Blue Donkeys

Blue Donkeys
By Billy Mau

I read my newly denied terminal leave chit for at least the hundredth time that evening. The bars overseas rarely have the jukebox selection for situations such as these, so the jukebox in my head had been playing Hank Williams Sr., Black Sabbath, and Cher (I heard it in a cab earlier and its been stuck in my head) for at least an hour. The Chief of the Boat had crossed out his signature approving the leave and put a fresh signature in the disapproval box. His justification was scrawled in his nearly unreadable chicken scratch in the comments section:

“Petty Officer Genasari’s consistently poor attitude and lack of command support have been a poison to the minds of newly reported personnel. He is a disciplinary problem and I recommend he be denied terminal leave.”

Those were strong words, but not entirely true. I admit that I may have “poisoned” some minds. I frequently talked some of the junior people on the boat out of reenlisting. The Command hated that. There are bonuses for the boat that reenlists the most sailors, kind of a bounty for souls. I disagree with the disciplinary problem statement, though. They wanted to send me to non-judicial punishment, but never had anything on me. It is amazing how the Navy will take someone they hate and make them stick around longer just to show them a lesson. I’ve never understood who gets punished more. Is it the guy they make stay, or is it them for having to put up with him?

Terminal leave is like time off for good behavior. You check out on leave a month or so before being discharged and never come back. I had two months already approved. It was the perk of being on deployment. I’m scheduled for discharge a week after the boat is supposed to return from this deployment, so I get out really early because there are not many windows for a flight home. The two weeks we had been spending in lovely Chania, Crete, was the perfect opportunity.

The whole thing was a revenge move by the COB. He was mad over a little prank I pulled on him in Naples. I had paid a transvestite to hit on him at a local bar. Luckily the COB was drunk because Chloe was not a very convincing cross-dresser. The COB’s beer goggles definitely worked in Chloe's favor, and they left the bar together. They were in the middle of some pretty heavy petting when the COB noticed his date was sporting as much wood as he was.

He told me I was lucky that he wasn’t going to put me up for non-judicial punishment. I told him that he was lucky that I was the only one on the boat that knew that another dude had played, at length, with his wiener. My terminal leave was taken away a short while later. Some people just can’t take a joke.

I tried to tell my sad story to the local sitting next to me, but he just looked at me like I was speaking Greek. Actually, given my surroundings, he looked at me like I was speaking anything but Greek.

Tiner came in just as I was finishing my beer. He looked like he had been in a hurry to get here.

“Dude, you need to split. Walnut’s looking for you and he’s pissed.”

“So?” I failed to see why I should panic.

“No, Genasari, he’s drunk and thinks you are going to try to ruin his ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

“His SNOB ceremony. He has worked up the idea that he is going to have a SNOB ceremony before he flies out this week and he thinks you are going to try to stop him.”

“OK, Tiner, but why should I hide from him?”

“Well, he’s really drunk and figures he should preemptively kick your ass in the event you do mess up his ceremony.”

This sounded exactly like the kind of thing Walnut would do.

The SNOB ceremony is a big deal to the disgruntled members of the boat’s engineering department. SNOB stands for “Shortest Nuke on Board.” The SNOB is the enlisted person in the engineering department that is next in line to get out of the Navy. The key here is that the SNOB can never have reenlisted. He is the leader of the boat’s disgruntled enlisted underground culture, and what kind of a leader would he be if he had reenlisted?

Walnut was the current SNOB. I was next in line, but I wasn’t really going to be SNOB because I was going to be flying out with Walnut later on in the week. Due to my recent misfortune I was now slated to be the SNOB until the boat returns home in two months. All the same, we don’t do the ceremony overseas. It’s just too big of a production.

I agreed to leave the bar. I was depressed and hungry. Tiner said he could also go for some food.

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Chania is an old port town along the northern shores of Crete that developed into a tourism hotspot. It was January and almost all of the restaurants are closed during the winter, but two US Navy ships carrying upwards of 1,000 sailors and Marines had persuaded some of the restaurant owners to open the doors for some off-season profit.

