by Glen Tate
They didn’t have enough food for all the days they would likely be out in the field on the march to Olympia. They only had forty-three cases of MREs, most of which came in from HQ, so that was about five MREs per soldier. That was five days of food, tops. They figured it would take at least that long, probably longer, to get to Olympia. They would try to find some food on the way there—as in steal it, though they hoped any Patriots along the way would come out and feed them. Franny would pack up a very basic field kitchen so they could cook any food they acquired. They didn’t have a solid plan for food; they were “free stylin’” it. This was not like traditional military operations where Ted could radio in and have a helicopter deliver pallets of food.
The unit had plenty of diesel, but only a few gas cans. Luckily, diesel didn’t melt regular plastic containers on contact like gasoline does. They could store diesel in any plastic container, even old milk jugs. So, for the semi, they had diesel and a way to carry it.
But, what about the pickups? Rich and Dan had diesel pickups and would loan them to the unit. Problem solved. This way, they would only have to bring one kind of fuel, and it could go into any plastic container. Thank God they had diesel vehicles and a bunch of diesel.
Another “coincidence,” the outside thought said, with some satisfaction.
Chapter 262
Rules of Engagement
(December 26)
The rest of the day after Christmas was taken up by more and more planning. Each squad leader would need to know the details of the plan, so they were brought in and briefed. This took a few hours. They had good questions and good suggestions, and some of the final details got ironed out in the squad-leader briefings.
With the squad leaders knowing the date of the Tet operation, the cat was out of the bag about New Year’s Day. That night at dinner, Grant and Ted would tell the entire unit about the operation. Franny did some amazing things with the Christmas dinner leftovers. It was a fabulous day-after-Christmas dinner. The troops were still in a good mood from Christmas, so t seemed like a good time to tell them about Tet. Grant stood up and started to talk.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Grant said in his booming “command” voice that he was getting better and better at using, “you’ve known this was coming. You’ve been waiting to put your skills to good use. Well, we have a mission.”
It was silent. There was no whooping or bravado. Everyone was focused intently on Grant.
“Very soon,” Grant explained, “we will be moving out. You’ve probably noticed that the tempo of training and planning has increased. That’s for a good reason.”
Grant pointed at Ted, “We are supremely confident that you are ready to go. Ready to fight. Ready to get even with these bastards. Ready to take our state back.” That got a cheer. Grant gave the troops the basic overview of the plan. They would hit the Limas on New Year’s at midnight, when they would be hung over and their guard would be down. They’d move through Frederickson, travel in the semi down Highway 101, come in behind the regular units into Olympia, occupy the state capitol, and perform civil affairs functions, like getting basic services back up and running. They would feed people and provide policing to control the gangs, all with an eye toward showing the general population in Olympia that the Patriot way works.
Grant didn’t give all the details like the operation name or that Bennington would take out Winters and the rest of Frederickson’s command and control in advance. They trusted everyone in camp not to talk to the outside world, but there was no sense in giving away details that the troops didn’t need to know right then.
“Sgt. Malloy, do you have anything to add?” Grant asked. He wanted to make sure that Ted was seen as the detail guy. That was fair because he was.
“Nothing further, sir,” Ted replied.
There were questions about food and fuel for the trip, which other units would be there in Olympia with the 17th, how long they’d be in Olympia, and what kind of resistance they should expect. Ted answered the questions and emphasized that the Limas were collapsing in Olympia. He described the intelligence, how people were fleeing Olympia and heading to Seattle.
“Will we go to Seattle next?” one of the soldiers asked.
“That is not the current plan, but that could change,” Ted answered. He didn’t know himself whether they would go to Seattle, but he suspected that they would not. It seemed like the Patriots would let all the Limas gather in Seattle and then starve them out. The Patriots, while currently stronger than the Limas, would be fools to waste men and supplies trying to take Seattle. For what? To claim they controlled some lines on a map? Big deal.
Let the arrogant hipsters in Seattle rot, Grant thought. Seattle probably wouldn’t make it through the winter anyway. “You can’t eat snarkiness,” Grant thought to himself. In the spring, the hungry and gang-terrorized inhabitants would be begging the Patriots to take them back. Good. This would be when the sorting between guilty Limas and innocent go-along-to-get-along civilians would begin.
“I’m not a quitter, but I need to ask something that others are thinking,” one of the squad leaders said. “How long will this take and will it be done when our year is up?” As members of the Washington State Guard, the troops in the 17th had one-year enlistments.
“A fair question,” Grant said, butting in on Ted. He did so because this was a political issue, not an operational detail. Grant recalled how critical the expiring one-year enlistments were to George Washington; it was a critical topic that needed to be handled at the commanding officer level.
“The answer is that we anticipate this taking a few weeks,” Grant said. What he didn’t say was that the Patriot units in Olympia would only have enough supplies for about two weeks of fighting unless Loyalist units defected and brought their supplies. If they couldn’t take Olympia in about one week, the 17th would retreat back to Pierce Point or some defensible area on the way back. This wasn’t like the old days when massive armies faced off with great supplies. The battle for Olympia would be fought by some regular units and lots of irregular units getting together and hitting a hollowed out den of thieves. It was closer to gang warfare than the grand campaigns of World War II.
