Emerging on the interior, Dixon bumped into someone blocking the door. Whoever it was didn't move. Instead a voice asked, in a rather put-out manner, what he wanted. Dixon simply said, "I'm coming in," and pushed. Free of the flaps and blockage, Dixon stood upright in the TOC and was momentarily blinded by the bright lights: all he could make out was wall-to-wall people. Sensing that no one noticed him, Dixon called out, "Who's in charge here?"
From somewhere on the other side of the TOC, a voice responded above the babble of conversation. "Who wants to know?"
Something inside Dixon, probably his self-restraint, snapped. In as deep a voice as he could muster, Dixon responded, "Lieutenant Colonel Scott A. Dixon, commander of Task Force 3–5 Armor, that's who."
Silence descended upon the TOC as if someone had flipped a switch. All heads turned to the entrance as everyone tried to get a look at the new commander. Dixon returned the stare. The first man to move was a major, who plowed through the crowd to Dixon. Reaching him, he stuck his right hand out to shake Dixon's as he introduced himself. "Sir, I'm Larry Pettit, task force S-3."
Dixon raised his right hand to his forehead, saluting Pettit and catching him by surprise. As Pettit pulled his hand back and raised it to return the salute, the smile that had been on his face disappeared. "Sir, I apologize for not meeting you. I'm in charge here."
Dixon was about to ask where the task force's executive officer was when a soldier attempting to get into the TOC through the entrance flaps rammed his helmet into Dixon's back. Yelling through the flaps, the intruder warned everyone that Headquarters 6 was back and the new old man was in the area. Stepping aside, Dixon opened the third flap to allow the soldier in. When the intruder, a young sergeant E-5, came face to face with Dixon, Dixon looked him in the eyes. "Don't worry, son. They already know."
For several minutes there was a scramble as people who didn't need to be at the initial briefing left the TOC. The operations sergeant — a tall, blond, heavy-set sergeant first class — grabbed Dixon and took him to a seat, shoving a cup of coffee in his hand as he did so. The S-3, in the meantime, got all the primary staff officers, company commanders, and combat service support unit leaders seated. Dixon overheard Pettit tell the soldier manning the radios in the command post carrier to contact the XO and have him report to the TOC ASAP.
As everyone settled, Dixon, seated three feet from the task force map, began to study the graphics that represented the task force's plan for the upcoming operation. Sipping his coffee, he tried hard to make sense of the lines and circles drawn on the plastic overlay that covered the map. He did not like what he saw. The map of the area was attached cockeyed to a sheet of unpainted plywood. The plastic overlay was taped to the plywood map board with many short, torn-off strips of tape. There was no other information, friendly or enemy, posted on the map board. Even the plan itself bothered him. Try as hard as he could, Dixon could not see how the task force plan coincided with the brigade plan. Even worse, all the map sheets needed to show the operation were not put together and posted. The result was a series of lines (representing unit boundaries) and circles (representing objectives) sitting over blank plywood where the map had run out but the brigade plan hadn't.
Still, Dixon held his tongue. Perhaps, he thought, these people really do have their stuff together. Perhaps they have a good plan and just haven't been able to put together all the graphics and supporting data yet. Sitting back, Dixon cleared his mind and allowed the staff, orchestrated by the S-3, to brief their new commander. As they did so, Dixon's theory about them having a better plan than their map showed soon collapsed. Officer after officer stood up, mumbled, hemmed and hawed, danced this way and that before the map, then sat down without adding to Dixon's knowledge. Even when Dixon took into account that they were nervous, briefing their new commander for the first time, and preparing to go into combat, there was still no plan — at least not one that would support what the brigade commander intended to do. If there ever had been a plan, it died with the former task-force commander.
Just when Dixon had reached the conclusion that he had seen enough, the TOC entrance flaps flew open, allowing Major Jerry Grissins to enter. Without pausing, Grissins approached Dixon and reported, apologizing for not being there for Dixon's arrivaclass="underline" he had been, he explained, in the throes of securing two new engines and a transmission for three nonoperational tanks. Dixon nodded, telling Grissins that his arrival was timely, that he was about to end the briefings and issue some new guidance.
Dixon remained standing while he allowed the XO and the commanders and staff of the task force to settle. Once he had their undivided attention, he started. "First off, I want each and every one of you here to understand one thing. We are about to go to war. There is no 'maybe,' no 'possibly.' In less than thirty-two hours, this task force, and the rest of the 16th Armored Division, is going to cross the line of departure. When we do so, our sole task will be to close with and destroy the enemy by use of fire, maneuver, and shock effect." Dixon paused. Looking at them, he could tell that he had their undivided attention.
"You have all heard those words before. That happens to be the mission statement for the armored force. But I have no doubt that few of you have given serious thought to what that means. I'm going to tell you, right now. As a unit, we are going to leave here and attack. Right now, where that is doesn't matter. Even 2nd Corps doesn't know where we'll eventually smash into the enemy. But it will happen. Forget about rumors that there is a negotiated settlement in the offing. Forget about being held in reserve. Forget about making a policy statement with a simple show of force. In fact, forget about going home, 'cause you ain't!"
Easing back a bit and moderating his tone, Dixon let his last statement sit for a second before he continued. "I have been told that most of the men in this task force are not veterans. Well, in forty-eight hours, we will either all be veterans, or we will be dead. Do you know what will make the difference?" Dixon waited, then answered his own question. "We will, gentlemen — you and me. The commanders, the staff, and the noncommissioned officers of this task force are going to be the deciding factor in who wins and who loses, who lives and who dies.
"It's too damned late for us to retrain everyone in their job. Right now, either the tank and Bradley crews of this task force can put steel on target, or they can't. What we can do, the officers and NCOs, is give them a plan that's worth a shit — come up with the best possible scheme of maneuver that will allow them to place their weapons systems where they can do the most damage and then execute it.
"Company commanders, prepare to copy a new warning order." Pausing, Dixon folded his arms across his chest while he waited. When all four line company commanders were ready and looking at him, he issued his first order to the task force. "I want you to go back to your units and get some sleep. The staff and I are going to develop a new operations order tonight. That order will be ready and briefed at 0600 hours tomorrow morning here. At 1100 hours, we're going to have a full brief back from each of you as well as the engineer company commander, scout platoon leader, mortar platoon leader, and air defense platoon leader. That will be followed by a mounted rehearsal at 1400 hours. Some time between those, you're to conduct precombat inspections. Commanders, you're to coordinate those inspections with the S-3 so that I can be there when you do them. Use your time wisely, and do not forget a sleep plan for your men, your leaders, and especially yourself. Once we go into the attack, we are going to be moving fast, and we ain't stopping till we hit the Libyan border."