Battlefield Pacific

by James Rosone

  Standing as the captain approached, Ian replied, “Yes, Sir. I’m Sergeant Slater.”

  Seeing the officer’s ribbon rack, Slater thought, “Great, another green newbie who’s never seen combat—this time an officer.” He hadn’t deployed overseas to Afghanistan, Europe or Asia, and here he was, already busting his chops.

  “You’re out of uniform, Sergeant,” Captain Wilkes barked. “When you report to a unit, you do so in uniform. In this unit, everyone reports to duty in their service uniforms unless you’re assigned to be a drill sergeant. Is that understood?” He scowled.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll make sure I have the proper uniforms,” Slater said as he now stood properly at attention.

  “Nothing in my orders said anything about being a drill sergeant—they’d better not make me a drill sergeant,” he thought in horror.

  “Where did you transfer in from?” Wilkes asked in a more congenial manner as he continued to size him up.

  “I just arrived yesterday from Japan,” Slater replied.

  Captain Wilkes looked over the orders the orderly had just handed him. “Hmm…it says you were just promoted to E-7 four months ago, but you haven’t been to any of the Senior Leader Courses yet. It says I’m supposed to run you through several of the professional development courses before you’re given a more active assignment.” Pausing for a second, Wilkes seemed to change his demeanor a bit when he saw the list of decorations Slater had accumulated up to this point.

  “Let’s see here…two Purple Hearts, two Bronze Stars with V device, one Silver Star with V device, and the Prisoner of War medal. OK, Sergeant, clearly you’ve been around the block and seen a lot of action, so I’ll cut the crap and just give you the skinny. Follow me back to my office, and we’ll talk,” he said, and he motioned for Slater to follow him.

  As Sergeant Slater walked into Captain Wilkes’ office, he nearly chuckled at all of the motivational pictures and posters plastered on the man’s wall. On his desk, he saw a handful of challenge coins and other memorabilia. He also saw a picture of a woman and two little children in a frame, most likely his family.

  Captain Wilkes sat down in his leather chair. “Look, we’re a basic combat training battalion for the 2nd ID,” he explained. “Our job is to churn out soldiers ready for combat. The 189th Infantry Brigade, which you now find yourself a part of, is a training brigade. Our battalion, the 2/357 infantry, is tasked with graduating 320 new soldiers a week. The other three battalions in the brigade are doing the same, which means we churn out a new battalion of soldiers every week for the war.”

  Slater saw his moment to ask a question when Wilkes paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Have they doubled the size of the battalions? That’s a lot of new recruits to graduate each week.”

  Wilkes smiled as he placed his coffee mug down. “Yes, they doubled the size of each of the new battalions. You’ve been at the front, you know better than I do. They’re short on officers and sergeants, so they’re doubling the strength of the units while they expand the officer and noncommissioned officer corps.”

  Sensing that there was a question Wilkes hadn’t asked, Slater responded, “When the war started, I was an E-5 sergeant. Within ten days, half the officers and sergeants had been killed in combat. I was promoted directly to E-7 and given command of a platoon, until my unit was eventually wiped out at the Yalu line. I can attest to the casualties among the sergeants and officers. It’s as bad as you’ve heard, Sir.”

  Wilkes looked almost appalled at what Ian had just said. Not a lot of combat soldiers had returned from Korea yet, so the opportunities to hear firsthand what was going on over there were very limited.

  “All right,” Captain Wilkes said, “here’s what I’m going to do with you. I’m going to give you ten days permissive TDY to get yourself sorted, find an apartment, and get outfitted with new uniforms. For the time being, I’m going to have you work with the drill sergeants on identifying potential NCOs among the recruits. As you can imagine, in addition to graduating hundreds of recruits, we also have to identify eight soldiers from each company who have the leadership skills needed to be an effective sergeant. If we find a recruit who has more than two years of college, we’re supposed to assess them and determine if they could potentially be an officer or NCO and add them to the list as well. When these recruits graduate training, they’re going to be pulled aside and given three weeks of training as an NCO and then promoted to E-5. That is where you come into the picture.”

