Specialist Nathan Ryle came from the mean streets of Compton, California, and had a chip on his shoulder the size of the state he hailed from. A lot of the guys had had some friction with him at one point or another.
At that moment, Staff Sergeant Jorge Sanchez walked back into the tent. “Enough jaw jacking,” he barked. “We’ve got work to do. I want your magazines loaded and your MOLLE gear set up just like mine — use it as an example.” He set his pack down on the ground in the middle of the group.
“Pack your rucks the same way I pack mine so you and everyone else in the squad can find the extra ammo, grenades and magazines quickly. I’m going to grab a couple boxes of MREs. When I get back, I expect you guys to be ready for my inspection. Once I’m satisfied, we’ll go as a group and get some chow. We have an evening formation at 1900 hours.”
With his new set of orders issued, Sergeant Sanchez left the privates to resume their work.
“Why do we have to carry our magazines like this?” asked one of them as he rearranged one of his ammo pouches to match Sanchez’s.
“Because this is how the Sarge said he wants it done. Pretty simple if you ask me,” replied Nathan, the constant antagonist.
Webster felt the need to add something as he finished packing his last magazine into the front pouch. “We carry the magazines with the bullets facing down so when you reach down and pull one out, it’s facing the correct direction to slap into your rifle. It also keeps dirt and debris from getting stuck in the magazine when you go to pull it out. God forbid you ram it home in your rifle full of dirt — you’ll jam the stupid thing.
“We carry three packs of two flush against your IBA instead of two packs of three, so they don’t protrude as far out in front of our body armor. That way when you hit the dirt, you land relatively flat. It makes sense when you think about it.”
Webster grabbed the drop bag next and held it up. “If you’re right-handed, this attaches to your vest on the right side, so when you empty a magazine, you drop it in this pouch. That way, when you have time to reload them, they’re right there waiting for you, and you’re not placing empty magazines back into your magazine pouch and then suddenly finding your gun isn’t loaded.”
Holding up the pistol holster next, he added, “The Sarge has us carrying our pistol in a leg holster instead of attached to our IBA so we can have room to carry a couple of hand grenades and our first aid kit with the tourniquet.”
The privates kind of stood there for a second, looking at their vests and loadouts like a lightbulb had suddenly turned on. It all made sense now why the sergeant was harping on them to wear their gear in a certain way, regardless of how they saw other platoons or companies wearing it.
A second later, Sergeant Sanchez walked into the tent with a couple of MRE boxes and a smile on his face. The others in the tent stopped talking as they watched him walk over to his own cot, placing the boxes on it. When he turned around, he walked over to Webster and placed his hand on his shoulder as he looked at them all.
“I just heard Private Webster explain to you why I have you doing what you’re doing. He’s 100 % correct. It may sound to you like I’m nitpicking, but I’m having you do certain things for a reason. I’ve seen the elephant and you haven’t yet. When the bullets start to fly and your buddies start getting hit, you’re going to want to know exactly where your battle buddy’s first aid kit or tourniquet is. If you have to search through a wounded or dead comrade’s vest or ruck for ammo or more grenades, you’re going to want to know exactly where to search, because your life or mine may depend on it.”
Sanchez then took a seat on the edge of Webster’s cot and motioned for the others to stop and take a seat. “Look, I’ve been in the Army now for three years. The only reason I’m a staff sergeant instead of an E-4 specialist like Ryle is because all the other sergeants ahead of me were either killed or wounded eight months ago when our unit first encountered this Chinese version of the Maginot Line. During our fourth assault against that ridgeline out there, I got shot for hopefully the first and last time in my life. We were bounding up the ridge from one covered position to another when I caught a bullet in my left arm. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I tried to move back to find a medic, I got shot two more times. One hit me squarely in the center of my back plate. The second bullet hit me in the back of my right shoulder. Fortunately, I was knocked unconscious, so I didn’t feel a lot of the initial pain, but I sure felt it when I eventually made it back to a field hospital.
“I spent four months recovering in the hospital. When I returned to the unit, they promoted me to staff sergeant and placed me in charge of Second Squad. I’m telling you all this because I want you guys to be prepared for tomorrow. The captain said our company is moving up for a big offensive that’s going to start tomorrow. That means a lot of fighting is going to happen. As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Fallon said I’m to promote one of you guys to corporal to take over for Corporal Ball. Apparently, he had appendicitis, so he’s having his appendix removed. He won’t be returning back to the platoon for at least a month.”
Sanchez pulled a set of corporal chevrons out of his pocket and stood. He handed them over to Private Webster, saying, “Shane, for a newbie private, you seem to have your head screwed on right, and the guys in the squad seem to like and respect you. I’m promoting you to corporal. You’re going to be in charge of our heavy machine-gun crew. Congrats.”
The rest of the squad congratulated him — everyone except Nathan, who obviously felt he should have been promoted. Sure, a specialist and corporal shared the same paygrade, but a corporal was a junior NCO, and therefore carried command authority, similar to a sergeant.
Two hours later, the platoon stood in a loose formation with the rest of the company as they waited for their CO to come out and give them a short brief before they would be dismissed for the night. The next day would be busy.
Captain Joel Garcia walked up to his first sergeant, saluted him and called the company to at ease. “Listen up, everyone!” he shouted. “The 2-14 infantry is moving to the front lines tomorrow. The entire division is gearing up to assault that mountain.” He gestured toward the fortress that was still getting pounded by air and artillery.
“Beyond that fortress, gentlemen, is a clear shot to Beijing. We punch our way through it and our tanks will lead the rest of the way. We’re going to form up at 0400 hours, when we’ll road march our way to the front. It’s approximately eight kilometers to our new base camp. Once there, we’ll find out when they’re going to order us up the mountain. As of right now, our forces have secured the lower portion of the mountain. It’s going to be our division’s turn to finish rolling the enemy up and finally break through this mountain fortress.
“I’m not going to lie to you all and say this’ll be an easy fight. It won’t. A lot of you guys are probably going to get injured or killed. But know this: once we capture this fortress, we’re one step closer to defeating the PLA and ending this war. I want everyone to do their best and take care of each other. You see the enemy, you kill him…I’m going to turn you back over to Top now.”
He called the company to attention and then turned them over to the first sergeant, who issued a few other orders before he dismissed them for the evening to get some sleep.
Boom! Boom! Bam!
Ratatat, ratatat, zip, zip, zap…
“Take that bunker out!” Sergeant Sanchez shouted over the roar of explosions and machine-gun fire.