by Tom Clancy
Other students had similar problems, but the other buddies did what they had to do to keep going.
At daylight, it was still snowing hard, the ceiling was down to the treetops, and most of our compasses were too fogged up to read. Fortunately, enough of them worked to keep us on course.
All that day we trudged through the mountains, still on course. By midafternoon the snow had drifted so deep that the patrol had to rotate its strongest members to the "point man" position to break the trail.
At nightfall, we were supposed to rendezvous with a partisan band to get our supply of food. We arrived at the rendezvous point, set up security, and waited for an hour; but no partisans came, and of course there was no food.
At that point, the lane grader decided that since we were so deep in the enemy's rear and the weather was so bad, it might be safe enough to begin moving on roads. The road he brought us to was a welcome sight, and it was obvious that no one had traveled it since the snow had begun. So we were able to move more rapidly, to make up for lost time.
Around midnight 1 began to have problems of my own. I didn't exactly lose it, because I kept moving ahead — I kept walking and walking. But as I trudged along, I had no idea who I was or where I was going. I just knew I had to keep going, and stay with the other guys. I guess I was in this delirious state for three to four hours.
Come daylight, we left the road and continued moving about 500 yards into the woods and parallel to the road. But when night fell, we were back on the road again. Though the snow had stopped, what was on the ground was knee deep; and it was cold — I'd guess it was near zero. We hadn't eaten since we'd launched a couple of days back, and people were getting pretty hungry.
About 2200 hours, we came upon a farmhouse and heard some hogs. The word came back asking if anyone knew how to kill and dress a pig. "I can," I said, and went forward. But when I saw that the "pig" weighed about two hundred pounds, 1 knew I would have to have some help — three more men. One guy had to grab him by the snout to keep him from squealing. One guy had to grab him by the ears to steady his head. And one guy had to grab him by the tail and hold on, to keep him from swishing his body around and throwing the rest of us all over the hog lot.
Though no one else in the patrol had any experience with hogs, everyone was so hungry it didn't take long to scare up the three volunteers. I appointed each to his duties (snout man, cars man, and tail man), gave them a quick briefing about what to do (we all had to act simultaneously), and we entered the hog lot. This was going to be a challenge, I knew, but we had to accomplish the mission if we wanted to eat.
Meanwhile, the patrol leader went about establishing a security perimeter around the farmhouse.
We climbed over the fence into the hog lot, skirted another hog house, which contained a pair of hogs that were bigger than the one we'd picked, and jumped on our hog. At that point, the ears man did his part right and hung on; but the snout and tail men didn't do so well, and the hog started squealing and thrashing about. The only thing I could do was jump on him myself and stick him in the throat. He and I rolled around in the hog manure (which was not all frozen) for a couple of minutes, but after a time the hog went limp. Then I quickly gutted and quartered him so we could carry our dinner more easily.
Meanwhile, all this commotion had brought the farmer running out onto his snow-covered porch, but a machine gun opened up (not to hurt him, but to catch his attention), and he dropped flat on his back and did a "crab walk" back inside the house. I felt kind of bad taking his hog, but learned later that the Army had an agreement with the farmers to reimburse them for anything the Ranger students took for food.
Once I had the hog quartered, we grabbed our food and headed deep into the woods, then built a fire and had roasted pig. A welcome least!
We continued on the rest of the night and the next day.
At about 2200 hours that night, we arrived at our attack position, about a mile from the Toccoa Dam. A reconnaissance patrol sent out to scout for enemy positions returned around midnight and reported that an enemy position with a campfire was about 100 meters north of the dam and close to our planned route. For that reason, the patrol leader decided to change our route and send out a six-man patrol to neutralize the enemy position (I was on that team). We would do that when the rest of the patrol was in place to attack the dam.
II-hour was to be 0500 hours. After the attack, we were supposed to make it to a clearing about a mile away, and at 0600 hours, helicopters would extract us from there.
The entire patrol set out from the attack position at about 0300 hours — moving very cautiously. An hour later, my team split off and headed for the enemy position north of the dam. As we approached it, we could see the fire and at least two aggressor guards near the ditch line on the far side of the road. They were in a cut, and the bank behind them was about ten feet high. We crossed the road and circled behind them, using the bank as cover, then crawled the last couple hundred yards until we were directly above them.
At 0555 hours, the message came over the radio that the rest of the patrol was in position to launch the attack. Moments later, four of us jumped off the bank, right on top of the bad guys, and slammed them to the ground. Before they knew what happened, we had them bound and gagged.
About that time, we heard the rest of the patrol launch the attack on the dam — although there wasn't much shooting, maybe ten rounds or less. This sounded a little strange (we normally put out a great volume of fire), but we had been using our weapons as pikes in order to climb the steep, ice-frozen slopes, and the end of most of our rifle barrels had been too plugged with ice to fire.
