by Dennis Foley
The Charge of Quarters was asleep when Hollister entered the orderly room. He jerked awake at the sound of Hollister’s paratrooper boots on the plywood floor.
“Oh, ah … sir,” he stammered as he jumped to his feet, clad only in fatigue trousers, a T-shirt, and shower shoes. He tried to master a salute, the position of attention, and a sentence at the same time. “I’m ah … PFC Estlin, Captain.”
“PFC?” Hollister asked.
“Yes, sir. PFC.”
“You are the CQ runner?”
“No, sir,” the soldier said, pushing out his chest a bit more. “I’m the CQ.”
“Wait a minute. There are twenty-three NCOs on the morning report of this company, and a PFC is pulling CQ?”
“Sir, I don’t know about all that. All I know is that right now, I’m CQ. And I’m probably going to be in trouble because I don’t know who you are and I … I … might have dozed off a bit.”
“Well, I’m Captain James Hollister. I’m the new CO around here, and you now belong to me.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, sir. I’m glad to meet you—I think.”
Hollister checked his watch. “It’s now zero five ten. I’d like you to wake up every officer and NCO. Have them in the mess hall at zero seven hundred. Then go over to the mess hall and tell the mess sergeant that chow will end at zero six thirty. You got that?”
Estlin scribbled the times down and looked back at Hollister. “Yes, sir, but—”
“But what?”
“Some folks aren’t going to be too happy about this. If you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”
“I don’t mind you saying so. And I can guarantee you that it’s only the beginning of things that some folks won’t like around here.”
Hollister stood at the front of the room, where only moments before the cooks and KPs had cleared away breakfast trays, and watched the leadership of Juliet Company assemble.
They were a sorry-looking lot. Most were talking when they hit the doorway, but shut up once they saw Hollister standing there, hands on his hips and an unpleasant expression on his face.
Hollister tried not to react to what he saw. Some wore parts of uniforms, and others wore useless, skin-tight, tailored camouflage fatigues. There were some mustaches, long haircuts and sideburns, sunglasses, jewelry, peace symbols on dog-tag chains, and Afro haircuts. But mostly, he was upset with their attitude. They dragged ass getting into the mess hall, and with a few exceptions, most just plopped into chairs and slouched, showing contempt for what they were expecting—an ass chewing from a new hard-ass boss.
Hollister checked his watch. It was seven on the dot. He looked up and waited for the shuffling and throat clearing to the down, and then he began. “Gentlemen,” he said, a slight trace of sarcasm in his tone. “My name is Hollister, James A. Effective immediately, I am the new CO of Juliet Company.”
There was some mumbling and several exchanges of glances.
“That didn’t require a response,” Hollister added, trying to set the tone that from that moment on it would be all business. “I don’t recognize many faces here, but I can tell you that I’ve been in the long range patrol business since it started over here. I’ve even served a tour here in J Company. So I’m not a new guy.
“I have to tell you that I’m here for one thing. That’s to make changes around here. Most won’t be pleasant. It’ll come as no surprise to you that there are people in the chain of command who are starting to wonder if there is any useful purpose for J Company.”
The remark brought more grumbling and several frowns.
Hollister raised his hand. “If they really thought you weren’t worth keeping, why would they bother to send you a new company commander?”
A head or two nodded, but the others just listened for more.
“I know what this company is capable of, and I know it can be done. It takes hard work. I don’t care what has happened in the past, and I don’t care what kind of rep you guys used to have. Starting today—it’s a new deal.
“Those of you who are interested in serving in the best Ranger company in Vietnam, stick around and roll up your sleeves because I am going to sweat your shadows to the wall. Those who don’t want to put in that kind of training and don’t want to live up to the new standards—I will gladly accept your request for transfer when we’re finished here.”
More grumbling, but a smile or two.
Suddenly, the back door to the mess hall opened and a lieutenant entered, trying to be inconspicuous. Hollister recognized him as the one whose room the hooker had left in the BOQ. He didn’t let him take a second step. “Mister,” Hollister said—forcefully.
The lieutenant squinted to see Hollister in the dimly lit room. “Yes, sir?”
“If you can’t make it to my meetings on time, then I don’t need you here. Pack up your gear and report to the field force G-1 shop for reassignment by noon today.”
Hollister’s words cut through the lieutenant like a knife blade. “Sir? I mean, I’m only a few minutes late.”
“If you are late for this, you’ll be late making a pickup, and a team can’t afford your kind of punctuality. You are relieved, mister.”
The lieutenant stepped back out and slammed the door.
“Let me make a point right now. Everything we do in a Ranger company depends on attention to detail. One of those details is your wristwatch. You treat time casually, and it will hand you your ass. And if I catch any of you doing it—I will show you the door.”
Hollister pulled his notebook out of his pocket and flipped to a page of notes he had made the night before. “Effective immediately, there will be a PT formation every morning, which will include a run. Everyone will make it except the standby pilots, crews, the duty officer, and the duty radio operators—no other exceptions.
