It was the twinkle in his eye that caught my attention, and the start of a curve upward of his mouth that turned into a full smile that stopped me in place. It had been two months since the lance corporal had been medevac’d in, and this was the first sign of his personality coming through. I had entered the doorway and had tripped over my shoe, the floor, who knows, but I had stumbled forward, caught myself all the while juggling several items I was carrying in, to keep them from hitting the floor. This was most amusing to this Marine, but more amazing to me and to his dad who was also in the room was that this was the first time he had smiled post-injury.
Little did we know that this would be the start of a host of practical jokes and opportunities to insert his brand of humor into the world he found himself. We will call him Marine Fred (not because I do not wish to use his real name but for the sake of his personal privacy and his right to own his own story). There is a good-humored rivalry that occurs between people who have served in differing branches of our military, and it is no different for the wounded. I am not sure who got the bigger kick out of this good-natured banter—the servicemen or their families. As Fred began to progress and heal from his injuries, he became more and more interested in stirring up some shenanigans on the ward. This Marine would enlist the assistance of staff, or his family, and organize a group of other wounded servicemen to carry out “stealth raids” into Army territory or Navy territory. These missions would take days to plan and prepare. His first target was the 1st Cavalry soldier next to his room. He planted a USMC flag front and center of the soldier’s bed. Another mission was to plant a CD player rigged to play the USMC song when the soldier entered his own room. Of course this initiated a counteroffensive that involved an “Army Parking Only” sign placed above Fred’s bed and a US Army blanket placed over his sheets.
This went on over the months and was a great morale booster, but the mother of all operations came to be called the Silly String Ambush. The planning for this became very elaborate and involved recreational therapy, physical therapy, speech therapy, nursing staff, and every service member who could participate being involved. Rec therapy assisted Fred in planning an outing to a store where he could purchase the silly string canisters. Physical therapy assisted him in how to hold the can to get maximum distance, speech therapy assisted on the timing of the ambush, and the nurses? Well, we just hoped to not get caught in the crossfire.
The day of the mission Fred was so excited he could hardly contain his smile. He had been looking forward to “go time” for about three weeks. The timing was crucial and everything in both the Marine’s day and the soldier’s day had to line up just right for this to work. This was going to be big . . . like the Army-Navy game, bragging rights were at stake! Little did Fred know that his plan had been leaked, the soldier had pretty good intelligence about the ambush, and he had been doing some prep of his own and had a small arsenal of water pistols at the ready.
The clock struck at the top of the hour, the ward doors banged open, and in rolled 1st Cav, in his wheelchair, water pistols at the low ready. From around the corner wheeled in the Corps with his can of silly string at the high ready. His band of raiders commenced firing silly string and 1st Cav was covered from head to toe, a mass of pink, blue, neon green, and yellow goo! He blasted Fred with a few rounds of water, and his family assisted in extricating him from the immediate threat. 1st regrouped and just when the Corps thought they had the battle won he counterattacked with dogged resolve and managed to completely soak Fred from head to toe. The whole ward was a mess! The laughter and energy created by this mission lasted for days. The memory of that day will last a lifetime.
The official proclamation was that the contest ended in a draw, and the two combatants met in the middle of the ward, shook hands, and agreed to up the ante for the next time they met in battle. Their silly string and water pistols were never far from their sides. Those moments were opportunities to see these tough, battle-scarred, and war-hardened nineteen-and twenty-year-olds let loose, create their version of normal, and to occupy their thoughts and time with fun. For me this was like a gift to be placed in my memory, to be tugged out and remembered when times got tough and the weight of our mission became heavy. A slight smile tugs at my own lips as I put my words to paper and remember a Marine named Fred who dreamed of a mission filled with silly string.
—Connie Bengston, BSN, RN, PHN
Leaving the war behind is not as simple as turning in weapons and equipment, and discarding boots and uniforms too ragged and filthy to ever get clean. The emotional toll, the nightmares, and flashbacks can often haunt a combat veteran for years. And sometimes a smell—gunpowder or grilled meat—the sound of a car backfiring or fireworks, or the sight of someone who reminds them of their former adversary can remind them of the mission they left behind to neutralize all enemies, foreign and domestic.