Issue In Doubt (8 page)

“We didn’t do too well out there today,” Sitter said after giving his Marines a moment to re-don their gear and start to squirm under his glare. “Things started off well when first platoon found two referees,” he looked at Mackie, who looked back without expression, “but went to hell from there. When a company starts off by losing more than a third of a platoon, it doesn’t bode well for accomplishing the company’s objective.

“And we barely did.” Sitter looked slowly over the company again. “As a matter of fact, if we’d been up against a real enemy instead of an aggressor force that was supposed to let us win, I don’t think we would have accomplished our mission.

“All right, break into platoons and chow down on field rats. Keep your packs and other gear on, so you don’t forget how we screwed up today. Maybe it’ll have you doing better on tonight’s evolution. And clean your weapons!”

“Hey, what did we do wrong?” PFC Orndoff demanded as first squad settled in the shade of a tree to eat their rations. “The aggressors got us fair and square!”

“Explain it to him, Adriance,” Sergeant Martin said.

“You’re supposed to be smart, Mackie,” Corporal Adriance said. “Tell him what we did wrong.”

Lance Corporal Mackie cleared his throat. “We didn’t exactly do anything wrong,” he said slowly. “It’s, well, it’s just that we aren’t supposed to give the bad guys a fair and square chance to do anything to us. We’re supposed to kill them before they can do anything.”

“See? I said Mackie’s supposed to be smart,” Adriance said.

“Yeah he is,” Martin agreed. “Keep it up, Mackie, and maybe you’ll make corporal one of these years.”

“Hey, how should we have approached that ambush?” Orndoff demanded.

Martin looked at him, then at the rest of the squad. “I’ll bet that right now Lieutenant Commiskey is hearing all about what he should have had the platoon do so that we didn’t walk into that ambush. But I didn’t say that, and you didn’t hear it from anybody. Right?”

Mackie shrugged. “I didn’t hear nobody say nothing.”

PFC Zion gave his fire team leader a startled look. “What, did somebody say something?”

Orndoff shook his head. “I didn’t hear nobody say nothing.” He grinned at Adriance, who nodded back.

“Remember that, Marine,” Adriance said.

Orndoff grinned, then his expression reverted to confused. “But what
should
we have done?”

Adriance sighed. “Tell him, Mackie. What would you have done?”

Mackie was startled by Adriance again dropping the ball onto him, but recovered quickly. “What I would have done was take us deeper into the trees. That way we would have come in behind the ambush, instead of walking straight into it.”

“Oh,” Orndoff said, awed.

Chapter Five

Exercise Area Bravo, Bellows Field Park, Oahu, Hawaii, NAU.

Every Marine, no matter his rank, or position in a unit, is expected to be able to step into the position of his immediate commander or leader, sometimes even a higher position, and perform well. Unknown to everybody below the platoon command level, one element of the night phase of the training exercise was to test that ability among the junior NCOs and junior enlisted Marines of 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines.

Third platoon was in column in Bellows’s Exercise Area Bravo—a less environmentally sensitive area of the park, one that had few civilian visitors—moving toward their objective. The Marines had their night vision screens in place to allow them to see in the dark forest. Occasional flash-bangs went off in seemingly random locations—simulated enemy harassment-and-interdiction artillery fire.

Halfway to the objective, Commiskey called a halt. “Squad leaders up,” he ordered on his helmet comm. “Assign your men defensive positions.”

While nearly all instructions and data could be conveyed over the net, there was always a chance of enemy intercept. Besides, sometimes a face-to-face meeting was better than remote communications, so nobody thought there was anything unusual about Commiskey calling a squad leaders’ meeting. Commiskey led Guillen and platoon right guide Sergeant Richard Bender twenty meters off the path. Sergeant James E. Johnson, the second squad leader, being closest to the command group, was the first to join Commiskey. Commiskey withdrew a flash-bang from a cargo pocket and tossed it to the side, away from the platoon. It went off before the other squad leaders made it through the trees to join the command group.

“Oh, shit!” Sergeant Martin shouted, hitting the dirt at the flash and the bang. A few meters to his left, third squad leader Sergeant Frederick W. Mausert also swore and hit the deck. So did the gun squad leader, Sergeant Matej Kocak.

