Taking Command

"Plus my security platoon, which you and I need to go meet with. More than half of them are reservists and cops. Maybe less than half have been shot at before. The LT and the NCOIC appear solid. I'm augmenting their basic complement with some heavy weapons. Lieutenant..."

"Sir?"

"This unit is ninety percent female; my security platoon only slightly less so. I need you and LT Chandler to work well together---connected at the hip, as they say. Recognizing your greater experience, I would expect that she will be receptive to your ideas. It is her platoon---her command---however. I know enough about the USMC to know that having females in what could very quickly become a combat environment is anathema. Make it work, lieutenant; I've already delivered that message to her in no uncertain terms. Any questions?"

"We'll make it work, sir. Sir, you seem a little older than the average Army O4...how'd you end up here?"

Bill knew that the young lieutenant was probing the new commander to determine his fitness.

"This is my fourth of these little cluster fucks, lieutenant. Two on active duty---as a warrant officer or 'gunner' to you. One other recall from the reserves, and this one, thanks to one Major General who just won't leave me alone. This is my third combat command, to include a special ops aviation detachment many years back. I've been in a similar position on one former occasion, running an air cavalry troop out of a remote base. In that instance I had my own ground troops for security and helicopter gun ships. I don't have combat hardened soldiers or gun ships this time. The unit appears to be well disciplined and motivated. They've lacked leadership---hence my appearance on the scene. Most of them have never been shot at---or shot at anyone.

"I figure we've got a month of good weather and then we're going to be out of business aviation wise for days or even weeks at a time. This is a tenacious enemy we are facing; if I were going to pick a high value, sensational target---I'd pick us. I'd accompany it with a whole bunch of diversionary attacks to prevent the cavalry from coming to our rescue. LT, the question isn't if they're going to attack---it's when. My prediction would be within twenty-four hours of the weather closing in. We need to be ready, while at the same time we need to perform our mission over the next few weeks. Let me introduce you to your counterpart and let you two get acquainted. Where are your Marines, by the way?"

"They're on site, supervising the engineers, setting up registration points...digging in."

The two young officers checked each other out very carefully. After making the introductions, Bill left to attend to other pressing issues. He knew it was imperative that the two young security officers function seamlessly together. He also knew that only the two of them could make that happen...had to make it happen.

***

As he watched the load out and deployment unfold with only minor mishap, he had to wonder how and why this unit could have become so dysfunctional and been unable to accomplish their mission. His officers showed good leadership skills and his pilots knew their craft. The senior NCOs appeared to hold the respect of their subordinates and work well with their young officers.

Perhaps the most pleasant surprise was the joint security plan his two security officers presented to him. If there was any friction there, he couldn't detect it. The two young officers almost seemed to be reading each other's minds. He was very pleased.

Every spare minute following deployment was devoted to weapons training and security planning. If the unit was attacked during inclement weather, every person, officer and enlisted, would need to man a position. Countless drills were performed, few with the entire company as the re-supply mission became job one. Bill Wallace hoped that it would all fit together when the need arose.

His maintenance platoon kept the aircraft in the air and his pilots performed safely and flawlessly. Kudos came their way from every echelon all the way to the top.

He had expected modesty and personal hygiene issues or at least complaints. He received none. He sat in the cramped van which was the combination headquarters and operations center late one night with his XO and first sergeant. This had become a regular nightly gathering.

"All I can say is, ladies, thank God this isn't a Muslim country like the last one of these! I've never been a big rum drinker but this stuff is right up there with single malt. Not a bad cigar either considering we couldn't be legally smoking 'em back home."

"It's still contraband, sir," said the first sergeant. "How the hell did you get your hands on this stuff?"

"I have friends in high places; it was a gift from an old friend. I don't think we should expect a steady diet of it."

"Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure, Captain." Bill said, addressing his executive officer.

"No, I didn't mean for the rum and Cubans---but thank you for sharing. I meant thank you. Thank you for letting this unit show what they are capable of. Thank you for ...thank you for...taking command. That's all we ever needed...someone to show us the way...trust us...teach us...mentor us...lead us."

