After going to the field at Fort Benning in November in the rain, there was an excess of training ammo that we still had to burn when we did not use it all up during that field training exercise (FTX). Since we did not use up all of the training ammunition, and our commander scheduled another field training exercise a couple of months later, it should have been used up then. But that field training exercise never happened because we were deployed to Fort Drum, New York, for snow removal by our ‘fearless leader’. Well, excess training ammo is like a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. Sooner or later, it just has to explode. So, you know it just has to be burned up, and that means another field training exercise is not far off. It was too bad that the Las Vegas bookmakers weren’t taking odds on when that would happen. Because I would take that bet. I would bet that it was going to be sooner rather than later. And I wasn’t wrong. About a month after we got back from Fort Drum, we received a warning order to prepare for deployment in conjunction with our annual ARTEP (Army Training and Evaluation Program). Essentially, we were headed to the field again. At least it wouldn’t be as cold this time. Of course, the weatherman couldn’t promise that it would be any drier. That meant we were probably going to get rained on again. Great. Gr-8. Great. We were in for another surprise. When we deployed to the field, we went back to the same spot where we had set up during our first FTX. Things were just getting better and better. When SFC Jones led me down to the creek bed to where I was to dig the foxhole for my machine gun emplacement, it was déjà vu all over again. I said, “Hey Sarge, why didn’t you tell me to pack my swimming gear? I didn’t know we were coming back to the swamp. And that’s another thing, I didn’t bring my croc-i-gator and water moccasin snares with me. I may be up to my ass in those things. What gives? Come on now! I’m not getting hazardous duty pay. Dammit. Where’s my hazardous duty pay?” SFC Jones retorted, “Masters, quit your goddamn bellyaching. Start digging your damn foxhole and shut the hell up. There ain’t no such thing as a croc-i-gator, and the water moccasins aren’t out yet.” “So, that means if I catch one and put it in your sleeping bag, you won’t get upset? After all, they’re not out yet. And that brings me to another point. I didn’t bring my snake fixings and barbecue gear, so I can’t have a cookout if I do catch any. Dammit.” “Goddammit, Masters, we ain’t here to have a barbecue. We are here for our ARTEP. Is that clear?” “Crystal.” “What was that?” “I said, Crystal, Sarge. You know, as in crystal-clear. Or, as in loud and clear. Mostly just loud.” “What was that?” “Nothing.” “Get back to work and dig that foxhole. I swear, you’re the biggest pain in my ass.” “Roger, will-co.” So, I dug my foxhole in the rain, and then I set up a lean-to protect myself and my machine gun. The ARTEP was different from the first FTX in that other elements of the brigade deployed to the field as well. For example, a mechanized infantry Battalion deployed, the field artillery Battalion deployed, the armor Battalion deployed again, an attack helicopter Battalion was also deployed, and one other infantry Battalion was deployed. Another aspect of the ARTEP that was different from the first FTX was that there was no clearly defined OPFOR. The rules of engagement for the ARTEP were more or less a free-for-all. Translated: it was a giant cluster-f*ck or an unorganized game of grab-ass. The only thing was we didn’t really know whose ass we were grabbing in the dark. Like I said, it was totally unorganized. We were supposed to pull shifts of two hours on and four hours off duty. The only problem with that was that you really couldn’t get any sleep with the damn helicopters flying right over the treetops. I could understand the cobras attacking the mechanized infantry and the armor elements, but why were they attacking us? Helicopters against personnel? That seems a little bit unfair. It’s kind of like using grenades to fire a counter battery against an artillery unit. Or throwing rocks at a tank. That works really well too. Very effective. But whenever the cobras buzzed us, it gave us an excuse to light up our machine guns and burn some training ammo. That was always fun. We could light those M-60s up on cyclic fire and let them rock ‘n roll. And getting those barrels glowing nice and red-orange also helped to heat up a can of beanie weenies or two. The only thing not so fun was when someone would lob a flash bang in our general direction. Occasionally, those flash bangs would get too damn close for comfort. Since we were right up against the creek, we couldn’t just dive into our foxhole for shelter against the flash bangs because it was filled with water. Remember what I said about the swimming gear. Yeah. We didn’t have any. I wasn’t about to go swimming in my Pioneer gear. That was not my idea of fun. And I hated getting muddy. So, diving into the mud behind me for cover against the flash bangs was not much of an option either. I asked SFC Jones to put in a requisition for a piece of plate steel to put in front of my foxhole and he looked at me like I was insane. He just shook his head and said, “Masters, I am really worried about you. You have some serious issues boy. Explain to me again why you need this piece of plate steel.” I replied, “Well Sarge, you see it’s like this, there are bad guys out there throwing flash bangs at us. But with all the helicopters flying overhead, and all the machine guns being shot, we can’t hear shit. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s dark as hell out here. And we can’t see shit either. And oh, by the way, the bad guys ain’t exactly turning lights on and jumping up and down and saying, ‘Here we are!’ At least if they are, I can’t see them. That means they are probably using invisible lights. Yeah, that’s it. Invisible lights. For sure.” “That’s still doesn’t tell me what the plate steel is for.” “I thought that was obvious, Sarge? You see, picture it, foxhole here, creek there, and in between the two, a big sheet of plate steel. Now, the bad guys come running out of wherever. We can’t see them. We can’t hear them. But now, we don’t need to. Why? Because, when they throw the flash bang, it hits the piece of sheet steel and bounces harmlessly back into the creek. So, even if it does explode, all it does is cause a big splash. Big deal. Who cares? That’s why I need the piece of sheet steel. So, how soon do you think you can deliver it?” “Masters, you want to know how soon? Seriously? Never! That’s how goddamn soon. Never in 1000 goddamn years. Is that soon enough for your sorry ass? It’ll be a cold day in hell before you see that piece of plate steel.” “Well Sarge, I heard the weatherman say that there is a cold front moving in. Does that mean I’m getting it pretty soon? Cuz we are already in hell, and the weatherman said it’s about to get cold.” “Shut the hell up, and get back to your post. Dismissed.” I got the distinct impression that SFC Jones didn’t want to talk to me anymore. And I also gathered that I wasn’t getting my piece of plate steel, evolving the ARTEP into another exercise in futility.
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