Westrons Pt. 01

A high-school History teacher taught me that many generals lost their battles before they even began. She might have been describing most of my fellow cadets, and their performances in our tactical simulations.

Some of them thought that all they had to was show up, to win. Most had their heads stuffed full of all the axioms our Professors were trying to inculcate. Those cadets went by the book - every single time.

Every enemy, every campaign is different. They have to be approached with respect. You should have a plan, but it can't be carved in stone. Clausewitz said that no plan survives first contact with the enemy.

JFC Fuller probably said it best: Adherence to dogmas has destroyed more armies and lost more battles and lives than any other cause in war. No man of fixed opinions can make a good general.

Napoleon relied on his 'coup d'oeil' - his first look - to judge the terrain, and his opponents' dispositions. He also knew that things changed, as the battle progressed, and he was prepared to make adjustments - or even scrap his plan completely.

Yet our Professors insisted that our plans were sacrosanct, and to deviate from them was heretical. I guess they never read Fuller - or Napoleon.

Knowing that, I was able to run up a considerable string of victories against cadets who stuck grimly to the plan, no matter how much the situation changed. I thought of them as Deaf Boys (from DFBOI - Doctrine Favored By Our Instructors).

The simulation that got me into trouble looked simple enough, at the beginning. It was a multiple participant sim; I was one of six sub-commanders. The commanding General, on our side, was an over-bred oaf named Fong.

The sim was based on a mid-20th century tank battle, World War 2, Eastern Front. I was in charge of our south-central units, meaning that I had other sub-commanders to my right and to my left.

The enemy formation directly opposite me was commanded by another aristocratic idiot; I'd taken him to the mat in unarmed combat a month or so ago. He was prone to sudden, impulsive moves. He also seemed unaware that his opponent might actually do something.

Sure enough, he held true to form. As I watched my screen, he began to shift his units in an ill-advised re-deployment.

I'd been ordered to merely hold my position, but this opportunity was too good to resist. I sent messages to Fong, and to the adjacent sub-commanders - and then launched an all-out assault on the moron directly across from me.

I caught my foolish opponent on the wrong foot, and inflicted ridiculous casualties on his best units as they tried - unsuccessfully - to shift from move orders to combat orders.

The enemy line rippled, and then bent, as the sub-commanders to either side of my hapless victim shifted their units in an attempt to come to his aid.

If either of the corps adjacent to me had attacked, we would have won a significant victory. If both had moved, we could have decisively rolled up their entire line.

They didn't.

Three messages to the guy on my right. Three to the guy on my left. Four messages to Fong, my Commander in Chief.

Nobody moved. My attack drew in elements of three enemy corps. After a long, lop-sided struggle, I was driven back to my starting position, with heavy losses.

Fong was furious.

- "What the fuck were you doing? Why did you disobey my orders?" he shouted.

I ended up in front of an interview panel, composed of two counselors, two faculty professors, and a Colonel on active service, who looked consummately bored.

Cadet Fong came in. He presented his 'evidence', and then left the room.

- "Why did you disobey orders?" asked one of the profs.

- "Before moving, Sir, I notified my direct superior, and both of the adjacent commanders." I pointed out the opportunity I'd been presented, and how we could have used it to achieve a decisive success.

- "Cadet Cook." said the second prof. "Did you know what your C-in-C intended?"

- "No, Sir. He didn't share his overall plan with us."

- "Yet you took it unto yourself to take action. Action which might have ruined your commanding officer's carefully laid plans."

I took a deep breath. Really? This was what they were about? Fong couldn't have carefully planned to take a shit.

- "You could have requested new orders." suggested one of the counselors.

Were they all dense? Or was it me?

- "The disorder in the formation opposite me could have been corrected, Sir. The opportunity was fleeting - so I seized it."

They sent me out of the room. For two hours, they discussed my case. Either that, or they went for an extended lunch, or had a massage - how would I know?

- "You did not disobey a direct order." said the first prof, when they called me back in. "Had you done so, you would have been immediately expelled from this institution."

"However, what you did was almost as severe. You disregarded your orders, and exceeded your explicit instructions. In consequence, we have awarded you a failing grade for this TacSim. Further, we have placed a notice of demerit in your dossier. Do you understand?"

