Shoup Airlines

Redemption

My radio crackles to life.

“Red 2 (me)! Get 2nd Squad on their feet. Lock and load. We’re going out tonight.”

Being the smartass I am, I can’t resist…

“Drill Sergeant, I’m flattered, but I’m pretty sure most of 2nd doesn’t swing that way. Plus this out in the field stuff has really played havoc with my hair.”

You ever been told to do push-ups over the radio? Yeah, that was a new one for me as well. Anyway, long story longer, 2nd squad was going out to create a little chaos on Bravo Co.’s 4th Platoon. Black Ops style!

Or at least whatever can be considered Black Ops on a full moon night. We snuck up on their 6 o’clock position and spread out the fire line. The mission was basically to test their perimeter for weaknesses and blind spots. Right, with blanks, we’re going to test their defenses. Uh huh.

So we sneak on over, caring less about the blanks because, come on, this is the kind of stuff we’ve been waiting to do since Day 0. Less than 20 meters from their perimeter we take up positions with nary a sound. As the uber bright full moon peaks out from a set of clouds, I crouch closer to the base of the tree, hugging its shadow. In that minute of peace I find it ironic (and no, not the Alamis Morrisette definition of irony) that Nature bears her beauty in the form of little white flowers gleaming in the moon light as the whistle from the simulated artillery shell slices through the warm evening air.

One magazine later, we’re breaking contact and regrouping. Mission accomplished as we hear Bravo’s Drill Sergeants ripping into their soldiers. It’s good to be OpFor.

Checkpoint Charlie

We spent the entire day running through checkpoint procedures. I spent the entire day sitting in a bush watching a wasp build its nest. Man, this Victory Forge stuff is hard!

I was assigned to QRF (Quick Response Force), small groups hidden around the checkpoint called into action when the fecal matter hits the turbine blades. Problem was, all day long, IEDs and assorted OpFor would kill everyone before they could call for QRF. Well at least the rear QRF (me). It got so bad at one point I had to strike one guy with the buttstock of my rifle three times in the head before he woke up.

One day down, five to go. I feel my brain oozing out my ears.

Victory Forge

One final test. The ultimate exam to measure our skills. A culmination of all things learned in the last eight weeks. How does an organization, one that has been around since 1776, quantify such an unmeasurable amount? By making us hurry up and wait…and wait…and then wait some more. Actually it’s a six day, seven night adventure into the sticks to see who can smell the worst and still accomplish all tasks assigned. Should be fun!

A motor move to wherever we motor moved, because let’s be honest, I have no idea where half this crap is and Ft. Jackson is frellin’ huge! Once off the bus, we heave the rucks and lock and load. Oh yeah, it’s 7:30 at night with a six mile march in front of us. Then, unexplicably, we wait for not a single reason I can identify.

Forty five minutes later we finally step into the dark of night which really isn’t all that dark because of the full moon. Normally we march as a company but tonight is by platoon so we know the games (OpFor) are starting early. Second platoon, up in front of us a good half mile, gets unloaded on by the OpFor. Word is passed down that they didn’t fair too well. Coming up on the scene of attack, nothing is left but the smell of gun poweder. Sadly, no attacks for First. We reach the site, set up the hooches and bed down for the night.