u/Chickengilly has been subtly bugging me for this one for a while. Better late than never. If you like this one, I've got more; scroll to the bottom for links.

The setting: Germany, July 2004. Operation Iraqi Freedom has been going on for a little over a year. (Operation Enduring Freedom is still going, too, but already, no one cares about Afghanistan as much. Almost prophetic, that. But I digress.)

The 1st Armored Division and many of its supporting elements are forward deployed, including the 123d Main Support Battalion out of Dexheim, a sleepy little town surrounded by Riesling vineyards.

I was a newly arrived defense attorney; I'd been in country for maybe three weeks. While my wife and I were enjoying a fun 4-day weekend in Munich with friends from my JAG basic course, my future client, SPC Stabby, was having quite a different experience.

SPC Stabby had some anger issues. Until quite recently, he'd been deployed to Iraq with the rest of the 123d's main body. But when he decided to pull a knife on his first sergeant, the unit decided they'd had about enough. They didn't bother court-martialing him, or even giving him an Article 15. They just decided to kick him out of the Army. He was all set to go; he was going to get administratively kicked out with a general (under honorable conditions) characterization of service. Not bad for an assault charge.

Unfortunately for SPC Stabby, the story didn't end there. Because, before the Army had time to kick him out, there was a 4-day weekend.

Bored on the Fourth of July

SPC Stabby started the weekend by taking the train up to Frankfurt. While there, he decided to pick up a 5" knife. You know, as one does.

When he got back to Dexheim, he also decided to pick up a couple bottles of Jack Daniel's finest whiskey at the Class VI (on-post liquor store).

On the 4th, SPC Stabby left the barracks, with both bottles and the knife in his backpack, and went to a friend's house to start pre-gaming for a party later that night. He then left the backpack at the house and continued to party. At some point, his brain couldn't quite keep up with his liquor intake, and he blacked out.

Unfortunately for both him and PFC Pincushion, he only blacked out, and didn't pass out.

Based on witness accounts, here's how the rest of the night went.

After a night of drinking, SPC Stabby's friends tried to load him into the car and get him back to the barracks. Stabby had other plans. When he saw a guy he vaguely recognized walking down the sidewalk, apparently he decided it would be a good idea to go say hi. So he got out of the car - which was still moving - and went to go say hi to PFC Pincushion.

PFC Pincushion didn't have a great recall of the conversation, since he was also a few sheets to the wind, but evidently it didn't go well. He later recalled that SPC Stabby said, "Wait right here," and staggered off.

PFC Pincushion dutifully waited.

Meanwhile, SPC Stabby somehow found his way back to his backpack, retrieved his new knife (yep - Chekov's gun, it's a thing) and returned to continue the discussion, knife in hand.

PFC Pincushion, seeing the knife, utters our title:

"What are you going to do with that, stab me?"

SPC Stabby, obligingly, stabs him. The first attempt is somewhat blocked. He found his target with stab number two, and the blade came within a centimeter of piercing PFC Pincushion's heart.

And that's when the tables turned. Pincushion's no wimp, and Stabby is staggering drunk. Pincushion gets the upper hand, gets Stabby on the ground, and starts kicking the ever-loving crap out of Stabby's face. That is, until the adrenaline runs out and he collapses from blood loss.

The car of friends returns, first aid is rendered, and the military police and an ambulance are called.

The hangover

SPC Stabby wakes up the next morning in the detention cell in Wiesbaden, with a pounding headache and bruises all over his face. He is missing both several teeth and any memory of what happened the night before.

When questioned, he waives his rights and informs the MPs of this, as well as all events leading up to his leaving the backpack behind. He has no idea what bone he had to pick with PFC Pincushion and no idea why he'd want to stab him. But since PFC Pincushion had been revived enough to make a statement, that wasn't really in dispute.

I was assigned to represent SPC Stabby, first at the pretrial confinement hearing. To no one's surprise, the hearing didn't go well for the defense. SPC Stabby was moved from the detention cell at Wiesbaden to the pretrial confinement area at lovely Coleman Barracks, down in Mannheim.

Let's make a deal

Stabby was charged with attempted murder, because apparently the rule of thumb at 1st Armored Division in those days was to charge at least one level higher than you could actually prove. I knew that wasn't going to stick - there's no way the government could prove he had the intent to kill Pincushion - but I needed to do some sweet-talking with the prosecutor to get it dropped.