- "Yes, Sir." There was no other answer.

- "Dismissed."

***

Following that little debacle, I found another Counseling appointment on my schedule. This time, though, it was with the senior counselor, Major Gomez.

- "Initiative is good, son." he said. "But if you're going to disobey your orders, then no Senior Officer will want you under their command. You can see that, right?" Gomez smiled, which took a little of the sting from his words.

"And you'll be starting somewhere near the bottom, just like the rest of us did. You'll have to gain experience and work your way to the top."

- "I appreciate the advice, Sir." I said. "I know you mean well. But it probably won't matter. I doubt that many Senior Officers will be asking for me."

- "Why not? Your scores are fine." he smiled again.

- "I'm not high-born, Sir. Nor well-connected. I don't play racquet sports, and I don't belong to any of the social clubs."

- "Well, why don't you?"

- "Lack of funds. Experience. Personal preference. Sir."

- "Experience, eh? Well, Cadet Cook ... maybe you should try again. And maybe you should also adjust your ... preferences."

Gomez wasn't smiling this time.

***

I got another sort of reprimand in my next TacSim - or, at least, an indication of where I stood.

It was another flat, featureless plain. I had 13 swordsmen. No armour, no other weapons. My opponent had archers, as I discovered when his first scout hove into view. He fired once - missed - and pulled back.

I did the same. I realized right away that the fix was in. Cadet Cook was about to be taught a lesson in humility. My opponent could advance towards me, and fire arrows the moment he came into range. If I approached him, trying to get to close quarters, he could simply retreat, firing as he went.

On a featureless plain, there was nowhere for me to hide, or set up an ambush. No cover. And with an infinite grid, there was no way for me to trap my enemy in a corner. Attack or defend - either way I'd lose.

So I retreated. And kept on retreating. No engagement.

When the simulation ended, the advisor was visibly angry.

- "You lost!" he snapped.

- "How could I lose, Sir? I didn't take a single casualty."

- "The purpose of this simulation was to engage and defeat your enemy."

- "Then my opponent failed, Sir. I denied him a victory. I was not defeated - at the very worst, it's a draw. Stalemate."

The advisor was none too happy with me. But there was no way that he could punish me with a failing grade, unless he gave my opponent the same score.

That felt like a win, to me.

***

I always took my tablet to the hotel, and read while I had my beer, and then my coffee. Sometimes I splurged and had a second beer.

A biography of Charlemagne (by Einhard and Nottker the Stammerer, if you're really interested) contained this little nugget:

Plebeian or patrician, it mattered nothing to Charles: he singled out the most proficient with rare impartiality and promoted them ...

Then I found another gem in Elton's history of England under the Tudors. He characterized the Puritans as narrow-minded, intent on inessentials, and incapable of generosity or tolerance. But he also praised them for being the opposite of boot-lickers and self-seekers.

Trevelyan had another nice little passage for me:

Every generation has methods of its own peculiarly attractive to those who prefer to intrigue for a fortune rather than to work for a living.

These passages just resonated with me. Fascinating, how something written a thousand or two thousand years ago could still be relevant to my own experience. But I have to admit that I also enjoyed these passages because I knew full well that AFOTA monitored all of our reading. In a sense, then, they were reading along with us.

Vanova brought my coffee.

- "Thank you, Vanova." I said.

It took me a moment to realize that she hadn't moved. Usually, she just deposited my drink and walked away. For some reason, though, she was still standing next to my booth. I looked up, into her beautiful eyes.

- "You're a cadet, aren't you?" she said.

- "I am."

- "Why are you here? All the cadets are over in the livelier spots - the Market, the 18th ..."

- "Well ... not all of them are over there."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Why are you - specifically - here?"

I considered my answer for a moment. This was the very first time Vanova had ever initiated a conversation with me. I didn't want to waste this opportunity.

So I held up three fingers.

- "Three reasons. First, because most cadets are over in the 18th, or the Market."

That earned me a half-smile from Vanova. Cadets can be absolutely insufferable, especially if you're a waitress with a pulse; reasonably young and even remotely pretty only makes it worse.