  “Sir?” Slater asked.

  “While you do not have a lot of time in grade and experience as a sergeant, you’ve been one for eight months, and more importantly, you’ve survived multiple battles. You’ll be tasked with helping the drill sergeants identify these individuals, and then you’ll work with two other senior NCOs to train and groom these recruits to become sergeants.”

  Holding a hand up to object, Slater protested, “Sir, with all due respect, I’m not qualified to do this job. I barely even know how to be a sergeant, Sir. I’ve spent nearly all of my time as a sergeant in combat, not learning the ropes of what makes a good NCO.”

  Wilkes nodded as he listened to Ian’s objections. “I understand, Slater, but here’s the deal. You’ve seen the elephant. You’ve been to battle and survived—shoot, you’ve got the medals to prove it. You don’t need to teach these guys the ins and outs of being an NCO. You need to teach these guys how to keep their soldiers alive—how to fight as a team and to listen to their officers and senior NCOs. For that, I think you’re eminently qualified.”

  Wilkes sighed. “Look, I have a company to run. I need you to step up and lead. You aren’t being placed back into a line unit, so you need to impart your knowledge and experience to those who are going to the front. Understood?” It was more of a rhetorical question. Slater had been given his orders and, like them or hate them, he’d have to execute them.

  “Yes, I understand, Sir,” Slater responded. “I’ll see you again in two weeks, this time in the proper uniform.”

  “Now, to go find a bar and a girl who’s up for some fun. Then I’ll work on getting myself situated…priorities,” he thought as the meeting concluded.

  Hunter Becomes the Hunted

  South China Sea

  Captain Michael Mohl smiled as he looked at the sonar display. His ship, the USS North Dakota, had been stalking the Haikou, a Lanzhou-class Chinese destroyer, for the past two days. They had seen the destroyer escorting a convoy of roughly twenty-six cargo ships, and they had also spotted four other Jiangkai-class antisubmarine warfare frigates in the pack.

  “Do you think we can take the destroyer before those frigates would be all over us?” asked Lieutenant Commander Paul Delta, the newly assigned executive officer. Commander Mohl’s previous XO had had to be emergency-lifted off the ship when he’d had a medical emergency arise. Lieutenant Commander Delta had assumed the role, at least until the ship returned to port and Captain Mohl’s XO could officially be replaced.

  “The question you should ask is how many of those frigates do you think we can send to the bottom before they figure out we’re here?” Mohl said in response to the young officer. Delta was a good officer, if a bit young for his rank. With the loss of so many naval officers and NCOs since the start of the war, everyone was getting promoted ahead of the normal schedule.

  “Weps, what are your thoughts?” asked Captain Mohl as he looked at his weapons officer.

  “It’s risky, Sir. We can easily get a shot off at that destroyer and be well away from the area by the time they figure out they’re in danger. My concern isn’t so much with the frigates finding us as it is with their helicopters. If they’re able to catch a beat on us, they could get a torpedo or two off on us,” the weapons officer replied.

  Captain Mohl thought about the problem for a moment, looking at the display of where the enemy ships were in relationship to their weapons capabilities. He calculated a plan.

  “Let’s move to this position here,” the captain said
, pointing to a spot on the map. “When we’re ready, I want one torpedo fired at the Haikou and one fired at the Sanya, that frigate over here. Then we’ll run deep. We’ll go down to 1,200 feet and maneuver toward these two frigates here. Thoughts?”

  The small group of officers stood there digesting what the captain had just said, going over the pros and cons of the strategy. The more they looked at the plan, the better they all felt about it. The officers agreed with the captain’s assessment—not that they had much choice in the matter, but they felt they had a better-than-average chance of sinking more than one ship this way. Maybe they’d even be able to take a couple of freighters down.

  Forty minutes went by as the North Dakota continued to stealthily move into its attack position. The crew in the sonar room was doing their best to make sure they hadn’t missed any other potential threats. Everyone knew they would be firing their torpedoes soon.

  A few minutes later, the Haikou crossed into the attack envelope they had agreed upon, and the captain gave the order. “Fire torpedoes one, three, and four!” Mohl announced.

  Within seconds, they heard the whooshing sound as, one after another, three torpedoes were fired from the sub.

  “All ahead full speed. Take us down to 1,200 feet, bearing 273,” the captain ordered.

  Two minutes into their sprint away from the firing point, the sonar operator’s face suddenly went white. “Con, Sonar. New contact. Sierra One. Confirmed, Yuan-class submarine.”

  Lieutenant Gillan had been observing the sonar operators. He grabbed the mic. “Con, Sonar. Torpedo in the water. 4,500 yards and closing quickly.”

  The active pinging could be heard now as the torpedo raced toward them.

  The captain immediately ordered, “Fire off the noisemakers! Turn sharply to port! And get me a firing solution on that enemy submarine now!”

  The tension in the Con was building as they anxiously waited to see if the enemy torpedo was going to go for the noisemaker. As the sub finished making a tight turn and another depth adjustment, the weapons officer shouted, “We have a solution on the enemy sub!”

  Captain Mohl turned to the officer and shouted, “Fire!”

  Once they had launched the torpedo, the captain put out another set of orders. “Helm, come to starboard twenty degrees. Bring us down another 200 feet.”

  While everyone in the submarine listened to the enemy submarine’s torpedo close in on them, they felt and heard an explosion. The enemy torpedo had gone for the noisemaker. The immediate threat was over, unless they came across another submarine.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Captain Mohl looked at the sonar screen, watching their own torpedo home in on the Chinese submarine. All of a sudden, they all saw a new contact emerge from out of nowhere. A new, strange sound, unlike that of any submarine or torpedo they had ever heard, abruptly blanketed the water, sounding almost like a rocket being fired underwater. The speed at which the new contact was traveling was incredible; it clearly did not have the characteristics of a standard torpedo. This did not bode well for their continued survival.

  “Fire another set of noisemakers, ahead flank speed!” yelled the captain. New beads of sweat formed on his forehead. It was clear to him that they weren’t going to outrun this new threat. If it didn’t go for their noisemaker, they were doomed.

  Two minutes went by. The unknown threat barreled through the noisemaker, closing in on them. The noise grew ever louder, until a violent explosion rocked the ship. Water flooded into the ship from the multiple holes that had been punched through the hull.

  *******

  South China Sea

  Captain Liu Huaqing was honored to have been chosen as the commander of the new and secretive Type 095 or Wuhan-class submarine. It was the only submarine of its design and capability in the world. The Wuhan was built on the strengths and weaknesses of the American Virginia-class attack submarine. With specially placed moles within the US Navy and the defense companies responsible for building the American submarines, they had stolen many of the classified technical details that gave the American designs an edge against their peers.

  After nearly a decade in development and two years of construction, the Wuhan was finally operational and ready to go hunting, and it was equipped with the brand-new super high-speed torpedoes. These new projectiles could reach speeds of 150 knots with a range of ten kilometers.

  Two days ago, when the surface warships had met the convoy of ships they would escort to the Philippines, Captain Liu’s sonar room had picked up a faint signature of a possible submerged contact.

  “Move closer in that general direction,” Liu had ordered. “Let’s see if we can get a better feel of what we may be dealing with.”

  As the hours and then days had dragged on, they continued to observe the contact coming in and out of focus on their sonar, all the while ensuring they kept themselves positioned near the center of the convoy. Suddenly, their sonar detected the launch of three torpedoes originating from the general area they had been tracking.

  “Ahead full speed!” directed the captain. He was moving them toward the action.

  They were at the absolute edge of their weapons range, and they needed to close the distance if they were going to have any chance at taking the enemy submarine out. While their sub sped in the direction of the Americans, a Yuan-class advanced diesel submarine fired a torpedo at the American vessel.

