“Okay,” said Pappas, wondering about the comment. “We’re gonna take the other three squads into that,” he gestured with his chin, “in movement to contact formation.” He puffed his cheeks in thought.
“I’ll take three members of first squad as a headquarters group. Move slow, stroll. But keep your eyes open and looking around. Designate one team for primary forward movement and one team for security. Have buddies carry on conversation, don’t bunch but don’t get scattered. If one squad gets into something they can’t handle, the other two pile on. If we get bogged down in someone else’s turf we are dog-meat, so kick their ass, don’t pee on them, we have to cut through any opposition fast.” He took a proffered map from the MP and had a quick conversation.
“Okay,” he continued, looking at the map in the subdued light and wishing for a set of Milspecs from the equipment they were going to be issued. “We’re probably way over by the old heliport right at the base of the mountains.” He glanced into the darkness. “Right by the fires.” He shook his head.
“Stewart,” he turned to the diminutive private. “Second squad has point. Don’t do any looting along the way; it’s not only against regulation, we don’t have fuckin’ time. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said the young man. He stood at parade rest, his face as serious as a statue.
“You don’t call me ‘sir’ anymore, Stewart,” said Pappas, dryly. “It looks like I’m back to working for a living,” he sighed deeply. “Well, it can’t be worse than Hue, right?” He thought about that for a moment. “Do they have firearms?” he asked the MP, deep in memory.
The private winced. “Not many. We generally take those away as fast as they turn up. That is the one thing that really lets us drop a load of hurt on their head. Lots of clubs and knives though,” he warned.
Pappas nodded his head. “Pick up anything that looks like a weapon as you go. The order of movement will be second, fourth, third. I’ll be moving between second and fourth. Third, Adams, keep an eye on our backtrack. If we’re being tracked we need to swing around and nutcracker them.”
“Right, Gunny,” said the former drill corporal.
“Okay, remember, try to look casual as possible, but keep in sight of the other squads. Go get your people briefed.” He paused for a moment and shook his head in resignation. The expression on his face was lugubrious. “What a fuckin’ nightmare.”
“We can handle it,” said Stewart, confidently. “We’ve got the training, we’ve got the teamwork and we’ve got the leadership.” He smiled at the gunnery sergeant, obviously wondering why he was so shaken by the situation.
Pappas turned calm eyes on the private and smiled cheerfully. Since the situation was totally screwed up, Stewart instantly realized that he had said something the sergeant considered particularly boneheaded.
“Stewart, you are an idiot,” he said, gently. The sergeant gestured towards the distant rebel units. “In a year or two we are going to be depending on those fuckers for support. Think of it this way. What would happen if the Posleen landed tomorrow?”
“Oh.” The private looked back at the fires and scratched his head. He blew out his cheeks and rocked back and forth at parade rest. “Yeah.”
Pappas had not seen Stewart pick up the two lengths of broom handle. But the way he twirled them in both hands bespoke forms of training that surprised the veteran NCO. The aggressive drunk had not even had time to cry out before he was down and being dragged into the darkness by two other members of second squad. That obstacle overcome, the platoon continued its slow movement into the maelstrom.
It seemed as though the world was on fire. Wood and siding ripped from the trailers that made up the majority of the barracks were piled in courtyards and parade grounds burning. The substance of the soldiers’ homes was being consumed to warm the autumn night.
Small groups wandered everywhere, some of them bearing bottles, others smoking fragrant substances. From the darkness a squeal told of other pleasures being dispensed. Since it sounded consensual, Pappas ignored it. He frankly was not sure what he would do if it were not consensual. The mission was to find and join up with their unit. Once they were attached things would get easier. Or so he hoped.
He gestured for second squad to stop and the platoon to form a perimeter. The troops dropped into position in the shadowed area, a variety of bludgeons clutched in their hands, as the squad leaders joined him at the center. He pulled the map out of his cargo pocket and gestured for them to look at it in the flickering light of distant fires.
“To get to our initial objective, which is where the MPs think the battalion is at, we have to pass through there.” He gestured through the buildings at a parade ground. The point was marked on the map as a former heliport. From where they crouched in the darkness it was obvious that the area was some sort of meeting ground. There was a giant party in full swing with numerous bonfires and large groups were wandering around. There were easily a thousand people, males and females, in the area.
“We might not run into any opposition, but, then again, we might. We could swing around, but it would take us well out of our way and sooner or later we’re gonna run out of luck.” He gestured to where the drunk was sleeping off his concussion. “I am open to suggestions.”
“How ’bout we just run through, like we’re doing PT?” asked Michaels. “They’re less likely to bother a formation, don’t you think, Gunny?”
Stewart snorted. “See anybody doing PT?” he asked.
Adams shook his head. “I gotta go with Stewart on this one, man. I don’t think anybody around here does PT. We’d stick out like a sore thumb.”
“And if we bunch up, we might look like a threat,” pointed out Stewart. He had his eyes narrowed.
“Okay, we’ll—” started Pappas.
“Gunny, sorry, can I say something?” the little private asked. A few days before the concept of interrupting his drill instructor would have been unthinkable. But not only did the situation call for ideas, the conditions they were in were a weird form of home to Stewart.
“Okay,” said the gunny, “go ahead.”
“I think me and the boys could draw some of them off,” the private said. His eyes were on the distant party as his brow creased in thought. “We could probably open up a hole, kind of a corridor, and the rest of you could slip through.”
“How?” Pappas watched the private thinking. He had already recognized that while he had the recruit beat on experience and knowledge, the private was light-years ahead of him on guile and cunning.
“By joining them,” continued Stewart. He seemed oblivious to the sergeant’s close regard. “Look, just about all of us in second are from a barrio,” continued the little private. “We’re all home-boys; this is like, home, for us. We’d be in the middle of that and loving every minute of it,” he gestured to the party, “if we didn’t have an idea why not.” He turned and looked at the NCO with newfound respect in his eyes. “Your speech makes more sense now than ever.”
The NCO nodded in understanding. “Go on.”
“But we can… infiltrate that party. I’ve got some pretty good attention getters, circus tricks I’ve learned. I can attract some of them around me and the boys. That will open up the hole you need.”
“And if it don’t work?” asked Pappas.
“We all run like hell,” smiled the private.
Pappas gazed at him thoughtfully. “When will you get to the unit?” he asked. The suspicion was obvious.
Stewart shook his head in reproach. “Gunny, I ain’t saying we won’t do a little partying. We’re gonna have to to blend in. But we’ll rejoin the unit, all of us, by dawn. Getting out will be harder than getting in. Drawing off their attention from you will be the easiest part.”