"Here-here!" said the crusty first sergeant, raising her metal canteen cup.

"Thank you, Captain. In all honesty I had no idea how this was going to turn out. So far...damn good, but there's still a lot of road ahead of us. Folks, the next hurdle is going to be different---I'm damn sure of it. And for most of us it's going to be unfamiliar terrain."

*** Three days later the seasonal weather closed in. The loading pads were stacked high with supplies from the last Chinook loads before the ceiling dropped to the deck. In a country without benefit of modern navigational aids, further missions inbound were impossible. The Blackhawks made one last re-supply run to their designated unit locations, barely returning to base before the ceiling dropped to zero and the visibility to less than a hundred feet. The forecast said it would get worse before it got better if that was possible. All of the aircraft were secured in revetments. When he walked into the operation area, he was greeted by some rag tag civilian with a camera hanging from his neck.

"Major Wallace, I'm Ben Ying from..."

"I know where you are from Mr. Ying. What I don't know is what you are doing on my base."

"I was dropped off here by one of the Chinooks; I was told I could get a ride from your people out to one of the 1st Mech forward bases."

"Mr. Ying, I don't know if you've taken a serious look at the weather outside but we just suspended all flight operations. Our last birds barely made it back. Based on the forecast, it will be several days before we'll flying out there---or anywhere else for that matter. I am not happy to see you here. Are you a unit assigned imbed?"

"No...I'm more or less choosing my own destinations."

"Well, congratulations, Mr. Ying! You final destination for the foreseeable future is an aviation company---basic 'ash and trash,' not a combat outpost. Although, assuming this weather sticks it to us, you may just see some 'combat' yet. We will try to find you someplace to bunk---no small challenge in a unit that is almost ninety percent female. I am up to my ears in alligators right know, Mr. Ying so I don't really have time to chat.

"Do not take any pictures without asking permission from the people in those pictures. Do not take any pictures that might disclose a land feature outside of the camp since from said picture it wouldn't be too hard for the enemy to pinpoint where we are---not that they don't already know. Every person in this unit who is not bunked out is busy preparing for the inclement weather---and a probable enemy probe. Stay out of the way and don't bother anyone. I'll talk to the first sergeant about finding you a place to stay. Now excuse me."

***

As Bill Wallace viewed the mountain of material that still remained, a single small observation helicopter came in on approach, darting in and out of the low cloud cover. He had no such aircraft in his unit.Who the fuck is that idiot? A familiar figure exited the small aircraft as he approached. Without a doubt the last person he wanted to see or needed to see. It was the support brigade commander. As her pilot secured the aircraft, Bill approached.

"I don't even rate a salute, Major?"

"Check your Army regs ma'am...the 95 series. Salutes are not exchanged on a flight line or during flight operations. What in the hell are you doing here, Colonel?"

"Trust me, Major Wallace, this is the last place on earth I want to be. I was checking up on our log operations at the forward bases. The weather came out of nowhere. It's completely socked in between here and the rear. We were running low on fuel and almost didn't find your base. It was here or out there somewhere."

"Frankly, Colonel, as unhappy as I am to see you at my base, I could use your help. My load officer and her folks have been up for twenty-four hours in a row; we've been running around the clock for three days knowing the weather was coming. I need to send them to their bunks before they hurt themselves but I've got a mountain of shit here that I need to get sorted and dispersed. There's enough ammo here to blow up this whole base. We need to sort it, disperse it---and pull out anything we might find useful over the next however many days. My air crews who are just coming off down time are going to help. I need a load officer---someone who knows what this shit is without having to look it up."

"That I can do, Major. I would doubt that there is a single supply nomenclature that I don't know by heart. And Major, just for the record---this is your base. I am not in the combat arms---you are. Just point me in the right direction."

"Yes, ma'am. I need to go coordinate with our security folks. I have a bad feeling about what could be coming. Armor plate, ammo, C4, Claymores, crew served weapons---please put them aside and we'll go through and see if there's anything there we might need."

