Marine Corps Stories: And They Don’t Have Any Awards for That

The chow hall teemed with Marines yearning for a good meal, as good a meal as one can have in the Marine Corps that is. For the most part, the food ranged from very good to at least edible. Especially in the chow hall, as opposed to the mixed bag (literally) of Meal, Ready-to-Eat (MRE), the Marines could dine sufficiently.

Lance Corporal Joel Matthias said, “How come there’s no medal for feeding these Devils?”

“You want a medal for what we do? You’re serious?” Lance Corporal Karen Botham asked.

“Of course. If we didn’t do what we do, they’d have to subsist on their own dime. That’s cause for at least a medal,” Matthias said.

“What do you want, a Medal of Honor for serving spaghetti and meatballs?”

“I didn’t say anything like that. Goddamn, Karen.”

“But you’re making a case….”

“I’m making a case for a medal to recognize the culinary skills of the 3381 Marine.”

“We’ve got about a ton of potatoes that need peeling. If you slice your hand open with the knife, you want a Purple Heart? You see someone choking on a pork chop, and do the Heimlich Maneuver, you wanna be put up for a Navy Cross?”

“Again, you’re not seeing the full picture,” Matthias said. “I’m saying that as Marines, we’re vital to the Marine diet. Without us, excluding MREs, they’d starve.”

“They could eat at the restaurants on base, or out on town.”

“They could, but they would much rather get food they’re already paying for out of their allowance.”

“So a medal, eh?”

“Yes. Something that honors the food service specialist. Something that says your specific function is above and beyond that which is necessary,” Matthias explained.

Botham rolled her eyes, “All we have to do is petition the Commandant and see how that goes for us.”

Matthias was not amused. “Again with the jokes.”

“So why would you want a medal for being a cook?” Botham asked.

“To say this sector of the Corps is more than willing to fill the bellies of the world’s finest fighting force,” He replied.

“Right.” She shook her head, still in disbelief.

“What do you mean ‘right’? There’s supreme nobility in what we do.”

Matthias picked up a pan of French toast and set it down on one of the huge counters.

Karen saw it begin to slide towards the floor, and charged forward to save it just in time. Not a single slice was lost.

“See that right there! That is medal-worthy,” Matthias pointed out.

“It wouldn’t have been if you’d made sure it was secure on the counter,” Karen retorted.

“So I should report this to Staff Sergeant Grayson? I think this could be a perfect example supporting the case for a medal. I can see the citation now: “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity, at the risk of her own life, above and beyond the call of duty….”

“Just...stop,” Karen said.

“It would be a good look, I’m telling you.” Matthias chuckled.

“You just concern yourself with those breakfast sausages.”

Just then, Staff Sergeant Amy Grayson entered the section Karen and Matthias occupied.

“What’s up with you two?” She asked.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t come close to making sense,” Karen said.

“You both need to hustle up,” Grayson responded.

“Aye, Staff Sergeant,” Karen and Matthias said in unison. They rushed to get the scrambled eggs ready, and the syrup on the platters.

“You know,” Karen said, “I’m starting to see your point Joel. If not a medal, we should at least get some kind of commendation for our culinary contributions to the Corps.”

“Now, you’re just getting it,” Matthias said, grinning wide.