Chosen Soldier - Dick Couch [61]
Following their initial briefing, the candidates are given an area familiarization to acquaint them with the terrain they will have to negotiate on the Star. This orientation is the Hoffman stakes course, a four-point land-nav course with points just one to two thousand meters apart. It allows the candidates to once again calibrate their compass bearings and pace count. This is an ungraded evolution—simply a practice exercise for the benefit of the candidates. They walk the stakes course in the daylight and once again at night. It’s a good final validation of their navigation skills, and, for many of the candidates, a confidence builder—a last opportunity to refine their navigation technique. But it’s also time on their feet. These men are getting tired and worn down, and this fatigue is a cumulative condition. This is by design. The Hoffman stakes course will walk them, with their rifle and seventy pounds of gear, for another four to six miles, also by design.
“How’re you holding up?” I ask my candidate on the stakes course.
“Pretty well, sir. I’ve got some blisters I’m concerned about, but otherwise I’m good to go.”
It’s raining lightly, so we both get soaked as I follow him around the course. My candidate this time is the senior soldier that came to selection with this group of X-Rays. He’s a staff sergeant and a former Ranger. He served a tour in the Army and left to join his family’s retail business. After three years out of uniform, he’s back. He chose the X-Ray program as a way back into the Army and into Special Forces.
“Two things brought me back. The first was 9/11. The second was my life on the outside. I’m just not cut out to be a nine-to-fiver. My family couldn’t have been better about it, and my brothers are doing a great job at home helping mom and dad with the business. My family doesn’t need me, but my country does.”
We arrive back at the base camp area soaking wet. I go to the fire to dry out and get warm. It’s a mild afternoon, but I’m teeth-chattering wet. My candidate strings up a poncho, Ranger style, to get himself and his gear out of the rain. He changes into a dry uniform and then sets about retaping his feet. A few hours later, we’re back out on the stakes course—same course, still raining, only it’s dark. We finish the course just before midnight. The next day, the candidates are allowed to sleep in. Reveille is a leisurely 0700, breakfast is MREs. The morning and early afternoon are given to gear preparation, drying out, a land-nav review, and Star briefings. Each candidate is given two MREs, and at 1430 that afternoon, they board trucks that take them to their Star starting points. At the starting points, they’re on their own time to sleep and ready themselves for the Star. At 0130, the candidates are given their first set of coordinates. At my initial Star point, I watch as they plot their first point on their terrain maps and, one by one, disappear into the woods. I do not walk the Star. This is a final exam, and no candidate needs the distraction of a writer/straphanger on this important evolution.
The Star navigation course is run three times on three consecutive days. Each time window is the same—they begin at 0130, and end at 1200, or noon. Given the number of points, there are endless variations on how a candidate might be asked to get through his four points. The individual courses or lanes are computer generated, and each lane is between ten and eleven miles. The good land navigators will walk perhaps 15 percent more than that to find their points, most will add 25 percent to the straight-line total, and those having trouble can walk as much as 40 percent farther. A Star course will take a candidate and his seventy-odd pounds of gear over some thirteen to sixteen miles of terrain. If he’s moving through the course well, most of it will be at night.
It’s a long night for the cadre as well. They rove the area in pickup trucks as safety