elimination of the objective was imminent.
What Went Wrong:
Every second of the operation from 13:41 on is what went wrong, Colonel. Afterall, Soldier One had the drop, the objective could not reach his own standard issue folding shovel, and energy-dense potato salad was consumed. Something changed in Soldier One after he came face to face with the objective. I noticed wavering through my binoculars. A hesitation. Soldier One’s standard issue folding shovel seemed to tremble in the afternoon light. Perhaps it was the bass-laden house music. Perhaps it was the late-summer frolicking. Regardless, something occurred between Soldier One and the objective, and the unfortunate truth is that we will never know.
Here is what I do know:
- The DJ muted himself after the initial shovel-bashing.
- All at once, the sunbathers’ and frolicers’ and even the barbecuers’ attentions all turned to the enfolding drama.
- At 13:42, a violent gang of skinheads arrived.
I need not explain skinhead culture to you, Colonel. I will never forget the night you summoned me to your tent and showed off the ska, rocksteady, oi, and 77 records in your footlocker. I still remember how we drank scotch and listened to The Specials’ debut album and you explained the subculture’s roots in 60s Jamaican dance hall, and also how a small contingent of nazis coopted the movement in the late 70s and hogged media attention. This particular skinhead gang was violent, yes, but they were anti-racist. They wore S.H.A.R.P patches and were, of course, a multicultural bunch: two blacks, one Korean, five whites (two of whom were practicing Jews) and three Puerto Ricans. Regardless, I need not dedicate more space to explaining the skinheads. I only do so in order to emphasize for anybody else reading that what occurred was not a racially-charged incident. Now let us rewind to 13:41: Soldier One’s failure to fully eliminate the objective was, perhaps, a failure of the United States Military. I will leave that to your discretion. All I know is, sniffing out violence with shark-like enthusiasm, the skinhead gang marched across the green. The sun reflected off of their freshly-bicced heads. They kicked over grills and coolers with their steel-toed and polished Doctor Marten boots. Aware of the skinheads’ reputation, the sunbathers, frolickers, barbecuers, and even the DJ fled the lawn in mass exodus, abandoning their equipment. By 13:42 the skinhead gang reached Soldier One and the objective. A skinhead picked up the objective’s shovel and another forcibly removed Soldier One’s. By 13:43, the skinhead gang had commenced what (I am sure you are aware of) is known as a “boot party.” By 13:45, both Soldier One and the objective were stomped to death, or at least well on their way to death. I checked through my binoculars for breathing or twitching, but found none. I suppose the skinheads’ neutralization of the objective was a blessing in disguise, but violence towards a member of our armed forces disappoints me. Patriotism is lost among the youth, even within a subculture reputed to be as fiercely nationalistic as the skinhead.
Conclusion:
Still Colonel, I believe that you will deem the operation an overall success. Could Soldier One have eliminated the objective himself? He should have. Must a soldier demonstrate “grace under pressure,” as Papa Hemingway once said? Absolutely. Did Soldier One demonstrate any grace? None whatsoever. But lessons can be gleaned from the operation, and it should be studied by the entire regiment.
Recommendations for Improvement:
Once the skinhead gang finished stomping Soldier One and the objective to lifeless clay, and once the skinhead gang finished taking turns gripping the cool steel handles of those standard issue folding shovels, I lit a flare and waved them over. I climbed down from the bathroom roof. I told the skinheads there was more violence where that came from and handed each of them a recruitment card. Soon, we will all sit around your tent drunk as skunks while listening to The Specials. We will correct the mistakes made with Soldier One. We will make elite killers of them all.
Cordially,
Sergeant Major Esposito