Because you'll have to face an endless succession of idiots, practicing their crude jokes and inane pick-up lines on helpless serving staff. And some could be even more aggressive - sometimes dangerously so. As a waitress in this town, Vanova had to have experienced that.

Plus, most of those assholes didn't tip. At all.

- "Second reason?" she asked.

- "I like the quiet here. The relaxed ambience. I also like the music you play, in the background. It's unobtrusive. I don't have to listen, but if I choose to ... pay attention to the lyrics, for example - they're surprisingly good. Thought-provoking."

Vanova seemed surprised. "You like the music?"

- "I just said so."

She snorted. Then, a little more brusquely, she said: "What's the third reason?"

- "You work here." I said.

And I left it at that.

***

In the next TacSim, it was easy enough to see that the Profs - or the advisors - were testing me. The cadet in command of our force (Blue) was a rich, well-connected moron, who wasn't smart enough to know how to screw me over without help.

He had three sub-commanders, including me. General Moron gave me less than 5% of our total forces, and placed my units at the extreme left of our position, on the very edge of the grid. I had impassable terrain to my left, and directly behind me.

I was ordered to 'protect the flank'.

Naturally enough, I moved forward, and toward the centre. Our opponent (Red) must have been in on the lesson, too - the 'Teach Cadet Cook a lesson' lesson - because he didn't waste any of his units to hold me.

It was child's play to fall on his exposed flank, and rout a force twice the size of my own. I thought I'd done pretty well.

My C.O. in the Sim was furious. I guess he'd promised his opposite number that I wouldn't be a factor.

***

- "Thank you, Vanova." I said, when she brought me my beer.

She gave me a long look.

- "What's your name, Cadet?"

- "Cook."

- "As in, the person who prepares food?"

- "Pretty much."

***

In the next TacSim, I was once again under the command of a well-bred idiot. He gave me the weakest unit in Blue Force (our side), and ordered me to reconnoiter the northeast corner of the grid we were playing on.

Given the layout of the terrain (a swamp and an impassable river) it was perfectly clear to me that our opponent (Red) would never have placed any units there - because it would have been almost impossible to move those units anywhere else. Lacking air or amphibious transport (which we were), any troops that started in that swamp would be staying there.

Another attempt to virtually exclude me from the proceedings. If I followed my orders to the letter, I would spend the entire Sim traveling through ridiculous terrain obstacles, looking for enemy units that weren't there. I would earn a sub-par rating yet again.

So I carried out a whirlwind recon, and assured myself that there were no enemy forces in that section of the grid. I knew there were no red units there.

That done, I extended my recon into the next section; that is, behind the probable front lines of Force Red. I reconned my way into the Headquarters of Red Team, and captured it.

My reward for this signal success was another counseling session.

Actually, it was more of a disciplinary hearing. Colonel Pelek, AFOTA Senior Commander, kept me waiting outside his office for two and a half hours. I was not allowed to access my tablet or my wrist com - another lesson.

When I was finally ushered into the great man's office, Pelek was still pretending to be reading. Honestly - why bother? If the reading was important, he wouldn't have called me in. Yet another vital lesson for Cadet Cook.

- "Sit." grunted the Colonel.

I sat. I waited for another quarter hour while he pretended to read some more. Finally, he looked up. I don't know: maybe I was supposed to melt under his steely gaze. He tapped the screen before him.

- "There are multiple incidents of you disobeying orders in Tactical Simulations, Cadet Cook."

- "I've never disobeyed a direct order, Sir."

- "No? Yet you consistently disregard or exceed your instructions, Cadet. Seemingly, whenever it suits you. You also seem able to interpret them in a manner quite contrary to the spirit in which they were intended."

I didn't respond. It wasn't a question, after all.

- "Well?" said Colonel Pelek.

- "I can't comment on those allegations, Sir, until I know which specific simulation you're referring to. But neither of my Commanding Officers in the most recent TacSims elaborated on the 'spirit' of their orders."

"On one occasion, my C.O. placed me in a position from which I could not possibly affect the outcome of the engagement in any way. I rectified that situation, Sir, and contributed directly to a victory in the simulation."

- "When you disregard your orders, Cadet, the result may - sometimes - be beneficial. More often, though, you will find that you've jeopardized or even sabotaged your superior's carefully-laid plan."