When a few seconds passed without another simulated artillery strike, or any word from the command group, the squad leaders pushed themselves up into crouches and dashed to where they believed the platoon command group was. They found the four Marines gently rocking on their backs in their frozen body armor. Using a few words to coordinate their actions, the two squad leaders checked the downed Marines and their comps.

“Damn, damn, damn,” Martin swore under his breath. Then into the platoon net, “Where’s comm?”

“I’m here,” Corporal John H. Pruitt said as he scrambled to the scene.

“Get me company,” Martin told him.

“Right.” Pruitt got on the net and contacted Captain Sitter. He gave the handset to Martin.

“Six Actual, this is India-three-one,” Martin said in a voice steadier than he felt, “India-three-six, three-five, three-four, and three-two are all down.” India-three, third platoon, three-six, -five, -four, the ancient designations for the platoon commander, platoon sergeant, and right guide. Three-one, -two and -three, the designators for first, second, and third squad leaders.

“All seniors in India-three are down except for three-one and three-three, is that right?” Sitter asked.

“And guns. What do you want us to do with the casualties?”

“I’ve got a GPS lock on your position. I’ll forward it to battalion, and they’ll pick them up. All right, three-one, you still have an objective to take. You’re now acting six. Three-three is now acting five. Assign the senior fire team leader in each squad to acting squad leader. You’ve got three minutes to reorganize and get moving again. India-six-actual out.”

Martin returned the handset to Pruitt and looked at Mausert and Kocak. “It’s on us,” he said. “I’m acting six, and Fred’s five. We’ve got three minutes to reorganize the platoon and move out.”

Mausert shook his head. “I always figured I’d make platoon sergeant some day. But, damn, I expected to have the rank when I did.”

“You gonna give your squad to Phillips?” Martin asked.

“Yeah,” Mausert answered. “He’s got seniority, and he’s pretty good.”

“Do you have any problem with Glowin taking over second squad?”

Mausert shook his head. “I think he can do it.”

“Good. Let’s give them the news. I’m giving my squad to Adriance.” He turned to Pruitt. “Looks like we’ve got a new command group. You and me will be between first and second. Fred,” back to Mausert, “you’re between second and third. No sense in being where one round can get both of us. Matej, keep your guns where they are in the column.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mausert said. Kocak nodded.

“All right, time’s wasting. Let’s do it.”

“What do you think the lieutenant wanted us for?” Mausert asked.

Martin shook his head. “Maybe we’ll find out after this phase. Unless this was a set up.”

“Could be,” Mausert agreed.

“Let’s go.”

The four headed back to the rest of the platoon and made the new assignments.

“Mackie,” Martin said after making Adriance the acting squad leader, “this makes you acting fire team leader. Put one of your men up front, and move out.”

“Aye aye,” Mackie replied. He turned to his two men. “Zion, take point. Me, then Orndoff.”

“Why me?” Zion objected. “I already got killed once today.”

“So did all of us,” Mackie snapped. “Move out. I’ll guide you.”

Zion stepped out, and the rest of third platoon followed. As soon as the platoon was beyond the place where they’d stopped and lost the command group, an umpire appeared out of the shadows and unlocked the armor of the downed Marines.

“Wait here for battalion,” he instructed the four, then resumed trailing third platoon.

An hour later, not much more than half a kilometer from the position that was the platoon’s objective, but still in forest, Sergeant Martin called a halt and reformed the platoon into squad columns twenty-five meters apart, with first squad in the middle, flanked by the other two rifle squads. The gun teams were on the flanks. He went ahead of first squad and called on the net, “Squad leaders up.” The three corporals who were acting as squad leaders quickly joined him and Mausert.

“Going for a repeat performance, Sergeant Martin?” Adriance asked with a soft laugh, thinking of what happened when Commiskey called for a squad leaders’ meeting.

“Just for that, your ass is mine later,” Martin said. After making sure everyone he wanted was present, he said, “Follow me,” and stepped out in the direction of the platoon’s objective.