The menus of these restaurants were very limited in most cases, and the place we frequented didn’t even have a menu. They had a meat platter and a fish platter. This gruff looking old man would walk out to your table and, in an equally gruff voice, bark, “Meat or Fish?” It was intimidating. You had to answer “meat” or “fish” because Menu Man did not know any other English.

I ordered the fish and Tiner opted for the meat. As we waited, the owner came out and made small talk in decent English. He told us about how great it was that we were here and how much extra money his family was making from the added business. He demonstrated his appreciation for us with complimentary cocktails made of ouzo and lemonade. I drank a lot of ouzo in Crete, but never paid for a single drop.

Tiner waxed philosophical about the menu as the owner went back to the kitchen.

“Do you think the menu is really a subliminal test of our sexuality?”

This is what Tiner does. He over-analyzes things, usually looking for irony, because he lives for irony. He also lives for bad clothing. This is why he wears a fez, and this is why all of his shirts can cause color blindness if you stare at them too long. Cecil Tiner is a self-proclaimed mega-geek that dresses like a dime-store pimp, but back to his question.

“What in the hell are you talking about, Tiner?”

“Think about it. We’re in Greece, kind of. You know man, meat or fish? Guys or chicks? Don’t you get it?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I got the fish and you got the meat? What does that mean?”

Tiner shrank back. A few people on the boat had questioned Tiner’s sexuality, but I never thought he was gay. It had always been my impression that being gay required far more of a social life than Tiner was capable of. Confronted with his own question, Tiner was deflated.

“Well, I didn’t think about that until after we ordered.” He was reaching for something to bail him out. “Besides, the lamb here is really good.”

“Whatever, Meatboy, enjoy the sausage.” I was satisfied with another conversation won.

We ate our dinner and were treated to more free ouzo. I decided that I had done enough sulking for the day and told Tiner I was going back to the boat to turn in. There was still over an hour before curfew, but there was nothing else productive for me to do in this town. Tiner and I made our way to the spot where the van to the boat would pick us up. Naturally, that is where we ran into Walnut.

Walnut’s real name is Greg Walton, but he insists on being called Walnut. The man is built like a bear, which is funny when he tries to make his way through some of the tighter spots on the submarine, but not funny when he uses his size against you.

At the moment, Walnut was half carrying-half dragging Teddy Thibodeaux to the van stop. Teddy was in a drunken stupor and mumbling about demanding a recount. Walnut’s face lit up with demonic glee when he saw me.

“Genocide, you slippery little bastard, there you are.”

“Have you been looking for me, Walnut?” I was trying to act surprised and failing to do so.

“Damn right I have! We have a ceremony to plan.”

I was in no mood for this stuff. I wanted to be left alone with my anger and grief.

“What ceremony?” Tiner asked in an attempt to deflect some of Walnut’s shouting away from me. “We’re overseas. We can’t do ceremonies overseas.”

“The hell we can’t! That Zorba kid knows a place where we can have it. I’m going to buy robes and supplies tomorrow, and you’re coming with me, Genocide.” Walnut was back facing me again. “I’ve waited too long for this, bastard. I don’t care that they took away your terminal leave. Hell, they can extend your ass out to twenty goddam years for all I care. We are having the ceremony and it’s going down tomorrow night.”

I wasn’t going to tell him no. I hated the idea. The whole thing reeked of disaster, and I was not in the mood for this crap. I had just lost my terminal leave and I had no intention of indirectly celebrating the fact, but I was not going to let Walnut know that. My day had been bad enough already and having Walnut chicken-wing me or put me into some kind of sleeper hold would not make it any better.

Tiner was tossing small rocks at Teddy. Teddy didn’t seem to notice.

“What happened to him?” Tiner asked, bouncing a pebble off Teddy’s hat.

Walnut turned facing Teddy.

“Who, this pansy ass? He challenged that new torpedo-chump, what’s his name, Jimenez to a tequila-drinking contest. Damn close, but dumbass here lost to a goddam 18 year-old nub.”