Since that was precisely what I'd done - and we both knew it - I kept my mouth shut.

There was a lot more: note of censure, official reprimand, and another demerit.

- "Off the record, Cadet Cook?" said Colonel Pelek.

- "Yes, Sir."

- "You have a lot to learn. And you'd better learn it quickly."

***

- "Thank you Vanova."

- "You're welcome, Cadet Cook." she said.

- "Vanova, would you go out with me?"

- "No."

***

The lessons continued. Actually, they escalated rather suddenly.

In Unarmed Combat, I'd been routinely matched up against cadets who were bigger, stronger, or faster than I was. In a few sparring contests, I'd done better than expected.

Not any more. My next opponent was Cadet Partosian - the undisputed #1 martial artist in the Academy. I went down hard. Sprained wrist, broken nose.

I think he took it easy on me.

***

- "Thank you, Vanova."

- "Ouch." she said. "You look awful, Cook. Were you in a fight?"

- "Yes."

- "Let me guess: the other guy looks even worse?"

- "No, he pretty much cleaned my clock."

She didn't reply, but she did give me a long look.

"Vanova, would you go out with me?"

- "No."

***

Partosian's error - or omission - was rectified a week later, when I was matched up against Cadet Kubota. His nickname was Mongo, and he was ranked 3rd in UC.

Mongo broke my wrist, cracked two ribs, and re-broke my nose. He also gave me a concussion. They took me straight to the hospital after that sparring session.

***

- "Thank you, Vanova."

- "Where have you been? It's been ... two weeks. And you look like shit, by the way."

- "I was in the hospital for a bit. Thank you for noticing, though. Would you go out with me, Vanova?"

- "No."

I felt like I was beginning to make progress.

***

My next 'lesson' had the potential to get ugly: in Armed Combat, they put me up against Karpov - the #1 Blade Master in our class. I wasn't even remotely in his league.

But he took it relatively easy on me, passing up several opportunities to maim, or put me right back in the hospital. I didn't touch him once, of course, with sabre or epee, and lost by a near-record margin. Still, I was happy to emerge from our match in one piece.

I went looking for him, the next day, to thank him.

He was on latrine duty. Karpov never did latrine duty. I got it: they were punishing him for not punishing me.

- "I'm sorry." I said.

- "Not your fault." he answered. Then, as I turned to leave, he called to me.

"Hey - Cook!"

I turned back. He was leaning on his mop.

"Tell me something." he said. "Why do you do it? Get into trouble all the time?"

- "What's the alternative?"

- "You could ... give them what they want."

I just grinned at him. "Like you did?"

- "Ha! Okay." he said.

- "You going to be alright?"

- "What, this?" He pointed at the toilets. "They won't push me very far." Karpov was rich, and his family was well-connected.

"You know ... I could take you on, as a caddy." he said. "I wouldn't ask much."

- "I appreciate the offer. Thank you - but no. I couldn't."

He understood. That was the closest I came to making a real friend. But I liked and respected Karpov too much to do that to him.

***

- "Thank you, Vanova."

- "You're welcome, Cadet. Your bruises are beginning to fade."

- "Does that mean you'll go out with me?"

- "No."

***

On the Weapons range, I was matched against the top 5 marksmen in our class, one after the other. It was a little ridiculous. They outscored me by laughable margins, which I suppose was meant to humiliate or intimidate me.

But it didn't matter. My scores were what they were, regardless of how much better the man next to me did. By my own standard, I actually performed reasonably well.

Still, the message was especially clear - to the other cadets. Painfully clear.

I was already alone, most of the time. Now I could walk down the hall, looking like I had some sort of personal force field. Nobody wanted to get within ten feet of me. Even the orderlies began avoiding me like I had the plague.

***

- "Thank you, Vanova."

- "You're welcome, Cadet."

I didn't say anything else. I was playing a hunch.

She didn't leave.

- "Well?" she said.

- "Well ... what?"

She sighed. "Aren't you going to ask me out again?"

I smiled. "Were you waiting for me to?"

- "Saying 'No' to you is one of the highlights of my week. Seriously - you weren't going to ask?"