by Tom Clancy
So Franks wanted to spend as much time as possible with the soldiers, because it was the best way to read himself into this new situation. Many of the NCOs there in 2nd Squadron had seen considerable action in the past months. All he had to do was ask. Franks was able to draw out of them information about the country and terrain, the enemy, and about small-unit fighting techniques and tactics. He also had the opportunity to spend time with Captain Claude "Keyes" Hudson, who had been commanding the 2nd Squadron rear base, had recently been a cavalry troop commander, and was soon to go home. Hudson turned out to be a walking repository of lessons learned, and Franks pumped him for more information. Franks knew how to fight troops and the squadron. What he did not know were the actual tactical methods that worked here, in this terrain, against this enemy. Keyes and the NCOs gave him an introduction to Vietnam and to the Blackhorse he could not have gotten anywhere else.
That was lucky, because what Franks had gotten back in the States hadn't been any help. Before he left, he had been sent to Fort Knox for a standard "refresher course," whose aim was to bring officers up to speed for service in Vietnam. Franks couldn't believe what he found. They were teaching World War II in Central Europe, and using an old series of radios no longer in service in Vietnam. After a few days, he'd stopped going to class and sought out Vietnam veterans, especially Blackhorse veterans, for information. It was invaluable, and a far sight better.
Then he got a break. Lieutenant Colonel Jim Aarstaat wanted him to come forward to Quan Loi to become the 2nd Squadron S-3 (in charge of plans and operations) when the current squadron S-3, Major John Gilbreath, went on R and R. Though the job was officially temporary, it looked likely to become permanent. When Gilbreath returned, he would probably become the squadron XO (second in command) and Franks would remain S-3.
To Franks, this was the best job you could have as a major in the Blackhorse. In the U.S. Army, majors do not command; the closest they could get to the action was as a battalion or squadron S-3. It was the first team. To be a major S-3 in an elite outfit like the Blackhorse was a real honor, and the toughest, most challenging combat job an army major could find.
But it sure happened fast. John Gilbreath was about twenty kilometers west of Quan Loi operating out of a small firebase. Franks asked Gilbreath when he was going on R and R. He said tomorrow. They had a short transition meeting about the squadron mission and how it was conducting operations, then Gilbreath took him up on a reconnaissance flight over the area. It was fast and low, and the only place for him to ride was on the floor in the back of the OH-6 helicopter as Gilbreath pointed out the terrain, the enemy routes, and recent battle sites. And that was it. He was the S-3 of the squadron. He'd been in Vietnam for all of two weeks. Years later, Franks would remember those two weeks as he thought about how much time VII Corps needed to prepare for combat in Saudi Arabia.
Meanwhile, all this was not unfamiliar. The organization was basically the same as in Germany. The enemy was different, but it was apparent that the squadron operated just as he would expect it to. The cavalry troops, including the air cavalry troop, would find and fix the enemy. Then, while air and artillery isolated them on the battlefield, sealed off the enemy retreat, and simultaneously pounded the enemy with fires, the big fist of the tank company would maneuver against them, along with the cavalry troops. The job of the S-3—under the commander — was to orchestrate it all and bring all the weapons into the fight simultaneously.
As a young officer in a cavalry troop, you pick up an enormous amount of experience doing these things. You're involved in operations where a large number of actions are going on simultaneously, almost all of them out of your sight. You need a creative imagination. You have to know what's going on by listening to reports on the radio. You see some of it. You hear most of it. You picture it in your mind. One action in the woods. Another over by the river. Another near the town. Maybe some indirect fire behind the woods. Maybe some attack helicopters between the woods and the town. And maybe some close air support coming in along the river. Quick decisions are required, often without seeing it all except in your head. You have to figure time/distance factors. Can a unit reinforce in time? Can they beat the enemy to the punch? All of these actions are happening simultaneously, and all of them happening, much of the time, under conditions of stress and fatigue, in all kinds of weather, and with casualties. And so as a cavalry officer, you grow to be proficient at juggling half a dozen or so thoughts simultaneously in your head, picturing actions in your mind's eye, and constantly making judgments about when to act and when to remain silent and let things go on.