“We anticipate that we will need to occupy Olympia for a few months to get it up and running again,” Grant said. He didn’t want to use the term “civil affairs” because they’d all think they were in a weenie unit of paper pushers; however, he wanted the unit to have a rough idea of what they’d be doing and for how long. They were entitled to know that. Besides, it was better to set expectations now than to overpromise and suffer the resentment later. So Grant took this opportunity to get expectations where they needed to be.
“To be honest,” Grant said, which had everyone’s attention since the topic was so important, “I think you guys will be bored after Olympia falls. You’ll be guarding facilities. You’ll be processing prisoners and handing out supplies. You’ll be well-armed in case any dumbass is thinking about stealing from us. That kind of thing.” The 11B squad and others who had been in combat were nodding. The experienced soldiers knew that, for every second of glory, there would be a week of boredom. The less glory the better, Grant thought; glory got people killed, maimed, and mentally scarred for life. Boredom was just … boring. It was safe.
“In fact,” Grant said with a smile, “It’s my goal that you are bitching to me about being bored. I would consider that a victory, because it means my people are safe.” That got a lot of smiles.
“Will we be together as a unit all the time or will we be split up once we get there?” Ryan asked.
“Dunno,” Grant said. “It depends on the ground conditions in Olympia, and the orders I get from HQ I would want to keep us together since we work so well together, but you never know what the mission requires.”
The next question came from one of the infantrymen in the 11B squad.
“What are the rules of engagement?” he asked. He had detailed rules of engagement when he was in A
fghanistan that prevented them from shooting back most of the time. They were idiotic and demoralizing, and they got guys killed. The infantryman was down with this whole Patriot thing, but he didn’t want to go through the pansy-ass rules of engagement from Afghanistan again.
Grant and Ted had anticipated this question. Several squad leaders had told them earlier that the 11B squad was complaining about the possibility of stupid rules of engagement.
Ted looked at Grant and Grant nodded to signify that he would take this question. It was a quasi-legal question and Grant was the lawyer.
“Rules of engagement are very simple,” Grant said. “Defend yourself. Use your judgment. Better safe than sorry.” That got some smiles.
“Hey, this isn’t some politically correct war being shown on CNN or Al-Jazeera,” Grant said. “We’re not in some host country that hates us—we’re in America.” That got some applause.
“All the detailed rules of the Geneva Convention don’t apply, but decency does,” Grant said. Well, technically, the Geneva Convention probably did apply, but Grant wasn’t about to learn all the details and insist that his troops do the same. Something like “decency” was easier for these irregular troops to remember.
“Decency is your rule of engagement,” Grant said, letting that sink in for a few moments.
“Remember,” he continued, “you have to account for your life when you die, in my opinion. I’m not trying to get religious on you, but I’m telling you what I firmly believe. Do you want to try to explain to God why you intentionally killed an innocent person? I don’t. I won’t have to because I won’t ever intentionally kill an innocent.” He let that sink in, too.
“Who are innocent people?” Grant asked. “Unarmed people, kids, old people, most women. This isn’t the movies where there are lots of booby-trapped civilians trying to blow you up. That makes for a great film, but it’s not realistic here. Remember: the civilians in Olympia are hungry, most of them, and they want the gang and government terror to end. They won’t be running up to you with grenades. They don’t have grenades and they want you to feed them more than they want to kill you.”
Grant paused and repeated, “The civilians want you to feed them more than they want to kill you.”
Ted was getting a little uncomfortable. The troops shouldn’t be lulled into thinking all the civilians were nice. Grant could tell he overstated the lack of civilian threats.
“This doesn’t mean you should expect hugs and kisses from civilians,” Grant said. “Some percentage of them will be trying to kill you. Also, beware of Lima military or police in civilian clothes. So be careful, but don’t think of all civilians as suicide bombers. They aren’t. Most aren’t.”
This got Ted nodding, which was a sign Grant was looking for. He was making this stuff up so he was starving for guidance from experienced professionals.
“If you see a civilian with a weapon, get ready to shoot,” Grant said. “If you see a weapon pointed at you, definitely shoot. If they are stupid enough to point a weapon at you, they deserve to die. It’s not your fault that some dumbass civilian decided to be John Wayne. Not your problem. You’re just there doing a job, okay?” Grant was trying to prevent some of the guilt that often haunted those who shot civilians. He couldn’t eliminate it, but he could set the tone for things now.
“Limas in uniform—military or law enforcement—are a different story,” Grant said. “They are not poor civilians trapped in a government town. If they have a uniform, they’re trying to kill you. Kill them first. Period. We’re going to all the trouble of training and deploying in an effort to kill the bad guys. If they have a uniform, they’re a bad guy. Period. Kill them. And that applies to those stupid Freedom Corps assholes in their stupid hard hats.” That got a couple of cheers. Some in the unit had very bad experiences with the FCorps before coming to the unit.