  The Yankee sub quickly went to flank speed and took evasive maneuvers. As the Americans moved to evade the new threat, their sonar room was able to firm up a firing solution on them. Once the weapons officer confirmed with Captain Liu that they were ready to fire the new weapon, he gave the order. “Fire torpedo one!”

  A rushing of air and water could be heard as the newly designed torpedo was ejected from its tube into the dark water of the South China Sea. The engine started, and the torpedo got up to speed. At first, it ran up to 45 knots; then its super cavitator took over and the torpedo accelerated to 150 knots.

  The Americans quickly reacted to the new threat posed to them. However, the Wuhan’s new torpedo closed the distance too quickly for them to have a chance at shaking it. As the minutes slowly ran down, the distance between the American submarine and China’s new underwater superweapon slowly merged to become one…ending with a thunderous explosion and the death of over a hundred American sailors.

  Long Fork in the Road

  Oceanside, California

  The cool air intermixed with salt water felt good as it buffeted Master Sergeant Tim Long’s face. It felt good to finally get out of the hospital and back to duty. As Long turned onto Vandegrift Boulevard, he saw the familiar sign welcoming him to Camp Pendleton.

  “I wish I were returning to my old unit,” he thought as he pulled out his CAC card for the gate guard.

  After navigating his way around the new construction and other activities happening on or near the road, he eventually pulled up to the headquarters building he was now assigned to. While he’d been out of action for a couple of months to convalesce, his slot in his old unit had been filled, and he was assigned a new one back in the States.

  As Long pulled his rental car into an empty parking spot, he turned the ignition off and grabbed his paperwork and cover. He was eager to see what kind of new unit he was going to be a part of. What he saw when he entered the headquarters was a line of other senior NCOs. He walked in a little further, and then a corporal was manning the front entrance got his attention.

  “Please sign in here and then wait over there to be called,” the young woman said, holding a pen out for him to use. After writing down his name and having his CAC verified again, he proceeded to take a seat in a waiting room with half a dozen other senior NCOs.

  “Anyone know what all of this is about?” asked one of the gunnery sergeants.

  They all shook their heads, not sure why they all had been called there. Long thought he knew what was going on, but he couldn’t be certain. One by one, the senior NCOs were called back.
Then it came time for Long.

  He picked up his paperwork and proceeded down a long hallway until he came to a room with a door placard that read, “Colonel Micah Tilman, Commander.”

  When Long walked into the room, he saw the colonel sitting in a chair behind his desk. Another captain and a major were in the room as well.

  “Crap, what do these guys think I did?” he thought, feeling like he had just gotten called to the principal’s office. “I just got in from Japan, and I know I didn’t get into trouble at the hospital.”

  He stood at the doorway and announced, “Master Sergeant Long reporting as ordered, Sir!” and then he took his seat.

  Long sat there, ramrod straight, waiting to see what wrath might be about to befall him. The colonel, for his part, was reading through Long’s personnel file. He grunted a few times but was very hard to read.

  “The Navy Cross, two Silver Stars, and two Purple Hearts in the span of six months. You’re either one unlucky son of a gun or one hell of a Marine. In either case, I’m glad to have you as a part of this new command,” Tilman said. He smiled and then stuck his hand out to shake Long’s.

  “Let’s get you up to speed. As you’re aware, the Corps is increasing to one million strong. I’m sure you saw all the new construction on your way into post,” he commented, making a circling motion with his hand.

  “Yes, Sir. It looks like they’re doubling the size of the base.”

  The other two officers in the room nodded.

  “Correct. With this massive increase in the size of the Corps, we have to create a host of new brigades and battalions as several new divisions have been reactivated from the World War II days. Those new units need leaders. They need senior NCOs and officers to lead them—the very two things I’m short on.” He paused as he looked at the other two officers, then turned his attention back to Tim.