The Legend of the Young Gunny

The sun had wheeled to the center of the sky. Two Marine corporals, Colin Bell and Rhys Logan worked on the belly of a fighter jet. Second Lieutenant Victor Armond approached them.

“Hey, corporals. Why don’t we go to chow?”

Bell and Logan looked at each other while still out of view of the officer.

“Thanks, sir. But we’re working on this problem right now. We’ll grab something later.”

“That is an order, you two.” Both of them rolled their eyes and came into view of the lieutenant. They stood at parade rest.

“That’s more like it. Hey, I thought that we could go together. It’s on me. We can go off base for something if you like.”

“Sir, you see that we have this bird to work on. We’re almost done with our project and we want to stay focused on the task,” Bell said.

The lieutenant slightly froze either from the brisk breeze or the corporal’s words.

“Free lunch offered and Marines want to work. I don’t know whether to write you up for insubordination or a commendation,” Armond said.

“Look, sir, if we can do anything we’ll try to get done in the next twenty minutes and if the offer is still on the table, we’ll break out of these cammies and head out on the town.”

“Deal.”

The sight of the gunny

And out of the corner of Logan’s eye, he saw a gunnery sergeant from another shop. He stood at about five feet eleven inches and everything he projected remained superb. His sleeves were rolled as tight as security at the gates of the base. From his pressed cammies to his boots and haircut, they all spoke of someone who had completely squared himself away.

“Look,” Logan said. He, still in parade rest, motioned towards the gunnery sergeant.

“Is that the twenty year old—” Logan gasped.

“Yes. it’s got to be. It’s the alleged twenty-year-old gunny.”

Armond looked puzzled.

“That’s Gunny Gomez. He’s got to be about...wait. He can’t be twenty years old. I know him. He’s a hard charger but he can’t be twenty.”

“Sir, why don’t we take you up on chow and discuss something,” Logan said.

“You’ve got a deal, Corporal. As you were.”

“Aye, sir.”

Chow time and a friendly bet

The three of them ventured to a burger joint just a few miles away from the air station. They ordered their meals. The lieutenant handled a steak burger. Bell took in a sandwich with an egg atop it. And Bell devoured a bacon and jalapeño burger.

“Now,” said Armond. “We can each put up twenty dollars for the pot. Whoever says that the gunny’s older or younger than twenty, will get no money. If he is in fact twenty years old, that person gets the whole pot. Deal?”

“Sure, sir,” Bell said.

Each Marine put up the money. “I say that he’s older,” Armond said.

“He’s younger. Probably nineteen,” Bell said. Logan said that he was twenty even. Armond picked up the check.

The three of them returned to base where Gunny Gomez busied himself with forms. Armond walked into the shop.

Gunny stood to his feet. “No, no. Have a seat Gunny. I just need to ask you a quick thing.”

“What is it, sir?”

“How old are you?”

The gunny sniggered. “That’s it? I’m twenty.” He beamed.

“Okay. Carry on, Gunny.”

The payment

The lieutenant donned his complete cammy uniform and the corporals had taken off their cammy blouses and neatly folded them in their shop. They returned to their tasks under the jet plane.

Armond moved over to Bell and Logan, who had just finished working on the aircraft.

“Bell! Logan!” Armond said.

They came from underneath the flying machine.

“Logan, you’re the winner here.”

“Yes!” he said.

“Could’ve sworn that he was well over twenty years old. That’s only four years younger than myself. Goddamn. Anyway, here’s your sixty dollars, Logan,” Armond said.

“Thank you, sir.”