There was also a weapons charge, since the knife was longer than the Army in Europe regulation allowed. That charge wasn't going anywhere, but I didn't care - getting attempted murder off the table was really the key to success here, because the punishment for attempted murder is the same as the punishment for murder - up to life in prison.

There were two possible lesser included offenses the prosecutor could have gone with. Option 1, intentional aggravated assault, which would require the prosecution to prove that SPC Stabby stabbed Pincushion with the intent to inflict grievous bodily harm. Or, Option 2, assault with a deadly weapon, which only required them to prove it wasn't accidental and that the knife was a deadly weapon. Both options carried the same maximum punishment: five years and a dishonorable discharge.

The prosecution chose option 1. If it was a contested case, that would have been fine, it's the government's burden to prove intent, and they were going to have an uphill battle to climb, since my client had been drunk as a skunk, no prior beef with Pincushion, and had no memory of the incident.

Unfortunately since this was going to be a guilty plea, it became MY job to convince the judge (through my client's testimony) that he was, in fact, guilty of stabbing Pincushion with the intent to inflict grievous bodily harm.

Why can't we be friends?

We prepped and prepped, and finally, it was the day of trial. And that's when the Good Idea Fairy bit me square on the ass. SPC Stabby had no beef with Pincushion before the incident. What if I could get the two of them together behind closed doors and see if Pincushion could find it in his almost, but not quite stabbed, heart to forgive Stabby?

Well, it didn't quite work out that way. Pincushion was, unsurprisingly, not exactly willing to turn the other cheek, and as for Stabby - remember those anger issues? They hadn't gotten any better. The two of them almost got into a fight in their dress uniforms. I separated them and silently prayed to every deity I could think of that the prosecutor wouldn't take the time to talk to Pincushion before getting him on the stand.

Fortune smiled upon me in that respect, because he didn't.

Which is good, because it was enough of a slog just getting through the guilty plea. The judge almost threw out the guilty plea, which would have meant going to trial for attempted murder. But somehow, my client assured her that, based on all the available witness reports, he believed he had formed the specific intent to inflict grievous bodily harm when he stabbed PFC Pincushion.

Sentencing still didn't go so hot for my guy. Remember, he was about to get kicked out for pulling a knife on a guy, then he...pulled a knife on a guy. So, out of a possible seven years confinement, the judge gave him five years and a dishonorable discharge. The best deal I could get was four years, so he got four years.

Epilogue: My lawyer fucked me!

Fast forward a few months. I was now downrange, still assigned as a trial defense attorney, and I got a call from now-PVT Stabby's appellate defense counsel.

Apparently, Stabby was convinced that he got a raw deal, and that it was my fault.

Around the same time that he went back to Coleman Barracks, this time as a prisoner, he met up with one PFC Velazquez, who got jumped by five guys in a fight at the Euro Palace club in Mainz-Kastel.

Velazquez, who claimed self defense, was accused of stabbing four guys who lived and one guy who died. The Army dropped the four assaults and tried Velazquez for murder, but he only got convicted of a relatively minor assault charge. The panel did give him the maximum sentence for that assault charge, but it was only three years.

So, Stabby was pissed, because Velazquez killed a guy and got three years; meanwhile, Pincushion lived, but Stabby still got an extra year.

Once the appellate attorney heard the rest of the story, he mentioned he was surprised Stabby only got four years given the facts and congratulated me on negotiating it down.

They opted to pursue other grounds on appeal. (Which they lost. Sorry, Stabby.)

But the moral of the story remains: if you see a guy coming toward you with a knife in his hand, maybe don't suggest ways he can use it on you.

The end! Thanks for sticking with me.

More tales from JAG:

How not to file a claim

It's always fun when you're the reason for a new rule

The Fort Lee Airfield (or, How to piss off Congress in several easy steps) (removed, because not my story, but I still like it)

The Tale of SPC Cheeseburger

Task Force (Blue) Falcon, or the Tale of SPC Punchy

The Tale of SFC Crapbag

And, since he was a Guard JAG, my dad's aborted PX Ranger attempt sorta counts.