War Games

POP POP POP! I sit up with a grunt from my cot. Groping through the dark of the tent for my gear the sound of the others stirring tells me the others heard it too.

“Get the lights!” the muffled yell is lost as men scramble for boots, body armor, and gear clinking. As string of profanity urges someone to find the light switch. Light suddenly floods the room momentarily illuminating the 40 soldiers in different stages of donning their gear, the new silhouette in the door tosses an object into the group. The door slams enveloping the stunned group but realization breaks the pause as the call “Grenade!”  Sounds causing everyone instinctively to the floor, the flash and explosion of the flash-bang grenade let us know it’s safe to get up again. The lights flicker on just as I pull my helmet on, grabbing my rifle I run for the door slapping a magazine and racking a round. The very unwelcoming face of one of the instructors greets me when I open the door.

“Get moving private!”

Needing no such encouragement I run as fast as I can across the open dirt field, dashing past smoke-grenades spewing foul smelling gases that burn my eyes and lungs. A high pitched whistling sound alerts me to dive for cover as a mortar round explodes behind me. Before the dust can settle I’m running crouched between the hummv’s, finally arriving at my post I glance around not a soul in sight, where is everyone? Being student leadership means being the first one ready and out but I can’t see a single person behind me. Growling I turn my attention to the tree line focusing my sights on the shadowy figures whose muzzle flashes giveaway their positions. Finally I hear the church of gravel under boots as my platoon comes running from the compound, “Nothing like the smell of gun-powder in the morning!” I yell knowing that they are just as groggy as I am but trying to gets some enthusiasm going. Soon the entire barricade is lit by the fire of seventy weapons slicing the darkness. “Squad leaders get me a count!” Slinging my rifle I grab a pen my note-pad, noting the numbers as the squad leader come to give them.

“One up!”

“Two up!”

“Three up!”

“…”

“Fourth squad sound off! Where are you?” I yell angrily. Great, I’m gonna get in trouble for this; I didn’t want this job anyway. The image of our disgraced former platoon leader getting her rank ripped off and my apprehensive promotion flashes through my head, accompanied by Sergeant Hotchkiss warning me not too screw up. I’d first seen the hardened sergeant when he was on duty, he came sauntering out to our formation with a baseball-bat, “don’t worry privates” he said with an evil grin, and “this is for intruders so stay in your bunks tonight so I don’t smash the wrong person.” If there was one person I respected above the rest it was him. I resolved that I would do my best not for me but for the platoon, so get moving!  Sprinting to where fourth should have been all I find is an empty section of defenses “Is anyone out here?”

“Specialist Rice, plus one”

 “Who’s not dead?” I yell into the darkness.

“We have six down; four are taking them to the casualty collection point.”

Adjusting the other squads to fill the gap I dash back to the main tent to give my report, “First Platoon…” I rattle off the count and the situation to the student commander. Finishing one of the sergeants, Hotchkiss motions for me to approach, “Cooley your fourth squad was too slow getting into position, they were hit by a mortar, after this is over report with the casualties for a little work out.” a grin spread across Sergeant Hotchkiss’ face. “Roger that sergeant.” A heavy sigh escapes as I run out the door

The flashes began to die off as I made my way back to the firing line, with ammunition running low we could feel the fight was almost over. I made it back just in time to hear the whistle blow ending the exercise.

“Form up, move move move, get moving!” the yells motivating the slow to pick up the pace and get back to the parade grounds. Flicking on my flash light I do a sweep to be sure that no knucklehead has left anything behind; satisfied that we won’t get nailed for carelessness I sprint back and get in front of the formation. 71 tired eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep and smoke stare at me while we wait. Scanning the group I notice a private in the back, “Where’s your helmet?” I hiss in his ear. Not waiting for the answer I order him to run and get it before the sergeant’s return to see the folly, but before he can move the cadre returns to get the count. The student commander gives a salute “All 142 assigned and present sergeant!” After we’re released I drag the six casualties over to sergeant Hotchkiss, “Take a good look Cooley,” he pauses to let it sink in, “even though it wasn’t your fault they didn’t make it, but you’re going to blame yourself anyway, there are no re-dos here.” Pushups are the punishment for failure in this game.” He turns and walks away as I count off, all seven of us moving in unison.