“Also effective immediately, we will start looking like Rangers—not palace guards and not some fucking hippies out of San Francisco. I want to see Airborne haircuts, clean uniforms, no mustaches, no jewelry, and no one in the company area in incomplete uniforms. If you expect attention to detail from the members of your platoons and teams—you have to start by setting the example, and it starts today.”
He flipped through his notes and continued. “Once we’re finished here, I want the troops to take the day to stand down and prepare for an inspection of the company area, all personnel, and all equipment on the property book. That includes every NCO and officer and their equipment and billets.”
The comment brought more muffled groans.
“Gentlemen, I can’t overemphasize that we will lead by example around here—anything else is a joke. No soldier will suffer because of sloppy leadership. And if that is too much to ask of any of you, my offer stands. I’ll sign any request for transfer that comes across my desk.”
He stopped and looked around the room, wanting to remember some of the attitudes obvious on a few faces. Some of the NCOs were accepting and were eagerly taking notes on his remarks. A few others had their arms crossed. He would remember the faces and deal with them later.
“I want to see the XO and operations officer in my office at zero nine hundred hours, the platoon leaders at eleven hundred, and the platoon sergeants at noon in the briefing room.” He then took a long pause and waited until the room was absolutely silent. “I want it to be crystal clear that I’m not playing around here, and anyone who is, is gone. Is that understood?”
CHAPTER 9
INSIDE THE ORDERLY ROOM Staff Sergeant Chastain sat hunched over a typewriter, not having much success with the keyboard.
“What’s your job here?” Hollister asked.
Chastain spun around in the chair and stood with a startled look on his face. “Ah, me, sir? I’m team leader for Team 2-3.I mean I was.” He poked his thumb in the direction of the typewriter and continued. “I was tryin’ to type up a request for transfer, like you said we could do.”
“Come into my office,” Hollister said, stepping from the open room into
the small office reserved for the commander.
Inside, he was immediately assaulted by the decor. The walls were decorated with captured VC equipment, and the window had an air conditioner in it. “Estlin,” he yelled. “You still out there?”
Private First Class Estlin scrambled into Hollister’s office. “Yes, sir?”
“What do you do when you aren’t CQ?” Hollister asked.
“I’m the gofer around here. I haven’t been assigned to a team.”
Hollister made a sour face and shook his head. “Okay, we’ll talk about that later. Right now, I want you to round up a detail and get this fucking air conditioner out of my office. I want it moved to the operations bunker. Then I want you to pull all this crap off the walls and clean this place up. This is an office, not a goddamn trophy room.”
“Yes, sir.” Estlin nodded. “Will do.”
“Now, get over to the mess hall and get Sergeant Chastain and me a pitcher of black coffee.”
He turned to Chastain. “Find a place and sit.”
Chastain cleared some of the junk—Simonson’s—off a chair and sat down.
“What’s the problem?”
“Sir?”
“You are a second tour vet from the One Seventy-Third Airborne Brigade and a young man to be a staff sergeant. You’ve been here six weeks, and you’re already bailing out?”
Chastain looked surprised that Hollister knew all that about him. Hollister set him at ease. “I do my homework.”
“Well, sir—I don’t want to whine or complain or nothing.”
“You think your application for transfer is a Hallmark card telling me how happy you are? Too tough for you?”
Chastain stiffened at the suggestion and looked Hollister directly in the eyes for the first time. “No, sir. I’m no quitter. I’d rather go somewhere where I can do my job.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Well, the first sergeant wants to bust my hump.”
“Why?”
“I’m a shake-and-bake NCO.”
“I know that. What’s the problem?”
“He’s on my butt night and day. He promised to run me out of J Company. It took him almost four years just to make E-5, and he doesn’t like me wearin’ staff sergeant chevrons right out of instant NCO school.”
Hollister got up and took the pitcher of coffee and the two mugs that Estlin brought into the office. “I think we can pour our own. Why don’t you see if you can round up the first sergeant. I was sure that there was one on the morning report the last time I looked.”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir?”
“No, sir. There isn’t a first sergeant on the morning report anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The first sergeant left the company area yesterday after Major Simonson left and said he was going to look for a new job.”
“And?” Hollister asked. “What then?”
“Well, sir, he called me about nineteen hundred last night and told me that I was CQ for the night and that he wouldn’t be back.”
“What’s the rest?”
“He said he’d found himself a good job where he didn’t have to put up with some new hotshot coming to Dodge.”
Hollister turned to Chastain. “Well, guess that solves your problem, doesn’t it?”
Chastain smiled and stammered a bit. “I guess so, I mean, sure … yes, sir.”
“Then get out there and tear up that 1049, and let’s see if we can find some work for you to do—Sergeant.”
Chastain stood and saluted. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-one, sir.”
“I was twenty when I made E-6, and the army survived me.”
Chastain broke into a broad smile.
Captain Laurence Browning was a large man—maybe two-forty. He had played football at the military academy and had a good record—on paper.
“You’ve been a platoon leader in the Cav, a company commander in the Eighty-second Airborne Brigade, and an operations officer in the First Infantry Division.