“But, that being said,” Grant said, “if someone in uniform is trying to surrender, then don’t shoot them. Unless it’s a ruse, and it might be.” Grant thought about the inconsistency of what he’d just said. “I guess what I’m saying is don’t automatically shoot someone who is trying to surrender. Give them a chance to surrender if that’s safe to do.”
“Don’t try this alone,” Ted interjected. “Have a second guy cover them. That way one of you is concentrating on the surrender part and another is concentrating on the killing them part if it’s a ruse.”
“The Limas will just shoot us without thinking, so why don’t we do the same?” Corporal Sherryton asked. She was the one whose family was butchered by the gangs in Chicago.
“We’re not animals,” Grant quickly answered. “We’re better than the Limas.” Grant looked right at Sherryton and said, “I mean, Corporal, that’s why you’re here, right? Because we’re better and we want to stop the things they do. You’re here because you’re better than they are. We have to be better.” Grant let that sink in. “We treat people better,” he continued. “We set the example for the civilian population. We want them to come over to our side. That’s winning: the population wanting to come over to our side. Winning isn’t piling up Lima bodies.”
Grant didn’t want to overemphasize restraint at the expense of fighting.
“That doesn’t mean we do stupid shit just to make the Limas happy,” Grant said. “We kill the enemy. We’re soldiers and killing the enemy is our job. We protect ourselves and others. We do that with lethal force. If you have to choose between doing what you think you need to do and worrying about the law, pull the trigger first and we’ll figure it out later. You won’t be in trouble with Patriot forces unless you do something that everyone would recognize as a crime.”
“Killing innocents for no reason,” Grant said. “That will get you in trouble. I am ordering you not to do that. Does everyone understand?”
“Yes, sir!” everyone said, nearly in unison.
“Rape,” Grant said, “will not—I repeat, not—get you in legal trouble.” The crowd was stunned.
“It will get you shot,” he said, drawing his pistol. “By me.”
Silence.
“Everyone understand?” Grant asked.
“Yes, sir!” was the response.
“So, to review, what happens to rapists in this unit?” Grant asked.
“Boom!” someone yelled.
“Exactly,” Grant said. “See, these rules of engagement aren’t complicated.” That got some laughs.
There were no more questions. Then Grant did something that he made up on the spot. “It’s dark by now and, for once, it’s not raining,” Grant said. “Let’s have a fire out there in the fire pit and just talk informally about things. No rank, everything off the record. Just hanging out before we ship out.” That got some nods.
“Okay, you’re dismissed,” Grant said.
Someone started clapping. Then everyone stood up and cheered. Next, everyone was whooping and hollering. No one knew what, exactly, they were cheering for. They were just cheering. They were a family. And they were about to do something big.
Chapter 263
Padre Pete
(December 26)
Grant, Ted, and Sap were some of the first out at the fire pit. They got a fire going rather quickly. The pit, which saw quite a bit of use in the summer when it was nice out, hadn’t been used in a few months. It had some crude benches around it. There were two picnic tables, too. They dried them off. Pretty soon, soldiers were showing up with lawn chairs. Some sat on the ground.
For the first few hours, they talked about everything and nothing. Hometowns, sports (well, former sports teams since there were no more games), food, and funny stories. There were many funny stories, many laughs.
Pastor Pete arrived and pulled up a lawn chair. He had been struggling with the issue of whether he would deploy to Olympia with the unit as its chaplain. He knew they would need the comfort he brought when they were out on the battlefield. They would see the absolute worst of humanity out there; they would need some answers about why
all of this was happening. But the civilians at Pierce Point needed him, too. They had plenty of their own troubles.
Pastor Pete had finally decided to tell Grant that he would be deploying. He knew that the troops would be in even more danger and horrible conditions than the civilians in Pierce Point, so he would go where the need was the greatest, even if that meant people would be shooting at him. He was terrified of dying. Not about death—he actually welcomed that because he knew he was going to a better place—but about letting the men down by doing something stupid and getting killed, and then not being able to help them with the terrible things they would face.
“Hey, Padre Pete,” one of the troops said. That was a nickname given to him by the Hispanic soldiers who appreciated that he had gone to such lengths to give them something like a traditional Catholic Christmas Mass in Spanish.
It was inevitable. Whenever Pastor Pete showed up, people quit swearing and were on their best behavior. The previous storytelling—some of which had involved women and liquor, and all of which involved swearing—stopped.
Things got serious. Finally, one of the soldiers asked Pastor Pete, “What about the innocent civilians in Olympia and Seattle? What did they do to deserve what we’re about to do there?” Several guys nodded. They had been wondering this, too.
“They made a bunch of choices,” Pastor Pete said. “They chose slavery. Yeah, that’s a word we don’t use much anymore. But ‘slavery’ isn’t just people on plantations in the 1800s. It’s having other people in control of your life. It’s being totally dependent on others. It’s trading your liberty for ‘being taken care of.’ It’s selling yourself.” People were silent.
