Raid?

A note to any soldiers going through the 1st Army training, there is only one solution. All field problems involving simulated Iraqi civilians can be solved by talking to the sheik. Lock the town down, talk to the sheik and you pass the mission. My squad leader knows this. On the other hand sometimes you just want to have fun.

The mission comes down, a US soldier is being held prisoner in the notional town of Ali Babba. Our mission is to go into the town and find him. First, understand that we are organized to escort convoys. This means that we are distinctly lacking in some of the essential things required to raid a town. Things like man pack radios, battering rams and dismounts. The OCTs (Observer/Controler/Trainers) are attempting to induce a fault. Fuck’em.

We rally up with the other platoon, pull a wet and stinky plan out of our ass, and roll out. The US Army has locked down entire cities using thousands of soldiers over a single soldier. I bring this up to SSG Lifeguard, my new boss. He smiles, spits a gob of tobacco juice into our Escalation of Force (EOF) bottles and says; “Just check the box”.

The other platoon locks down the town… sort of. Then he gives me the move out.

I put on my game face and the yelling begins. Try controlling 9 vehicles, directing your driver while looking for IEDs and snipers sometime.
“Left or right at the traffic circle?”
“Left.”
“Echo 221, this is Echo 111 split off to the right.”
“MIGHT MOUSE! ARE THEY SPLITTING OFF?”
An unintelligible reply from the turret.
“PINBALL GO FORWARD!”
“Where the fuck do you want me to go?”
“PAST THE FUCKING HOUSE!”
“Hadji women just standing there blocking the way!”
“Drive past them.”
“MIGHTY MOUSE AM I CLEAR ON THE RIGHT?”
A hand shoots down from the turret with a thumbs up.
“Keep Going!”
Where the fuck do you want me to go, just tell me where we need to stop and I will fucking get there!”
The last is garbled as I spit a gob of juice into the EOF bottle.
“Hook a right and stop when we can see the whole back of the town!”
Vehicles are all over the place, outer security is set the inner vehicles making it up as it goes along.
I stomp on the accelerator as we clear the simulated locals and yank the vehicle around the last building. Mighty Mouse Fights the 200 pound turret that is almost twice his weight around to cover his sector of fire.
As soon as the vehicle stops and I yank the E-brake Lifeguard tosses the mike at me and pops out to join the dismounts. I hand it up to Mighty Mouse, nothing like multi tasking. I chamber a round and pop out to check the area for hadji presents. Only a fool drives cross country with a round in the chamber. The chances of the weapon being knocked off safe and then firing a round inside the vehicle is way to high. Armor keeps bullets out, but also keeps them in.
I scan out, the outer security guys have neglected this sector. Nothing like a well tuned plan with lots of time to rehearse. I Look over at SPC Choo Choo and wave him forward. He begins to roll forward to cover us. I continue my inspection.
Half way done I hear the distinct sound of an AK blank round. No answering fire. That would be the hostage getting executed. Then a little hadji head poking out of a door, looking to do a runner. I drop to a knee and wait for him, hiding behind the notional armor of out notionally up armored vehicle.
He runs for the tree line, blind firing in the general direction of Mighty Mouse, whose caliber .50 jams. I track him into the wood line, aim point center mass, squeezing off rounds on single shot. Without MILES (Military laser tag system) this has turned into a giant game of cowboys and Indians.
I will not play the ‘I shot you first!’ game.
I fade back behind the truck, putting the armor between me and the threat.
“Mouse, Shift Left!” I yell.
“Fucker’s Jammed Sergeant!” He yells back.
“Transition and continue to engage!”
He unloads a mag into the tree line then goes back to fighting the most temperamental weapon in the US Army.
Another truck pulls up and begins to rock at the tree line with their ‘240. In my minds eye I can see chunks of tree flying, and tracers chewing pine trees to firewood.
BANG! BANG! “FUCK” Mouse continues to fight his gun.
I see movement. “SHIFT LEFT!” I yell I don’t see movement from the rusted jammed piece of shit turret. I pull the farkled piece of shit double mag holder out and try to seat it. The clips holding the two mags together have shifted. I rip one mag out of the stupid contraption and slap it into my weapon, and pop the bolt release. When did I fire up that second mag? Who cares? I seat my M4 into my shoulder letting the red dot fall over the last place I saw the bad guy.
“FIRE ON MY TRACERS!!!” I actually squeeze off four rounds before a bit of sanity intrudes on my psyche… blanks you fucking moron…
The OCT walks up and tells my gunner he is unconscious. Like a good little role player he drops limp into the vehicle. A second truck comes up from the right and begins to rock into the tree line.
I pop the door, open his vest and check for an exit wound, a piece of plastic over both and Mighty Mouse will live to see the simulated chopper, or the real medic.
I crawl through the truck to the turret, yank on the charging handle, and fire a test burst. The bitch fires. The bad guy pops a round off, I see the flash from my right. Traverse and mash the butterfly trigger like it insulted my mother. Short bursts my ass, I cut a sweeping burst from right to left. Every time he pops one off I reply with ten.
There are times when my academic mind decides that muscle memory can take over. I recall LTC (ret) Grossman saying that he who makes the loudest noise wins. The Ma Duce was built for that.
The extraction team passes behind me, ignoring my calls for a medic. Just as I run out of ammo. Damn all training events where they don’t give you a real combat load.
I pop back down, identify SSG Moto’s truck by his driver PFC Why. Folding Mighty Mouse’s legs inside the truck I turn to see some OC leaning into the passenger door filming us.
“MOVE!” I yell.
No response.
I pick up the diminutive little camera man and remove him from the vehicle, slam the door, hop in the driver seat and rally up with SSG Lifeguard at SSG Moto’s truck. Then take a deep breath, and lower my blood pressure.

The platoon extracts in a more or less orderly manner. Not by the book, but we all work together. It happens.

What is the epilogue to this little tale. The OC I removed from my truck turns out to be a female Captain. She gives me a little speech about her right to be on the simulated battle field. I say “Yes Ma’am.” Never mind that she was in the way. I later found out that the entry teams had tripped over her a couple of times. Whatever.
Her male counter parts are upset. They accost me in the motor pool. There is talk they complain to my LTC. I spend a day sweating. Then I get the word. It would seem that the newly minted Big Poppa scoffed, and the thoughts of Non Judicial Punishment disappear.
Who says that promotion is a bad thing?

I just can’t help but wonder, would they have made a big deal of it if she had been a he?