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By Root 1707 0

observers and to ensure the candidates remain off the roads. On the first Star, I ride with one of the cadre. It is a long night as we bore holes in the woodlands of North Carolina over dirt roads. Sometimes the cadre sergeant coasts slowly using only his parking lights, thus preserving his night vision; other times, he parks on a shallow rise affording a vantage to see the road. Candidates are allowed to cross the roads, but they must move quickly from one side to the other, and at no time can they walk along the road. That’s cheating and an honor violation. Men caught moving on the roads or going out of bounds on the Star course become involuntary withdrawals. We see several candidates crossing properly, but none who are walking on the roads. Other cadre do. Five candidates are taken off the course for walking along the roads or being out of bounds. My cadre sergeant does, however, give two candidates a ride back. Just after sunup, we come upon two of them sitting by the side of the road.

“What’s the problem, guys?”

“We’ve had enough, Sergeant. We want to VW.”

“OK, fellows, put your gear in the back and climb aboard.”

“Roger that, Sergeant.”

We take them back to the base camp area and continue our patrol in the daylight.

The first iteration of the Star course begins a curious division within Class 8-04. About 80 percent of those who entered the phase two weeks ago are still in training and began the first Star navigation problem. It takes until midafternoon to get all the candidates off the course, accounted for, and back into the base camp area. Of these candidates, 40 percent go four-for-four while some 50 percent, roughly half, reach three or less. About 10 percent decide they’ve had enough and VW. The remaining candidates are cut into two groups—winners and losers. The larger group of unsuccessful candidates bivouacs in an area near the command center truck, draws more MREs, and begins to rest and prepare for the next Star evolution. Sergeant Cara and some of the other cadre navigation instructors roam among these candidates.

“If you didn’t get your four points, let us know why. If there is a problem, let’s try to get it fixed before you go back out there tomorrow morning. What can we do to help?” Several candidates seek out these cadre sergeants to go over their routes to review their mistakes.

I find my X-Ray Ranger candidate in this group, and am surprised to see him there. “I screwed up,” he quickly admits. “I plotted my second set of coordinates wrong, and by the time I figured it out, it was daylight. I ran the rest of the course, but got to the last point five minutes late. Jeez, was I pissed. I’ll get ’em all next time—guaranteed.”

“How are your feet?” I ask.

“Not good, but I’ll still be back out there tonight.”

There’s a second, much smaller grouping of the unsuccessful Star candidates off to one side in an area marked by pink surveyor’s tape. This was the VW/IVW holding area, much like the one I had seen on the nav courses at Fort Bragg during the 18X Pre-SFAS Course. This is a sad lot of soldiers, and I hesitate to intrude. I catch the eye of one of the X-Ray candidates I’d spoken with at Fort Bragg, so I approach him.

“I’m sorry to see you here,” I venture.

“It’s OK, sir. I’ve done my best, but this is just not working out for me. I hurt all over and my feet are killing me. I don’t know if I’ll come back, but if I do, I’ll know what to expect and be prepared for it. Right now, I don’t belong here. It’s time for me to go.”

I wish him well and make my way across an open meadow to a separate, wooded bivouac area, well away from the base camp. It’s a wonderful place called Andersonville.

Andersonville was a prison in Georgia where Northern POWs were interned during the Civil War. It was a dreadful place, rife with disease and dying soldiers, and, at the time, one of the largest cities in the Confederacy. Old tintypes of Andersonville show it as a shantytown with bearded soldiers idling under canvas tarps. The Andersonville at the Hoffman training area near Camp Mackall resembles its namesake