15th FSB Area
Fort Hood
Texas, United States of America
10 October, 1991
0600
Lightning lit her face as Captain Jane watched as everyone formed up. Her eyes were hard as she squinted at them through the drops spilling off the rim of her Kevlar helmet. Off toward the air field a few miles away thunder boomed for a long moment. In front of her everyone shifted uncomfortably, waiting for her to speak as she stared at them.
The only sound was their movement, the thunder, and the patter of rain on the grass and the set up tents.
"As Chief Cromwell just said: Fail," she said, her voice a harsh growl. She pointed behind us, at where two men had stacked their rifles and been driven to the ER by people who could drive and were already on profile. "Two soldiers down. Almost twenty minutes."
"It's muddy, Captain," SSG Grates tried.
"Do you think we'll only deploy to where it is sunny and dry, Sergeant?" She asked, her voice still harsh. "If it was not raining, I would have had Chief Cromwell and some lower enlisted out here with a hose to water everything down. We need to train in adverse conditions, not just optimum conditions."
She began pacing back and forth, rain splashing under her boots, and when the lightning flared again it made her eyes glitter dangerously and the rain on her uniform, weapon, and gear sparkled like gems. I lit a cigarette watching her.
"Blackjack Brigade is the Rapid Ready Deployment Brigade, and we are the Forward Support Battalion tasked with supporting them, including acting as advance party," She stated. She suddenly turned and faced them. "There are even situations where they would only be tasked with providing security while we perform the necessary tasks of providing medical care in case of natural or man-made disaster or even a localized conflict."
She turned to me and pointed at them, "Chief Cromwell, at this moment how would you rate the unit's performance beyond a simple 'Fail' grading?"
I thought for a moment. Right now Captain Jane was providing the whip. I wasn't sure why, but I could tell that I was supposed to be the carrot to her stick.
"How long has it been since Charlie Company put up a tent?" I asked mildly.
"Since we returned from the Gulf and checked out and cleaned all the equipment when it returned from the Gulf," she admitted. "June, before I took over Charlie Company."
"Military tasks are a perishable skill, Ma'am," I said, "Teamwork is not something that just springs up because we are all in the military, it comes from practice, working together, and developing that teamwork. After a war, especially one that involves stop-loss like Desert Storm, a unit suffers massive amounts of personnel reassignments."
I waved at the assembled soldiers, "Which is why in the beginning units are in what's called the restructure phase. Not much really gets done, everyone's in a holding pattern, until the new personnel assignments shake down, until new missions are drawn up, and the commanders feel it's time to begin the refit phase."
I turned and faced Captain Jane, who still looked coldly ominous in the dark. "This is less to impress you or I, or any graders watching, but rather to show us where we need training. Out of everyone here, not a single person served with Charlie Company during Desert Storm outside of the Arms Room. Hardly any of these people knew each other before being assigned here. I doubt we can find three soldiers who served with one another in the same unit before now."
"Yes, they failed. But failure merely gives us a baseline of what our job is," I turned back and faced them. "It's my job, as the Training Officer, to get all of you ready to deploy," I went back to parade rest, "Your performance is a reflection, ultimately, on the leadership of this unit and my training schedule."
"So what do you recommend?" Captain Jane asked me.
"All right. Ten man teams. Four on ropes, four on raising," I said, remembering how we'd done it in 2/19th and how good we got at setting up tents during REFORGER 88. I rubbed my hands together, "Some of you will show skill at this, other will be incompetent or just won't have the knock for it. Those who aren't good at setting up tents, there will be other things to do, so you won't be getting out of work. We'll be putting up radiation shielding, running cables, setting up the positive pressure lining.
"Let's get to work," I smiled.
15th FSB Area
Fort Hood
Texas, United States of America
10 October, 1991
1120
I walked with Captain Jane through the encampment the company had put up. Radiation shielding between the tents and the building. The generator powering the air compressor as well as providing lights.
"Opinion, Chief?" She asked me as we left the second positive pressure tent through the airlock and into the cold rainy Texas day.
"They're doing good," I told her, "They can set this up in an hour, break it down in half that time. Mobility is an integral part of US Army doctrine since the end of Vietnam. Our mobility was key to victory in Iraq and Panama, is key to special operations doctrine, and is what the new Rapid Deployment system relies on. It's a key part of Third Generation Warfare. Some analysts believe we're entering Fourth Generation Warfare, which maneuverability will be even more critical."
She frowned. "I'm not familiar with those terms," she said. "Did they teach you that in Warrant School?"
I chuckled. "No, my old crew leader insisted we read a lot of stuff on warfare. Military history, analysis of current, past, and future warfare," I chuckled again as I lit a cigarette. "In 1988 my crew leader got invited to the Future Weapons Symposium in DC, me and a few others got to attend. I got to attend a panel given by Niven and Clarke."
She stared at me. "They sent enlisted to something like that?"
"This is the part where I whip out my penis and impress you with it," I chuckled, blowing smoke into the morning air. "I've written several papers about the future of military medical care, potential medical advancements, and application of then current technological advancements being tested by DARPA. A few of my papers are in use by the DARPA testing going on right here at Fort Hood."
She looked impressed and I chuckled. "Not that any of it matters. If you want, I'll hook you up with some reading material that explains the generations of warfare and how they apply to modern military conflicts."
She nodded at that. "Last one was slow. We'll tear it down, set it up again, see if we can bring the time back to where it was," she said.
"No, Ma'am," I told her. She looked at me, raising one eyebrow. I shook my head. "We've been working them since we woke them at zero three. They're tired, have only eaten MRE's three hours ago, and are on the edge of muscle failure."
