Drake McCreiess Society

Sucker October 04, 1983 – US Marines and Beirut, Lebanon Corporal Drake McCreiess peered through his Leatherwood ART riflescope at his potential target. The target was a young man flirting with the two hundred meter perimeter the Marine platoon had established with the use of barbed wire. The young man never touched the barbed wire, but he got real close on a few different occasions. McCreiess placed the cross hairs of his scope on the young man’s forehead and took a deep breath and held. The young man bent over to pick up a soft drink can; he shook it and then swallowed the remainder of the drink. McCreiess placed the M21 rifle he held on safe, let out his breath, and placed the rifle on the sand bags near him. The young man turned out not to be a threat. McCreiess allowed a tune from an Elvis Presley movie enter his thoughts as he continued to monitor the young man and the area he was tasked with securing. He lightly sang to himself. “If you’re looking for trouble You came to the right place If you’re looking for trouble Just look right in my face I was born standing up And…” “Marine, many of man has died for less around here.” “Sir?” McCreiess jerked from his concentration on the young man and whirled to find that Captain Grant was standing behind him. “Especially around here.” Grant paused and then smirked. “Drinking from the cans that third platoon discarded should not be tolerated.” He chuckled to himself. “Sir.” McCreiess tried to interject but didn’t know what he wanted to say. “You have every right to kill that man.” Captain Grant looked through his binoculars. “Yep. That man is too close to our yard.” He smiled. “And I enjoy the Elvis song. That movie, King Cre…” “Sir. He has not crossed the barbed wire. Nor has he attempted…” “Isn’t that just splitting hairs?” The Captain grinned and chuckled as he placed the binoculars on the bags next to the rifle. “No one would say a thing if you split that Jihadist’s head like a cantaloupe.” “I don’t know that he is a Jihadist…” “Aren’t they all?” The Captain dusted himself off. “This is Beirut, Lebanon, son.” McCreiess stood silent, unsure how to respond. “McCreiess, I know you have the gift for killin’. Everyone in the division has heard the story about how you took out the three Jihads near the French compound.” “Yes Sir. It was actual…” “Why’d you become a Marine son?” The captain interrupted McCreiess as he wiped the perspiration from his chin. It was a balmy 102 degrees, and with little shade Grant worked up a sweat as he moved from one guard post to another. “To serve and protect my country, Sir.” McCreiess quickly answered. “To serve who and protect them from what?” The captain drilled. “Hell, the homeland hasn’t been attacked in...” “To protect the freedoms our forefathers…” “You see anyone in this country trying to take freedoms from anyone in the United States?” Captain Grant frowned as he became more serious. “Politicians in your own country will shit-can more freedoms than anyone around here ever will.” “Sir…” “Everything you believe is propaganda that someone has pumped into you and you believe every word of it.” The Captain pushed his canteen toward McCreiess, offering him a drink. McCreiess declined with a hand gesture. “We’re here to defend the Christians who can’t defend themselves. We’re not here to protect the red, white, and blue.” The Captain took a drink. “Every one of these Christians could be slaughtered and the flags in the US would keep flyn’ high.” Grant nodded at the young man near the barbed wire. “We’re here because some evangelical lobby group says we should be here, and they donate a lot of money to politicians who want to keep their cushy jobs.” “I just thought.” “Marine, don’t buy into the shit pumped into your head by the people who want you to keep doing their dirty work. We are not the best and the brightest. We have no higher form of citizenship and no one is in debt to us because we wear these uniforms.” Captain Grant smiled and finished off the canteen. “You didn’t have to volunteer for this shit and just because someone else decides not to join doesn’t make them any less a person.” He slowly twisted the cap back onto his canteen. “We fight wars to keep others fat, happy, and wealthy. And they tell you stupid shit because they don’t want to pay you to do it.” “You speak of General Smedley Butler, Sir.” McCreiess looked toward the barbed wire fence and saw the young man he earlier pointed a weapon at pick up more soft drink cans, shake them and either toss them or drink from them. “General Smedley Butler was a fine Marine. And he was right about the ‘sucker class’ of which you are now a part.” Grant placed the canteen in its belt holder and secured it by snapping it closed. “Smedley spoke out about the ‘sucker class’ and against deployments like this. What he considered adventurism and interventionism.” McCreiess remained silent as he kept a watchful eye over the barbed wire area he was responsible for securing. “Don’t be a sucker all your life McCreiess because you will only have yourself to blame when you wake one day to realize that you are a poor and stupid person who did so much to keep others in suits and champagne.” McCreiess took a deep breath and let it out. He wasn’t sure what to think about the captain’s words of wisdom. “That young man and his family appreciate the fact that you are on duty.” Captain Grant smiled as he watched the young man fiddle with cans. “Many a Marine would have split that young man’s head wide open.” He paused. “I appreciate you as well, Corporal McCreiess. Real discipline is a rare gift.” The Captain turned to walk away. “Why do you do it, Sir?” McCreiess asked before the captain could get away. “Every life I’ve lived on this earth has been as a warrior, so why would this life be any different?” The Captain glanced at the young man near the barbed wire fence. “Go ahead and kill him if he messes with that wire. If only to set an example.” “Yes, Sir. I will.” McCreiess remained on watch. “I know you Drake McCreiess. You and I have served in many of battle together.” Grant removed his steel pot helmet and squinted as he looked into the sun. “Shit son, we fought in battles people read about in history books. Some battles we fought never made it to a book.” Grant turned and walked away as McCreiess sat silent, reflecting upon the Captains cryptic remarks. McCreiess watched as Captain Grant faded away. He turned his attention to the young man who was now looking at him and holding a can to his mouth. The young man tilted the can back, sipping its content until it was finished and then tossed it to the ground. McCreiess waved at the young man, smiling when he waved back. The young man finished sifting through all of the cans that lay in front of him. He looked back at McCreiess and gave him a smile and wave before running away; probably to find more half empty cans other Marines ditched, McCreiess wondered. *** McCreiess never saw Captain Grant again. The next morning the Captain and two hundred and nineteen other Marines perished after suicide bombers detonated truck bombs inside the lobby of the Marine barracks. He lost several friends in Beirut, most in the barracks bombing, some to engagements with the enemy, a couple to suicide. Many of the Marines killed in Beirut were young men he attended boot camp with, trained with while serving the 1st Battalion 8th Marines, and eventually fought alongside. The only reason McCreiess’ life was spared from the barracks bombing was because the Marine tasked with relieving him from his guard post over slept and was killed by the collapsing and crushing rubble.