Sergeant Big Hat
Marvin stood at the helipad as the helicopter descended.
“Sergeant Major?” he asked the American serviceman as he stepped onto the helipad.
“That’s Sergeant Major Jerome J. Johnson Jr., of the US Army, son. And you are?”
“Oh… Second Lieutenant Marvin Cranford, sir,” said Marvin, outstretching his hand. “If there’s anything you need while you’re here, just let me know.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, son,” replied Jerome, shaking Marvin’s hand. Marvin could see that Jerome was staring at his head and the exceptionally large slouch hat he was wearing.
“That’s quite a hat, son,” Jerome remarked. “How about letting me try it on?”
Marvin shook his head and Jerome erupted into a fit of laughter.
“You are one funny son of a bitch, Cranford!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to call you Sergeant Big Hat!”
“Oh no, I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” said Marvin.
“No can do, Sarge,” said Jerome, slapping Marvin on the back. “Now, lead the way!”
“Is there anything in particular you would like to see?” asked Marvin as they were walking through the barracks.
“Well, Sarge, I hear that you boys have new tank, a real nasty son of bitch,” replied Jerome.
“Ah, the BT-22. Yes, we are very proud of that. It’s just over here.”
As they approached the tank, Jerome’s eyes widened. He was like a young boy in a sweet shop of yesteryear, which made the most delicious sweets. He walked up to the tank and ran his hands over it.
“Yes,” he said, under his breath. “This will do for Uncle Sam.”
“What do you think?” asked Marvin.
“Oh, she’s a beauty. You bastards don’t know how lucky you are to have her,” replied Jerome. “I suppose there are blueprints?”
“Yes, locked away in a safe, right here,” said Marvin, motioning to a small building next to them. “But I am afraid that those blueprints are strictly classified. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have fatigue duty to address.”
“Take your time, Sarge,” said Jerome, peering through the window. “Take your time.”
But Marvin did not go to address his fatigues. He had seen the greediness in Jerome’s eye as he stroked the tank, and he had noticed him peering through the window. There was no doubt about it, Sergeant Major Jerome J. Johnson jr. was here for the sole purpose of stealing the BT-22 tank. Marvin pondered upon this as he calmly strode through the barracks and stepped into the mess hall. He made himself a cup of black coffee and sat down at a table to drink it, taking small sips at regular intervals. Once he finished his coffee, he stood up, and strode calmly back towards the tank holding area.
Upon his return, Jerome was nowhere in sight. Marvin saw that the door to the blueprints building was open ajar. He cautiously stepped inside. At the far corner of the room was the safe, and in front of the safe, hunched over, was Jerome.
“Can I help you, Sergeant Major Johnson?” said Marvin, with authority. Jerome spun around.
“Oh,” he exclaimed, then paused, searching for words. “Yes sir, Sarge, this safe of yours is top-notch.”
“It is indeed,” replied Marvin. “It needs to be, if it is to harbour these.” He removed his slouch to reveal the blueprints. Jerome flashed a wicked grin.
“Nicely done, Sarge,” he replied. “But if you’ll excuse me,” he quipped, patronisingly, and stepped passed Marvin. Marvin grabbed him forcefully by the arm and stared him in the eyes.
“Unhand me, Second Lieutenant,” snarled Jerome. “Or I will have you your stripes, as well as your big, dumb hat!”
“You want to try it on?” asked Marvin. “Here!” He yanked the hat down over Jerome’s head, tightening the drawstring. “How does it feel to be Sergeant Big Hat?” shouted Marvin, and he punched Jerome hard in the face, knocking him out. Marvin walked over to the safe and placed the blueprints inside. As Jerome lay motionless on the floor, Marvin reached down and removed the hat from his head. He carefully straightened it, brushing off any dirt with his hand.
“Sergeant Big Hat, eh?” he said. “Not a catchy title, but a headpiece of this calibre definitely needs a name. Marvin walked over to the window and, looking at his reflection, placed the hat on his own head. “I think, forthwith, this will be known as The Sarge, in your honour, Jerome.” He bent down, leaning close to Jerome’s ear, and whispered, “Because now, you don’t have any.”
Marvin stood up and strode towards the door. “Not such a funny son of a bitch, now, eh?” he said, coldly, and he exited the room, locking the door behind him. He would alert his superiors, in time, and although he would be commended for apprehending Jerome, leaving him unconscious on the floor my result in the armed forces equivalent of a scolding. Marvin was prepared for that. Right now, though, he wanted another coffee.