I stopped, pointing at to where the enlisted were leaning against things, not chatting, just standing. "They haven't had the PT to harden their muscles, build endurance. They haven't been doing this for months on end together. They're tired. Tired people make mistakes, we have them do it again, we'll end up with someone getting seriously hurt. We need to have them tear it down, then teach them how to inspect all this equipment for wear."
She nodded at that. "I didn't notice how tired they are."
"One of the beams gave a pop that last lift, we need to inspect it when we bring it down," I told her.
...he's convulsing. get that goddamn medivac here asap. his goddamn skull's bashed in...
are you dead too, Stokes?
I pushed the Amazon's voice away. The last time I'd seen her, she was on a stretcher in a helicopter being worked on by two people.
"You all right, Chief?" Captain Jane asked.
"Yeah, yeah," I said.
"Handle it, Chief," Captain Jane said, moving over by the tree.
I nodded, heading over to where a bunch of the enlisted had gathered up. I stopped in front of them, taking a drag off my cigarette and looking at them.
"Any injuries?" I asked. The just shook their heads and muttered that they were fine.
"All right, in a few minutes we'll start pulling everything down," I told them. There were a few groans and I grinned at them. "No, we're not going to put it all back up, we're going to pull it down, put it on the trucks, and haul it to the motor pool."
"We're done?" PFC Wicker asked.
I shook my head, "I ain't gonna lie to you, troop," I told him, "We'll grab some hot food t the chow hall, take a break, and then unpack, inspect and clean everything, and load it into the Conexes according to the new load out sheet."
They nodded at that, stretching. Several stepped forward, swinging their arms to loosen their shoulder muscles.
"Let's get to it," Specialist Heeley said.
I moved over to where the pregnant women and the profiles were standing. I set my weapon in the stack, then turned around and headed over to the radiation shield panels. They were set up on the rack, tilted slightly for stabalization. I lifted one up until I could pull it forward off the retaining L-bars, then carried it over to the 5-ton, tossing it in the back.
Working felt good. My muscles were still a little sore from grabbing the GP Medium, and it felt good working them. I didn't mind the soreness that was there at first, and soon I had lost myself in the simple joy of hard work.
At one point I paused to strip off my BDU top and toss it in the front seat of humvee five before putting back on my Kevlar vest and LBE. Then I got back to work. Loading the folded tents, positive pressure linings, lifting the boxes of power cables and hoses.
I had missed working like that. Just the interplay of muscle and tendon over bone, the feel of sweat, the blood rushing through my veins. It was borderline mindless, something I could concentrate on without having to worry about keeping track of a thousand different things.
It was Captain Jane's unit. Let her worry about running it.
I was happy with how training had gotten. Being able to start with just everything loaded in the trucks and build the complete aid station in less than an hour was an actual accomplishment. It was still practice, there was more that needed to be done, but for today, for this moment, I was more than happy with what the soldiers of Charlie Company had accomplished.
It didn't feel like they were working against each other, getting in each other's way. The Senior NCO's were giving instructions, making sure everyone worked together. The junior NCO's were leading their soldiers.
At least the officers were staying the hell out of the way, although 1LT Johnson kept calling people over so she could yell at them.
Once the trucks were loaded up, I get into Five and drove Donovan to the motorpool. He groaned when he got in, and once he started rubbing his thigh.
"You all right?" I asked him, hitting the blinker to turn into the motorpool.
"Leg cramp," he bitched.
"Huh," I pulled in and stopped. "Jump out, ground-guide me."
He groaned and got out, rubbing his leg and then limping in front of me. We pulled Five down to the vehicle line and he used hand signals to help me back into the line dress right dress so we were perfectly lined up. When I got out he threw the drip-pan under the engine and we walked to the Conex.
The three trucks, 2 five-tons and one deuce-and-a-half, were parked and about a dozen soldiers were clustered up around them.
"Let's head back, troops," I said, "We'll grab some hot lunch, come back and inspect, clean, and put away this gear."
That got nods as I grabbed the drip-pan and tossed it under the truck nearest me. I waited till they put the chocks behind the wheels then started walking. We'd walked about a block before PFC Whitman spoke up.
"You're more used to working for a living, aren't you, Chief?" She said.
I chuckled at that, digging out my cigarettes. "This is my first unit as an officer," I told them, snapping my lighter closed. I gestured with the hand with the cigarette in it. "I made E-6 right around Desert Storm, but they'd been trying to put me in Warrant School for about two years."
There was silence for a couple of steps.
"About Desert Storm," SPC Cartman asked. I saw Whitman punch her in the shoulder to tell her quietly to shut her pie hole.
"Yeah, you guys are probably dying to know about it," I shrugged. "I got wounded. Any idiot can. There was wasn't a choice for us. For my team, we had to accomplish our missions. It happens in every war, a mission that costs lives, Desert Storm was no different."
I could tell they had more questions, but I held up my hand. "That's my last unit, it doesn't matter to me any more," I looked at them as we walked, "This unit matters to me. I don't want to replace my old unit with you, I don't want to remake you in their image. You have a different mission, I just want to get you soldiers trained up to succeed at that mission."
They were silent the rest of the way.
When we got to the chow hall I watched them break up, going to different tables. Instead of getting a tray for myself, I went back and talked to the Mess Sergeant real quick. He had what I wanted, and had no problem handing me a box of them.
I went to each table, staring at the members of Charlie Company sitting and eating lunch. When they looked up, I handed them each one of what was in the box, smiling at them.
"Bananas have potassium, it'll help with the muscle cramps," I told them.
It felt good. Working again.
All my friends were dead.
But that didn't mean that I couldn't take care of these guys.
There was more to it than just training.
(End Rough Draft)
One more to go. Think the next version will be the good one.