Scotty to the Rescue

Scotty to the Rescue

On the last weekend of Boot Camp, recruits used to be able to go out for one night, do whatever they legally wanted, with the stipulation that they returned to the Quarterdeck before midnight. When they checked in, the recruit had to say "Permission to cross the Quarterdeck, sir."

If instead of giving a proper query the recruit  made a joke, and were brave, or drunk, enough to say "Permission to cross the patio, Daddy-o" they would be sent back to the beginning of boot camp.

I was standing the podium watch, envious of the kids coming back town. A young recruit, half carried by his friends, stumbled his way to the Quarterdeck.  When his friends stopped, he stumbled away from them, looked around (checking for the Company Commander, or "CC", on duty).  He came to a weaving attention, gave an extremely sloppy salute, and said "Permission to cross the pat- uh, uh, uh."  He stopped searching for what to say.  The said "Can I come in?"

I was trying my best not to laugh, returned his salute, and said "Carry on."  Just as the words left my mouth, a voice from the shadows bellowed, "You, miserable maggot! In my office, NOW!!!"

Oh, crap.  The Company Commander had been making his rounds, but had apparently returned in time to hear the kid's bumbling return.  The chief stormed into his office with the recruit, white faced and stumbling, in the rear.  As the recruit entered room, the CC screamed "Attention!", and slammed the door.

You could easily hear what was going on in the office.  His friends waited by the Quarter Deck door, and I stood at the podium, engrossed at the spectacle playing out in the other room.  The chief pulled his chair out and sat at his desk, glaring at the young man all the while.  The recruit stared straight ahead, weaving, as the chief began yelling, enumerating all of the things the regulations that the young man had violated.  He then started on the punishment that would be meted out.

While on liberty we were required to keep our wallets tucked in a sock, so as not to detract from the lines of the uniform.  The CC ended his tirade, with the statement that the young man would be forced to repeat Boot Camp.  The kid stared straight ahead for a while, then reached down and pulled his wallet from his sock.  He flipped the wallet open, and said into it "Beep. Beep. Beam me aboard Scotty, I'm in trouble!"

The chief sat there slack jawed, staring at the recruit.  He jumped up and screamed "Get the hell out of here!" After the kid stumbled away, the chief dropped back into his chair, lay his head, face first over his arms, and began to laugh uproariously.

A few weeks later I graduated Boot camp and transferred to the training side of the base.  While there, I came across the chief who had been on duty, that evening.  After greeting him, I asked if he had required the recruit to repeat basic training.  He grinned, and replied "Hell, no. With balls that big, that kid will make Admiral one day!"