“Two tours under your belt and the career course, and now you’re back for more. You just got here ten days ago?”
“Yes, sir,” Browning said, sitting uncomfortably on the same chair Chastain had used.
“Go easy on all that sir shit. I’m here to get the work done, not remind you that I have a few months’ date of rank on you.
“Anyway, whatever went in the shitter around here, I have to assume that it was none of your doing.”
Browning relaxed and shook his head. “Shitter is right. I have to tell you that when I got orders to come here, I was thrilled. But what I found was … well, you’ve seen it. It’s damn near criminal. I’ve seen leg outfits that would put this company to shame.”
“Well, at least we are on the same wavelength.”
“Maybe so, but I have to tell you that I only have a passing acquaintance with how things are done in a Ranger outfit and hope that I won’t step on my dick trying to figure it out.”
Hollister leaned forward, pulled a cigarette out of his pack, and lit it. “I need the best executive officer I can find. Being one for a corps level Ranger company is no different from being an XO for an infantry battalion, except the tolerances are closer. When this company needs something—it needs it right then, and not when we can get it. You want to keep me happy—don’t make me come looking for a body, a piece of equipment, or a piece of paper. As far as I am concerned—admin, logistics, and personnel are your three nightmares. Get with them and get serious—because I won’t have time to wait on anything. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to stay, you know. That offer to let you go is open to everyone.”
Browning straightened up. “Sir, this is where I wanted to be—in your kind of Ranger company, not Major Simonson’s.”
“Before you make up your mind, I want to tell you that, effective immediately, we change the field policy. I want to see every man in this company out in the boonies on patrol—even if it is only once. Every man has to know he’s here because of those teams on the ground. So soon as I can whip up a shakedown patrol, I’m going to take it out—with staff officers and NCOs. I’ll be leaving you in charge around here. I expect you to find time in your schedule to get yourself out on a patrol as soon as you can.”
“Yes, sir,” Browning said, nodding. “If I was on one of those teams, I’d want every staff rat to have enough field time to know what my life is like in the bush. You have my support, boss.”
Estlin brought in a message from Captain Thomas: he wouldn’t be able to meet with Hollister until later because he had gone to a dental appointment at the evac hospital. So Hollister met with the platoon leaders, whittled down to three after the relief earlier in the day. “How many patrols have each of you been on?”
None of the lieutenants replied.
“Are we not communicating here? How many times have you been out with a patrol—observing or leading a mission?”
“I’ve almost been on one,” Lieutenant McIlwain said.
Hollister looked at the freckle-faced boy, a second lieutenant with a Jungle Expert patch on his pocket and a Ranger tab on his shoulder. “How did that happen?”
“I wanted to go out with my platoon, ah, Second Platoon, sir … and Captain Thomas caught me and told me that I was not to do that.”
“The rest of you? How do you feel about it?”
Lieutenant Jerry Fass, 1st Platoon leader, spoke up. “I think that’s where I belong. There’s not much I can do back here. I need to be involved in the staffing of my teams and their training. It’s pretty hard to train a man on patrolling techniques when he has a dozen missions under his belt and I have none.”
“You feel that way?” Hollister asked First Lieutenant Nathan Hill—the 4th Platoon leader.
“Sir, I’ve been here three weeks. I just got back from Recondo School i
n Nha Trang, and I don’t even know who is in my platoon yet I mean, I know … I just haven’t met them all yet. I only got assigned to the platoon last week.”
“What were you doing until then?”
“Major Simonson had me running errands. I spent four days in Saigon scrounging the air conditioner for his office.”
“And the rest of my question?”
“Yes, sir—I agree. I want to go out with my people. I couldn’t face them if I were a rear echelon …”
“Motherfucker?” Hollister finished his sentence.
The trio of nervous lieutenants smiled.
“Okay, here’s how we play this. You folks go to the field whenever you can. All I ask is that when you are out—your platoon sergeants are back and vice versa. Also, what I said this morning about leading by example applies to privileges. I don’t want anything going on in that BOQ that the troops don’t do. Do I make myself clear?”
The three exchanged glances, knowing that Hollister knew more about what was going on in Juliet Company than they thought he did. They all nodded affirmatively.
“If you don’t set the example—I’ll send your asses packing. If you stay here, I promise you that I will work you hard, and you’ll sure as hell never have to apologize to anyone for your time in J Company. Understand?”
“Yes, sir!” they replied in unison.
“Okay … then get out of here and remember you’re not a Ranger because you have the tab on your shoulder. You’re a Ranger when you act like one. Now show me something.”
After an hour of paperwork, which Hollister didn’t know how to handle, he suddenly realized there had to be someone else familiar with the paper battle. “Estlin, don’t we have a company clerk?”
“Yes, sir, we do. But he’s on R and R in Singapore until the day after tomorrow.”
Hollister looked at his watch; it was almost time to meet with the platoon sergeants. “How long am I going to have to wait to meet my operations officer, Estlin?”