The van pulled up to the curb to pick us up. Teddy had fallen asleep on the bench, and Tiner gave him a nudge to wake him up. Teddy struggled to his feet and muttered something that sounded like “just a minute” and turned to the potted tree next to the bench. He unzipped his pants and proceeded to urinate on the tree. Ever the southern gentleman, Teddy smiled and tipped his baseball cap to a group of girls walking by. When he was done, he zipped up and got into the van, acting like everyone urinates in the street before getting into a vehicle.

I decided on the drive back to the boat that I should involve myself in the planning and execution of the ceremony. Having something to do would distract me some from my festering depression, and I felt that it was in my best interests from a self preservation angle not to leave everything to Walnut. The last place I wanted to put my trust and safety was in Walnut’s hands; they are way too destructive.

“So who do you plan to use for the Nub, Walnut?”

He liked the question. Walnut was a champion nub-basher.

“Potter; he’s still the nubliest on the boat.”

“Potter was the nub last time. It did some psychological damage to him.”

Tiner chimed up in agreement.

“Yeah, he’s not going to want to play along.”

“I don’t care what he wants.” Walnut never had mercy for a nub. “He’ll do it unless he wants me to psychologically damage my foot up his ass.”

I’m not sure what Walnut meant by that, but Potter would likely go along again out of fear of real bodily harm (or at least severe discomfort). Besides, Potter was still technically the nub, and rules are rules.

A nub is a non-useful body. It’s a general term for the newly reported personnel that have no idea about submarine life and make things difficult through their ignorance for those who do. The Nub for the ceremony is the most junior member of the engineering department.

Some of the guys were watching a movie when I got back to the boat. There must have been a new shipment of movies come in today because I didn’t recognize the breasts on the TV. The crew of a submarine generally won’t watch a movie unless there are lots of boobs or lots of explosions. If the movie has both, it will be watched until the tape breaks. My day had been so bad that not even big screen boobs could make it better. I decided to go straight to bed.

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Walnut insisted I go shopping with him the next morning, which I had planned to do anyway, despite my hangover. He maintained it was my duty as the prospective SNOB to assist him in all things pertaining to the ceremony. Walnut was making much more out of this ceremony than anyone ever did at home.

The van dropped us off in front of the open market in downtown Chania. Walnut started looking around immediately. I wasn’t sure if he had any idea where we were going to shop.

“So Walnut, do you know where we’re going to find all this stuff on your list?”

“No,” he said with a smile, “but he does.” He was pointing at Zorba.

Zorba’s real name was Janos, I think. We were all really drunk when we met him. Someone thought it would be clever to call him Zorba the Greek, and the name stuck. He spoke decent English and made for a good tour guide, so we decided to have him hang out with us.

“Walnut, Steve, it’s so good to see you both. What is up...yo?”

He put his hand up for a high five. Walnut obliged him with faked enthusiasm. Apparently the high five was still an acceptable greeting here.

“What’s up, Zorba? Listen man, we all call Steve Genocide. You can too, you know?”

Zorba smiled the most polite smile I’ve ever seen and said, “I have family in Bosnia that are Albanian. We do not joke about the genocide.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “There are worse things to be called than Steve.”

The main things on Walnut’s shopping list were the robes. They gave the ceremony the feel of being official. The robes at home were just bathrobes with hoods sewn on them. It is said that one person tried to look better by buying a cheap wizard robe from a costume store. It was mostly polyester and caught fire when he got too close to a candle. Most people just stuck with the bathrobes after that.

Walnut wanted to find top quality hooded robes and, surprisingly, he did. We got four black robes, and Walnut was able to get the shop owner to embroider “A gift from the Walnut” inside the hood.

Walnut said the robes were his offering to the spirit of the Blue Donkey. We referred to the enlisted sailors of the U.S. Navy as the Blue Donkey. The name came from the fact that the enlisted sailor wears blue and does all the work while the officers and senior enlisted wear khaki and take credit for all the work.

Zorba led us all over town to get the rest the items on Walnut’s shopping list, which included candles, party torches, gasoline, rope, booze, and a rubber chicken. Finding a rubber chicken in Chania proved to be surprisingly easy. This was good, especially for Potter, because Walnut decided that if we could not find a rubber chicken we were going to get a real one from the butcher. Walnut also bought a small stack of unsettlingly graphic European pornography because, as he said, “It’s a long flight home.”