Because he had had so much practice at this kind of "battle orchestration" during his time in Germany with the Blackhorse, Franks had no doubt that he could do what he had to as S-3 in Vietnam. It was a matter of adapting quickly to the techniques to be used in this terrain against this enemy, and at the squadron level, instead of the smaller cavalry troop.
And he knew he better get it right from the start, because there were a lot of soldiers depending on it. They had every right to expect him to know what he was doing, and if he did not measure up, they had every right to get someone else.
When he took over as 2nd Squadron S-3, this is what Fred Franks had to deal with:
An armored cavalry squadron in Vietnam normally consisted of a headquarters, with about 200 troops; three lettered cavalry troops (2nd Squadron troops were E, F, and G), each with better than 130 men; a tank company of seventeen M48A3 tanks and about 85 troops; and a howitzer battery of six 155-mm artillery pieces, with about 125 troops. Later, the 2nd Squadron would get two eight-inch howitzers, with about forty troops, and a platoon of 40-mm antiaircraft pieces, which was an attached unit that went with the squadron. A combat engineer platoon from the regiment's 919th Engineer Company also went with them. At that time, the cavalry troops did not have tanks, but instead vehicles known as ACAVs, Armored Cavalry Assault Vehicles (M113s), which were lightly armored tracked vehicles armed with machine guns. The squadron also had a section of four helicopters to be used for command and control of squadron operations. There were two UH-1 "Hueys" and two OH-6 "Loaches." Normally, the squadron commander used the UH-1s, and the S-3 used the OH-6s. There were crews for each aircraft and they flew alternate days, while the commander and S-3 flew every day. The regiment also had an aviation troop with Cobra attack helicopters and OH-6 scout helicopters. These normally flew in support of daily squadron operations or worked independently at the regimental commander's directions. The Cobras were called "red" teams, and the scouts were "white" teams (cavalry colors are red and white). When they worked in pairs (one Cobra and one Loach), they were called "pink" teams.
The job of the S-3 was to plan the operations and run the nerve center of the squadron. Under the commander's guidance, the S-3 would devise a plan that would ensure that the elements of the squadron combat power — artillery, engineers, tanks, scouts, cavalry troops, and air — were all tied together in some coherent way to do what the commander wanted done to defeat the enemy at least cost to the squadron. At the forward command post, the commander and S-3 would work out of three M577 command post tracked vehicles. They each also had their own command tracked vehicle, M113 ACAVs.
The command post of a cavalry squadron is small and informal. It was — and is — organized like this: below the executive officer was a staff — S-1, S-2, S-3, and S-4 (S is for "staff "). The -1 handled personnel; the -2 handled intelligence; the -3 handled plans and operations; and the -4 handled logistics. Normally, the S-3 was the senior of these four and coordinated with them. The 2nd Squadron of the 11th ACR in Vietnam was set up so that the personnel and logistics elements, and the XO, normally stayed at the base camp (at Quan Loi at that time), while the operational element (S-2 and S-3) was out ranging as far as fifty kilometers from there. Lieutenant Colonel Aarstaat would choose where to be to command if a fight broke out. There was a fight nearly every day.
By August 1969, the enemy was now no longer the Viet C
ong, but North Vietnamese regulars. The Tet Offensive of 1968, which has usually been perceived as a disaster for U.S. forces, was actually a catastrophe for the Viet Cong. Tet virtually destroyed the Viet Cong as an operational force. Afterward, the North Vietnamese Army took over military operations in the south. The few Viet Cong that were left might have laid mines or involved themselves with other minor actions, but any serious engagements involving 2nd Squadron were always with the North Vietnamese. This was army in the field against army in the field, at least for the Blackhorse. The NVA were excellent light infantry and they were hard to find and fix, but they were not guerrillas.
