All the vehicles had "Block Five" Blue Force Trackers. That is, they would continuously tell me and Fillup where they were and more or less what their status was. There was an automated ammo counter we'd long before learned to distrust.
With all the vehicles, most of the team was driving Strykers at first. Or commanding them or gunning. I figured that would "consolidate" over time. And the Nepos were cross-training on Stryker driving.
I wasn't planning on stopping for much if I could avoid it. I figured that RIFs along the way, if they heard we were coming through, were likely to pile on just to take out an American unit. Not to mention the loot. Oh, speaking of which.
We had ten trucks, two supply, two food, three ammo and three fuel. One Nepo driver and an AD in each. AD manned the .50 caliber. In the case of the supply and food trucks we'd also mounted them up on the back with two more .50s in ring turrets and welded armor.
We did not have enough fuel to make it to the Bosporus. I was hoping for some Islamic charity along the way.
The basic plan was to stay off road as much as possible. The Strykers would stay in a ring around the trucks. Scouts out.
The Scouts were most of Third Platoon. Why Third? I drew it out of a hat. They loved the fuck out of it. Third Herd usually has a touch more esprit than the other two platoons in any company. Why? Well, they're the only one with a cool name, I guess.
They each carried a crew of three and two "dismounts." The dismounts carried rifles and there were some Javs in the vehicle in case it got real busy. Javs were good against not only tanks but anything else that was big as previously proven.
Spare weapons for when one got totally fucked up, spare batteries, spare clothing, parts, tools . . . I created one list that had us with eighteen trucks. Wasn't going to happen. I winnowed it down. Forgot stuff we'd really need. Went back up.
It was the best list I could create is all I can say.
So we rolled. And then we stopped. Did I say something about watercourses?
Iraq, which we entered almost at once, is part of the Fertile Crescent. If you didn't get the Fertile Crescent in school I'm not going to be explaining. See there are these two rivers that run through it, the Euphrates on the west and the Tigris on the east.
We were running along the east bank of the Tigris. The Tigris is the big river in Iraq. It's not huge by American standards, not a patch on the Mississippi, but it's pretty big.
And my God is it farmed. It's been farmed since time immemorial. This is ancient Babylon, Sumeria, Ur, cradle of civilization, blah, blah . . .
So there are, like, four hundred and twenty-nine billion damned irrigation canals running off of it. Especially to the east.
We spent the first week working our way through that fucking maze. Setting up the temporary bridge was fairly quick. Taking it back up not so quick. And when you're looking across one irrigation ditch, which is just too deep and steep for your vehicles to negotiate, at another five hundred meters to the north, well, you tend to see if there's a bridge you can use. Only problem being, most of the damned bridges were designed for farm trucks. So the answer, especially in the case of the HERCULES was: No.
Bridge. Roll. Stop. Bridge. Roll. Stop. Bridge.
It was during this period that we developed the habit, that we kept even during minor skirmishes, of "afternoon coffee."
Yeah, we had coffee. I know there are people who lived through the times that are gritting their teeth. We drew on a big fucking LOG base and I made sure we carried plenty of coffee. An Army runs on coffee. We had coffee.
Specifically we had it every afternoon at 1630. (That's 4:30PM for all you non-mil types.) And we did it right.
All the officers had somehow ended up with Nepo "orderlies." I swear to God it was never ordered. I think Samad did it. But we all had "orderlies" whether we wanted it or not.
Things had gotten pretty weird, obviously. Back in the LOG base we'd had our "temporary wives" and, well, we were stuck in the fucking Middle East with no clear route home. Things had gotten weird.
I remember the day I decided it was a good time to do "coffee." We were rolling out on the second day and I wanted to sort of "brainstorm" what some of our potential threats and weaknesses might be. How to do it? With Samad? He hadn't a real clue. He was coming along in the "anticipate and intelligently expand orders" area, but he wasn't really any sort of military expert. Surprising inputs from time to time . . .
So I decided to do an "officers' call" and "council of war." Those were the technical American Army terms for it. We did "coffee." I called for all officers to come to the commo van at 1630 to "talk shop." Told Samad he was included and suggested we might have some coffee and maybe some MRE crackers or something.
Should have known better than to get Samad involved. Remember, he was trained by the fucking Brits. And he'd participated in packing the supply truck.
So at 1600 my orderly comes into the commo van carrying a fresh uniform. We hadn't stopped. He just opens up the back and pops through, fresh ACU over his arm.
(Despite my repeated discussions of "safety" the Nepos considered the exterior of moving Strykers, at almost any speed, to be quite convenient ways to get around. I swear they were half monkey. But I digress.)
Sahib will be pleased to change before his conference?
Huh? How the fuck did you get here? Why would I change? Sure, I've had the uniform on for a couple of days but, hell, it's good for . . .
Sahib will be pleased to change before his conference.
So I changed.
1615 the orderly opens up the door to the commo van. A thing drops down.
Ever moved yourself with a U-Haul? They've got this sort of ramp thing that you extend and stuff.
Call it a gangplank in this case.
The vehicles have all slowed as if for a LOG, which wasn't scheduled.
There is now this gangplank sort of thing hanging off the back of the commo van. Fillup, in a fresh uniform, looking a little confused, walks down. It's got a railing. It's riding on the front slope of his Stryker. All he had to do was crawl out the TC hatch, grab on and walk down. Simple. Scary, bad safety, but in a way very fucking cool.
One of the Nepos who had sort of taken the position of senior sergeant is standing by the door, on the outside, holding on.
"Bravo Company . . . arriving!"
One by one, all the officers show up. In fresh uniforms. In order of seniority.
"Number Two (XO) . . . arriving." "Weapons (mortar platoon leader) . . . arriving." "Scouts . . . arriving." "Second Platoon . . . arriving." "First Platoon . . . arriving." "Auxiliary Force . . . arriving." (That would be Samad.)
From somewhere, a silver tea service has been obtained. (See, honey, I didn't grab it!) Coffee is served by the orderlies. There are little baked things. There are finger crackers. There are linen napkins and a tablecloth. (Laid over the map table. It is, by the way, a very crowded commo vehicle at this point.)
Sure, all that stuff had been in the LOG inventory. I hadn't brought it.
I think Samad had just been pining for some good old Brit pomp and circumstance.
And here it was.
But we also had a good conversation. The . . . formality of the thing caught us by surprise at first. But after we got over that, it worked out well. There was a point to the way that the Brits did some things. When "it's just you" surrounded by howling savages, remembering you're a civilized being is sometimes a good thing. Yeah, they could take it overboard but . . . Remembering you're civilized is a good thing. Take it from this borderline barbarian.