During the apogee of the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, there was a great deal of attention on martial arts training. As 5th platoon commander at my unit (officer billet but I was only a SSgt), I made an effort to take this seriously, unlike many other things that came down from command that I found rather frivolous.

So when we had platoon PT on M-W-F, I crushed my platoon sergeant's hopes and dreams of a five mile run through the hills by instead scheduling some wrastlin'. Because we were at the Defense Language Institute and I wasn't a total sadist, I usually scheduled it in the afternoon at the soccer field by the PX. I knew everyone would be a bit loopy from the day's brain-pulverizing lessons and they could simultaneously blow off some steam. It was a win-win.

One afternoon, after the highest belted instructor in our group finished giving instruction on some ground fighting techniques, everyone paired off and began practicing the execution in the grass. We weren't the only platoon out there and while I was monitoring the troops, I caught sight on the Detachment XO, Capt [redacted], watching my Marines from across the field even as he led his own group through PT. Despite the distance, I could tell he hated everything he saw happening. Marines were laughing. Marines seemed to be having a good time. No one seemed to be festering with misplaced anger. This state of affairs was an affront to all he believed. It must be stopped.

Just as we were going over the hip-toss, a voice shouted across the field, "SSGT FLUFFY, COME HERE!" I dropped my shoulders and sighed, turning to jog his way. There was no way in hell he was calling me over to congratulate me for taking initiative or to compliment my troops' morale. This was going to be an ass-chewing, although for what I didn't know. As I slowed to a walk in front of him, Capt [redacted] glowered at me.

"Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you?" I mumbled.

"DO YOU SEE WHAT YOUR MARINES ARE DOING?"

I was puzzled. "Yes?" I hazarded.

"THEY'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THOSE MOVES FULL FORCE! YOU GODDAMN WELL SHOULD KNOW THAT!"

I paused. No one out there was doing anything full force. But there's also no way to slow down the process of grappling. You grapple at normal speed and the other person doesn't fight back so that no one gets hurt. I'm not responsible for physics.

"Sir-"

"YOU GET BACK OVER THERE AND TELL THEM THEY'RE TO DO THINGS AT QUARTER PERCENT SPEED!"

wut.

like... 0.25%?

"Quarter percent speed, sir?" I tried really hard to keep from smirking. Surely he meant something else.

Right?

"YOU FUCKING HEARD ME, SSGT!"

O-kay.

So I trot back over to my platoon, who've all stopped and stared as I conversed with the XO. I looked at them as I returned and then spoke slowly.

"The XO commands you all to do the moves...at 0.25% speed. He says you're moving too fast."

PFC Snuffy and LCpl Smith were the first to speak up. "For real? Like, how?"

Staying stonefaced, I replied. "Yeee-p. I've no idea. Just... try to make it work, I guess."

Without a moment's hesitation, and with even more laughing, my troops began to obey. A slow-motion ballet of bullshit begins as Marines move like mimes in a tar pit trying to do a hip toss without moving much beyond an inch at a time. I'm struggling not to laugh, but I'm also pissed because this shitshow benefits no one. Less than five minutes later, I hear the XO screaming like a mad man for me to get my ass over there. I jog back over and he's red in the face with rage.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? DO YOU SEE THAT SHIT? THEY LOOK LIKE FUCKING IDIOTS!"

They look like idiots? I clenched my jaw. "What do you want me to do sir?"

"FUCKING FIX IT!" At this point, I'm starting to wonder if his well-known affection for female Marines (/s) isn't clouding his judgement a bit.

"Aye, sir."

When I returned to my troops, I sighed and just dismissed them for the day. They might be my clowns but this was clearly not my circus. Not even one quarter percent.