When Fred Franks took over as S-3, the 2nd Squadron part of the regimental mission was to keep open the highway — actually, a two-lane dirt road — from An Loc to Lai Khe, a distance of about thirty kilometers. The regiment used the road for its own supply to An Loc from Long Binh, but civilian traffic also needed it. To establish that the South Vietnamese government was in control of the area, the free flow of normal civilian traffic had to be restored. By this time, the Blackhorse and the 1st Infantry Division, along with some ARVN units, had established good control over the area. The threat of mines remained, but the probability of ambushes by NVA units was low. Second Squadron's mission was to keep it that way by aggressive reconnaissance to the west of the road out to distances of twenty to thirty kilometers. There they would intercept any NVA units moving in the direction of the road.
In late August, 2nd Squadron operated out of a firebase approximately twenty kilometers from An Loc and ten kilometers west of the highway. The operational element of the main command post (the S-2 and S-3) was there, along with the tank company and artillery battery. At night, and in the location where they had been operating, the cavalry troops set up a tight laager for self-protection.
During the day, the squadron aviation could fly over the convoys and be available if a fight broke out. When convoys were not operating (there was normally one per day), the squadron was engaged in aggressive reconnaissance in troop-sized operational areas to the west of the road, where they looked for the enemy and frequently found him. The threat from ground attack at the time was so low that the cavalry troops were not involved in protecting the convoys. But artillery locations were spaced in mutually supporting positions along the road. The squadron commander or S-3 would fly over the convoy, and could deal with the enemy with fires available from the artillery along the route, or from close air support or helicopter attack aviation.
It was during this time that Franks received his baptism by fire. This is how he remembers it:
"What's that?" I asked my pilot, as there was a pop-pop sound and green tracers zinged past the OH-6 helicopter.
"We're taking fire," he said, turning the Loach quickly out of the area.
I suspected as much.
That was my first experience of being directly shot at in combat. It would not be the last. You always wonder how you will react. It got my attention. I felt the normal fear rising to take control, and I was instantly more aware. My senses were on super-alert. In an instant, though, you get on top of the fear, put it aside, and try to focus on what you know you must do. I found I could do that. That did not make me unique, but it was reassuring to pass that first test. I also did not feel as though the fire would hit us. Somehow, a sort of calm came over me, and I found I was able to think, and otherwise do my duty and hang in there. There would be many more of these on the ground and in the air. My reaction was always the same, right up until I was wounded the second time. One night in Germany, I had asked Captain Herm Winans, our squadron S-2 and a decorated Korean War veteran, "What's it like to be shot at?" He told me, "The first time is the worst, and after five seconds you are all veterans. Don't worry about it. Your training will kick in." A bit of old-soldier wisdom in a nightly chat at our border camp along the Czech-West German border. He was right.
A few days later, an ARVN infantry unit walked by mistake into an area near our firebase where our engineers had put out a field of mines and booby traps. They went off. We got them on the radio and had them freeze in place, then went to get them out via the safe lanes. I saw my first battle casualty as a leg with the boot still on it, separated from the ARVN soldier who had been killed. You never get used to seeing casualties, even though you know they are part of combat. There would be more. You feel every one.
During this period of almost three weeks, the 2nd Squadron had a number of engagements with the NVA, ranging from a single enemy rocket fired into their firebase to an NVA company-size attack against one of the cavalry troops. In the course of these operations, Franks would do all the things an S-3 of a cavalry squadron would do in combat: call in and adjust artillery fire, call in air strikes, maneuver forces on the ground, and in a battle, orchestrate all the fire and movement simultaneously over a single and tightly disciplined radio frequency. No U.S. soldiers were lost to enemy action. Although he was not yet a seasoned combat veteran, he was a changed soldier from the one of three weeks before.
