“Retreat!” The Sarge shouted, feeling an impact on his back. The mission was compromised and Commander Louis M. Slaughter would be victorious for now, at least. A mixture of water, paint and egg yolk dripped from Sergeant James E. Gleason’s helmet. He picked a bit of latex from a burst balloon off of his shoulder as he surveyed his surroundings. As one of his cadets slipped on the buttered floor, Gleason thought to himself, “How in God’s name did I get myself into this mess?”

It began innocently enough with some hot sauce and a bottle of ketchup. The crew never understood why the Sarge preferred glorified tomato sauce on his chips when the rest of the Royal Navy used malt vinegar. In order to rectify this, the crew led by Slaughter mixed the spiciest Tabasco sauce they could get their hands on into his designated bottle of Heinz. In retaliation, the Sarge filled Slaughter’s sugar bowl with salt, ruining the Commander’s afternoon tea.

Things quickly escalated from there, and before the Sarge knew it, he found himself in the mess hall with his pants down and his arse hanging out. The time for amateur schoolboy pranks had come to an end. Gleason faced Slaughter, narrowed his eyes and uttered five words that would change everything that winter: “This, good sir, means war.”

Rude Awakenings

Joanna Eberts

BEEP BEEP BEEP! Slaughter groaned as felt around to switch off the alarm. He rolled out of bed, wiping his eyes. The clock read “7:04 a.m.” as he headed straight for the shower. Although that morning’s physical training had been cancelled, he had an 8 a.m. meeting and wanted to grab some bangers for breakfast. As he walked out of the building, Slaughter became painfully aware of the darkness that surrounded him. He stopped to check his watch — 7:27. Still suspicious, he reached for his mobile. 5:29 a.m. “Bloody hell.”

Refusing to let Gleason have the last laugh, Slaughter ordered several cadets to break into the Sarge’s bedroom. A television wake-up call and several yards of bubble wrap would do the trick. When the telly came to life at promptly 4 a.m., “Full Metal Jacket”’s Gunnery Sergeant Hartman barked at the slumbering victim at maximum volume. Gleason jumped straight out of bed and onto the well-positioned packing materials, the popping noises startling him further. Full of adrenaline and unable to get back to sleep, the Sarge saw his opportunity for revenge.

Tis the Season

Joanna Eberts

“What better way to spread holiday spirit than presents?” Gleason thought to himself as he wrapped everything in his newfound arch rival’s office in appallingly festive paper. Trophies, medals and diplomas were dressed in reds and greens. The computer screamed “Joyeux Noël!” The desk exclaimed “Happy Hanukkah!” And as the Sarge sat on the floor like a happy young lad on Christmas morning covered in tape and ribbons, the few passersby in the hallway spotted the disconcerting shimmering of gold foil plastered around Slaughter’s door. It was a forty quid well spent.

Gleason’s was a gift that kept on giving. After several hours of ripping and a few small paper cuts, Slaughter collected every leftover scrap of paper. The mountain of crumpled sheets supported by a large panel of cardboard taped at the perfect angle in front of the Sarge’s door effectively served Slaughter’s vengeance. Needless to say, Gleason was met by an avalanche of Christmas cheer as he attempted to walk out of his office.

Not to be outdone, the Sarge devised a clever counter. In the dead of night, he would sneak into Slaughter’s car and fill it with packaging peanuts. Try as he might, he could not find the necessary supplies. Gleason, however, refused to give up. There had to be a way. After spotting the groundsmen hauling boxes of lights and garlands, the mischievous military man pilfered the popcorn purchased to decorate the Christmas trees.

Meet Up, Set Up

Joanna Eberts

The escalation continued, prank after prank. Like the “12 Days of Christmas,” with every new day came a new volley. Then one day, the Sarge took it too far. Gleason stole Slaughter’s mobile and swapped Slaughter’s girlfriend’s number with his best mate’s. After a short exchange of sweet nothings, Gleason set up a date. When Slaughter arrived and spotted the Sarge, he realized that he had been duped. That night, Slaughter proposed a truce, and Gleason accepted. Unfortunately, neither had the intention of backing down.

The Sarge stood in the wake of the prank war he waged, defeated. He returned to his quarters covered in slime and goo and ready for a nice long shower. Stepping into the tub, he pondered the pranks he had yet to complete. There was still a matter of placing the Commander’s car on the roof of one of the campus buildings. But there was a greater trick in play, and the Sarge had no godforsaken clue: the Royal Navy does not rank officers as sergeants. When the water hit, it was ice cold.

Slaughter had struck again.

Joanna Eberts

Building your Arsenal

Duct Tape

These silver strips do more than hold up your junker’s bumper.

A Sharpie

Perfect for defacing bathroom stalls, public posters and passed-out drunks.

Saran Wrap

This clear, clingy plastic does wonders for wrapping, blocking and even tripping.

Yarn, Rope or String

Tie things together, hang them from the ceiling, or weave a tangled mess.

Plastic Bottles and Cans

In bulk, these are great for constructing blockades.

Reporter Magazine

Reporter can provide entertainment in more ways than one.