Turning to look directly into Wade’s eyes a few inches from his face, he started. “Look, spook, I’ve had two tours in ’Nam. On my last tour my platoon got wasted on a mission that a spook determined was necessary. His so-called intelligence was crap. He didn’t have a clue where the enemy was or that my guys were walking into a trap. It got them all killed because bullshit intelligence guys don’t know what the hell is going on in real combat.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your friends.”
Lockhart continued his rant. “We’re out in a real war getting our asses shot off, and you guys sit behind desks pretending you know what’s happening in the field. Most of the time your so-called “intelligence” isn’t worth a damn.”
Wade thought better than to continue the conversation, which was becoming louder as Lockhart’s elevated animosity drew the attention of a growing audience. Surrounded in a tight circle of fatigues, Wade excused himself, gently pushing his way out of the circle back to where Yari was standing.
“What was that all about? Is he blaming us for what happened in Vietnam?”
“This is going to be an interesting training session. I don’t think this Lockhart guy is going away.”
Two army transport trucks arrived to take everyone to the barracks area. Wade and Yari were dropped off at one of several four-man housing facilities arranged in a large quadrangle.
They were the first to arrive at LQ-8. Lying on each bed was an envelope containing instructions on where to assemble, times to meet, where to eat, and a general map of the Fort Benning facilities, along with a set of camouflage fatigues in each man’s approximate size.
It was obvious to Wade that Yari was the shy, studious type, perhaps skilled in computer programming, research, or encryption, but without much combat or surveillance experience or interest. Wade had the sinking feeling he might end up on the same team with Yari, and had to find out more about his new-found friend.
The next scheduled activity was an orientation session beginning in an hour. The location was close to the barracks area. The lecture took longer than scheduled because they had to wait for another truckload of trainees to arrive from a delayed flight. After the orientation, Wade and Yari walked back to their barrack.
It was 5:30 p.m. local time, and Wade asked Yari if he wanted to go to the mess hall before it got too crowded. Yari replied, “Sure.” They took their map and navigated down the path from the barracks to the mess hall. Yari kept turning the map in different directions, seemingly disoriented about the direction of the mess hall. Wade thought to himself, This is not a good sign for a navigation-sniper class.
The mess hall was a newer facility, well-appointed on the inside. Wade was anxious to see if there was a real difference in food between this facility and other military bases where he had trained.
The food offering was impressive by military standards. Attractive food layouts included several appetizers, a selection of three main courses, dessert, and fruit. Both men commented that the Army might have gotten an unfairly bad rap for their food service if this was any indication of what food was like on this Army base.
Yari was not much of a conversationalist. His shyness kept him from answering questions with anything more than a minimal response. In fact, talking to Yari was like pulling teeth. Answers to Wade’s questions hung in the air without the offer of new information, comment, or opinions on anything.
Wade thought about topics that might loosen him up. Perhaps he could find something out about his new roommate.
“Did you say you grew up in Indiana?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard Indiana is beautiful, but it gets real cold.”
“The winters can be brutal.”
“Did you live in the city or the country?”
“In the country, about fifty miles outside of Indianapolis.”
“Which branch of Intelligence do you work for?”
“NSA.”
“What do you do there?”
After some silence: “I’m a computer programmer and analyst.”
“Why did you select this particular training class?”
Yari had a puzzled look on his face. “I’m not really sure why I’m here. They assigned me this class as part of a new NSA field-training requirement.”
Yari’s confusion soon also reflected on Wade’s face. Most intelligence analysts Wade knew didn’t set foot in the field. He wasn’t sure why the NSA would suddenly ask an analyst to take field training courses. The only thought Wade had was, Perhaps the NSA is gearing up for some new type of field operations.
The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. They were both confused about Yari’s training directive, and continued speculating on why he was there. Nothing made sense. Maybe someone had checked the wrong box. Yari repeated several times that he just wanted to work behind a computer screen. He seemed inordinately tentative and uneasy about the topic throughout the dinner hour.
Wade wondered how his new friend’s computer background would transfer to a military sniper exercise in the field.
“Have you had much weapons training?”
“No. I don’t really like guns. My father took me out shooting with a .22 when I was about ten years old. I remember the snow in the woods behind our house in Indiana. We shot a few times. I remember it was just too cold. I shot at targets, but didn’t hit a thing.”
Wade shared a few stories about his childhood in the swamp. Yari was stunned that Wade had grown up in the swamps and had already served in undercover operations in addition to active duty on a submarine.
They finished the meal in relative quiet and were ready to leave when Lockhart suddenly approached their table. He had in tow several of his Special Forces buddies.
“Glad to see you guys are leaving because we like this table, and we don’t eat with spooks.”
His comment was followed by loud, unnatural laughter. Wade was about to suggest that Lockhart join them at the table, but saw that Yari was very uncomfortable. He decided to initiate their departure from the table. As they left, Lockhart made a parting comment.
“Can you believe these guys? I can’t wait to get these guys in the field. It’s easy to get hurt out there if you don’t know what you’re doing. You guys should really consider dropping this class.”
Returning to the barracks, Wade tried to engage Yari in more conversation, but could only get a bare minimum response. Yari wasn’t going to suddenly become sociable. It was clear he had been affected by the Lockhart confrontation.
Training on the first day started at the sniper firing range, which was separated into two different sections with short and long-range targets. The class instructor divided individuals into two-person teams consisting of a sniper and a spotter. When assigning teams, the instructor’s finger quickly paired off Wade and Yari.
The spotter did the calculation for wind, distance, elevation, impact point, and sightings after impact. Wade was comfortable in the sniper setting. It was his third military sniper training class, and he’d also had years of experience hunting in the swamps. He understood the technical features of the M-21 sniper rifle and how its 147 grain bullet behaved during its 2,733 feet per second flight.
There was always more for Wade to learn, however, especially how ballistics changed over very long distances and varying weather conditions. Wade also knew from his swamp experience how terrain and shadows played tricks on a sniper’s eye.
Shadows and diffused light in the swamp made targets appear farther or closer, depending on the sun’s angle and time of day you were shooting. Swamp people had spirit names for the mystical aberrations created by light in the swamp. Wade’s natural comfort with the rifle combined with excellent eyesight made the range a familiar place. Unfortunately, the same was not true for Yari. His shyness about the weapon and target protocol were obvious to Wade from the start. Yari wasn’t blessed with good eyesight and clearly didn’t feel comfortable with an M-21 rifle in his hands. He also knew nothing about ballistics.