In early September, Lieutenant Colonel Grail Brookshire replaced Aarstaat as squadron commander, and officially made Fred Franks the 2nd Squadron S-3 (and Gilbreath the XO). For all he had learned, however, Franks knew he had a long way to go. He also was aware that he had to execute while he grew in combat experience. He did not want his growth to be at the expense of the soldiers. Over the next nine months of combat, he would form some very definitive thoughts about how to win at least cost to his soldiers. Some were confirmations of things he'd developed from previous experience in training, education, and command. Some were a direct result of seeing what worked in combat. They were both parts of being a soldier — matters of the mind and matters of the heart. For soldiering involves much thinking and intense problem solving, but it is also an intensely passionate profession, because in command, in order to do your duty, you put in harm's way that which you have come to love so much — your soldiers (as Michael Shaara said so well in his Civil War novel, The Killer Angels).
Fred Franks knew what made units great in peacetime training. He was now to see what made a unit great in combat. And he was to learn that they were the same.
THE MIND OF A COMMANDER[4]
Many parts make up a commander — many attitudes, skills, experiences, and convictions. Some of these are fundamental and eternal — duty, honor, country, courage, integrity, loyalty, patriotism. Others are more particular and personal; they grow and develop over time. The particular constellation of attitudes, skills, experiences, and convictions that Fred Franks brought to 2nd Squadron, and which grew and developed during his months in Vietnam, later characterized his performance as a commander, up to and including his command of VII Corps in Desert Storm. You don't understand Fred Franks unless you understand these.
Let's start with the blindingly obvious. When you fight in combat, you don't fight halfway. Fighting is for keeps. When you play ball, you walk away from the game. You lose today, you play again tomorrow. But in combat the stakes are final. It can bring about the deaths of people you've worked with, are responsible for, and care about, or your own death. You don't get second chances. This means, as I've already indicated Fred Franks is fond of saying, when you win, you don't want to win close. You don't want drama. You want to win 100-0, not 24–23. In other words, there's no room for sloppiness. And there's no room for lapses in alertness. It means that when you're a soldier, you want not just a small edge over your enemy, but as large an edge as you can get. Thus, where you can, you want to work your units into situations where the difference between winning and losing, or between life and death, does not hang on acts of extreme courage — or on Medal of Honor-winning bravery. It may come to that and the mission might demand it, but you try to work it so those actions add to the edge. For a soldier, ordinary courage should be more than enough (and ordinary courage is not at all easy!). Ordinary courage means doing what you're supposed to be doing as well as you can; and it means not letting down those who depend on you. Act
s of ordinary courage sometimes require extraordinary measures… but that's another story.
What gives them the edge they need? Here are the ways, as Franks came to know them:
Soldiers
Franks was to confirm what he already knew: It all starts with the soldiers themselves. It is their training and courage, and the quality of their noncommissioned officer and officer small-unit leadership, that win.
In those early days of combat, Franks quickly saw that the real heroes of Vietnam were the soldiers who by and large had been drafted and who had come to Vietnam to do what our country had asked them to do. In the 2nd Squadron Franks found a tight-knit team who were fiercely proud of the unit and who looked out for one another. They lived out of their vehicles for months on end, fighting from them, living in them. Day after day they would go on their missions, looking for the enemy and on most days finding him. By late August 1969, they had been at it constantly for almost six months. Franks wanted to be part of that team.
He also began to see something else.
By this time, Vietnam had gotten personal for most in the ranks as well as for the thousands of next of kin of those killed in action, wounded, missing in action, or POWs. Many had already served there, some more than once. Some of Franks's West Point class of 1959 had been killed in action, one from his cadet company. In the spring of 1969, two friends of Franks were killed in action a week apart. (One of his pilots in the 2nd Squadron, it turned out, had been flying the helicopter the day one of those friends had been killed; he and Franks would talk about it.) And so when Franks went to Vietnam in the summer of 1969, he did so as a professional, but the war quickly became part of his soul.
Combat Power
There are four main ingredients of combat power: