I was a buck sergeant in the Army, decompressing with a large number of my fellow soldiers at a very rough, honky-tonk Texas roadhouse. Things were getting really out of hand, especially with regard to a thoroughly soused PFC in my squad. A little, wiry fellow with a prankish sense of humor, he had got it into his head that sneaking up behind people, smacking them good and solid across the back of the head and then scampering away unseen was a great lark.

This was bad news for me,since inevitably I would be held accountable for his behavior, given my rank. The Armed Forces do NOT look after their own in this regard, and I was certain to be punished along with him if things got further out of hand.

A serious problem would certainly emerge if he suddenly decided to whack a local instead of a fellow soldier. This would lead to an all-in donnybrook, which the cowboy owners of the bar would blame us for (since they could charge the local base a fortune for “damages”).

To cover my ass, I informed my superior, a platoon sergeant, of what was transpiring. He was a thin, bookish-looking individual with a scholarly expression and round glasses, totally unimposing and civilian in appearance.

He noted my concern somewhat dismissively, remarking only “well, let me know if ****** creeps up behind me” and went back to his conversation. I felt a little ignored, but, sure enough, a couple of minutes later the inebriated reprobate sneaked up behind the E-7. I whispered,”He’s right behind you” . The platoon sergeant, without even lifting his gaze from the farm girl he had been in earnest conversation with, let loose a lightning jab over his shoulder, connecting squarely with the face of the mischief-maker and knocking him out cold. He then nodded matter-of-factly at me and went back to his personal life.

I dumped the poor PFC in the back of a friend’s pickup truck and the night proceeded without further problems. The fellow woke up with two chipped teeth, a sore jaw and absolutely no recollection of the previous night.