What he heard from his Marine LT raised the hairs on his neck.

"There's significant movement out there sir, still a few thousand meters out but it's coming this way."

"How long?"

"I'd expect a probe in the morning."

"Okay, you know the drill; I'll notify the XO and get as many people in their bunks as we can afford. When you have a second, grab LT Chandler and get over to the log pad; we've got a ton of shit there and some of it might be useful."

When he returned to the log pad a couple of hours later, he was pleased to see a major dent in the piles of supplies. The colonel had her blouse off exposing her green tee shirt and was loading supplies onto vehicles along with the rest of the complement of primarily officers. Wiping her brow with her forearm, she turned to greet him.

"There's a hell of a lot of water here; we're leaving it to last since it isn't hazardous. There's also more damn ordinance than we can safely disperse throughout the base. We need to move some of it outside the wire and blow it. Also, six bladders of diesel which I don't think we want inside the camp."

"We've got plenty of fuel for our generators and vehicles. Let's move the bladders out to the closest defensive berm—spaced around the camp. We've still got a Bobcat left over from when the engineers were here. My maintenance platoon fixed it. Put each of them in the ditch behind the berm, and cover 'em with dirt. Hopefully we've got someone here who knows how to rig explosives for maximum effect."

"What about throwing some of the 155 rounds into the pile? There's also a ton of powder bags."

"Sure, the bags will burn hot but not explode. The rounds should cook off and the berm should be sufficient to protect out people."

"There's plenty of C4, det cord, wire and detonators. I can handle that, Major."

"Colonel, what do you know about EOD?"

"I started in Explosive Ordinance Demolition...enlisted; my first husband and I met there...I've stayed up to date but shit, we're talking pre-Vietnam technology here, I can handle it."

"Take the personnel you need, Colonel."

"There are also four M2s, two 80mm mortars and this."

"Even I know that nomenclature! Not that I have a clue what we're going to do with a 7.62 mm mini gun---if we could make it work. What the hell? My maintenance platoon leader seems to have a gift for gerry rigging things. Send it over to her and see if she can do anything with it. My security platoon leader and her Marine counterpart will be over shortly to scarf up the Brownings, mortars and the plating. Maybe we can mount the M2s on a couple of the vans or even a seven ton. Take the powder bags and put them inside the empty sand bags. We just might find a use for all that smokeless powder yet."

By midnight the log pad was free of dangerous items and most of the rest of the supplies had been dispersed. There was still a mountain of water but there wasn't a good reason to move it.

Bill met with his unit in small groups throughout the day and night. If there was an attack or probe in the early morning he wanted to ensure that everyone was fed and hydrated so the modest mess tent remained operational throughout the night. As he addressed each small group while they ate, he had the same message.

"We are the smartest, best educated, best trained, best armed, best supplied and best led army in the history of the world. We are well dug in with excellent firing positions, superior weapons and clear, overlapping fields of fire. We are prepared far better to fight than our enemy can even imagine. We will win---because we must.

"If the fight comes to us, politics and causes be damned! We won't be fighting for some esoteric ideal---we'll be fighting to live. It'll get ugly. People will be wounded...some will die. Keep your heads; remain calm and do your jobs. 'Bravery is being the only one who knows you are afraid', according to some nutty colonel who led troops into battle in another war a long time ago. When the bullets come we'll all be afraid, each in his or her own way. Use the fear to your advantage---channel that adrenalin into action not inaction---and we'll come out of this just fine."

Bill met with his XO and first sergeant as he had on other nights. All knew this gathering might well be their last for some time. He invited the colonel to join them. Each received the last of the aged rum and a final cigar.

"Any word from the cavalry?"

"Evidently they've got their own fish to fry. We've been told to hold our position and possibly expect some air support down the road but no promises."

"Major, how many---what kind of attack ratio---can we repulse?" the colonel inquired.