Meanwhile I took advantage of the fire the bad guys had built and turned my back to it. I stood that way for what couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes — but that was long enough for me to doze off and fall over backwards into the fire, igniting my field jacket. Thank goodness for the snow. Needless to say, I woke up in a hurry, and managed to roll over and put it out — though the entire back of my jacket was burned out.
I didn't have much time to reflect on that. It would soon be daylight, and we had to get over to our pickup zone before dawn.
We began to run.
By then the weather had begun to clear, and although the weather had delayed the completion of our mission a couple of days, the helicopters were coming for us. And as we approached the clearing, we could hear the roar as they approached. Then snow was blowing everywhere as they set down — the most beautiful sight I had seen in seven weeks.
We flew back to the Ranger Base Camp at Dahlonega, where we were met by quite a reception. The Ranger department commander, a colonel, was there, along with a team of doctors and a chaplain. The docs checked us all, but found nothing major (there was a little frostbite — ears, fingers, and toes). Next came a hot meal-all we could cat. Then we were put on the buses and sent back to Fort Benning.
On the way back, I learned from one of the Ranger instructors that the two men we had pounced on by the fire had actually been civilian members of the waterworks fixing a busted water main. They had not been "bad guys" at all.
The next morning we had a company formation to find out who had earned the Ranger Tab. No guests were invited. When your name was called, you stepped forward. When the calling was done, approximately twenty men were left behind who'd gone all the way through the training, but for some reason had failed to earn the tab. 1 felt sorry for them, but that's the way it is. The standard has to be met.
TRAINING
Carl Stiner has always been known in the Army as an expert trainer, and many of his Army assignments directly involved training. Here are some of his thoughts on that experience:
Early in my career, I realized that military training offers a unique opportunity — not only for preparing men for combat, but for preparing them for the most important of life's values: personal attributes, principles, ethics, motivation for the right reasons, love of country, and seff-respect — in other words, the values
that should be manifested in every citizen of our great nation. No other institution in our society can possibly provide the same kind of environment, together with the caring and dedicated leadership, for molding and shaping the young men and women who elect to serve their country. Not every soldier will turn out as we hope, but the great majority certainly will, and they will always be grateful for the opportunity and the caring that gave them a greater perspective on life.
In my judgment, training is the essential element for the readiness of any unit in any service. The very best equipment is great to have, and I'll never turn any down, but well-trained people win wars. No impersonal piece of equipment or technology can ever replace a well-trained soldier, sailor, airman, Marine, or Coast Guardsman.
In our army, the objective of training must be to maximize the competency and proficiency of every individual and unit.
To that end, a commander must be personally involved in the development and structuring of his unit's training program. This must be based on a detailed analysis of the unit's mission requirements. From this is derived the Mission Essential Task List (METL); and then from this METL, all subordinate units at every level develop a METL of their own.
Next comes an analysis to determine the specific tasks inherent in the METL for successfully accomplishing their respective mission, and under what "conditions" and to what "standards" each must be performed successfully.
These critical elements, "METL, tasks, conditions, and standards," are the "core" element of the training program. This is the Army system, and 1 know of no better system in any army in the world.
Once the training program has been determined, we must turn to the way training is conducted. That is what makes the ultimate difference between soldiers who will survive and win in combat and those who don't.
I, myself, have always enjoyed tough, realistic training, and have made it my number-one priority in all the units I have commanded. Of course, "taking care of your people" ranks equally; the two are inseparable and synonymous. I have never had a soldier complain about too much tough, realistic training. Soldiers understand its value when it comes time to lay their life on the line.
Each soldier, therefore, should be required to fully perform every task to the standard expected of him for success in combat. This kind of training builds confidence at the individual and unit level — the kind of confidence and teamwork between the soldiers and within the unit that allows them to fully perform their mission without fear of being killed by friendly fire. No "simulation" or technology can ever take the place of this.
Realistic scenarios developed from unit war plans and other contingency requirements should serve as the basis for all training. Training should then always be conducted under the most demanding and realistic conditions possible — simulating nothing except for the safety of the participants. In other words, all training, particularly at the small-unit and combined-arms levels (battalion and below), should be live fire, and conducted at night. If this is not possible, then MILES devices, which are lasers, accompanied by receiving devices on each soldier, should be used to let soldiers know when they have screwed up and been hit.
Here are a few training principles that I have tried to live by:
• A commander should always have his unit ready to go to war, without any required train-up period. If he has been given the resources he needs, there is no reason why his unit should not be ready at all times. If some reason is beyond his control, he should have identified it a long while back and brought it to the attention of his commanders, so something could be done about the problem.
• A commander must be in the field personally supervising and evaluating training. Otherwise, he will never know the true status of the training readiness of his unit, and how to structure future training for correcting both unit and individual weaknesses.Neither can a commander make an honest judgment on what his unit can or cannot do unless he knows the unit's training readiness — inside and out.
