The platoon's answering roar reassures me, and I nod. “Good. Squad leaders, fifteen minutes with your squads to break it down before we do the walk and talk. Range goes hot at ten thirty.”
Training starts, and I'm encouraged by the work the squad leaders do. I've got good ones, and any officer worth their rank will tell you, good NCOs make your job a million times easier. As wars become more and more decentralized and the individual soldier has become deadlier, decision making has been pushed down the rank ladder, with more stress on the lower ranks. As a platoon leader, I'm responsible for as much firepower and battlefield space as a World War II company, and more than what a regiment would do in the Civil War. And while my higher ups might try and control the battle, facts are that a lot of life and death decisions are now falling on the shoulders of Lieutenants who are barely old enough to legally drink. Thank God I've got good NCOs.
The range is made up of three 'buildings' with two 'streets' in between. It's pretty good, maybe not as good as the FBI’s famous 'Hogan's Alley,' but it's a good system. We go through in fire teams, with me working together with Fire Team Alpha from first squad leading the way. We do well, and we get through building one in less than standard time with no 'casualties' or missed targets. Pausing in the assembly area for the next part of the exercise, we wait for each fire team to go through, eight groups in all.
We go step by step through each of the five zones before taking a break for lunch, MREs for those who forgot to pack a lunch, although I just munch on a protein bar. After the wonderful weekend, I kind of indulged a little yesterday, and I don't want to let it get out of hand and put on weight. Chubby isn't good for Lieutenants, or for boyfriends.
I'm thinking of Lindsey when suddenly, there's a yell from near the toilets, and I rush over to find Corporal Nadar, the fire team leader for Bravo Team, holding his ankle. “Fuck!”
“What happened?” I ask, kneeling down next to Nadar while a bunch of the other troops come running. “Where are you hurt?”
“Slipped on some mud, sir,” he says, groaning and holding his leg. “My ankle . . . I heard something crack.”
“Okay, just relax,” I say, looking around. “Sergeant Pillman!”
“Sir!” He calls back, stepping forward. He kneels down, looking at Nadar. “What's up?”
“Nadar slipped, says he heard a crack,” I tell him, putting my hand on Nadar's shoulder to keep him on the ground. “Call in to the hospital, and take my Hummer. Evac him to get X-rays. I'll notify the CO and take over the range. Keep me in the loop.”
Nadar's injury puts a damper on the good mood everyone has going into the afternoon's training, which has four teams going through in staggered starts while the other three teams act as range safeties. With me stepping out of Alpha Team of 1st Squad and Bravo Team, 3rd Squad losing their leader, we adjust, condensing down to seven teams.
“Okay everyone, remember, this is what happens in real life too,” I remind everyone as the team leaders work their people into new positions. “Stay sharp, and go by the numbers. There's no pausing this time—you go from station to station as your range safeties say so. Squad leaders, keep your teams safe, and we'll have a good afternoon.”
With the quicker pace and redistributed teams, things are rough the first run through, with the platoon suffering six more 'casualties' from missing angles or slow reaction times that miss the targets set for the exercise. I check my watch. It's only three o'clock, and I decide to run it again. We'll go past five o'clock, but that has to happen sometimes. “All right, one more time. Keep your heads on a swivel and do your jobs. We're not accepting fifteen percent dead!”
Thankfully, the second run through goes much smoother, and only three of the teams suffer 'casualties,' which isn't too bad. We run an evac drill for each team and start to head back to the company area. While I'm riding, I feel my phone buzz, and I pull it out, seeing that it's a text message from Lindsey. Whatever it is, it can wait a little bit, and I shift it aside to call Pillman. “What's the deal, Sarge?”
“We're waiting on a second eval of the X-rays, sir, but the tech thinks that Nadal might have just sprained the hell out of it. He'll be on profile a while either way, but I think he's looking forward to goldbricking it for a while.”
I laugh, relieved. “Okay, that's not too bad. Let me fill in the CO. We're headed back now.”
I take a moment to read Lindsey's text since we've got a few minutes left before reaching the motor pool, and as I read the words, I can't help it. I'm excited. I can barely contain my desire to call her back, but I feel like I need to be sitting down for this, and I don't want to have to rush things.
Walking from the motor pool back to the company area where my car is parked, I can't wait any longer, and I dial up Lindsey. “Hello?”