The location of our ceremony would be an olive grove just outside of town. Zorba told us that the owners were elderly and went to bed quite early. It was a place that he and his friends would go to some nights and just hang out. It was important that we be able to get an early start on the festivities because of the curfew. Most of us that would be attending were second class petty officers and had a curfew of 1 a.m., but Potter was only a third class and had to be back to the boat by midnight. While we had every intention of degrading and mentally abusing our nub, we had no desire to get him in trouble with the command.

Our next task was to gather up the other major players in our ceremony. Aside from Walnut, myself, and Potter, we also need Tiner and Mike Kibby. Tiner held the title of Keeper of the Faith. It was his job to preside over the ceremony. He read the ceremonial passages and led the cheers. Kibby was the Morale and Cheer Petty Officer or MCPO. His function in the ceremony was to berate the nub verbally and flog him with the chicken every time the nub was called on to perform a duty. I was the MCPO when Walnut was crowned SNOB. The job was incredibly gratifying and a lot of fun.

Finding Tiner and Kibby was no chore. As expected, they were at the Fun Pub with some of the other guys working on their mid-afternoon buzz. They had already gotten word about the ceremony and were very excited. Walnut showed them the robes and I’m pretty sure Tiner, avid Dungeons and Dragons fan that he is, had a small orgasm.

Kibby and Tiner said they were set to go when the time came. Tiner reported that he was already carrying the N.F.K in his backpack and had been practicing the speeches.

The N.F.K (No Fucking Khakis) was the official book of the SNOB. It contained the rules of the SNOB as well as the SNOB’s thoughts for the day. It also had a section where disgruntled sailors could voice their frustrations with the command, the Navy in general, or each other. It was set up like an online bulletin board. Everyone made their entries under a code name to avoid punishment if the book ever fell into the wrong hands.

Walnut said he had other things to pick up still, and Tiner said he wanted to go check out a hat shop he had found. We agreed to meet up at the gyro stand near the Fun Pub before going out to the ceremony. Walnut and Tiner left, leaving Kibby and myself to track down our nub.

Kibby was very similar to Walnut in many respects. Walnut had been grooming him to take his place as resident asshole for a while now. Kibby was almost foaming at the mouth at the prospect of getting to hit a nub with a rubber chicken.

“You better be careful tonight,” I told him. “Potter has already done this before. He almost cracked last time.”

Kibby was unfazed. “I don’t care if he’s done this before. He’s never faced the wrath of Kibby.”

I doubted such a thing existed, but I let him bask in his delusions.

Apparently Potter had also heard about the ceremony and went into hiding. He was nowhere to be found, but we did find his friend Hampton in a chess shop.

He saw us as we walked in. He didn’t look very happy to see us, but he didn’t have a way out.

“Hey, guys,” Hampton said in a nervous voice. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, my good man,” Kibby said, pulling a card out of his pocket. “Have you seen this person?”

The card didn’t have a picture on it. It was just a 3”X5” index card with “Silly Little Nub Bitch” written on it.

Hampton looked at the floor and said, “C’mon, guys. I told him I wouldn’t rat him out.”

Kibby put the card back into his jacket, let out a long sigh and put his arm around Hampton.

“Well, that’s too bad, Lil’ Johnny Hampton.”

Hampton wriggled out from under Kibby’s arm.

“Seriously, guys, he got really messed up last time. I can’t let you guys do that to him again.”

Kibby laughed.

“Isn’t that sweet, Genocide? Ok, Johnny, if you want to protect your little boyfriend so much, I guess we’ll just have to use you instead.”

Hampton went pale. Obviously he had not anticipated such an event.

“I’m not the nub; you can’t do that.” He looked to me for help. “Back me up, Genocide.”

I might have backed him up if it wasn’t so much fun to watch him sweat.

“Sorry, Hampton, you are the second in line. It sucks for you, but rules are rules.”

Kibby decided to have some extra fun with Hampton by fibbing a little.

“Look on the bright side; at least you won’t have to get hit with a rubber chicken.”

Hampton looked confused. He wanted to be happy, but he knew there was a catch. There is always a catch.

“There isn’t a rubber chicken?”

“Hell no,” Kibby said. “We’ve got a real one.”

Hampton’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

“A real one? Is it dead?”

“No, not yet,” Kibby said touching his chin in a thoughtful expression “but it probably will be by the end of the ceremony. I plan on doing a lot of hitting. Now let’s go get you ready, Johnny boy.”

“He’s in the library!”

Kibby was grinning. His bluff worked a lot quicker than he had expected.

“Excuse me, Johnny. What was that?”

“Potter is in the library. He figured none of you guys would ever end up there.”

Kibby looked at me. I just shrugged.

“He’s right, you know,” I said. “There isn’t a bar for at least two blocks from there.”

Hampton followed us into the street and yelled, “You guys aren’t going to tell him I ratted him out are you?”

We didn’t answer him.

I told Kibby that we may need a little help restraining Potter. He was small and bookish, but had learned to fight like a badger when cornered. Luckily we ran into Teddy Thibodeaux on our way to the library. He was in surprisingly good shape, considering his condition the night before.

We found Potter on the second floor of the library. He was in an out-of-the-way corner with a small stack of books and magazines. Obviously he was planning on an extended stay. Kibby snuck around a row of shelves and got right behind Potter. Kibby had a gift for sneaking up on people and was surprisingly agile for a man of his girth.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Kibby barked. “You can’t even read Greek.”

Potter shot straight up and took off running when he saw it was Kibby. He rounded the shelves and ran right into Teddy, who just smiled and picked him up. He carried him right back to the table he had been sitting at, and we all joined him.

“I won’t do it! You guys are sick. I’ve done my time; find someone else.”

I can’t say I blamed him for fighting it. Being the Nub in a SNOB ceremony is a rough gig, a gig he had already done. I tried to reason with him.

“Listen, Potter,” I said. “I’m not crazy about this either. We just have to ride it out so Walnut doesn’t kick our asses.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” He looked mad enough to cry, which he did often. “You’re going to be the SNOB. No one is going to hit you with anything. You aren’t going to be publicly humiliated. You’re going to be the hero. You’ve got it great!”

He shouldn’t have said that.

“I do not have it great, you little ‘tard.” It was either the loudest whisper or quietest shout I could muster. “My terminal was taken away. I was supposed to be going home this week. I hate being on that boat, and now I get another two months of it. To top that off, I am only going to have four freaking days to take care of my separation package when we get back. I do not have it great.” I was in his face now. “You will be in this ceremony tonight, or Walnut is going to have to reassemble your sorry ass before he’ll be able to kick it. I do not want to hear anymore whining out of you. If you want sympathy, go look it up in the dictionary. It’s between shit and syphilis…or something like that. I’m not sure how it works out in Greek. Now get your stuff. Your nub ass is going to be staying with us until tonight.”

Kibby stood up and started clapping.

“Hell yeah! Now that’s the Genocide we know and love.”


We met up, as planned, at the gyro stand that evening. Walnut had rounded up some spectators for the ceremony. There were almost twenty of us in all. I asked Zorba if this was going to be too many, but he assured me it would be fine.

We ate our gyros and set off for the olive grove. Twenty Americans, many carrying duffel bags, walking down the street would draw plenty of attention anywhere, even America. I was sure the police would stop us for a search. They’d lock us up for sure. There is a saying “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” Surely the Greeks have a saying something like “Beware of large groups of Americans carrying duffel bags full of mischief and a rubber chicken.”

Zorba led us through a goat pasture once we were out of town. He said this was the best way to avoid passing the grove owner’s house. This was where we learned that Potter was deathly afraid of goats. Apparently, one had roughed him up in a petting zoo when he was young. Kibby, always one to inject sexually deviant commentary into any conversation, asked Potter if the goat had “violated” him. Potter got an horrified look on his face and didn’t answer.

Walnut, Tiner, Kibby, and I put on our robes when we reached our destination. Teddy and a helper stuffed one of Walnut’s uniforms to be burned in effigy at the end of the ceremony. After stuffing the dummy, Teddy put a noose around its neck and hung it from one of the olive trees. Walnut started dousing his dummy with gasoline, and a lot of it. By his twisted logic, putting an excessive amount of gasoline on the dummy would make it burn faster since everyone had to be back to the boat tonight. To his credit, at least he was acknowledging that time was a factor.

Potter was also getting dressed for the ceremony. Technically he was getting undressed for the ceremony since his ceremonial outfit was to be only his underwear. Apparently, Potter had expected being found today and being forced to participate in tonight’s event. He was wearing boxer shorts so large and baggy that they could have passed for swim trunks. Last time Potter had worn his whitey-tighties. He spent the whole night being accused of smuggling raisins in his underwear. Most of the heckling had come from Walnut’s girlfriend.

Everyone took their places and Tiner started the ceremony.

“Gentlemen, the hour is at hand for us to set one of our own free. As Keeper of the Faith I shall now verify that the Order of the SNOB is present.”

The robes really did the trick. Tiner, in all his geek glory, holding court in that robe was something to see. It was kind of neat and at the same time reminded me how stupid this thing really was.

“Greg Walton, known by all as Walnut; current SNOB and leader of the Blue Donkey, envy of all disgruntled nukes and soul which is to be set free tonight, are you present?”

Walnut stood up proudly, “Yes, I am present and ready to be set free.”

Had it always been this cheesy?

“Steve Genasari, known to all as Genocide, Prospective SNOB, Defender of the Slack, and man set to assume the title of SNOB tonight, are you present?”

“Yes, I am here,” I said. “It sucks and I’d rather not be here, but here I am.”

“Michael Kibby, Morale and Cheer Petty Officer, the Blue Donkey’s Patron of Spite and smasher of nubs, are you present?”

“You bet I’m here,” Kibby said, thrusting the rubber chicken into the air. “Now give me something to hit!”

“Lawrence Potter, Nub Bitch, you that cannot see the light of the tunnel and will likely reenlist and spend your life kissing the ass of The Man, are you present?”

Potter knew he had to answer fast before Kibby could nail him with the chicken. Just as Potter opened his mouth, Kibby’s chicken smacked hard against his shoulders.

“Answer the man, nub,” Kibby shouted, “or you’ll get more of the same.”

“Yes, I’m here,” Potter said, but still got another shot from Kibby’s rubber chicken. The crowd cheered in approval.

“Now Nub, bring me the N.F.K. so that I may conduct the hallowed Changing of the SNOB ceremony.”

Potter grabbed the book and ran towards Tiner. Kibby was close behind, swinging the chicken and shouting curses. Kibby’s robes slowed him some, but he still managed three solid whacks. It was not hard to tell that Potter would not stand for much more of this.

Tiner took the book and started the ceremony. He read the prayer to the spirit of the Blue Donkey and the entire “100 Reasons Why Working at McDonald’s is Better than the Navy.” There was also a speech about undermining authority and properly beating down nubs. The prayers and sermons were followed by a round of shots for all in attendance and three more whacks for Potter. He appeared to be near his breaking point, which made Kibby enjoy it even more.

Tiner moved on to the meat of the ceremony. He read Walnut the Rites of Freedom. The rites were followed by a round of shots and a whack for the Nub. Next, Tiner read me the Rites of the SNOB and swore me into the post. After the swearing in, Walnut presented me with the official belt buckle of the SNOB and made his final entry into the ranting section of the N.F.K. Once again, there were a round of shots and a whack for the Nub. Potter was so angry that he was starting to shake.

With the turnover complete, the final step in the ceremony was for Walnut to burn himself in effigy. This was to symbolize the death of the person that was a tool of The Man and signal the rebirth of the free man from the ashes of the oppressed. It was the only part of the ceremony that had any depth of meaning. Also, it’s just really cool to burn stuff.

Tiner ordered Potter to present Walnut with the “Flame of Freedom” (which was just a party torch). Kibby landed a stinging shot across Potter’s shoulders as Potter reached for the torch. The whack was accompanied by an unprintably obscene, yet hilarious, reference to Potter’s petting zoo incident.

