We left the mostly green-carcass-covered island in the middle of the river at early evening nautical twilight. The scouts’ leader, Sergeant Hardt, told me that was the perfect time for a “stalk and walk” because it’s the time when it’s most difficult to see and it still plays with night vision a bit.
The Rangers spent the day collecting and organizing as many of the salvageable supplies as could be found among the ruins of the C-17, then getting the wounded ready for transport, some rest, and gear prep for the night march. We were “going ranging,” as I would learn later in the op order briefing. It would be close to twenty-four hours on the move, deep inside enemy territory, with no rest.
Everything not needed for an immediate fight was going in our rucks. If I had thought I knew how to get my gear quiet and ready, my last two hours on the island found me inadequate in this area. Sergeant Thor fixed my major malfunctions and had me doing burpees in full rattle once he’d rigged it, just to show me how quiet you could get and still do active stuff like creep around and knife people in the back. The cheat is you used a lot of hundred mile an hour tape and made sure the carrier fit snug, but not too tight. You also shed a lot of useless gear that looked cool and did nothing.
We’d move quick and silent, using the Rules of Ranging as they applied to movement with respect to recon. We were focusing on speed of movement. We needed to get to the objective as fast as possible, but at the same time it was important, due to the condition of our fighting force and current state of ammunition, that we move no closer to the enemy than we had to. Normally we’d have scouts in front, behind, and on the flanks. “The clock,” as it was called. But there weren’t enough scouts tonight. One scout team far forward was all we had.
The most crucial component for the entire force was stealth. That meant camo, noise, and light discipline was total, or as total as could be attained. The NCOs advised us not to use any more Vicks VapoRub to relieve the dead body smell and to instead rub grass and leaves in our noses to get that smell of death out of our olfactory senses once we crossed over the river. Hopefully we’d still be able to smell the enemy, as they tended to stink real bad.
Conversely, we needed to cover our own smell—which meant rolling in leaves and getting as woodsy as possible. Our issue Crye assault uniforms, covered in blood and gore, were discarded. The enemy seemed to have a pretty good sense of smell, so no chances were taken. It occurred to me that I needed to get with Jabba on this and see what he was capable of, sense-wise.
I’d spent most of the day getting better at speaking with Last of Autumn and developing a sand table map for the route to our three en route rally points and final destination, a place she called “Hidden Cave.” In the afternoon, the captain, the sergeant major, and the platoon leaders and platoon sergeants came down to the riverside for the op order. Last of Autumn and I walked them through the route she had given me and gave the markings we would land-nav by. Then we stepped back and the captain broke down how we were going to do this.
Movement would be conducted by patrol in single file. Teams would assemble into ten-man squads moving within sight of each other. Spacing would be twenty meters between teams and fifty between platoons. Line of sight could be broken as long as comm was maintained. Communication between all elements during the move would be key.
Everyone except the scouts, who would be three hundred meters forward, and the rear security team, the same to the rear, would be carrying overstuffed rucks and extra gear. Everything we could possibly take. Antibiotics and clamshells stuffed with all essential medical gear. More ammo. Explosives. Everything. The teams were pack mules, and engagement was to be avoided at all costs in favor of movement as fast, and as stealthily, as possible. Things were not to pop off. Avoid contact with the enemy at all times. If things went sideways, we’d find ourselves in a fight we might not be able to disengage from.
There would be three en route rally points to reach our final objective, and the captain and the sergeant major would be leapfrogging each other to reach those points with security teams ahead of the main body to ensure the rallies were safe and in locations that were off the beaten track and secure. Night vision was mostly dead. Battery power was reaching critical shortage levels. The radios were still operational, but communication via visual marking signals left by the lead elements was incorporated into the PACE plan. Primary, Alternate, Contingency, and Emergency. We would use the
radios until they stopped working, then would switch to visual hand and arm signals, and after that it would be visual markings on the ground or in the trees. Finally, if nothing else, the sound of weapons fire would let everyone know that our mission for the movement had failed, and that contact with the enemy had been made. That was when the worst-case scenario went into effect. The element in contact was to stay in contact and hopefully allow all other teams to bypass the enemy and escape en route to the final objective. If they survived, they could E&E on their own, but they were to make sure that the entire element did not get decisively engaged. Someone had to make it.
The captain would be supervising the disengagement and withdrawal from the island as the command sergeant major led the main force to the first rally point at the top of a high pass through the hills to our north. If the enemy located and pursued us away from the island, the captain, who had what remained of the high ex, and a fire team acting as rear security, would attempt to buy the rest of us time to get upslope to the pass and disappear to the other side.
But, and Captain Knife Hand was clear about this, “This is a withdrawal. We are going to fade and avoid engagement. We’re going ghost.”
Next the sergeant major took over and established the signal and communication for the route and organized the order of march. I was surprised to find out I would be with the scouts for the sole purpose of assisting in communication with the elf, who would be showing us the route and acting as our indigenous guide.
We were already up the first hill leading toward the ridgeline we’d cross that night when I looked back in the last light of the end of the day and saw the rising black smoke of the funeral pyre the Rangers had made for their dead before finally withdrawing from the island they’d fought so hard for. That had been the last item in the op order. The Viking Farewell. The fallen had served the 75th Ranger Regiment and fought well. Now they were going out on their shields. They would not be forgotten, and their names are written down in my journal under a phrase from the Ranger Creed I learned during my short time in RASP: “I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy.” That had to be adhered to, or else the sergeant major risked these Rangers starting to fall apart. The creed
was all we had now, especially with the dwindling supplies of ammunition, demo, chewing tobacco, and, oh yeah, coffee. Something had to hold this force together, and that’s exactly what the Ranger C is for. Exactly why it’s recited as a mantra during any and all events and situations where it’s appropriate—and it’s always appropriate, for one reason or another. So much so that a lot of the Rangers had portions of it tattooed on their bodies, scribbled into the margins of their Bibles, or etched into pieces of their equipment. The command sergeant major, as he started the fire and intoned those words in his West Texas gravel, was using it right for exactly the purpose it was intended for.
They would not be forgotten.
I watched the thin column of smoke and saw the rear security team cross the river in the last light of the warm day. Spring was here. And summer would soon come.
I wondered if we would be here to see it.
