I wasn't ready

I wasn’t ready. Five years of training and exercises. Six months in country. Body Armor, Kevlar, rifle, pistol, canteen, first aid kit, and my bayonet. Sun in my face. Three men with me against a clay wall; same uniform, same nervous breath pattern. Across the street a family is looking out the window at the soldiers stacked against the wall of the house. The kids are curious, the parents are worried. At least we know that their house is clear. We just came from there.

I just wasn’t ready. Four men stacked beside a closed door, in a town where no one in the team knows the name. Support is close, down the street, but that won’t matter once the door is kicked in. This isn’t the first house we have searched in the six months since crossing the border… but it is the first door that has needed a solid kick rather than a solid knock. Numbers two and three are calm, leaning forward, aggressive; good, what I need from them. I think the first man is excited, fidgety. Figures, since he only joined us two weeks ago. Still stiffens and salutes when I’m around… gotta get him to stop doing that before it gets me shot.

I miss my tank. My tank was a known… the animal, the rage. Not a damn thing could bother me in that monster…in Berserk. AK-47s barely scratch the paint, and the RPGs would only cause a small dent, if they connected at all. Frankly, these guys needed more time on a firing range, if they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with an RPG at 100 meters. And since that was the only shot they would get before 7.62mm or .50 caliber was flying back at them; they should have been ready to make it a good one.

Now I am out of my tank; out of my element. I remember that not all of them are dumb, `specially after what happened last week. We have trained for this, if you call four hours of training cobbled together over the course of the last week between six hour missions, vehicle maintenance, guard rotations, chow, and 2 hour naps.

Sleep… probably should have gotten more of it before we left for this. The mission last night was routine, including the arrival time of midnight back at base. Get the tank fueled and back online, 0100. Get the men to bed for 2 hours sleep, meanwhile I go to make my report, 0200. Check with the Company headquarters for changes with this Charlie Foxtrot of a mission. Tankers clearing houses and walking streets. So much for “death before dismount.” 0300, wake up the guys for inspection. 0400 load onto the back of the damn trucks. 0430 out the gate again. I miss my tank.

I check my watch, almost 1430. I have been awake for somewhere between 24 and 36 hours. Can’t remember last time I saw sleep let alone my cot. Yet I find myself fourth man in line to go through a door. Just waiting on the radio call. Vehicles need to be ready if something bad happens. Already lost a company commander in the last week, we’ve seen bad. Losing a man now would be worse. We trained for this, if you call it training.
Losing a man. First and second man in are the most likely casualties. “Dear Mr and Mrs Henderson/Pie: it is my sad duty to ….” Wait! Don’t, not now! Write the letters after it happens, not before… hard enough job ahead of you with out thinking about casualties.

Review time: Fourth man in, head to the right and stop. Check the other side of the door, make sure nothing behind me. Fourth man, not because I need to prove anything to myself. Because I won’t ask these guys to do anything that I wouldn’t do myself. I would be first man if I could… but it wouldn’t be right.

1430, I’m bouncing on my toes. Now who’s fidgety and nervous? Tell myself to stop, bad example, can’t stop. Man when is the call coming? We need to move… too many people know where we are; what we plan. Not good! Call! CALL! CALL!

Static, a voice over the radio… third man is hauling the radio, mike seems to be permanently glued to his ear. First time he’s done this, but he’s better at this than the guys that I have seen use this equipment daily. He looks back over his shoulder and nods. Deep breath… Four fingers and a thumb point forward and I pat him on the back. He pats the next man, who pats man number one.

One reaches down and grabs a picket pounder, hauls it back and lets it fly forward. Time slows as the door crashes open. First man in, second, third, me. No bullets.

Room clear. Kitchen, nothing immediately visible but some pots and bags of rice on a wood pallet above the packed earth floor. Gonna have to check those after the house is clear. Next room, and God knows how many more rooms left. Move to next door, stack up…. Worse this time… they know we are in the house. I have 3 grenades, don’t want to waste them. Don’t know how many other houses we’ll have to do like this. Might need `em. Goddamn town… searching every house. Okay… stacked and ready. Deep breath. Pat the back.

Burst into the next room; living room. No bullets. Sofa, chest, chair, table, rug, sleeping mats against a wall; all old and worn. TV stand. Stairs to the second floor. I hate stairs…advantage to the guy at the top of them. Grenade? … no, can’t waste them.

Eyes up, weapon up… two men walking forward. Three and me walking backward to cover the landing… bad, bad, bad. Top of the landing, no bullets…Deep breath.

Junk all over the landing. Need to search it but house still not clear… only one door, looks like it goes out onto the roof. Stack again. Pat…door opens, we rush weapons at the ready…

No bullets, house is empty. Nobody home. Deep Breath, but can’t relax. Roof is blank, back inside. Call my boss, let him know the house is empty. Leave two guys to sort through the pile of junk at the head of the stairs. Call in a metal detector for the bags of rice. Search the chests in the living room, sofa, sleeping mats. The living room is clear. Kitchen takes even less time.

We step outside, and I pull out my laminated satellite image and an alcohol pen. X the open plot of land on my image where the house actually is. Image is 3 years old, no wonder it’s missing some things. Should have more up to date information if they want us to search a whole town. “Call up house 153a is clear.”

“Roger sir.”

We’ve been at this since 0430, the map is half full of X marks, Started at number 103 and will continue until we hit 205. Who knows how many more we will have to do this way. Maybe I will sleep tonight, after the platoon is down for the night. The rest of my platoon moves up to join us. Next house, with the door already open, an old lady in the door and children in the yard. Looks easy, simple. Probably isn’t.

I am a tank platoon leader. I wasn’t ready for this. But I’ve got the orders and Blade Platoon does its job. 54 more houses according to the image. I hope it’s right, know it isn’t. 54 more houses, and then I can sleep… until the next mission… tonight.