That was all Potter could stand. He spun around and punched Kibby square on the nose. Kibby was not expecting the hit and ended up on his back. Potter jumped on top of Kibby and started wailing on Kibby with the rubber chicken, all the while spewing out an incoherent string of threats, cursing and sobbing.

After the novelty of seeing a man in a hooded robe getting his ass kicked by a nearly naked kid wore off, we separated the two of them.

I took the torch and handed it to Walnut. He took the torch and pointed it at Kibby.

“You have to be the sissiest Morale and Cheer Petty Officer in the history of the Blue Donkey. Take that robe off. You are a disgrace to the ceremony.”

Walnut then put the torch to his dummy, which was still dripping gasoline.

The next few moments were a blur. The dummy went up in a small mushroom cloud of flame that ignited the olive tree and Walnut’s robe. Walnut started rolling around on the ground to put out the flames as the olive tree did its impersonation of the Burning Bush. It was then, also, that the grove’s owner, who had been awakened up by all the yelling and cheering, showed up, shouting in Greek and firing his rifle into the air. Zorba was yelling that the old man had called the police. Everyone scattered.

Many of us ran back to the goat pasture. All of the commotion had startled the goats, and they too were running all over the place. People were tripping over goats left and right. As I was breaking free of the commotion I saw Potter trip and fall. A large and angry goat with horns that could be described in no other way but “satanic” mounted poor Potter from behind. I wanted to help him, but I could already see the lights of the police cars, and my self-preservation instincts took over.

When I got into town I gave my robe and a fist full of drachmas to a homeless man. All he had to do was put on the robe and take off running in the opposite direction I was going. It must have worked, because the police never got close to me. The Chania police have nothing on the American cops when it comes to chases. We should start sending them some of our police based reality programs to get them up to snuff.

The others had equally good luck getting back to the boat. Everyone was drunk and everyone made it back. Well, everyone but Potter. The police found him in the goat pasture sobbing uncontrollably, his underwear completely shredded. He was nearly catatonic after suffering the agony of being thoroughly violated by a goat for the second time in his young life. The police did not charge him with anything. It was obvious he had suffered enough already.

The police came to the boat that night to get Walnut. The massive flames had failed to burn the name tag on his uniform. The old man that owned the grove identified him the next day as the man that started the fire that damaged a quarter of his grove.

The penalty for damaging an olive tree is steep in Crete. The offender has to pay the tree’s owner twenty years worth of profit for each tree damaged. Walnut had burned five trees that night. Of course, he did not have the means of paying the old man one hundred years worth of olive profit. The police told him he would go to prison if he did not pay.

The Commanding Officer of the boat was furious with Walnut. He told him that there was nothing the command was going to do for him. The CO had brought Walnut’s terminal leave papers to the police station with him. He signed Walnut out on leave on the spot. Walnut had really screwed himself this time.

Walnut’s seat on the flight out of Crete did not go empty. Potter was sent home on Walnut’s ticket. He was admitted in the base hospital when he got back and was given a battery of psychological tests. The doctors said he was seriously traumatized and gave him a full medical discharge. I doubt he’ll ever be able to function like a normal person.

The old man was unable to identify anyone else. He was old and there was a lot of commotion. He said the only face he could remember was the one that damaged his livelihood. Since there was no evidence, no one else was arrested. The command also had no individuals to punish, so they took it out on the whole department. They have a good idea of who was at the ceremony but couldn’t prove it, and so they have set out to make everyone’s life hell.

I don’t feel bad for Walnut at all. This whole mess was his idea and his doing. He certainly didn’t have to use that much gasoline for the dummy. He’s in a prison now where no one speaks English. I’m sure he has learned the Greek words for “cigarettes” and “bitch” by now.

The only real victim in all of this is Potter. We pushed him to his breaking point and let him get savagely molested by an angry goat. I do feel bad about my part in his demise. I could have bailed him out at some point, but the point here is that he got out of the Navy and I’m still stuck on this boat. Screw him.