• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1774 0

with that deer-in-the-headlights look. It’d be easy for me to say the reason we don’t reach more of these soldiers is that they are spoiled, or immature, or soft, or spent too much time with video games, or whatever. The bottom line is that we’re getting bright kids and motivated, patriotic kids. If we don’t reach them, then the problem is on us. We are always looking for new ways to teach and reach these guys. What motivated my generation, or even the candidates here five years ago, is different today. We’re always asking, how do you turn the light on? For a few, a very few, we yell at them—try to goad them into the proper mind-set. Others, we use reason. Some respond to the intellectual challenge, and for some it’s the enjoyment of teaching military skills to others—this can be fun stuff. And for many it’s simply the prospect of inclusion into this brotherhood. But it’s a moving target, and we have to move with it. We have to turn that light on.”

The two ODA contingents are called back into the house, where they’re told that 912 will take the lead and 915 will assume the role of the support element. As the candidates and their guerrillas file out, I can see that Miguel Santos is deeply disappointed.

“This is going to be a great operation,” he says to no one in particular. “I really wanted to lead it.” Sergeant Major Martin is within earshot and comes over to him.

“Sir, from what I’ve seen and heard, you’re a good officer, and when you get to your group, you’re going to be a good team leader. But take this on board as a lesson. It’s not how good you are; it’s how good they are. Now, for whatever reason—training, personality, experience, whatever—912’s Gs were a little sharper than yours tonight. So they got the job. Understand this and drive on. OK?”

“Roger that, Sergeant Major.”

For most of the night, the senior members of the two student ODAs and selected members of their guerrilla bands plan and prepare for the prisoner rescue operation. The following morning, the team leader for 912 gives his briefback to the two G chiefs and their general. Captain Santos, Sergeant Brian Short, PFC Tim Baker, and five of 915’s Gs are part of this briefback. They hastily mount out and are inserted by auxiliary truck just after midnight to survey the target. Santos and his men are the recon element for the operation. Well before dawn, they patrol across a cow pasture, hop a barbed-wire fence, and make their way through a dense thicket to the perimeter of the prison.

Captain Santos and his senior guerrilla pull back into the woods and set up a patrol base, well hidden in the woods. Then two recon and surveillance teams are set out on opposite sides of the target. They are in place with eyes-on when the sun comes up. Both teams have MBITR radios and are in contact with Santos in the patrol base. The resourceful Brian Short has put up his antenna high in a tree. He has his PSC-5 set at full power, and is able to reach 912’s G base some thirty klicks away. That’s an HF, line-of-sight transmission of some eighteen miles—quite a communications feat. Every four hours, Santos and his recon element send back reports of guard-force activity and suggested attack routes for the assault on the prison. They’ll also serve as a reception element for the main force when they arrive and guide them to their jump-off locations for the attack. But it’s a miserable night and day for the recon element. It’s turned warm and muggy, and the mosquitoes are a dense swarm in the moist air. I surrender my remaining stock of bug repellent to the recon element before heading off to the disused prison to await the final event.

The evening brings no relief from a hot sultry day, with thunderheads building in the fading light. Soon there’s lightning on the horizon and the rumble of thunder. The abandoned prison is a brick-and-stone structure with three-story guard towers on opposite corners of the square-shaped, cinder-block walls. The buildings are a cluster of single-story brick structures with iron lattice-work windows. A twelve-foot chain-link fence topped