Most criminals are kind of dumb, which is why they’re criminals.” – John Connolly
Truth be told, it was hardly the crime of the century.
Recently, a former soldier – working as a civilian contractor – was convicted in Texas for an elaborate scheme that involved conspiracy, theft, and intrigue.
He didn’t break into Fort Knox. He didn’t sell nuclear codes to a foreign agent. And he didn’t steal the Declaration of Independence.
He stole MREs. Not exactly Oceans 11 stuff, to be sure.
Between February and August 2020, the theft involved 200 pallets of the field rations, euphemistically known and “meals rejected by everyone.” Each pallet contains 48 cases of MREs, with 12 meals per case. For those of you doing the napkin math at home, that’s 115,200 meals. And a lot of hot sauce.
The crew of criminal geniuses would then pass on the stolen meals to an intermediary, who would then supply them to a seller who resold the MREs through an online marketplace. In total, the meals were valued at approximately $1.12 million, according the Justice Department. How much revenue they generated from the crime remains a mystery.
A Few Good Men
In the 1992 Tom Cruise film, A Few Good Men, there’s a scene that is very relatable to me. Cruise’s character, Navy lawyer Lieutenant Daniel Kaffee, is taking batting practice while negotiating a plea deal with another attorney. Kaffee’s client stands accused of possession of a controlled substance and being under the influence on duty.
The sailor in question was caught with $10 worth of oregano, which he believed was marijuana. As Kaffee points out, “My client’s a moron. That’s not against the law.” Every time I watch that scene, I laugh out loud. Because that exact scenario played out in my platoon several years earlier.
In my case, one of my soldiers – who was notoriously dim-witted – bartered a drug deal with a CID agent, only to sell him a “dime bag” of something that wasn’t marijuana (it might have been oregano, I honestly don’t remember). It didn’t matter. Intent outweighed the subterfuge. He was arrested, court-martialed, and sent off to Fort Leavenworth.
As my platoon sergeant would say later, “Just because you’re stupid doesn’t mean they won’t send you to the big house.”
Lessons from the Chief
The military is known for many things. Breeding criminal masterminds isn’t one of them. During my time in uniform, I saw more than a few servicemembers depart for “the long tour” at Fort Leavenworth. The lieutenant who stole tires from the motor pool. The lieutenant colonel who accepted a $300,000 bribe from a civilian contractor. The lieutenant who tried to stage a coup in our brigade during the early days of Operation Desert Storm. The warrant officer who was caught up in a scheme to sell weapons in the wake of a modernization effort.
There’s stupid, and there’s criminally stupid.
Stealing MREs was certainly stupid. Selling oregano to CID was also stupid. But there are crimes on the books that are even more stupid. As the old saying goes, “don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” And these five all had an opportunity to do their time.
1. The Bergen Tank Joyride (2009).
An 18-year-old British soldier at Camp Hohne, Germany, got drunk and decided to take a Scimitar armored reconnaissance vehicle out for a spin at 0400. He wrecked it. So, he went back and stole a second one. He then plowed that one into a tree before military police finally cornered him just short of the town of Bergen, nearly ramming an oncoming civilian car in the process.
2. The Richmond APC Chase (2018).
A Virginia National Guard first lieutenant drove a 12-ton M577 Armored Personnel Carrier off Fort Pickett and led state police on a slow-motion, 65-mile chase up Interstate 95 into downtown Richmond, live-tweeting the whole escapade complete with a triumphant selfie. He was later found not guilty by reason of insanity.
3. The Fourth of July Skyhawk Joyride (1986).
After a glider-diving injury permanently disqualified him from Marine pilot training, Lance Corporal Howard Foote stole an $18 million A-4M Skyhawk from MCAS El Toro on July 4, 1986, and spent 45 minutes performing loops and rolls over the Pacific before landing it himself. He served four months in the brig and received an other-than-honorable discharge, but the court-martial itself was ultimately dropped.
4. The White House Lawn Landing Zone (1974).
Army Private First Class Robert K. Preston had washed out of Army flight school for deficiency in instrument flying. Undeterred, on February 17, 1974, he stole a UH-1 Huey helicopter from Fort Meade, MD, flew it down the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, buzzed the Washington Monument, and touched down on the White House lawn. The Maryland State Police pilots who’d chased him grudgingly admitted he was “one hell of a pilot.” He was sentenced to a year in prison and fined $2,400.
5. The Marital-Crisis C-130 Theft (1969).
Under intense personal strain — a rocky new marriage, a stalled promotion, and a recent arrest — Air Force crew chief Paul Meyer stole a C-130E Hercules from RAF Mildenhall, England, on May 23, 1969. He radioed his estranged wife repeatedly during the flight before losing control and crashing into the English Channel; his body was never recovered.
When someone steals military property – for example, 200 pallets of MREs – with the intent to cash in, I often wonder what goes through their mind. The Pentagon may not be able to pass an audit, but when it comes to property, logisticians know how to count. You might think you can get away with stealing 115,200 meals, but eventually someone will catch the discrepancy in their numbers and start looking.
But, as Forrest Gump reminded us, “Stupid is as stupid does.”
