Better Lucky Than Good

by Hap Rocketto

After shooting together for several days at a long ago Interservice the three of us who shared the point sat in the Quantico pits during a lull in the shooting and, for want of a better topic, discussed how we had become Non Commissioned Officers. Considering that we were all in the pay grade E-5 we were barely NCOs but our very junior status was still enough to get us out of the more onerous tasks that the lowest rated enlisted men must endure.

W.T. Doors was a Navy Petty Officer Second Class and he told of the rigorous schooling and testing that one went through in the Navy to be promoted. However, he said that he was a bit lucky in moving up. He was, he said, a DC2. Not the ancient airplane that preceded the DC3 for he was not in aviation, but in engineering and hull specialties. His area of expertise was damage control, therefore DC for Damage Controlman and 2 for Petty Officer 2^nd Class.

It seems his ship suffered a severe hull casualty while engaged in underway replenishment. Jones directed a damage control party and personally participated in shoring up a buckled bulkhead, securing loose machinery, temporarily sealing the ruptured hull plates, and rigging pumps to discharge seawater overboard. For his actions his captain awarded him both a Navy Commendation Medal and promotion to PO2/DC2/E-5. Personally, I didn’t think this was luck, but an appropriate award for an act of heroics and professional competence.

A.W. Meyers was a Marine sergeant right off a recruiting poster, hard body, hair high and tight, deeply tanned face, and a pinch of Copenhagen in his lower lip. Meyers considered that he was lucky in promotion also. He was honor man in recruit training which earned him PFC stripes right out of boot camp. He made Lance Corporal as soon as possible due to great efficiency reports, and after winning the Division matches he was meritoriously promoted to Corporal and then to sergeant after taking a gold at the Marine Corps Matches. Again, I didn’t think it was luck. Here was a hard working young professional soldier who paid attention to detail.

Then there was me. If any one knew about luck in promotion it was me. A short while earlier I was a corporal of no distinction, only because promotion to that grade was automatic being based on time in service. I was detailed to one of the many chores that befall those of little rank and less responsibility. My battalion was having a change of command I was one of a group of soldiers assigned to take the new CO and his party from the ceremony to a reception at headquarters.

The ceremony was to be rather long and we were told to keep out of sight but be ready when called. Our company commander had thoughtfully sent out box lunches and we stripped off our fatigue shirts so that they would stay creased free and safe from food stains as we lolled in a small grove of trees, all the while staying hidden as ordered.

We finished our lunches and sat yarning and yawning, all out of sight as we were told. The ceremony moved more quickly then expected and out of nowhere bolted our sergeant major. Irritated that his careful plans had gone awry he scattered us to our duty stations like a fox among hens. We grabbed at the neatly stacked pile of shirts, hurriedly tucking them in as we ran for the jeeps.

As luck would have it I drew the new CO and, not yet calmed down from being startled from my reverie and not that great a driver anyway, managed to “peel out” showering the jeep behind with small stones, shattering its windshield. I then caught the edge of the open water filled conduit that bordered the road. Fortunately I had insured the CO’s seat belt was latched before starting off and that saved him from being ejected into the swampy ditch. I can’t say the same for his gold braid covered hat. After grinding the gears, running a stop sign, and stalling to a stop in front of headquarters I at last delivered the steaming CO to his destination.

Looking about he spied Captain Sconyers, my company commander, who was trying to be as inconspicuous or, perhaps, invisible, if possible. Bad news rides a fast horse and the executive officer had radioed ahead to warn him. I knew I was in trouble but was out of earshot and all I saw was the pantomime of the colonel darting his finger at me, doing a poor job at controlling his raging anger, and barking something at the captain. I did not hear him snarl at the captain, “Make that man a sergeant! His performance today deserves that action, at the very least!” Sconyers, taking silent affront at the colonel’s imperious manner, saluted and replied, “Sir! Are you sure you want me to make that man a sergeant?” The reply, more a rebuke, came back quickly and sharply, “Captain that is what I said, that is what I mean, now see to it!”

Sconyers, a firm and fair man with a strong sense of discipline and a darker sense of humor, beckoned me over with a crooked forefinger and a hard look. We were well acquainted as I had spent a fair amount of time with my heels locked in front of his desk involved in one way discussions concerning my many minor miscreant military meanderings. With a disquieting Cheshire Cat grin on his face he said in a measured voice, “Rocketto, I have no choice. I don’t want to argue with the new colonel over such a trivial matter as your lack of driving skills. Make sure you check the company bulletin board tomorrow morning for your orders.”

Orders for what? My imagination ran wild, Alaska in January, the Sahara in July? I had no idea what was in store for me and he wasn’t telling. Then, tapping the name tape over my right pocket and pinching the rank insignia pin on my collar, he said,” Oh, and when you get back to the barracks make sure to return this shirt to Staff Sergeant Miller.”

And that is how I became an NCO.