"Assuming an equally competent army, no commander attacks with less than a three to one advantage and most would opt for something closer to ten to one. They are fearless and quite likely hopped up. They make up for a lack of technology with fanatical zeal. They will fight to the death---a message we need to keep drumming into our people's heads.

"This is an excellent defensive position and we have a few surprises for them. If we're lucky, we might get some air support, although the only aircraft that can put down precision ordinance in this weather are based many hours from here. Unless they literally over run us with more bodies than we can kill, we should be able to resist almost anything...for a couple of days and nights.

"After that, without relief, they'll just wear us down and I wouldn't want to take bets on the third night. We need to maintain discipline---which won't be easy once the bullets start to fly. The second attack---after the probe---will give us a better idea of what we are dealing with---from them as well as from our own soldiers. Where in the world is our maintenance officer?"

"She's still trying to get that damn mini gun to work. She got it running but it won't leave the clearing cycle."

As the others present registered confusion, Bill spoke. "It's an aircraft weapon. When it fires, the barrels get so hot that the rounds in the chambers can cook off and cause an unexpected discharge. When the trigger is released, the gun clears the chambers without activating the firing pins to prevent cook offs."

"She's also trying to figure out how to slow it down. At the maximum possible bench firing rate of 8,000 rounds a minute the barrels would melt even on a helicopter. At 4,000, the normal max rate for aircraft, it depends on airflow to cool it. With no airflow, the barrels would still melt in short order. She's trying to get it down closer to 2,000 rounds per minute, or roughly 334 rounds per minute per barrel---half of a typical M60 rate per barrel---which should allow for a pretty impressive stream of fire. It didn't come with a maintenance manual."

"What's she got it mounted on?"

"A seven ton rigged up with a bunch of hillbilly armor plate we had left over. She's got it bore sited, so if she ever gets it to work it would be nice to have."

"Let's get some sleep folks. It's going to be a long day and it's likely to begin early."

As he moved toward his quarters, he encountered the unwanted journalist enjoying a smoke.

"Mr. Ying, I apologize if I was short with you earlier. For the record, we are expecting an enemy attack by sunrise."

"Surely your higher headquarters will be sending a combat unit to protect you."

"Not going to happen. They're up to their asses in their own problems."

"But this is essentially a non-combat unit, what---ninety percent female?"

"Every soldier in this man's Army has to be prepared to fight. My people have trained for this possibility over the last month or so. We've got a Marine recon platoon out in the bushes and a good defensive position."

"A platoon of Marines---that's all?"

"Plus 298 officers, warrant officers and enlisted personnel from the best Army in the world. An Army---and a nation---for which you have occasionally shown a degree of disdain. Yes, I can read, Mr. Ying, and I do peruse your rag. It prompts many heated debates."

"I've never been unfair to the troops; I've certainly gone after their leaders on occasion."

"Well, I'm sure we'll become great buddies, Mr. Ying."

"Not at your level, Major---the higher ups. Have you ever faced a situation like this before?"

"I've been in combat and led soldiers in combat, if that's what you mean. Look, you won't get much argument from me when it comes to most of the 'perfumed princes' back in Washington. No love lost here for the bonehead politicians who get us into these messes---and then don't have the fortitude to see it through. But the two star in charge of this division is an exceptional man and a good friend. Although he tested that friendship by yanking me back into harness."

"You're a reservist?"

"As are a quarter to a third of the personnel on this base. Doesn't that make you feel safe? Where are we putting you up, anyway?"

"I'm bunking with...the First Sergeant."

"I don't even want to know about it---watch yourself."

"What?"

"Just kidding. Look, Ying, keep your head down and wear a helmet and armor when you go outside. Make sure you know where the nearest bunker is."

***

The probe came before sunrise. To his relief the fixed crew served firing positions held their fire as they had been instructed. The enemy was attempting to determine their strength and readiness and ascertain the location of the heavy weapons. There were no casualties within the camp and he assumed only moderate ones on the enemy side. The enemy quickly called off their probing attack, certainly very aware that their foe was ready for them and well disciplined. Other than those facts, the enemy force had learned very little about the camp's defenses.