A hundred meters farther, the forest petered out into a terrain spottily covered with shrubs about half human-height. In most places, there was sufficient space between bushes for a man to pass without brushing one. Fifty meters beyond where Martin stopped his command group, the ground started slanting upward at a modest angle until it formed a ridge more than three hundred meters distant. The last fifty meters looked to be cleared of shrubs. They could faintly make out bunkers on the military crest of the ridgeline.

“I wanted you to get a good look at what we’re facing. Now, most of us have been here before,” Martin told the others, “so you’ll remember those bushes are thorny. But not all of our Marines have had to make this kind of movement at night. The trick is going to be to use those bushes for concealment as we advance, while not getting hung up in them. The closer we can get to that ridge without being detected, the better our chances of taking the objective. Any suggestions or questions?”

“Stay low, that’s all I can think of,” Corporal Glowin said. “The trees behind us should hide any silhouettes until we get fairly close.”

“Unless they’ve got good night vision,” Adriance added.

“That’s why we keep low,” Glowin said.

Martin studied the landscape to the front for a few moments, deciding how to proceed. Finally he said, “Go back, get your squads and bring them up. Put your people in columns of fire teams with ten meter intervals. The lead man in each fire team has to find a way between the thorny bushes, so be careful about who you put where. We’ll get as close as we can before I give the signal to open up. Depending on how close we are, we’ll either advance by fire and maneuver, or we’ll get on line and charge. Questions?”

Nobody had any questions.

“So get your squads.”

Fifteen minutes later, nine fire teams and the guns were on line parallel to the ridge. Martin gave the signal to move out.

Lance Corporal Mackie looked at his two men and decided he’d take the lead between the bushes.

“Stay low,” he said. “Try not to rise up above the tops of the bushes.” The same thing Adriance had just told the fire team leaders. “Stay close to me, and go exactly where I go. If you see me flinch, or back up, don’t go where I did, because that’ll mean I just got stuck by thorns. Got it?”

PFCs Orndoff and Zion said they did.

“Let’s go.” Mackie crouched, almost doubled over and stepped out. While he looked mostly at the bushes close in front of himself to avoid the thorns, he also looked forward to make sure he had bushes in his line of sight, between himself and the ridgeline. He also checked his HUD to see where the red dots of his fire team were relative to the dots of the others. A few times Sergeant Martin called on the net for most of the platoon to hold in place while someone caught up, or for a fire team to stop because it had gotten too far ahead of the rest.

The weight of his combat load made it difficult to walk bent over below the height of the bushes, and Mackie was feeling the strain in his back after a couple of hundred meters. He knew Orndoff and Zion had to be feeling at least as much back strain, probably more—they hadn’t been Marines for as long as he had. He was just grateful that so far nobody in the platoon had gotten hung up on thorns and given them away.

But it couldn’t last. Still more than seventy-five meters from the top of the ridge somebody, Mackie couldn’t tell who, yelped out loud. The aggressor force on the ridge must have been alert, because the entire line erupted with fire.

“Squads,” Martin shouted into the platoon net, “advance by fire and maneuver! Guns, lay down supporting fire!”

Seconds later, randomly spaced flash-bangs started going off on the slope, simulating mortar fire.

“First and third fire teams, advance twenty meters!” Adriance shouted.

“First fire team, let’s go! Spread to my flanks.” Mackie lurched ahead, still hunched over. Orndoff and Zion ran to his sides. Zion stumbled into a thorn bush and yelled. Mackie had to dodge a bush himself. “Disconnect and catch up!” About twenty meters ahead of where he’d been when the order to advance came, he hit the dirt and began firing up the slope toward the ridge. But he was shooting blind, he couldn’t see anything through the bushes. Over the fire, he heard Adriance order second fire team to advance. The platoon’s fire didn’t sound as heavy as it should have, he thought the enemy fire must be effective if that many of the Marines were down, frozen in their armor.

“First fire team, go!” Adriance shouted. “Second and third, lay down fire!”

Good!
Mackie thought. The textbook method of two fire teams advancing while one covered them didn’t provide enough covering fire, so Adriance was moving the fire teams up one at a time to provide a heavier base of fire.
Just what I’d do.

And then he broke out of the bushes onto ground that had been cleared as a killing zone.

“First fire team, down!” Mackie said. He heard Zion drop down on his right and begin firing up slope. He didn’t hear Orndoff on his left.