Modern Warfare

Modern Warfare 

By

Jesse Davis

       

November 19, 2004.  Baghdad, Iraq.  Inside a briefing room somewhere at Camp Commando: 

“So you mean to tell me that all we had to do was clean the dust off the radar and we could have had 75% acquisition rate, this whole time?  You are un-freaking believable.  Over the last 6 months you’ve been telling me that the Q36 radar was old and inefficient and just wasn’t a good radar, and now I find out all we had to do was clean the thing off.” 

First Lieutenant (1LT) Brad Hatcher trembled nervously as he stared into the assistant division commander’s eyes.  “Sir, it wasn’t in the manual.  We attributed the degraded capability to high temperatures and not dirtiness.” 

“Well good.  Is there anything else you would like to tell me, air defender?  Maybe you can explain why there’s a shortage of forks in my freaking mess hall?”  Brigadier General (BG) Harrison fumed in his chair.  Brad shook his head and stumbled back to his seat. 

Harrison stared at the young lieutenant, pointing a finger at him.  “You know, its people like you that get people killed in combat.  Fowl-ups like not cleaning off your Q36 acquisition radar get people waxed, good people, when it’s the people like you that should be getting waxed.  Do I make myself clear?”

Hatcher nodded knowingly, and offered a meek smile, “Yes sir, perfectly clear.  I’ve often thought that myself.  I feel the same way.” He giggled and looked around the room in a confused daze.   

Harrison leaned over to the Chief of Staff, Colonel Wiler, and muttered, “Remind me to call that son of a bitch’s battalion commander.  People like that should not be allowed to wear the uniform of our great country in a time of war, or time of peace for that matter.  It makes me wonder what our system of government is coming to when lieutenant’s like Hatcher are analyzing our Q36 radar acquisition capabilities.  People are dying out there, damn it!”  He slammed a fist against the table, sputum flying from his mouth.  Wiler followed suit, and they both banged angrily on the table for several moments. 

Their staff officers, a half dozen captains and majors, stared in confusion. 

Harrison wiped his mouth with a sleeve and gazed at the next man to approach the front of the operations room.  “Sir, I’m 1LT Weydeck, I’ll be briefing our weekly logistics shortages and maintenance deficiencies.” 

The general paused, looking at the insignia on Weydeck's collar. “Another air defense officer, huh?  Can someone explain to me where all these ADA bastards are coming from?”

Secretary of the General Staff, Major Michael P. Miller, spoke.  “Yes sir, it has to do with the new Force XXI Army-wide rearrangement of useful and useless personnel.  The army literally could not find a single job for these two officers, as they were completely useless, so they put them on your staff.” 

“Okay, well then, that explains it.  Go ahead Weydeck, hit me up.”  Harrison leaned back comfortably in his cushioned armchair. 

“Roger sir,” Weydeck pointed to a pie chart on the flat screen television hanging on the wall.  It showed a colored graph.  “Regarding the fork situation in the chow hall; it has to do with a large number of KBR supply truck’s inability to travel down Route Irish.” 

“And why is that?”

”Route Irish is now underwater, general,” Weydeck nodded enthusiastically. 

“That is quite peculiar,” replied Harrison with disgust.

Weydeck stared at the man, like a deer stares into headlights.

“Well, I don’t care if they have to swim, but you figure out a way to overcome this fork issue, or you’ll be forked.  I am making this your personal responsibility.  You’re my fork officer.” 

“Yes general.  I have nothing further,” the lieutenant nodded to Harrison and sat down beside Hatcher.  Harrison stared at the chart for another few moments while the next man stood up to brief his portion.  The brigadier general furrowed his brows, questioned, “Another thing I find disgruntling is the latrine situation.  Why are all the urinals overflowing with piss and whose fault is it?”

There was silence in the room for several moments. Finally, Hatcher raised his hand.  ”That would be me General.  The water main was damaged along Route Irish which runs directly onto BIAP.  A mad bomber detonated nearby and it has been gushing water ever since.  We now refer to Route Irish as ‘Lake Irish.’  It’s funny.  But that is why the urinals overflow with urine, there is no water to replace the urine with.”  He chuckled. 

The general was not amused, “And just how long has it been damaged and why hasn’t it been fixed and whose fault is that?”  He looked around the room, “anyone?  Can anyone tell me?’

After a few seconds Hatcher again raised his hand, grinning, “I forgot to call the engineers…” 

Harrison stared, began to stand from his chair, his rage growing like a thunderstorm.

“…and the children love to play in the water, so I thought...you know...it could wait.”

AFTERMATH:

First Lieutenant Brad Hatcher was fined a month’s pay and given a General Officer Letter of Reprimand for being an idiot.   

First Lieutenant Jerry Weydeck was also fined, but only for associating with Hatcher and having been his college roommate.  He is appealing the punishment to the commanding general.