• Time is a commander's most crucial asset, and it should never be wasted — not a single minute.A training opportunity exists in everything a unit is required to do — no matter if it is mission-related or not — and it is the leader's responsibility to look ahead and identify these opportunities and take advantage of them. It could be guard duty, police call, burial details, or many other administrative activities. These should be performed by squads and conducted in a way that allows each individual and the unit itself to emerge better-trained and feeling good about their performance.For example, if transportation is scarce, many training opportunities — such as counterambush drills — are available during tactical foot marches to the designated training areas.Every officer and NCO in the chain of command must always have "hip-pocket training" ready for his unit in order to take advantage of unprogrammed and unanticipated time that could become available for training. For example: "The trucks that were supposed to show up will arrive thirty minutes late. Let's get in some mortar practice." Oftentimes, small-unit leaders fail to recognize and plan appropriately for these opportunities — a situation that requires leader training by the commander.Time lost can never be recovered.
• If a unit fails to meet the standard for a given training event, then the commander should adjust the schedule to keep the unit in the field until they get it right — no matter how long it takes. Don't ever say, "We'll correct the deficiency next time out." There may not be a next time before they are committed to battle.
• The responsible commander (brigade, battalion) should never be satisfied with "just" meeting the standard. He should keep "raising the bar," with an ultimate goal of maximizing the technical and tactical proficiency of every individual. For example: Every soldier in an infantry squad should qualify for the Expert infantry Badge, every medic should qualify for the Expert Field Medical Badge, every mortar crew member as Master Gunner, and so on. A great ancillary benefit also comes from this — unit pride, cohesion, and individual early promotions.
• Cross-training between skills is also very important, especially within crews of crew-served weapons that are vital to unit effectiveness in combat. Replacements are not always readily available on the battlefield.
Nothing I have said is new to any successful commander. We have lived by these principles and tenets in fulfilling our responsibilities for preparing those entrusted to us — the cream of America's youth — for success in battle. This responsibility is a sacred trust, directed not only toward success in battle, but also to the lives of the men and women we command. This includes bringing them safely back to their families, and having them feel good about themselves for what they have done for our nation.
Soldiers will unhesitatingly lay their lives on the line because of this trust in their commander and their fellow soldiers. They have no one else to look to.
This means, finally, that a commander's unit, no matter what kind it is, will be only as good as he is, a direct reflection of his principles and values, and of his dedication, his motivation, and his love and respect for his troops. A commander must therefore give it whatever it takes. No one else will do it for him.
During most of my Army career, I have been fortunate to serve in combat units where training and preparedness for no-notice contingency operations were an imperative — and for having had this opportunity I indeed feel privileged.
V
FEW ARE CALLED, FEWER ARE CHOSEN
September 1964. Fort Jackson, South Carolina.
Army posts are predictable places. Most of the time, you know what to expect — reveille in the morning, taps at night, squads, companies, battalions, PT, drills, marches, orders, regulations, tightly scheduled intense training, "sirs" and salutes — and wildlife management.
Most Army bases in the United States have game-conservation programs. On selected fields and training areas, corn, millet, sunflower, winter wheat, and other feeds arc planted so that doves, quail, grouse, turkeys, deer, and all manner of other wild creatures can mature and receive
cover and protection from predators. As an added benefit, these same fields offer soldiers who like hunting splendid sites for game shooting. Every Saturday in season, you can find soldier-hunters out on some wildlife conservation area.
This particular Saturday, Captain Carl Stiner was at Fort Jackson, where he'd been assigned after completing the Advanced Infantry Course at Fort Benning, Georgia. He had served there for sixteen months. It was bright and warm, a fine day for dove hunting. Suddenly, out of the blue, a jeep came roaring up, blasting its horn and making a god-awful mess of the shooting. A pair of MPs leaped out and headed right for Stiner.
"Sir," the senior MP said, hustling up with urgency in his voice, "you have orders, sir, for reassignment, and you need to get back in to look at them. Right now, sir. You're going to have to move this weekend."
That was very unusual, so Stiner asked, "What's the nature of the orders?"
"We don't know, sir. We were told they're classified, and you need to come back in."
"Who sent you out here?" Stiner pressed.
They named a warrant officer assigned to the training center headquarters.
"Well, that explains it," Stiner said to himself; he knew the man well. The warrant officer was a famous trickster.
He said to the MPs, "Well, I'm not going back in right now. I'll come back after a while. Just tell him not to worry about it." So they left. . with visible misgivings. And Stiner stayed at the dove shoot.
Still, the MPs' message couldn't help but gnaw at his brain. He continued to agitate over what had just happened, until, some time later, the jeep returned. This time the MPs had no hesitation. "Sir, you have got to go back in. They're classified orders, and the post is preparing to move you and your family this weekend."
At which point, Stiner thought, Maybe nobody's playing a trick on me after all.
