Ghost Troop Home Page April Fools Part 2
Deputy Johnny, did I hurt your feelings? Man, from about the first second that you picked up the phone you were all offense, the worst kind of offense, too: that of a man who is naturally afraid and therefore becomes a bully. I don’t mean to pontificate, but I am a black belt martial arts teacher, and I would have to straighten you out if you were one of my white belt students. All of this is ridiculous, of course, because I wouldn’t have you as one of my students. I only teach adults of good character.
Now, you didn’t know me except as a voice on the phone, though, so you poured it on to show that you were important and I wasn’t. You hollered that I wasn’t a professional, to which I replied I wasn’t, but that I had been a professional in military intelligence and public affairs, and that I was Captain May. You asked who the hell Captain May was, and I told you that Captain May was the author of an upcoming book and that you were in danger of becoming a chapter. You asked me who the hell was publishing it and I smiled as I told you that I wouldn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see it coming. Then I told you that if you didn’t believe me you could just hang up the phone.
You didn’t hang up. You fumed and hissed and waited, still muttering that I wasn’t a pro, which, again, I emphatically am not. Deputy Johnny, I am a captain. Why must I perpetually teach a course on the difference between men of words and men of action and words? I thought you were the New Yorker, after all, and I swear to God I’ve seen an analytic piece or two of merit in your magazine over the years. Some of it is as good as the stuff I was writing for Military Intelligence magazine when I was a lieutenant, or for people you don’t even want to know about while I was in the Cold War. Govorish po-ruski, durak? Yep, you were in a pissing contest with someone who knew how to work you, boy, and did you get worked.
Here, I’ll give you a free martial arts lesson and teach you how I did it:
First I had reduced you to your natural state of fear
and hatred (it’s in the graph above, son).
This made you stupid. While you
were being stupid I challenged your to prove yourself by saying that I was in
contact with Thom Shanker at the New York Times about
“All right, hot shot, do you know that there was a
battle at the
“Of course I do!” you ejaculated, proud to show me that you weren’t as dumb as I was making you feel.
“All right, then do you know that hundreds of Americans were killed in the battle?” I asked.
“Yes, I know that too!” You ejaculated, proud to show that you had the full scoop.
“Then why in the hell are you covering it up?”
“We’re not the ones who are covering it up,” you ejaculated! Then it came to you. “Who did you say you were?”
It finally dawned on you that I wasn’t one of your cozy colleagues, or some sniveling source who didn’t want to be identified. You had just prematurely ejaculated all over yourself in front of a man who wasn’t playing with you, and who wasn’t amused. You made a mess of yourself, deputy, and folks are going to remember it. They’ll smile behind your back for the rest of your life. You deserve it for what you’ve done to my troops.
Deputy Johnny, you thought you’d just rationalize
your way out of this, didn’t you? Nazi. You didn’t run
the furnaces, you didn’t turn the showers on, you
didn’t herd the Jews. You were just
working to keep the railroads of information running… all the way to
I’ve got to pay you one compliment, Deputy
Johnny. You are one objective son of a
bitch. I never cease to be amazed at how
calm you folks in the corner offices of
Captain May
PS: Is the spelling on your name right? Every time I finish talking to one of you guys I ask for a spelling of your names and you hang up. Why’s that?
PPS: I just called you back to see if you were calmed down yet. It’s been an hour. Know what, Deputy Johnny, you don’t sound calm at all. You sound scared. Well, if I’d fucked with the commander of Ghost Troop, 3/7 Cavalry, I’d be scared, too. Your career is about to whither to a crisp because you are a liar in a profession that is supposed to be about truth. I’m smiling.
“Please stop calling,” you pleaded. Coward, didn’t you ever read your Iliad? I’m Achilles, getting even for Patroclus, and I’m the wrong man to ask for mercy. I just wish I were there to tell you all of this personally.