Chosen Soldier - Dick Couch [182]
“The prison was closed down about ten years ago,” Captain Childers tells me as we wait for events to unfold. “This is the first time we’ve used this facility in this lane. We’ll have to see how it works out.” We’re in the tower closest to the woods. There’s about 150 yards of open area between the woods and the prison. Midway from the walls to the woods in one quadrant there is a large equipment shed, and in an adjacent quadrant there is the warden’s cottage. Both are suitable as cover to marshal an assault force. A few minutes after dark, I watch as a string of dark forms peel out from behind the shed and drop on line to take up a fire-support position. That would be 915 and a complement of their Gs. Then two files of similar dark forms spill from the other side of the shed and make for the main gate of the prison. Suddenly, there’s a commotion from the far side of the complex, and shots are fired. After a brief silence, a lively firefight breaks out as one of the assault elements pours through the unlocked back gate. From then on, all is yelling, running, and gunfire. There’s the pop-pop-pop fire from the lighter-caliber weapons punctuated by the deeper automatic bark from the M240s.
The assaulters pour into the prison, some of them engaging the guard force while others race for the holding area that houses their objective. Meanwhile, there’s the whoosh of rising pop flares and the whistle and bang of artillery simulators. And smoke—lots and lots of smoke. The prison compound is soon awash in the harsh yellow light of parachute flares. And to add to the surreal drama below me, the skies have opened up to a solid, steady downpour. Then I hear the assault force yelling, “Turnkey! Turnkey!” which I assume to mean that they have their Pineland resistance leader in tow. The attackers fall back under the cover of their fire-support element. A few of them have wounded comrades in fireman’s carries, and I see four men running with a fallen soldier in a soft litter. There’s another round of smoke grenades as the assault force and their support element retreats to the cover of the shed and into the woods. The last of the parachute flares winks out, leaving a darkened prison complex, the stench of sulfur and cordite, and a steady rain.
“That was amazing,” I tell Garrett Childers, “simply amazing.”
He grins. “It was a show, all right. And I guess it’ll have to do until they get to the real thing, which, for some of them, is not all that far off.”
The OCEs follow the candidates back through the woods to their exfil points. The cadre gather in the parking area near a gaggle of government pickup trucks to talk about the assault and to exchange notes on who did what, and what should be covered and emphasized in the after-action review. Nine-one-five returns to its G base tired, wet, and excited. Two of the Gs and one American were left behind to guard the camp, and they have a roaring fire going for the returnees. Soon they’re joined by Garrett Childers and Troy Blackman. Sergeant Blackman gives them a quick after-action review, but there’s little he can address specifically, given the confusion of that many soldiers moving about in the rain and the smoke.
“You guys did a good job on the recon. The guard force thought they heard you moving in the woods last night, but they weren’t sure. As for the assault, it went as well as could be expected, given the numbers involved and the command-and-control issues that go with a force of that size. What I want you to take from this is that when the shooting starts, you can only rely on how well you planned the action, how grounded you are on your unit tactics, and how much you can count