I had a Marine I wanted to destroy. Time and again he was on our radar, and he had been nonjudicially punished at least once. He had a poor moral foundation, and it was only a matter of time until he did something that would allow me to gleefully arrange for his separation.
One Friday, the battalion had been let off early for the weekend. That afternoon I got a phone call that our hero had been in a domestic violence incident with his spouse. Both were noncommissioned officers. Short version: It was a mutual brawl in the front seat of their car.
The Incident Determination Committee was attended by representatives from across the base—legal, medical, family advocacy. I represented the command. It was briefed that my guy admitted to having had a couple of beers prior to the incident. This set off a cacophony of demands for alcohol treatment, keelhauling, and waterboarding and an overall horrified reaction to the word “alcohol” by all present. . . . except me.